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junisfics · 4 years ago

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All This Time — Armin Arlert (2)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: The morning after isn’t what either of them would expect, but after Reader pushes Armin away… she asks him to come right back

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Implied Smut

Armin couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to lay conscious in your presence forever. So, for a while, he laid there, savoring the feeling of your warm body cuddled up next to him. He would smile to himself whenever you shifted around a little in your sleep just to nuzzle up closer to him, to toss and turn to lay your head on his chest.

He never wanted the morning to come.

He knew the moment that you wake you’d be asking questions. You’d be asking questions or you’d know exactly what happened and you’d kick him out of your bed. You’d be startled and confused and he’d have to explain to you that you were drunk and asked him to stay with you. But then you’d ask why you asked him to stay, and he’d need to explain to you that, while you were drunk, you went on a series of confessions and admissions.

When the sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, and your head was nestled into his shoulder, Armin finally allowed himself to close his eyes.

He didn’t dream. He didn’t get the chance to sleep long enough so his brain could enter that deep state of rest that would even allow him to. He only had feelings. Feelings of contentment, euphoria, nostalgia all washed over him after he closed his eyes.

He’s so in love. He’s in love with you. His heart aches every minute of the day for you, and for this brief passing moment that he has you in his arms, he’s going to pretend that you’re his. He’s going to wish on the morning sun that after this mess passes over that he’ll still have you, and he doesn’t even care if it’s as a friend. Because if Armin can still be the one you cry to at night, he would gladly be your friend over your lover.

He was so grateful as he slept, grateful that whenever he would get that glimpse of consciousness as he turned in the bed that he could still feel your body up against him. He would smile at the little sighs that would leave your lips as you stretched a little in your sleep or when you grabbed ahold of his shirt to anchor you closer.

But Armin wasn’t grateful when you woke.

You had found yourself with your right leg swung over his waist as he lays on his back, your right arm wrapping itself around his neck, and your face nestled into the crook under his jaw. You were laying on top of a chest you didn’t know who it belonged to.

You laid there for a moment, with your eyes wide and staring into the pale flushed skin of his neck as you so desperately try and recall who is in your bed and why they’re there. You were frozen… like you were scared to see who it was.

Finally, you grew the courage to lift your head slightly to peek at their face.

It was Armin. Armin.

Your best friend Armin, that you’ve been in love with for years on end was beneath you in your bed in a position that was far too intimate for you to consider that he had just stayed the night as a friend.

His lips were slightly parted as he breathed, his pretty eyelashes resting against his cheeks that were flushed a cute little shade of pink. His hair was all ruffled and messed, pushed out of his eyes so you could see his entire face.

You weren’t disgusted by him being in your bed… my goodness, it was far from that. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest at the revelation and all of a sudden your body was growing hot and the sheets that remained draped over you were suffocating.

At a second realization of ‘Oh my god, Armin’s in my bed’, you jerk your entire body away from him, scramble out of the bed and stumble to the floor just as he shoots upright in his wake. Your eyes were completely blown wide, your lips were pressed into a tight line and Armin could see your arms shaking at your sides. You looked mortified.

Armin lays with his arms behind him, resting on the heels of his hand as he looks to you with an equally incredulous expression.

“What — what are you doing in my bed?” You ask, voice just above a whisper. You’re too startled to speak any louder.

“You asked me to stay,” Armin says quickly, remaining still like he’s afraid you’ll be startled by any movement.

You take your eyes off him for a moment to scan them across the ground as you think over what could have possibly happened. They flit from side to side, jerking in their sockets as you look over the hardwood floor.

“Did — did we…?” You begin, your chest beginning to visibly heave as you suck in deep breaths.

You don’t know whether you want him to answer that question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. But some sick twisted part of you was aroused by the possibility that the answer could be ‘yes’.

“No! No — you — you were drunk, I didn’t — we didn’t.” He stammers, pulling the sheets off of him and cautiously getting off the bed.

As horrible as it sounds, Armin was relieved to see that you’d forgotten everything that happened. Although he would have to work to pull that confession out of you again, it was much better than you avoiding him out of embarrassment and regret.

But as you think over what he’s said to you in regards to the night’s events, it slowly comes back to you. It’s all blurry, and for a moment you think you could be mistaking it for a dream, but you can make out the brief image of him in your doorway, then between your legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, and then on top of you on your bed.

And then you remember the conversation that had gone along with it.

“I… I asked you to stay…” You murmur to yourself, bringing your head back up to him as he finally stands on the other side of the bed, “Oh my god.”

You bring one arm around your waist and one clasps over your mouth, and for a moment, Armin’s scared you’re going to be sick. But between your fingers, he can hear you whisper a series of expletives over and over.

“Fuck, fuck — you need to go. Fuck! Armin, I’m sorry.” You exclaim, voice wavering as you take your hand from your mouth to point at your bedroom door.

Armin’s heart sinks into his stomach as he realizes that you have remembered every last thing you’d said to him. Maybe he’s the one who’s going to be sick because the terrified and regretful look on your face as his stomach churning in all the wrong ways.

“Out! Now! Oh my God!” You shout, enunciating with another point to the door. Your voice begins to tremble and…

God, please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

Armin shuts his mouth and clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes on you as he blindly crosses your room to get to your door. He swallows hard before pausing once he gets to the door.

“y/n —”

“Get out!” You cover your eyes with your spare hand as you feel tears beginning to prick your vision.

You’ve cried in front of Armin before, both happy and sad cries. But you’ve never cried because of him, or something you’ve done to him; and never out of frustration in front of him. And you didn’t want to start now.

Armin flinches at your volume and sheepishly exits your room. You follow him, but only to close the door behind him. You swear you could hear him gasp as it slams.

It hurts your heart to see him cowering away from you, and you add that to the things that cause the tears to finally flow over. Not only did you completely humiliate yourself in front of him last night, but you admit something to him you promised yourself you’d never admit… and on top of that, you had just yelled at him.

Fuck, you yelled at him. He didn’t deserve that.

He came over to your house in the middle of the night, worried about your wellbeing because you didn’t have the nerve to tell him you were just drunk. He babied you and cared for you while you were in his way the whole time, and even though it’s the bare minimum, he didn’t have sex with you even though you begged him to.

He was too good, he didn’t deserve that.

You rest your back to the door, sliding down it until your butt hits the floor as your breathing gets choked up and you threaten to audibly sob. You let out a noise of frustration as you cross your arms over your knees and shove your face into the crook of your right elbow.

You can hear your front door shut as he leaves and it only causes you to let out another shaky groan.

The energy towards crying and groaning does no help to the painful pressure that’s already building in your head. You can feel it ache behind your eyes, throbbing along with your heartbeat and sending jolts of sharp pain through your skull when you blink.

You felt disgusting. You were covered in sweat and tears and your fingers and lips were still sticky with remnants of alcohol. You could still taste it on your tongue; the food and the alcohol. But the medicinal taste of the vodka strongly outweighs the warming remains of the melted butter.

It’s like it was telling you that your mistakes outweighed Armin’s kindness.

You didn’t exactly know why you were crying, you only knew that it came from frustration. It was all just churning around in a pot of distress. It was a vile potion of embarrassment, regret, shame, and humiliation that was being force-fed to you as you sat there on the floor.

Even though you heard Armin’s own confession, you still were overwhelmed with regret. His words were still a little blurry, you were still trying to get a grasp on the weight of them.

I’ve always wanted you too.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of it. You were satisfied with the friendship between the two of you, you never wanted it to change. It was platonic, emotionally intimate at times, but it was platonic. You were twin flames, and you didn’t want your internal desire to rip that away from you.

Being friends, best friends, with Armin was a healthy relationship. You could handle the occasional jealousy and lack of physical intimacy if it saved your friendship. You liked it that way. And now that the barriers were broken, and you had forced Armin to leave, you were terrified of losing him at the cost.

Keeping quiet about your romantic love for him was so easy when you had him in the palm of your hand and knew that he would never leave you, especially since you now know that he shared that feeling back. You both were content with the relationship you had. You both knew that neither of you was going anywhere.

It’s not that you planned to never tell him, you knew that you would eventually. But you were planning for years in the future, or maybe you were hoping to grow out of it. You would be able to sit down with him and bring it on easy, give yourself a choice in how you tell him.

But the premature and impulsive reveal of your truth had startled you and you pushed him away in the process.

So, in a way, you didn’t necessarily regret telling him… it was the way you did it.

And you weren’t the only one freaking out about the ways of your confession. Armin was an absolute mess.

In your mind, you were worried that he was taking your words as the truth, but Armin was doing the exact opposite. His thoughts were flying around like hummingbirds, wings flapping at hundreds of beats a minute. He was stuck between hitting the steering wheel out of frustration or just breaking down crying in his car.

Because in Armin’s head, you remembered exactly what you said and you had caught yourself in a lie. You had recognized that it was the alcohol talking and you didn’t mean a single thing you said; you only said it because you were lonely and needy.

And then, you had also recalled the exact words he had said to you in response. The words that were full of honesty. You had remembered the way he said it and the way he had looked at you, and you had been disgusted by it.

In your drunken lies, he had revealed his truth.

And you were regretful of your alcohol-fueled words because they led him to speak on his true desire.

Now, in his head, you were repulsed by him.

He hits the steering wheel hard, hard enough so that he’s gripping his fist with his other hand and gritting his teeth at the pain that shoots through his arm afterward. And then those tears swell in his eyes, stinging them and blurring his vision as he tries to blink them away.

He’s sucking in breaths through his teeth as he finally pulls out of your complex lot. He wipes at his eyes as he drives home as if he believes he’s not actually crying if the tears don’t fall down his cheeks.

You both were embarrassed; at what you did and what you’re doing. Both of you sniffling pathetically as you keep replaying this morning in your heads. Both of you hating yourselves; you for yelling at Armin, and Armin for what he thinks your yelling was for.

You sat on the floor for a while, eventually bringing your legs away from your chest to cross them under each other. You still sat with your head in your hands and your elbows resting on your knees as you steady your breathing before trying to continue with your day.

You wipe at your face in hopes to push the tears away, but you only spread your flaking mascara around and mix it with the sweat and oil that’s accumulated on your face. It was a gross feeling, and it was the thing that finally convinced you to get up.

Water joined your tears in wetting your face as you splash it on from the tap of your bathroom sink. You scrub a little too hard after you rub your face wash in, almost scratching at your skin to get last night’s both physical and mental remnants off your face and out of your head. The water refreshes your skin as you do a final splash to get the suds off, but it does no help to your headache. It only throbs in your head harder from leaning over the sink.

As you lift your head from spitting toothpaste into the drain, another wave of throbbing pain pulses behind your eyes. And as you stare into the mirror, you decide to prioritize getting pain medicine before continuing to refresh yourself. The cup Armin had got for you last night was still sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, and as you pick it up you let out an audible, melancholic sigh. You watch the remainder of the water swish around at the bottom of the cup as you make your way to the kitchen.

You find the pain medicine already sitting on the counter. You bite at the inside of your cheek upon the realization that he most likely placed it there last night insight of the morning.

You hate him, hate him for the way he cares for you and the way he’s so goddamn selfless. Everything about him had your heart twisting in on itself and chest tightening to where you couldn’t breathe.

That only started a few years ago, junior year of high school. You still vividly remember looking into his deep blue eyes, getting lost in their ocean as you hold his sweet face in your hands. It was after your high school had sent out emails regarding the college admission process. Both of you were unsettled with the idea of leaving.

Armin promised you, over and over, that he’d call and visit and drive to however far you go whenever you need it. And then you had grabbed his face in your hands and said to him, ‘now, don’t go replacing me’. That made him giggle a little, his cheeks heating up under your palms before he said

‘I wouldn’t dare’

That was it for you. And after he had gone home you had sat on your bed… just sitting there, wondering why your heart was feeling the way it did.

It’s been like that since. Every last time you saw him it made your whole soul ache. You fell in love with him; his voice, his touch, his mind. You were absolutely drowning in his ocean and he was holding your head underwater, but all this time you were doing the same to him.

You didn’t make breakfast. The state of the kitchen from your drunken antics was a turn-off, and the alcohol that was still swimming around in your stomach had you feeling a little too nauseous for food just yet.

Deciding to clean up the kitchen was probably the safest option for you right now. You were debating between doing as so, or returning to bed and sleeping the day away. But since Armin still lingered within your sheets, kitchen chores were decided on as you already began to shuffle away measuring spoons to their respective drawers.

As you cleaned, you allowed yourself to think forward, accepting the situation and moving on to figuring out how to deal with it. You haven’t checked your phone to see if Armin had messaged you, but you bet your chances that he hasn’t. You probably scared him, for God’s sake.

The guilt and denial were still simmering as the acceptance was poured into the pot. You knew you needed to apologize for a multitude of things that have occurred within the past twelve-ish hours, starting with the fact that you called him in the middle of the night in the first place. Armin already knows you’re sorry, he can read you like a book, but you need to say it to him. You need to call him or something.

You were at a crossroads once more; did you allow the tension to settle a little while longer, or do you apologize as soon as possible? You had to apologize before he did, because you know damn well he will eventually, even though this situation that wasn’t his fault.

When the bowl with the dry baking goods clashes with the counter and clatters to the floor, spilling its contents all around your feet, you get your answer for you. In an overflow of emotions and frustrated curses, you leave the mess on the floor and blindly search through the house for your phone. When it’s found, you call him again, sniffling and letting yourself cry in defeat.

Armin got your call not even an hour after he had arrived home. He’d ignored his grandparents as they welcomed him home, even though he knew he would regret it later, and dragged himself straight up the stairs to his bedroom to just take a seat on the edge of his bed. He had his head in his hands, heels of his palms pressing into his temples.

And he just sat. Armin sat with his teeth piercing his bottom lip and his mind telling him that he’s never going to be able to be with you the way he was before.

He looked at his phone for a few moments, watching it buzz, face-up on his nightstand. It took him a few moments to register that it was you calling him and not a spam number.

He couldn’t stop himself from picking up.

‘Armin? Armin, I’m sorry — I’m sorry for yelling, just please — please come back,’

It was safe to assume that you were crying. He could hear your hiccuping and sniffling through the phone. All sort of self-respect he had gone out the door once he heard your distress. As much as you hated him for being so kind, he hated you for having him wrapped around your finger.

“What happened?” He asks.

‘I — I need to talk to you and I spilled — spilled shit all over the kitchen. I’m just so fucking — God, Armin I’m sorry!’

The lack of communication was truly hindering both of you severely. Both of your executions were fucked and both of your receptions were equally so because of poor wording. Now, Armin didn’t know what you were mad at and you didn’t know if he was upset in return.

“Can I come help?” He says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.

‘Please,’ You beg, and he can still you rustling around on the other end.

Armin relaxes, but only a little, because at least he knew you weren’t mad at him. Or maybe you were, but your own guilt was outweighing it. He had a feeling you were reflecting your self-frustration onto him, he always has a feeling. He knows you too well not to.

It was almost funny how you greet him at the door you had just recently slammed in his face. You had tears running down your cheeks and you were sniffling and coughing as you tried to sputter out a string of explanations. For a moment, Armin could only stand there and watch; watch you speak nonsense while gesturing with your hands.

After a minute or so, Armin realizes that you’ve stopped. He couldn’t make out a single thing you had said, only getting an ear of something that sounded like an apology. But no matter what you had said to him, he outstretches his arms to pull your shaking body against him. And as he holds you close, as your arms wrap around his torso, you can’t stop another wave of tears that drip down your cheeks.

Armin just holds you, like he did last night when he was in your bed. Your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling into the crook of his jaw, and hands grabbing at the fabric at the back of his tee-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to — mean to scare you or — or anything,”

His attempt to comfort you only crumbles you down more because he didn’t need to apologize, he doesn’t have to apologize.

“No, no, no Armin,” You stutter, pushing at his chest to distance yourself enough to look at his face. He lets his hands fall to your waist, keeping a tight enough grip on you to not let you escape. You look up to him for a moment before looking down to his chest, hitting against it softly out of frustration, “Don't — don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize,”

“I want to,” He tilts his head down slightly.

“Don’t! Please. This — this is my fault. I never — I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to see you last night. I wanted to see you because I love you. I love you, like, more than I should, and I didn’t mean to tell you last night. I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry,” You grab at his shirt again, tugging on it and stretching it out.

“y/n —” He begins.

“And I scared myself because — because I didn’t mean to say it then and — and I didn’t think you were going to say it back. I just — I don’t know,” You take in a shaky exhale before letting it out.

Armin feels like he can breathe again. You were sincere last night, you were telling the truth, and you weren’t disgusted with him. Armin could breathe again because he knew the feeling was mutual.

You let yourself bring your cheek back to his chest, bending your elbows to bring yourself close to him. Armin lets his arms slide around your waist, pulling you against him again to hopefully convey that ‘this is okay’

“I embarrassed myself… and I yelled at you because of it and — and you don’t deserve that.” You mumble a little softer, into the soft skin of his neck.

You can feel his chest shift around beneath your cheek as he breathes, and you can hear his heart beating quickly but steadily under your ear. You don’t want to leave him this time, you don’t want to jerk away from his touch. But you’re also scared of what will happen when you do have to pull away from him.

So you let yourself stay like this for a while, and Armin doesn’t protest. He continues to caress the skin of your back through that skimpy tanktop you’re still wearing and rests his cheek against the top of your head. He could stay like this forever, the same way he could have when he was in your bed last night.

“I meant what I said,” Armin says, stilling his hands until only his thumb gently circles over your shirt, “That I’ve always… wanted you — and loved you,”

With your body still pressed against him you say, “All this time… it — it was always you. I just didn’t know how to say it and I didn’t want to scare you away,”

“You could never,”

“And I was worried about what would happen after I told you. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t lose this.” Your voice has shrunk down to an almost whisper, and you’ve shut your eye and let yourself sink deeper into his skin.

“God, y/n,” Armin can’t stop the breathy laugh that leaves his lips, “You — you have no idea,” He pushes on your shoulders gently to look at your face.

“Why are you laughing?” You look up to him, a little confused and concerned look on your face.

“I’m not. I just — you have no fucking idea how — how crazy I am for you,” Armin grabs ahold of your face hard enough so your cheeks get smushed slightly beneath his palms. Your own hands come up to his forearms, just grazing them.

“I don’t know how you didn’t see it,” He whispers, looking into your wide eyes with admiration.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and you hope that Armin can feel your cheeks heat up beneath his hands. He was so close, he was right there, he was looking down to you with his nose an inch away from yours.

“Do you — do you remember what I said last night?” You breathe, leaning forward ever so slightly.

God, how could he forget?

“Which… which part?” Armin could barely think. You were rising on your toes, your breath fanning over his lips. He could feel your body trembling as you brought yourself closer to him.

“When I said that I want you,” You mumble, looking to his lips for a brief moment. Armin catches the flit of your eyes and he can feel his stomach twist, “that I need you,”

“Yeah,” Armin can’t stop his voice from shaking, “What — what do you need from me?”

And he knows the answer, he knows the answer, he just needs to hear you say it. He needs to hear your sweet voice speak words so lewd that he’ll feel like his knees have turned to jelly.

“I want you to fuck me, just like you promised. I’m sober this time, I slept it off.” Your breathing is so shaky, your voice is all strained to the point where it could pass for a whimper.

Armin can feel your words flow straight south, swimming below his navel and hardening his cock. He looks over you, over your face and your body that’s still exposed by your revealing clothes. He wants to tear them off.

“We can talk more later. I need you, so bad.” You bring your hands to his chest again, taking the stretched fabric in your fingers and tugging him closer.

“Yeah?” Armin nods in confirmation, he would tease you if he had the courage to.

“Yeah,” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip. You rise on your toes again, bringing your body flush against his. You can feel his cock hard in his sweats against your stomach, can feel his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Can — can I have you, please.” You slide one hand down his chest, shivering at the way the lean muscles in his abdomen divet under your fingertips. When you reach his waistband, you stop, toying with the strings with your right hand.

Armin answers you by grabbing ahold of the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his. They’re soft and warm, and they make your insides go all fuzzy and you practically whimper at the sensation. Your legs were already shaking due to the close proximity but now you’re deathly afraid of your knees buckling.

He felt so right up against you, with his hands holding you close and his tongue licking at the seam of your lips. He had you melting so quickly that you cannot believe you forced yourself to wait this long to tell him.

Even though your body was all tense, something inside you relaxed. Armin was here with you, he wasn’t leaving.

#armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x reader smut #armin smut #armin x reader #armin x reader smut #all this time #1k

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slightlymore · 4 years ago

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hardest to love

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

surgeon!doyoung x surgeon!fem reader

others: haechan, jaemin, jeno

genre: medical au (but the medical part is not heavy), romance, angst, smut, fantasy elements, “enemies” to lovers, mutual pining

warnings: +18, esplicit sexual content: doyoung is a hard dom and a soft dom in different scenes, short instances of sub doyoung, finger sucking (I know, I have a hand kink), spanking, raw, ice play, fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, choking, use of "sir", orgasm control and denial, edging, overstimulation, light degradation, oral f, brat taming, safe word, wine play?; lots of teasing; swearing; discussion around death; doyoung is a jerk but gets better

words: 13k

note: you can read this as a stand alone without having read the other works in the soulmate collection. what you need to know: haechan, jeno and jaemin travel different universes with the purpose of getting doyoung and yn be together. mark is trying to do the opposite. sometimes doyoung can remember past lives and sometimes he can't. this life takes place in a hospital. if you're confused by the three boys’ story everything will be explained in their backstory fics coming soon.

__________

Haechan let out a single deep sigh.

“Damn it. Doyoung is a fucking jerk in this life.”

The three young men were standing in the corner of the room watching two students trembling mortified in front of a pissed off Doyoung before he could turn around on his heels.

“I thought he was a jerk in all lives,” Jeno commented while dusting off imaginary lice off his jacket.

"I’ll be honest. When you said 'hell' I didn't expect the ER."

“Well have you ever been to-” Haechan continued but stopped when noticing Jeno not listening to him anymore but observing their third friend instead.

“Hey, Jaemin?” Jeno put one hand on his shoulder.

Jaemin was weak and paler than usual, eyes wide and with a slightly trembling chin. He then followed the direction of the younger gaze and gasped himself.

“Yeah,” Haechan grated the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I told you this one is going to be hard.”

Jaemin gulped, looking at himself walking around the bed and checking on the patients.

That Jaemin looked exactly like him.

The only difference was the clothes. That doppelganger had a doctor gown instead of a sweatshirt.

“How is this possible? I don’t understand how I can be here and there at the same time.”

Haechan sighed at Jaemin’s comment.

“You could consider it time travel. Now, listen to me.”

Jaemin let himself be grabbed by Haechan’s hands, pressing on both of his arms and looked at the other’s intense eyes.

“You have to avoid yourself while we work and-,” he stopped as if making sure to have Jaemin’s whole attention, “-you can’t talk to her.”

As if Haechan’s voice was a spell that summons people, Jaemin raised his gaze from him to look behind Haechan’s shoulder where a woman was slowly walking the corridor, eyebrows furrowed trying to understand the medical records she was carrying.

“Shit,” Haechan silently cursed and, placing one hand on Jaemin’s cheek, he indicated to keep quiet by putting one finger on his own lips.

If Jaemin weren’t so weak in the limbs upon seeing her, he would have felt the tingle on his skin coming from Haechan’s palm, or he would have realized that the woman walked past them as if they were all invisible.

Jeno, arms crossed on his chest, followed the woman with his eyes then nodded once as to indicate that the path was clear.

“Why can’t I talk to her?”

Jaemin’s head wanted to turn around and catch another glimpse but Haechan didn’t move his hand from his face yet.

“You might, I promise. But only when I say so.”

“Haechan and I can shapeshift and become invisible but you can’t and we won’t be around to babysit you all the time. Do your part and stay out of trouble.”

"You look mean,” Jaemin mumbled.

"I am. Now move."

__________

A breath.

A deep and heavy breath.

He was hearing it inside his skull. His own irregular breath inside his own skull.

Then a loud ringing suffocated every other sound in Doyoung’s ears. Like tinnitus, he thought, so used to elaborate information by classifying it into boxes.

The man was looking at his hands as if they were not his, fingers gripping the defibrillator pads, watching how the chest underneath them rose and fell.

Again.

And again.

A machine. The defibrillator and Doyoung.

And that body as well.

But it was too broken to be fixed.

And when he barely heard the nurse’s question he straightened his back. “Time of death,” he inhaled, his hands now uncovering the wristwatch, “2:41 am,” he exhaled.

__________

Doyoung felt it inside his hands, under the skin.

It was uncomfortable.

He looked at his left palm and wished it trembled.

"A surgeon," the announcement came in the form of a hard pat on the shoulders.

Doyoung blinked surprised and put his glasses back up on the nose.

"Great hands," the professor shook them with vigour, his eyes wide open and intense. "Steady," the old man continued his litany of compliments.

Doyoung let him wiggle his arms for a few more seconds before sighing as another student grabbed the professor's attention.

The young boy looked down at his hands as well after the man turned his back.

His eyes scanned every line in his palms as if seeing them for the first time.

"Those hands will do big things in the future" and Doyoung now, shoulders heavy, moist fringe patted on his forehead in the humidity of the terrace, felt like cutting his hands off.

Yes. Big things.

Like playing with life and death.

Didn't you just kill a man? he asked his hands, lower lip trembling instead of his steady fingers. Huh? and you're fine?

Doyoung tightened his fists with disgust and punched the air while letting them fall with force to his sides.

The rain intensified and he stepped in the front further until feeling the cold and heavy drops hit his face. Their sound was chaotic and it calmed Doyoung's heart.

Again.

I can do it again. I've done it before.

I do it again.

I can get over it.

He opened up his hands under the rain until he started to not feel his fingertips anymore.

Then he walked back inside the hospital.

__________

When you had to deal with the first dying patient, you were paralyzed.

It was very early in the morning. Your head was still full of the dreams you had just a while ago. Your heart was full of life and excitement for finally being able to work in the field.

"Get your shit together."

That voice startled you.

Doctor Kim, the most ruthless and cold person you've ever met, was your supervisor as an intern.

You looked up at him and caught his dark eyes on that spectrally pale face.

You just moved. You had no idea what you were doing. Terrified, you let your body work automatically.

Doctor Kim was calm and efficient while your whole mind felt out of place.

Oh, God. Oh God, please.

And when his voice finally reached your ears as if from far away you sunk down on your knees.

"Good job everyone."

The kindest thing he has ever said to his interns.

The other vaguely kind thing was his introductory discourse.

"I know that interning at the ER is dreadful, but that's life."

He was staring you all down, a short line of fresh out of med school trembling kids, no one having the courage to meet his eyes.

"You have to be ready to see all sorts of things here. Okay, let's go."

And that was it.

The encouragement of his introductory discourse.

You'll feel like shit here, welcome.

You hated him and you swore to yourself that you won’t behave the same.

Ever.

He was like a souless machine, walking around and tending to his duties. Lost in thoughts as your eyes scanned his figure walking busily around the hospital, you actually wondered if he had feelings at all.

The first time you saw Doctor Kim actually show some type of sentiment, was when he exited the surgery room one day.

You were walking around with the others and checking on the patients when he walked through the corridor like a storm. It was unclear what type of feeling that was but it made you unable to stop staring at his side of the face and back as he entered his office.

The anaesthetist came out soon after, slowly and sighing deeply.

And then you understood.

You've lived many of those days afterwards until you had to welcome your own row of interns.

You smiled and did a nice short welcoming discourse.

And at that moment you, unfortunately, got what Doctor Kim meant when he was brusque with you in the beginning.

It took you all three years of residency to finally get it: there were no actual right words to tell the students and there was no point in giving fake hope that everything is going to be alright.

Still, there was no point in being a rude ass like him. So you at least smiled kindly and encouraged your students.

God knew they needed it even more now.

You've never spoken much to Doctor Kim besides what was needed or the routine good morning sir and the short morning he would answer with.

So it was strange that on the first day of your career as a real surgeon, after your hands and those of Doctor Kim near each other worked, barely moving, his muffled voice ordering the tools, your muffled voice doing the same, you hugged him.

You hugged him that day for no reason besides the overwhelming feeling of being alive.

Doctor Kim, after every surgery, good or bad, would always walk out on the terrace.

You followed him that night and stopped behind his frame. You had to talk to someone about what just happened and he was the only one who might understand.

He was facing the city lights and the wind breeze ruffled his hair. He didn’t care to push it off his forehead.

"You did well today," he said quietly without looking at you.

Oh, you blinked fast.

Your first surgery was a success but your heart was beating so fast that you couldn't understand your feelings.

Were you happy? Were you about to cry? Did you want to scream and jump? What did you want?

But Doyoung just complimented you.

So again, you let your body work automatically and you looked at yourself, as if going through depersonalization, timid feet filling the space between you and Doctor Kim, your hands touching his waist and going around it until meeting each other on his stomach. You placed your head on his shoulders and closed your eyes.

"I was so scared," you whispered.

Doctor Kim's body was stiff, no reaction from his posture, no words coming from his mouth.

Was he shocked? Was he wondering what the hell were you doing? Was he about to tell you to get your shit together again like that first time three years prior?

But he didn’t do any of these things.

He sighed once and you imagined him closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of your body.

Even if for a moment. Even if it was all in your head and he actually hated it.

Then he took a step forward and you had to let him go.

And when he turned around and placed one palm on your shoulder without looking at you in the face, you remained alone on the terrace, breathing the cold air deeply and longing for his hands to hold you a little longer.

__________

Doyoung didn't speak to you again after that night.

Nor did he look at you once.

While you found yourself staring at his nape every time he walked around. Or turning your head as if following the trail he left behind.

You couldn’t wear perfume in the hospital but it was as if Doyoung did because he’d pull your senses towards him by something invisible.

As if that first touch you shared connected you to him in obscure ways.

“Here’s the coffee that you asked for, sir.” You entered his office after his dry “come in”.

His expression was priceless and for a moment you felt the urge to look behind you and see if there were a ghost scaring him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Bringing you the coffee?”

“I asked a student to do it, not you. You’re a surgeon.”

Your lips were dangerously trying to form a smile while you placed the coffee on his desk.

“Why does it matter? I am free while those students are busy learning how to be doctors.”

“You think that just because you hugged me once when you were emotionally unstable, now we’re friends?”

That question was so sudden and cold to make you snap your head upwards.

His eyes were darker than usual and you almost gulped.

“No, sir.”

Your voice came out as a tiny exhale and if he felt sorry for his sudden and out of place tone, you couldn't see it on his face at all.

"I was just being friendly as all colleagues would," you added a new note to your own tone, trying to perhaps make him feel guilty.

"You can give me up."

His reply shut you up and you furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

"I'm saying," he spoke slowly, "that I don't want to be friendly with you. Now, please leave."

________

"I'm going to fucking kill him!" you threw your head back to drink your espresso shot as if it was alcohol and slammed the paper cup back on the counter.

Jaemin sighed pouring sugar into his coffee.

"Why did you even try? He's a jerk."

The man sipped on his drink slowly, the warmth of it misting his glasses.

“I just-” you huffed, crossing your arms on your chest. “We’re colleagues. It made sense for him to be a piece of shit with us when we were interns but now? ‘I don’t want to be friendly with you’” you mocked his deep voice. “Who the fuck does he think he is? I swear I’ll accidentally stab him with a knife!”

“Hm. Do you like him?” Jaemin asked with an unimpressed tone.

You almost grabbed the coffee from Jaemin’s hands and threw it in his face.

“Are you insane? What does that mean? Why would I like him? Kim Doyoung? Me-” you pressed your index on your chest, “liking that asshole? I hate his guts! I can’t believe you said something like this! What’s to like about him?”

Jaemin felt his fringe move around his forehead at your intense voice as if it were wind.

“No need to get so worked up about it. You’re just talking so often about him lately. Also, he’s objectively good looking. He’s also smart. I understand.”

“He’s the ugliest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on! And he’s an idiot! And I don’t talk about him! I have no idea what you’re all about.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes and finished the drink.

“Talking of ugly. What’s that shirt you’re wearing?” you asked.

The man’s head snapped down to look at it. “What’s wrong with it?”

You chuckled once. “Where did you buy it?”

“It’s a normal Polo.”

You laughed even harder. “A Polo you say? And what’s that? A knock off Holo?”

“What’s Holo?”

Jaemin’s face was genuinely confused and it amused you even more.

“Are you getting enough sleep? You’ve been acting weird lately.”

“Or,” he relaxed his expression, lifting one index up, “I come from an alternate universe.”

You chuckled once and hit his shoulder lightly as a greeting, liking his new joking side. “See you later then, alternate universe Jaemin.”

__________

Doyoung wanted to hit his head on the desk.

Your expression, hurt and shocked because of his stupid remarks made his heart tingle in a very uncomfortable way.

One thing was being severe and one thing was being rude for no reason at all.

But the thing is that you were everywhere and he hated it.

Doyoung hated that you were trying to get under his skin.

Like a scent. Like some kind of drug.

He’d scrub his hands and forearms even harder before going inside the surgery room as if with the water and soap he could get rid of the feeling of your arms around his torso under the rain too.

What were you even thinking? Asking for reassurance? From him? Reassurance from the most hated man in the whole hospital? What did you even expect? Why would you even try?

What a reckless person.

He noticed it the first time he saw you as well.

Eyes wide with curiosity and surprise, looking around the ER like it was the best place in the world. Doyoung hated your happiness but he also hated the fact that he would have to assist that light slowly die out with time.

Or at least he thought that would happen.

Days after days, months after months, he paid attention like a scientist looking at his object of study, taking mental notes and registering results. Doyoung would jolt with secret joy when his theories would reveal themselves to be true but then, like a rollercoaster, he’d feel weighed down with grief seeing you in the same state as his one.

Until he didn’t know what to desire to see anymore.

Until one day he lifted his eyes, head full of a soliloquy towards you. “How are you today? Tell me you got better. Tell me you still have your light because no one needs too many black holes in here.”

Until he realized that he couldn’t remember anything about his life before you.

And when you hugged him that day, he felt proud. For your success and your light.

You were a star and he bathed into that warmth for a little before remembering he was still a black hole and black holes attract stars until engulfing them whole with no turning back.

_________

“Why are you always around?” he blinked annoyed.

You straightened your gown that shifted after bumping into him and sighed loudly.

“In case you forgot, I work here.”

Doyoung sighed.

“This is the farthest yard from where you’re always playing with your friends.”

“I had business coming here.”

“What business?”

“That’s my business.”

Doyoung’s corner of the mouth twitched.

“It’s our business.”

“Are you a communist?” you placed your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side.

“I’m your superior. What are you doing here?”

A few nurses whispered passing you by and you cleared your throat, trying to relax your face muscles. Doyoung rolled his eyes once upon seeing your new fake cordial expression.

“Apparently I’m doing such a good job that Mr Jung wanted to compliment me,” you raised your chin.

“Mr Jung?”

“Yes.”

His nostrils widened as if he had too much air to inhale and didn’t have time to get it little by little.

“He doesn’t just summon people to compliment them. Stay away from him.”

You scoffed incredulously at his innuendo.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

“Very well. Get back to work now.”

“Are you perhaps jealous?” the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

But Doyoung, to your biggest surprise, smirked a little, lifting his eyebrows once.

“And if I were?” he asked, then walked around you, leaving you still for long moments in the corner of the corridor before being able to walk again.

_________

“And then he said, “and if I were?”

Jaemin gulped his food and chuckled. “I can’t imagine that.”

“I know right? Was he crazy?” you asked with your mouth full, swinging your knife.

“Maybe the director does have eyes on you. And-” he leaned in mischievously, avoiding your cutlery, “that’s why he acts as if he hates you. Because he has feelings for you.”

You chuckled nervously.

“He hates you too!”

“He doesn’t even know I exist,” Jaemin shrugged.

“Hey, Jaemin.”

“Like once I asked him something and he thought I was a patient and when I said that I’m actually-”

“Jaemin! I’m pretty sure I’ve just seen someone looking like you pass that door just now.”

The young man turned around quickly, right in time to see himself exit the food hall.

“Damn,” he laughed for a few moments. “Someone else copied my hairstyle. I guess I’m not that unnoticeable as I thought.”

You opened your mouth to comment on that since you were pretty sure it wasn’t only the hairstyle that the man copied when Doyoung approached your table like a storm scaring the shit out of you.

“What is it now?” he asked, eyes piercing through you.

You let out a long “uhhh” before talking, staring him up and down.

“Are you talking to me?”

Doyoung scoffed then sighed. “A doctor told me you were urgently looking for me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Who?”

“Do I look like someone who knows people’s names?”

Jaemin shook his head.

“Well, I don’t need you,” you let him know.

Doyoung sighed again and the long look you exchanged made Jaemin awkwardly chuckle once.

“You can sit down with us for lunch, sir,” he offered and you inhaled sharply, kicking his leg under the table.

Doyoung looked firstly at you then at Jaemin then at you again as if not believing he was actually talking to people like you.

But the tray in his hands was getting heavy and there were no other empty tables.

He walked around Jaemin and sat down near him.

Then he rolled his sleeves and started to eat in silence.

But only for a moment.

“What?” he asked as you were both staring at him with hanging open mouths.

“It’s our first time seeing you eat,” you whispered.

Doyoung gulped the food. “I’m putting on a show for you guys. I’m a vampire that doesn’t need food.”

“See!” you hit Jaemin’s hand as if catching his attention. “He’s making jokes!”

Jaemin leaned back in his chair as if a little afraid.

“So you talk about me instead of working,” Doyoung commented.

His eyes were on you and you suddenly realized what you’ve just said.

“No,” you quickly grabbed your glass and sipped the water.

Doyoung looked at Jaemin and the young man secretly nodded a little.

And for the first time in years, you saw Doyoung smile.

Like a full-on smile. A big open smile with all the teeth out.

You blinked fast and before realizing your own lips were stretched in a smile too.

He was breathtaking.

You wanted to run away but also crash into him. You were at the top of the world and down in the dumps.

__________

The grunt you let out after hitting a hard surface resonated in the whole hallway.

For the second time.

"You are always where you shouldn't be."

You lifted your pained eyes while massaging your shoulder just to see Doyoung do the same.

"Where am I and where am I supposed to be then?" you asked.

"Around me and you should be far away from me."

"And if I say that I'm doing it on purpose?"

Doyoung's pupils trembled.

"To make you mad," you explained, the little smile creeping on your lips making him tighten his.

“You’re trying to make me mad?”

In your head, all of the conversations you would have with Doyoung sounded fun and risky in a good way.

In reality, you realized, it was so overwhelming that you felt your limbs shake.

“I’m joking, sir.” His intense eyes made you look over the windows.

“You don’t like to look at me in the eyes?” his voice was mellifluous just as his movements, getting slowly closer to you.

“Your eyes make me uneasy,” you replied honestly.

Doyoung tilted his head to the side, curious, inviting you to say more. You looked at him again.

“As if they don’t know fear,” your voice was tiny.

A little smile curved the man’s lips. “Oh, but they know what fear is.”

“And what is that?”

“What you’re feeling right now.”

"I am not afraid," you whispered.

"Then why are you stepping back?"

“I am not stepping back.”

Yet the air got softly knocked out of your lungs as you felt the wall on your shoulder blades.

Doyoung didn't reply and just got as close as to lightly brush your lower lip with his knuckle.

"You're cute when you pout," he whispered, eyes smiley under the strands fallen from his styled fringe.

You opened your mouth to talk but he walked away, leaving you alone and with an abnormally beating heart.

Again.

__________

If Doyoung’s newly humorous side was something interesting to share with Jaemin, his newly flirtatious side was something you felt the need to keep a secret.

Heated up, you walked the corridors like a storm.

Kim Doyoung?

Did your body really react that way towards Kim Doyoung?

Pulse throbbing in places you didn’t want to think of?

Because of Kim Doyoung?

Face buried in your wet hands, the cold water running in the sink, you imagined telling this to your younger self.

Then you lifted your head and turned it off, raising your gaze to look at your dilated pupils in the bathroom mirror.

_________

Doyoung didn’t care about people much.

Hours upon hours of surgery, he only needed to see his colleagues’ hands and hear their breaths while desperately trying to save yet another life. How they looked without the caps and masks was not something of interest to him, especially knowing superfluous details like their names.

Yet, when he briefly noticed the eyes of the second surgeon entering the room, Doyoung furrowed his eyebrows.

Those were not your eyes and those were definitely not your hands in the latex gloves.

And for the first time, he needed to know who that person was.

“I’m Lee,” the man whispered.

“I didn’t know you were on schedule today.”

“Yeah, heard about it last minute as well.”

Were you avoiding him?

If Doyoung’s body could show tremor, he’d had trembling legs under the desk he sat at after the surgery, and if he’d had the habit to bite his nails, he’d be ferociously eating them by now.

Unfortunately, he was stoically sitting in his office, elbows pressed into the hard iron surface, veins missing adrenaline but aggravated eyes.

Walking the corridors while people took a step back to make him pass, looking away when he’d look at them and whispering angrily behind his back, was a bliss.

The protection shielded Doyoung like a fuzzy blanket even if it sometimes felt itchy at night when he found himself the most lonely.

So when you did the same, passing him by as if hating him, he surprised himself at the sudden discomfort. Especially after

well,

after that.

He wasn’t sure himself what it was but it must have been something if it made you uncomfortable enough to not show up to a surgery.

He lifted the corner of his blanket for a moment and he fucked up.

__________

“Y/N.”

You stopped in place.

And so did most people around you.

Many found Doyoung scary but also interesting to observe when his spite wasn’t directed at them.

What did she do? you could almost hear the whispery words passing from ear to ear, amused voices, grateful for not being in your place.

“See me in my office,” Doyoung ordered after you slowly turned around.

His voice was low and no one could have heard it if the whole yard didn’t just collectively hold its breath.

“Yes, sir.”

“You all are surely not working enough if you have time to be useless,” his voice sounded louder and clean all of a sudden. “Do you want some hours assigned?”

Like a spell, everyone looked around and the buzz filled your ears back, leaving yourself and Doyoung the only still figures.

Then he moved as well, the swoosh of his cloak touching your hand when he passed near you.

You inhaled deeply and followed him.

_________

“I am sorry.”

You wished you’d accepted his offer to sit down because that single sentence floored you.

“For what?” you asked with a tiny voice.

“I know I often say things that I don’t mean. And I know that I might have made you feel uncomfortable. So I apologize.”

His eyes were round and filled to the brim with such sincerity to make you swallow hard.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was necessary to make me who I am,” you minimized.

Doyoung looked away for a brief moment. “I mean the corridor incident.”

You blinked at him.

“I made a mistake,” he added.

The first thing that came to mind was the urge to use that to your advantage.

Scold him. Make him feel guilty.

Kim Doyoung making a mistake.

Exhilarating.

The power suddenly surging in your veins went to your head so you suppressed the smile that so desperately wanted to bloom on your lips.

“Yes.”

His expression darkened even more at your reply and his adam apple moved as he swallowed. He actually hoped it wasn’t the case.

“I’ll make sure to keep the surgery schedules separated so you won’t feel uncomfortable working with me. You could have asked me first though before changing it yourself.”

The excitement died out with these words.

“What are you talking about?”

“Thursday’s surgery.”

“I was told you appointed another person yourself.”

“I did not.”

“Well, I didn’t either.”

“So-”

“It’s not like I’m trying to avoid you, no. But if you-”

“I’m not trying to avoid you either. But you said I made you uncomfortable, so-”

“I was messing with you.”

He finally went silent.

“You looked so guilty that I wanted to get a little revenge,” your voice came out a timid whisper.

Doyoung sighed, closing his eyes a little, then he stood up.

“Did I seriously cause you that much pain all of this time?” he walked towards you as if actually concerned.

“You made me cry almost every day.”

He opened his mouth like a fish before closing it. The shocking confession made him lift one hand to cup your face.

You both looked at it with fluttering eyes as if it wasn’t his.

He tried to put it away quickly but you pressed your palm on it to keep it in place.

“I’m joking. I only cried a few times.”

Doyoung’s pupils danced around just like his brain trying to process the information you were giving him. His face, confused and not knowing anymore what was a joke and what wasn’t, amused you a lot.

“I’m sorry I’ve been harsh. I’ve been-”

“A jerk.”

He gulped, his thumb slowly brushing your cheekbone.

That little gesture made you close your eyes for a moment. And when you opened them, you just leaned in and placed a quick and chaste kiss on his closed lips.

“If the corridor thing was a mistake for you, I just did one too. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We can pretend nothing of this happened."

You let his hand go and moved to take a step back just to feel his hold on your face tighten.

Pulling you towards him again, he added the second hand.

His lips were not closed anymore, but very much open to welcome your lower lip between them.

Your hands flew to his hair and pulled him towards you too. He hummed and you whined. And when you both needed air, you let yourselves go, panting against each other’s lips.

A little smile curved your lips, eyes unable to look up. Fingers on his neck, you let them slowly descend to his chest and you took a step back.

You took your lower lip inside your mouth for a moment, as if still trying to taste him and walked a few steps back.

Doyoung followed you, unable to let your body go until you touched the door. His eyes were blown out and he kissed the corner of your mouth again, and again, and again, until kissing you fully on the lips for the second time. Hands on the glass behind your head, you heard his nails grating at it slowly as you let your tongue twirl with his. Then you breathed out and he couldn’t do anything else than just moving his arms away for you to slowly open the door and leave in silence.

After the door closed, Doyoung pressed his forehead on the cold window.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, the fuzzy blanket he carefully wrapped himself with all of those years slowly slipping away to his feet.

__________

It didn't surprise you to see Doyoung pretend nothing happened between you as you passed each other in the corridors.

But his avoidance felt weirder than usual, even to external eyes, as if something happened indeed and he tried so hard to conceal it.

"Perhaps it's the 5th coffee talking right now, but doesn't Doyoung look weird?"

Jaemin asked lazily as he rested his body on one elbow placed on the little resting room counter. Said man passed in front of the open door and the furtive look he took of you was interesting enough for someone bored like Jaemin to notice.

You shrugged, quickly stirring the sugar in your own coffee.

"Hm?" your friend smiled at your silence, getting closer.

You sipped the drink.

"Hmmm?" Jaemin put his face into yours.

"Oh my God, get away," you tried to push him away.

"You had sex."

You spat the little coffee you still had on your mouth. Jaemin giggled and took a step back before it could land on his own.

"We did not have sex! What's wrong with you?"

"Okay. So you at least kissed," he looked up to you under his wiggly eyebrows as he handed you a few napkins.

"We-," you wanted to deny but your lips formed a frustrated smile instead. "Shit. I can't believe it either."

"Wow."

"He was- so delicate," you murmured.

Jaemin winced amused.

"But also intense you know? Like it felt-"

"Okay wait. I didn't ask for a full-on description," he made a puking expression at you.

You lightly hit his arm.

"I was just so surprised. I've never seen this side of him."

"Him liking people?" Jaemin giggled. “Yeah. That’s weird.”

__________

"So it's done. We're done. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Seeing myself around is creeping me out."

Haechan sighed, rolling around in his chair. "Not so quickly. They only kissed."

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

"They have to confess," Jeno explained with a sleepy voice, sprawled on his own chair.

"But they love each other."

"They have to say the words."

Jaemin put his hands on the hips. "That's so stupid."

“Tell this to Doyoung. This is what he wrote in the contract,” Haechan mumbled amused, patting his chest where the Book was snuggly packed near his heart.

Jaemin grabbed another chair and sat backwards on it, resting his chin on the folded arms.

“So you know the job is done when they confess? What if they break up afterwards?”

“It has never happened before.”

“And what if it does happen?”

Jeno opened one eye. “Don’t manifest doom.”

“I’d probably have to come back and get them together again,” Haechan replied.

“I still don’t know why you’re doing this. Can’t you just recede from that contract?”

Haechan sat up properly and grabbed his water bottle. “And do what? Go back to the pits of hell?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’ve never had this much fun in a very long time.”

__________

He brought it upon himself, he could admit that.

Ignoring you was more difficult than he anticipated and the first reaction he managed to put out when you talked back to him in front of all of the other surgeons was his usual skin cutting one.

You didn’t like it, he could see it.

You’ve never liked it and, honestly, Doyoung could not think of a single person that enjoyed being on the other side of his table.

Perhaps you were getting a little comfortable with him though because you leaned back in your chair and smiled. As if for once he couldn’t get to you.

It made him even more eager to scratch that nonchalance.

So he did.

Until the meeting was over and he got back to his office with a weird sensation on his shoulders. It somehow tasted like defeat.

And when you opened his door with a loud bang and got in, he inhaled and took a few steps back, imitating the steps you took forward.

You pushed him down on the chair, your gazes mixed together just like your breaths as you leaned down.

Only the sheer anticipation of you touching him made him lose his mind a little.

One hand on his thigh and the other going down from his lips to his extended neck and chest, dragging your nail on his shirt until reaching his stomach and belt.

Then you hit one of his feet to the side with yours, making him open his legs even wider.

He jolted and you could visibly see the way his breath stopped for a moment.

"I don't think someone else tried to put you in your place before."

Your voice was dark and his eyelids fluttered before his pupils could fall on the way your palm brushed his crotch. It twitched under his dress pants and he inhaled deeply.

"Unfortunately, it has to be me."

"We're at work-," he tried to speak but the words died in his throat as you cupped his balls.

"Sorry? Didn't hear that."

"Shit Y/N-," Doyoung closed his eyes, jaw muscles tightening as you gently massaged him.

"Hmm, Doctor Kim is at a loss of words?"

You cooed, leaning down even more until almost brushing his lips with yours.

"So cold and composed while you spit venom all day. I really want to see you lose your mind for once."

He opened his eyes right when he started to pant lightly and you gulped upon seeing his dark gaze.

"You'll regret this."

"Can't wait to feel regretful."

"Be careful."

"Don't want to."

His smile grew suddenly wicked and it threw you off as he suddenly stood up, grabbing your wrists and pushing you gently backwards.

"You’ve been loving fighting with me lately. I think that you just need to get laid."

You smiled. "Do you want to help me with that?"

Doyoung scoffed once. "I can't stand you."

"Then sit down."

He put his tongue inside the cheek, staring at your raised chin.

Then his hands suddenly crept around you and grabbed your ass. They squeezed, pulling your hips towards his, making you pant and palm his chest in the meantime. Body pressing on his and his low voice buzzing into your ear made you light headed.

"Arguing with you turns me on so fucking much."

You gulped and noticed the way Doyoung’s eyes fell on your open mouth.

“This is a very pretty shade of lipstick. Makes me want to ruin it.”

His thumb opened up your shocked lips even more by tugging at the lower one, your eyes getting hazy from his expression cutting you in half.

“Suck.”

The order made your legs buckle a little. Your pupils trembled when you slowly let your tongue touch his fingertip. Doyoung got impatient and pushed it until it was all in. You fought the urge to gag and just whimpered, grabbing his shirt into your fists as he watched you hollow your cheeks on it.

“I’ve always wanted to make a mess out of you,” he murmured, his other hand cupping your face and feeling your jaw, going down to your neck and wrapping it into its warmth. You raised your face to give him more space and your hooded eyes trying to look at him as he pressed around your throat made him smirk.

“You like that?” he watched your squirming body trying to get closer to him. He took a step back and rested his hips on his desk, pulling at you until you felt his thigh between your legs.

“What a slut,” he took out his thumb and spread the saliva on it on your lips. “Bet you wanted to suck me off under the desk, didn’t you? Fuck your superior?”

You started to breathe through your mouth, the hand wrapped around your throat making it difficult for you to form any thoughts.

“Or you wanted me to bend you over it?” he murmured, eyes glazing over your breast, his free hand painting one line from your collarbones to the cleavage of it. And when he suddenly squeezed one, feeling its softness in his palm, you almost cried out and dug your fingers into his shoulders.

“Yes, sir.”

Doyoung’s corner of the lips lifted as if curiously surprised.

“And if I don’t do any of those things?” his eyes were on your face now and it made you want to hide away or just beg him to just please do all of those things.

“What are you going to do?” he asked again.

The pool of wetness inside your panties was so embarrassing that you pressed your forehead on his shoulder.

"Then just let me go," you whispered in a tiny voice.

"You're free to g-" he caressed your jaw with one thumb.

"No. I hate it," you went on, lifting your gaze on him, and he exchanged the look, slightly taken aback.

"I dream about you every night. It's not about sex, it has never been just about it. Everything about you makes me go crazy. I hate it and I want you to just let me go.”

Doyoung blinked and cupped your face with both hands.

You just breathed out, ignoring the little voice screaming inside your mind to shut up, palming the back of his hands with yours, suddenly unable to raise your eyes on him.

"I just can't understand and I hate being like this," you added after a quick gulp.

The man opened his lips and you noticed the way you started to breathe in unison.

"There's something so darkly attractive about you," the tiny sigh coming out of your lips made their way on Doyoung ones and he licked them once, his own breath warm on your skin.

"No matter how much I try to know you, there's something that escapes me. I can't pinpoint you and it keeps me up at night."

Doyoung gulped and his hands twitched as they palmed your arms, going down to your hips and pushing you down, gently.

You gasped silently, your core so swollen that the feeling of the friction of your bodies as you rubbed on him could have been enough to make you orgasm.

"Sir-," you found the force to talk but he took his tongue out and you just dove in, catching it inside your mouth and sucking on it the way you sucked on his finger. Your eagerness made his hold even tighter, guiding your body rolls, loving the way you squirmed in his arms.

When you pulled away to whine he raised one hand to bury in your hair.

"You haunt me too," he confessed. "Sometimes I feel so pulled towards you to make me question everything I know about myself."

Your eyes fluttered and your exposed throat looked so vulnerable in Doyoung's eyes to make him lean in and bite on it.

The little moans escaping your lips caressed his ears and when he licked the spots you shivered, your hips not stopping for a second.

It was intoxicating and you didn't dare to speak again but your thoughts were seeping through all of your pores.

"I want you to tell me what you want me to do," you whispered, words broken.

"Don't cum," Doyoung ordered and it snapped something in you.

Your breath grew irregular and he chuckled.

With a little groan, you forced your hips to still but he looked down and clicked his tongue, pushing his thigh upwards and making you bounce on it a few times.

"Don't stop."

"But you said-"

"Don't cum and don't stop."

"I can't last," you mewled, twitching against his body and he pouted.

"Baby girl can't keep that in?"

You shook your head, feeling all dizzy as his hands squeezed your asscheeks, making you rub against his leg again.

"But I said what I said. Are you going to be a bad girl?" he accompanied his last word with a harsh slap on your ass that made you inhale through your teeth.

"Sir- I am begging you."

His hand dropped under your skirt that moved to your thighs in a single movement, the coldness of it on your hot clit making you cry out.

He hummed amused, slowly pressing into you and circling your sensitive bud until your legs started to twitch.

"If you want to cum," he stopped, "you'll have to do whatever I say. Is this an agreement?"

You nodded quickly, so close to orgasm that you started to ride his fingers by yourself.

He retrieved his hand and pressed it on your stomach, making you step back until you barely could keep your balance.

"You know where I live, right?"

You nodded confused.

"See you later then," he smirked and gestured to leave the office.

You inhaled deeply, the arousal so high that you considered just finger fucking yourself in front of him.

"Cruel," you whispered.

"And you love it," was his amused reply.

__________

Timid feet in front of Doyoung's entrance door, you questioned if you actually lost your mind.

Were you really willing to go this far for a single orgasm?

Or multiple, you considered.

Okay. Well, perhaps it was all worth it in the end.

Your eyes darted upwards to take in the view of his house.

The windows were lit on the first floor and it looked like a place you'd love to spend your life in. It was too huge for a single person anyway.

When he opened the door after the ring announcing your arrival you didn't expect to see him in casual clothing. It looked so off that for a moment you couldn't speak, eyeing his feet in warm socks instead of rubber shoes.

Then you hit yourself in your mind. Of course, he won't wear his doctor gown at home.

"Good evening," you finally smiled and he eyed your body with a relaxed gaze, stopping when noticing the bottle of wine you carried in your hands.

“Good evening,” he gestured to you to come in and you walked the distance from the doorstep to the hallway. His hands draped your shoulders and you sighed when he took your wet coat away.

You put in a lot of effort in your appearance, choosing the right clothing and accessories.

And he put a lot of effort into arranging his house for you, lighting up the right candles, you noticed after he indicated a room to the left.

Yet all you wanted to see was him.

And all he wanted was to see was you naked.

Venturing in slowly, you turned around looking at what you figured out was the living room. With the corner of your eyes, you saw the grey of Doyoung’s sweatpants disappear upstairs and it suddenly got silent, safe for the crackle coming from the chimney and the hard rain hitting the windows. You took off your shoes and cautiously walked on the dark wine-coloured rug, close enough to warm yourself. A black glassy mirror was hung on the wall in front of you showcasing the pitiful state you were in because of the storm. Then you looked at the piles of books scattered around your feet placed down in a chaotic path leading to the velvet couches behind you as if someone read them while circling the room and suddenly let them fall on the ground when bored. You followed the spines with your gaze trying to figure out the language they were written in when two feet made their appearance in your peripheral vision, making you snap your head up.

He approached you with a little smile, getting closer and closer like a black cat.

New thick energy made it difficult for you to breathe too deeply so you resorted to short inhales and exhales especially after he stopped so close to you.

Doyoung's hands wrapped yours as he took the wine away and placed it on the coffee table on his left. Then he sighed and you found yourself shivering under his gaze.

"Take this off," he lightly felt your shirt's material with his fingertips.

What? You inhaled, mind buzzing at how easy it was this time. No dinner and fancy courtship?

He did look like someone that'd rather take you into seclusion and have you for himself as quickly as possible though.

With slightly trembling fingers that you'd never get in the surgery room, you started to unbutton your top. Doyoung tilted his head to the side with a little smirk as if enjoying the show.

And when you actually found yourself with only your bra on he smiled, even more, eyes grazing your skin slowly until you felt a heatwave shake your limbs.

“This too.”

He slowly touched the bra fabric and you gulped.

“Take it off yourself.”

Doyoung chuckled once and went around your torso, unclasping it with quick and expert fingers.

You jolted and you felt your eyelids flutter as it slowly fell down your arms.

Doyoung grabbed the front part of it and dragged it down to the floor, adding it to the weird maze of books making the eccentric design of his living room.

His eyes caressed your perked nipples and you tried hard to resist the urge to cover yourself.

“Pants,” he ordered and his voice was deeper than usual.

You wavered a moment and he lifted his eyebrows once. Do it.

You inhaled and slowly opened the zip.

He bit his lower lip when you bent down to discard the piece of clothing and when you straightened your back he hummed.

“Wear this,” he gently threw a piece of fabric towards you which you caught quickly. It was soft and it smelled like him.

He looked at it, then slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, not moving a single muscle.

You inhaled in again, trying to calm your nerves, desperately wanting to ignore the way he was dressed himself. A white and see-through shirt with the deepest neck you’ve ever seen, barely covering any of his chest. You barely could see his sweatpants as well, but his bare ankles were fully on display, just like his forearms that you could catch glimpses of as he absentmindedly revived the locks blocking his pupils with one hand.

A raw playfulness made his features even scarier in the dim lighting.

“I want you wet. But not from the rain,” he explained, eyeing your confusion.

“You could have just told me to change into it and end it there,” you mumbled, buttoning the shirt up. It was deep blue and oversized, short on your thighs but hiding whatever you had to hide.

“Why? Did you hate that I made you undress in front of me?”

“It was embarrassing to stand naked like that.”

You wanted to sound offended but the pout your lips formed on its own betrayed your secret amusement.

“Nothing that I won’t see up close soon.”

His voice was a whisper that forced you to look away. You wanted to reply but he turned around walking towards the kitchen.

"Besides, I made some spicy sauce. You don't want to spill it on your nice clothes."

“Who said I was going to spill food on myself? I have steady hands.”

You walked over him, taking the plates from his hold and placing them down on the dining table yourself.

You wanted to look unbothered by him just like he looked unbothered by you, but the truth was that you just had to do something to not feel that overwhelmed.

“You don’t,” he argued following you near the table.

You scoffed lifting your head to look at him. “Excuse you? I’m a surgeon.”

“Your hands don’t look like the hands of a surgeon when you’re around me.”

You scoffed.

“I think that the biggest thing in the world is your ego.”

“You haven't seen my-”

“Don’t say it.”

He closed his mouth as the little smile he had on kept lingering on his lips.

Domestic and flirty. It was getting to your head and you hadn’t had the opportunity to sip a single drop of alcohol yet.

As if reading your mind, he grabbed the bottle of wine you brought and fumbled slowly with the cap.

"That's my favourite shirt. And I want to fuck you in it."

The shivers that travelled down your spine almost made your body twitch and your hands stopped in mid-air as you were placing the cutlery.

He smiled at you when you looked at his expression.

His lips. His eyes and cheekbones. His skin under the lights.

Fuck. You really needed a drink.

And after he popped the bottle open with a loud sound that disrupted the silence, the red wine erupted out of it, dripping off his hand up to the wrist you had your drink right off his fingers.

Doyoung’s pupils trembled as you leaned in like a cat and his lips opened to breathe better seeing you lick the drops off his fingertips. Rested with his hips on the table, it creaked when you came forward, even more, hands pressed on his open thighs and reaching for his face. You finally caught his lips in yours and you let him taste the wine on your tongue.

It was rich and slightly sour, then it became sweet as only Doyoung’s taste remained lingering on his lips.

“Delicious,” he commented after the slow kiss. “You have good taste in wine.”

“And men.”

His expression was hidden under his long fringe but you could sense that he was smirking.

Then he raised his head a bit and had a gulp out of the bottle himself.

You had the first row to the show that his adam apple moving up and down gave you. Then your eyes naturally fell to his collarbones and bare chest, his white shirt barely covering anything.

Your fingers gently darted to his skin and you palmed it, then to his prominent collar bones, feeling the warmth of his chain around his neck.

He hummed, letting his head down to catch your hand with his lips. They kissed your fingertips then he finally dove in and let you taste his tongue again, hands quick to let the bottle go and grab your body instead.

Closer closer closer you needed him more and more.

“I need to feed you dinner first,” he grabbed your wrists as your hands tried to unbutton his shirt.

“If you won’t fuck me, I can find someone else to do it,” you whispered.

His eyes tightened and he exhaled once.

The movement was so quick that your head spun and the spank that arrived at your ass made you jolt on your toes before you could lean down on the table, fingers trying to grip the tablecloth.

“Yeah? I want to see you get fucked by someone else while my name spills out of your filthy mouth.”

His voice was raspy and it made you bite your lower lip, ass eager to push back and to rub against Doyoung's crotch. He hummed at your movements and lifted the shirt up to your waist, palming your skin and looking down at the way your ass cheeks engulfed your pretty lingerie. You strained your neck upwards at the feeling of his fingers slowly caressing your lower back, feeling the lace of your panties, then you whimpered as he grabbed the material and stretched it towards him before letting it go.

"You want this little hole all filled up, don't you?" he murmured, hand sliding between your thighs to rub on the soft and thin fabric. Your legs shifted in place at the sensation and you arched your back for more. The little 'Doyoung' making him exhale.

"And I thought you'd keep calling me sir."

You tried to turn your head towards him, wondering if his suddenly absent hand meant that he wanted you to actually call him that.

But then you saw that hand around you, reaching for the bucket of ice prepared for the wine on the table in front of you. And at that moment you realized that it was for you instead - his drink for the night.

The ice cube wetted his fingers when he took it out and he first placed it on your open lips. You sucked on it for a moment, the warmth of your skin already melting it, strands of water slowly descending on your chin and inside your cleavage.

"Say 'blue' and I'll stop," his voice was deep near your ear.

You nodded breathlessly and you shivered feeling his hand hover over your back.

And when you first felt it on your spine, your fingers independently grabbed the edge of the table. Then it went down and down, forcing goosebumps out of you.

Doyoung’s palm soothed your skin, warming it up before reaching to the front to grab at your hard nipples poking through the fabric. And when the cube reached your clothed core you mewled, lifting yourself on the tiptoes.

“Shit-shit-,” you curled your neck down, jolting under his touch, wanting more of it and running away at the same time.

Your panties were all wet and you were unsure if for the ice or your own body and when Doyoung took away the cube, giving you a break by gently pressing his own wet fingers between your lips you wished for the fabric to not be there anymore.

“More?” you whined, chest rising and falling at a crazy speed.

Doyoung snickered once, his hands grabbing your sides and turning you around.

Mind hazy, you didn’t have the time to wonder where the ice cube went, the only thought roaming your head being the need to pull him closer to you.

And you did just that, wrapping his waist with your thighs after he lifted you on the table with a thud, making all the cutlery and glasses jingle.

And you clasped your fingers into his hair while his hands roamed your naked body under his shirt.

It was when he pressed his cold, open lips on yours that you finally mewled, feeling the ice cube travel from his tongue to yours.

It got smaller and you sucked on it, giving it back, hearing him hum deeply into the kiss.

Then he broke it suddenly as if unable to control himself from kissing your neck instead, biting and sucking on your skin as hard as he did on the ice cube. You rolled it on your tongue until it became nothing, finally opening your lips to moan, feeling his cold touch on your breasts as his quick fingers unbuttoned the shirt.

The material of your panties grazed your legs at Doyoung’s rough pull. You watched them fly and land on the lamp behind him.

Then you felt his fingers finally rubbing your clit and you inhaled deeply. You were so horny that you were embarrassed to admit that just a few rubs would be able to throw you over the edge.

Doyoung saw it and from his expression, he was enjoying himself maybe too much.

“Come on love, cum for me,” he murmured on your open lips. You whined, nail digging into his shoulders and you shook your head.

“You’ve been begging me for an orgasm and now you want to be a brat about it?”

His hand worked quicker and when he inserted one of his long and slender fingers inside, you actually moaned loudly.

“Sir-” the title slipped from your shaking lips and he chuckled against your cheek, pushing another one and curling them both, pressing into you and trying to find the sweetest spots you had.

“Right here?” he whispered amused.

You start swearing, moulding his biceps under your tight grip, the table and everything on it shaking at the fast pace of Doyoung’s pumping.

And then it was too much and it overflowed.

The gasp you emitted made you fall forwards. Your arms wrapped Doyoung’s body tightly as you came in spasms, legs trying hard to meet each other around his wrist but pressing into his sides instead.

Doyoung let you whine a little bit more, hand slowing down but never stopping, fucking you through your orgasms as long as he could. Then your jaw got grabbed by his other hand and he lifted your face to meet his gaze. His eyes caressed your fucked up expression before kissing your lips.

"Good girl. I know you can give me another one."

You gripped his shoulders for dear life as Doyoung's fingers came back outside to desperately rub at your over-sensitive clit.

��Doyoung-Doyoung-” you writhed in his hold before he could slip away from your arms and fall on his knees.

You’ve gotten head before, but this time, maybe for the overstimulation or your secret feelings for that man, it felt like the first time ever.

Not knowing what to grab to steady yourself as his tongue danced in circles around your engorged clit, you buried your hands in his hair. His hands pressed into the softness of your thighs just as hard and when he raised his gaze up to look at you from underneath his messy fringe, you felt like falling.

And you almost fell when he resorted to quick short licks that drove you insane, making you cum for the second time in such a short time to make you lightheaded.

The single fuck got prolonged as much as the orgasm Doyoung gave you and when he started to kiss your inner thighs, coming up towards you, on your stomach, pressing his wet open lips on your skin until meeting your breasts, you were ready to admit that you were madly in love with him.

His kiss felt as if you were underwater, unable to breathe and understand space. You felt his arms around you and suddenly you felt weightless and he carried you around until you felt the velvet of the couches underneath you and his body pressed flushed on yours. His waist got automatically wrapped by your legs again as if that were their place and they weren’t aware of it before.

He slipped his hands on your hips, grabbing your ass hard as he murmured against your lips. “Are you going to be a brat with me again?”

His voice was calm but deep as if a storm was incoming, making your knees feel weak.

“Words,” he spoke again, pressing himself a little more between your legs.

You breathed out.

“I don’t know,” you managed to say before pushing him away. He fell to the side, grip softened mostly for the surprise than your strength.

“Are you going to be a brat to me?” you asked, straddling his lap and pressing your palms on his stomach, going up on his hot skin and lifting his shirt until he couldn’t do anything else than take it off.

Then his hands found their way on your skin too, unmercifully squeezing your soft breasts. He didn’t care to be gentle and lifting himself up he sucked on your skin so hard until it was almost painful. You wrapped your arms around his torso and threw your head back, stretching out your neck. He left bites all over it, travelling down, tightening his teeth grip around your nipples, making you pant softly.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied.

He looked at you from underneath his fringe and you smiled at each other. You caressed his stomach from below his belly button and going up until reaching his collarbones and he leaned back on his elbows to support his weight. He followed your hand going down on him then his eyes shifted their focus to watch how your pelvis started to move back and forth on his sweatpants, right on top of his hard cock.

“Mm,” he exhaled as finally getting some relief and you imitated him. You placed your hands on his shoulders and closed your eyes and Doyoung flexed his thigh muscles.

He was enjoying seeing you like that, vulnerable and whiny, needy and horny, while he did nothing to help you with it and leaving you desperate.

His eyes caressed your whole body, his lips parted slightly at the sight of your breasts bouncing softly, at how you were spreading yourself on him. You felt hot and plump, your thoughts were blurry and foggy.

"Look at you," he talked. “What a cute little slut.”

You replied with a whine, locking eyes with him but not being able to do that for a long time as his gaze pierced through you, adding to the sensation his pants gave to your raw clit.

So you kissed his lips, messily and sloppily, breathing on his mouth and he finally caressed your thighs and ass, pressing you down even more and closer to him.

Your arms got tighter around his neck and he buried his face into your chest. His hair tickled your chin and you intertwined your fingers into his locks.

So close to cum, you closed your eyes and just let yourself go, your rhythm lost, your muscles aching, without expecting Doyoung's fingers to suddenly get inside of you.

You squeezed yourself onto him with a cry.

"I repeat. Are you going to behave again as you did today?" you heard him ask as his fingers pumped fast into you.

"No, no, oh fuck, please, no," you managed to answer while gasping for air.

"I'm going to-" you whimpered about to orgasm and Doyoung at that moment got you off of him, pushing you down on your back and lifting your legs around him, edging you.

"You're going to cum when I say so," he commented. "You're lucky I'm even giving it to you at all today," he added.

You bit your lower lip frustrated.

"Babe, please-" you begged.

He smiled brightly at the sudden pet name, shushing you as he began to kiss your legs from the knees down, going lightly on the inside of your thigh, making you twitch as he approached your dripping pussy. But he passed over, nudging at it with his nose just to make you jolt and kissed your lower stomach, passing his tongue on the spots he bit before and continued until reaching your lips.

Then, getting on his knees he finally got rid of his pants and underwear.

You felt your core pulsing at the sight and breathed heavily. He tugged at your legs, dragging you until the back of your thighs touched his hips and holding himself he nudged at your entrance. You let your arms fall around your head and bit down on your hand as his tip caressed your clit.

"Doyoung," you whined as your muscles jolted intermittently. You then felt his fingers drag on your leg until grabbing your knee and putting it on his shoulders he humped your folds.

You let your head fall back into the couch, exposing your neck and making your breasts tighten.

It was too much. You just wanted him to penetrate you and to make you scream.

"I want to cum so badly, please," you begged again.

But he acted as if not being able to hear from you.

Your muscles twitched in pain and you lifted yourself to meet him. He pushed you down and distanced himself.

"Behave," he warned.

You looked at his half-closed eyes and plump lips as he bit it with his teeth.

He was suffering as well. He couldn't take it anymore, you could tell.

And when you took your hand to your mouth and licked two fingers, slowly, without breaking eye contact he gasped.

You were about to suck on them, you wanted to see him going crazy, but you didn't manage to as he penetrated you right at that moment, quick and deep, with a grunt.

"Fuck," he swore picking up the pace until the wet sounds overwhelmed the storm.

_________

It was dark. The only light came from the fireplace bathing the living room with a red and yellow hue.

You were both sprawled on the rug under fuzzy blankets.

"Come sit on my face. Show me where I belong."

Doyoung’s voice was a low buzz, imitating the storm still going on as it has been the whole night.

You rolled your eyes to the side amused, ignoring his warm hand palming your knee, nudging you to come closer.

“You still want to go? I can’t cum again,” you pouted.

“But I want you to cum,” he pouted as well.

You sighed and gently got on top of him with the intent of ignoring him and finally fall asleep.

But his expression changed when you were near enough. “I want you to be completely fucked up when I’m done with you.”

You lifted one hand to cup his cheek and kissed his nose.

He blinked at you amused.

“I love it when you smile like this,” you whispered.

The dying flames danced on his face as he stared at you for a few moments.

Then you clicked your tongue.

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t get all dark and distant.”

Doyoung exhaled. “I am not.”

“There’s so much to be proud of, don’t you think?” Your fingers gently started to draw patters on his forehead, going down on his eyes as he closed them, then on his cheeks. He opened his eyelids again after the touch and you talked again.

“Like striving to do good. Trying. Surviving.”

His lips opened to let out a small puff of warm air. Then he hugged you tighter and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

You exhaled too, closing your eyes and lulling his exhausted soul.

“I am so proud of you,” you whispered but you didn’t know if he heard you.

_________

You woke up in Doyoung's bed.

It was huge, warm and it smelled like his laundry detergent. The sheets were soft and luscious, caressing your naked body as you shifted underneath them to look to the side.

Your eyelids fluttered and your lips turned their corners up.

Fighting the urge to squeal and hide your face inside the pillow, you resorted to admire Doyoung's sleeping face.

Resting on his stomach with raised arms thrown around his head, only his eyes and ruffled hair poked out behind his bicep and shoulder. And when he slowly opened one puffy eye you giggled and it curved, showing that he was smiling too.

"Good morning," you whispered.

Doyoung sighed once first. "It's probably afternoon."

His sleepy voice made your body heat up and without thinking you just got closer. He turned on his side and wrapped your body with his arms, pulling you closer to his chest.

"Did you sleep well?" he murmured.

"Like a baby. You exhausted me enough."

The little kiss he placed on top of your head was so unexpected to make you lift your face.

He smiled.

"You inspire so much tenderness in me,” he explained timidly.

You smiled back, resting your chest on his. His hands automatically wrapped your sides as if they've always belonged there.

"I'm glad I'm softening your edges. Now you need to behave like this with everyone else too."

"You want me to kiss the whole hospital on the forehead?"

"Metaphorically."

"Also, I thought you loved my hard edges," he purred, shifting your body to fully rest on top of his.

His hard cock deliciously poked your clit with its tip as his hands slowly made you roll on it.

You exhaled and leaned down, rubbing your lips on his as you whispered. "I do."

His smirk was lazy just like your movements.

"So you want me just like this?"

“I want you. I want everything you are. I want everything that you hide.”

Your hands caressed his chest and came to cup his face. His expression wavered and you found him so vulnerable all of a sudden to make your guts twist.

“Unleash the darkness that you have inside. Engulf me with it. I am not afraid. I want it.”

Doyoung wrapped your body tightly and pressed you down on himself even more.

"There's no darkness inside of me anymore. Not when you're around me."

__________

From “I will not vanish” - Haechan’s backstory

The heavy door opened and closed.

Doyoung looked over his shoulder to see a stranger approach him with slow feet. He raised his eyes and gave Doyoung a small nod.

The other did the same and when the stranger aligned himself with Doyoung, looking over the cold city, they both exhaled.

The silence was so deep, safe for the ambulances screaming in the distance that Doyoung found himself restless.

The stranger leaned on the rail, resting his weight on the elbows and sighed again.

“You know,” he started.

Doyoung looked at him with the corner of his eyes.

“What I like about life,” he paused, “is that you can die.”

The stranger bit his lower lip for a moment then looked over to the other. His gaze felt so heavy that Doyoung’s arms skin got goosebumps.

“Imagine being immortal,” the man continued before letting out a dry snicker.

“Around forever. A pathetic being with no reason to exist besides existence itself. Forever and forever and forever. With no purpose. Until you’d beg someone to kill you but they can’t.”

Doyoung’s fingers twitched on the cold metal of the terrace rail and for a moment his rational mind wanted to ask that stranger just what nonsense he was talking about.

But lately, Doyoung and rationality didn’t match well so he didn’t.

“Immortality sucks only if you’re the only immortal one.”

The stranger smiled bitterly. “Do you want to be immortal?”

Doyoung put his hands inside the gown’s pockets. “I’d die tomorrow.”

“But you wish immortality was a thing.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t have a job anymore,” Doyoung smiled. “But yes. I wish people didn’t die.”

“You’re very selfish.”

That remark made Doyoung frown. “How’s that selfish?”

The stranger turned around and rested his back on the rail instead.

“Why do you want people to not die?”

“Because-,” Doyoung started but didn’t know what to add. “Because it’s painful.”

“For them or you?”

Doyoung sighed. “Okay. I see what you’re doing here.”

The stranger smiled a little.

“It’s not like I think only of myself when others die. I think how unfair it is when I know they didn’t have the chance to do everything they wanted to do first.”

“And what’s that?”

Doyoung thought about it for a moment. “Just- living. Experiences. And most of them actually had enough time to do it. They just took it for granted. And it’s so- painful.”

“And what about you? If you said that you’d be ready to die tomorrow, I guess you’ve been living your life to the fullest with no regrets.”

“Actually, I don’t know if I’ve been living all of this time.”

The stranger shrugged. “Just start now.”

“You make it seem so easy.”

“Living? Hell yeah. You just need to give less fucks.”

Doyoung didn’t reply.

“If you’re ready to die tomorrow, then you should not be afraid of living.”

The stranger’s tone deepened and Doyoung looked his way.

“Who are you by the way?”

“Oh,” the stranger straightened his back and extended his hand. “I’m Haechan. Nice to meet you.”

Doyoung imitated him and shook his hand.

It was warm and in a moment so many thoughts came to Doyoung’s mind to make him breathless.

"I thought I had my life figured out and yet after meeting you I got shocked into awareness."

"You inspire so much tenderness in me."

“I became obsessed with you and it scares me.”

“You could have just told me. You could have told me that you fell apart. Instead, you acted like it didn't bother you at all.”

“You are worth the wait.”

“I can't let go of you.”

Doyoung took away his hand so quickly to almost fall backwards.

He took a few steps on the concrete of the terrace as if trying to get as far from Haechan as possible.

“You good?” the other asked but his face wasn’t mirroring his question.

Instead, a plain expression was adorning his feline features and for an instant, Doyoung felt terror.

“You’re not Haechan,” he found himself whispering.

The man in front of him cracked his knuckles once. “And who’s Haechan?”

“My friend.”

“Friend? Is someone that uses somebody else a friend?”

“He’s not using me.”

“Isn’t he now?”

The man started to walk towards Doyoung slowly, one finger on the rail, grating at the metal with his nail.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Doyoung?”

Doyoung flinched at his name on that man’s lips and started to retreat slowly.

“I do.”

“Soulmates are people that always find each other regardless of everything, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And are you and Y/N soulmates if Haechan is always there forcing you together like some sort of cheap mismatcher?” the man spit out the last words.

Doyoung gulped and his brain tried to remember how he punched him in some past life and actually win. His surgeon hands would definitely get broken in a second.

“Don’t you want to break this cycle? Find your true soulmate?”

“That’s Y/N.”

“Because you say so.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your orthodox theory, Archangel.”

The man stretched his neck to the side and Doyoung didn't have the time to run away.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #neosmutcollective #nct-writers #nct smut #doyoung angst #nct angst #nct fanfiction #doyoung fanfiction #nct doyoung #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #soulmates collection #doyoung doctor au #nct doctor au

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hyunjilicious · 4 years ago

Text

the set up [chris evans]

A/n: this is the reworked version of an older fic that I wrote!!! I loved the vibe so I didn’t want to allow it to get lost in the void!!

Summary: Some mutual friends decide you and Chris would make a cute couple and decide to set you two up!! (SMUT) 6.4k

Warmings: smut, unprotected sex and they also just met so I strongly advise you to not follow their example, oral (both), brief mentions of spanking, hair pulling and dirty talk. It’s chill y’all.

This is a standalone fic, and not part of any series!

“If this girl-”

“She’s great!” Scott cut Chris off harshly, already above tired of his brother’s endless flow of nasty comments.

“I feel uncomfortable doing this!” Chris protested again from the passenger’s seat, shifting around, eyes fixed on the road ahead, “At least tell me what she’s like!”

“Gorgeous” Scott belted, nodding his head to accentuate his point, “Smart as fuck so you better control yourself” he said so sternly, not even a drop of sarcasm escaping his lips, “She’s also into old music so you can talk to her about that? Kind of-”

“So then- God this is still weird” Chris sighed, rubbing his hands across his face, not used to the idea of being set up with a girl. Maybe he wouldn’t be as terrified and nervous if all his friends hadn’t been constantly going off about how great you were, because considering their history, Chris was sure there was something horrible Scott forgot to mention.

“God what the- oh no!” you managed to exclaim as your feet ran laps around your bedroom, “How the fuck do you forget to mention he’s Chris Evans?”

“Calm down” Anne sighed burying her face into the scattered pillows around your bed, “Seriously, that doesn’t change anything, we’re all meeting in a pub, I promise you, it will be fine” she added, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Like I’m not awkward enough around idiots...” you complained again, walking to your friend to zip up your short dark blue dress. “I got this” you said as you felt the material tighten around your body, giving you a well-deserved boost in confidence.

Seated at the round table, you were so absorbed by the conversation that was being held that you failed to realize the two tall boys that approached your booth. Chris’s presence made something inside of you shift; and it wasn’t only the tingly sensation in your stomach at the sight of him, you also felt your walls build up, blocking all the confidence you ever had.

“Hi, (Y/n), right?” he greeted you, extending his arm.

With a shy smile on your lips, you stood up to shake his hand. As if your already existent butterflies didn’t exhaust you enough, his liquid touch managed to send shivers in waves, propagating across your whole body, reaching places you didn’t know could buzz like that. Chris sat down next to you, and after every time you told him something, you mentally scolded yourself for not participating more; for letting the shy side of you take control tonight.

“OK guys, next round, what would you like?” Dan, a friend of yours, raised his voice in order to get your attention as a waiter made his way to your table again.

“Vodka rocks please” you said when it came your turn, and your cheeks couldn’t help but burst into flames when Chris’s head snapped in your direction. That’s what you always had, your always go-to and everyone knew it, but to him it was new, and it certainly didn’t fit the appearance you put on.

The first part of the night flew by smoothly, at least in your opinion. If before Chris arrived you were leaning over the table trying to make a point to one of your friends, now you barely managed to gather enough courage to express your point of view in a completely trivial discussion. Maybe it was the alcohol you had ingested but you were pretty sure Chris’s eyes lingered on your bare shoulders or your lips as you talked, more than once and more than just for a second. All these thoughts, that maybe he found you attractive, maybe he cared what you had to say, everything that roamed through your head made you even more self-conscious, afraid your next action or words would let him down.

“Everybody up, I love this song” Anne commanded jumping to her feet. When you shook your head and explained that you’d rather sit through the first few songs she was quick to object. “Come on!”

“I swear, I’ll be there in 5 minutes” you promised your friend, but you were sure that what made her let you have your way was the fact that her favorite song was approaching its end and she was wasting her time at the table.

After everyone stood up and moved to the dance floor, you realized Chris hadn’t; he was on his phone, making the situation even more awkward than it had to be. You took another long sip of your drink, looking around the carefully decorated rustic pub you were in, before finally turning to him, and taping his forearm.

“Don’t you wanna dance?” you asked

“Yeah I do-” he muttered looking back and forth between you and the screen of his phone, “Just a second”

You tucked your hands under your legs, shamelessly studying his side profile. You could tell his eyebrows were slightly furrowed and the moment one of his hands traveled up to scratch the bridge of his nose, you unconsciously tilted your head to get a better view.

“Aren’t you going?” he chuckled after realizing you’ve been staring, pulling you out of your thoughts; everything about his attitude making your insides turn in embarrassment.

“I was wait- No, I’ll go-” you mumbled, preparing to stand up before his hand flew to your knee to stop you.

“No, actually don’t go, just a second” Chris said, still concentrated on his phone, apparently trying to get rid of the distraction as soon as possible. Your eyes worked their way up from his long fingers that were pressed flush against your skin, to his silver watch, further up his forearm, studying the thick veins that were protruding through his skin, to the halfway rolled up sleeve of the black shirt that wrapped itself so perfectly around his frame. You nodded when he told you to wait for him, but he had already turned his head and now you wondered if you seemed off, but before you managed to over analyze everything, he let go of your leg and tucked his phone in his back pocket.

“I’m so sorry about that” he said leaving his seat and turning, “After you”

You happily followed his actions, stepping beside him, as he placed his hand on your back, bringing you closer as you made your way to your group. After joining the small circle your friends created, you distanced yourself from Chris a little in order to have more room to dance, even if all you were actually doing was swaying and waving your hands around your body. Chris turned out to be as inexperienced as you were, his moves basically consisting of shifting his weight from one leg to the other to the beat of the unfamiliar song that was playing. The atmosphere changed soon enough, as “I got my mind set on you” started echoing through the speakers, bringing a well awaited smile on your lips. As the first lyric repeated itself a few times, you filled yourself with all the good energy of the song, your feet elegantly dancing, as if they had a mind of their own.

“Hey” you heard Chris call softly moments before he grabbed your hand to turn you around. You welcomed him with a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, careful to keep a decent amount of space between your bodies.

“Whole lotta spendin’ money” you mouthed the words, as his own hands sneaked behind you to pull you closer.

“You like George Harrison?” Chris asked smugly, remembering what Brian said about your love for old music.

“Isn’t he everyone’s favorite beatle?” you answered, extracting yourself from his hold and doing a childish pirouette before coming back against his chest.

“George Harrison is no one’s favorite Beatle” Chris retorted confused.

“That’s Ringo” you corrected him, “But I have no idea what everyone has against him”

With a shrug of his shoulders signaling his lack of an answer, he sighed heavily, his hot breath reaching your lips, before he spoke again, “Then who’s your favorite?”

“Who do you think?” you played, tilting your head to the side.

“McCartney?” Chris asked hopeful, biting his lower lip as he waited for your answer.

“Nah, Lennon” you chuckled, “Actually no- I don’t even know, I’m not even that big of a Beatles fan”. Your honest answer was as unexpected as it could be and judging by the smirk that made its way across Chris’s lips, you knew he appreciated the way you played it. “Do you like them?”

“They’re alright I guess-” Chris trailed off feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. You smiled kindly taking a step back in order to give him privacy, just in case he needed it. However, you didn’t get to distance yourself too much before he wrapped one of his arms around you from behind, and settled his chin on your shoulder. You were taken aback by his gesture, as from this position you could easily see everything displayed on his screen, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m really sorry about this but I wouldn’t answer if I didn't absolutely have to,” Chris explained as his thumb worked its way around the screen. His hot breath hit the bare skin of your neck and shoulder, and you just turned your head, pressing your forehead against his temple; the fire between your legs not allowing you to stay still anymore.

You felt his cheeks gather up a smile under your touch, and you remained like that for a few more seconds as he finished typing. Once he was done, Chris locked his phone and secured his arm around you, turning his head slowly to meet your gaze. You welcomed him with a smile of your own, but in contrast with the sweetness that was plastered on his features, yours held a more fervid kind of feeling. He was the one to close the distance, his strong hold around your frame tightening as his mouth pressed softly against yours. You felt delight bubble inside you under the careful weight of his touch, and you soon felt his tongue trace slowly along your bottom lip, begging. Doing your best not to break the kiss, you turned around in his hold and planted yourself against his chest, this time not waiting for him anymore, diving in directly, going after what was yours. Soon, one of his hands traveled up your spine to grab the back of your head, his actions growing more and more rapturous with every single grunt that escaped his throat.

Judging by the fact that three hours later your dance moves were just as elegant as they were before, you decided to grab one last drink before making your way home. With your arms folded and elbows rested on the bar, you were waiting for an employer to notice you when you felt Chris’s hands on your waist as he placed a quick peck on your cheek before plopping down on the stool to your left. He spread his knees wide apart and pulled you between his legs.

“Vodka, rocks” he said before gesturing with his hand to the waiter to bring two drinks, “How long would you have waited?” he asked, turning his attention back to you. Sarcasm was dripping off his lips, as his lazy eyes didn’t miss any detail of your features.

“It wasn’t my turn yet” you protested

“You know it doesn’t work like that, don’t you?”

“I think it does”

A tight-lipped grin appeared on his features helping his cheekbones stick out ever more under the warm, dim lights of the bar. His boyish charm may have been amplified by the way his chest hair peaked through the open buttons of his shirt, and you were all for it. You pressed your lips to his and he didn’t wait a second to reciprocate your actions, the kiss feeling as natural as if you had known each other for ages.

“Copying me?” you giggled after the bartender brought your drinks, interrupting the two of you.

“Inspired? I’m inspired!” Chris chuckled before taking a sip.

“Drunk, that’s what you are,” you answered, mocking his state, a state you weren’t far from either.

“Nah” he countered, “I’m just feeling good!”. Belting the words he threw his head back, confirming your assumption, and also giving you perfect access to the skin of his neck, which you didn’t hesitate to attack with rough kisses and soft bites. His attitude changed in an instant, becoming a weak mess under you, “Oh god, (Y/n)” you heard him moan into your ear as you worked your magic along his jugular.

Realization hit you suddenly, and remembering you were still in a public place you detached yourself from Chris and grabbed his hand to pull him back to your group.

“Are you seriously doing me like that?” Chris complained following you, fingers intertwined.

“Sorry, I got carried away”

Your night out didn’t last much longer after that, as the tension between you and Chris reached the point where none of you was willing to deny it anymore. After saying your goodbyes, you headed out through the front door and made your way to the main street in search of a cab. Despite having gathered up the courage to go to his place, the whole car ride was perfectly silent as your head quietly rested on his shoulder.

Once inside the apartment, his lips found yours faster than he had found his keys less than 5 seconds before. With your back pressed against the door while Chris sucked mercilessly on the skin of your neck, you managed to get a quick glimpse of the city lights poking through his huge window, setting an even more intoxicating atmosphere than before. You lost yourself under his touch, feeling his hot body wrapped around yours as his hands roamed shamelessly over the thin material of your dress.

Sighing, you pushed him off of you, “Bedroom” you whispered and after giving you a quick nod, Chris dived back in for a kiss, grabbing your waist and guiding you through his dark home and into his room. You sat down on the bed, as he knelt in front of you on the floor, taking your feet into his lap to undo your sandals.

“God” he muttered annoyed, as the strap refused to come undone. Giggling, you leaned forward to take them off yourself, appreciating the gesture and loving his cuteness. After getting rid of your high heels, you grabbed Chris’s collar as you leaned on your back, pulling him on top of you. This time his hands didn’t hesitate as they found their way to your ass in no time.

“You have no idea what you did to me in that dress” Chris grunted against your lips as his fingers dug roughly into your skin. He traveled down your body, peppering kisses down your chest, before resuming his position on his knees on the floor.

“Spread your legs for me” he commanded and you obliged, crawling to the end of the bed, settling your legs on each side of his frame. His hands caressed your thighs passionately, inching closer to your heat causing your breath to fasten. Chris lifted up your dress, and pushed you to lay on your back.

“Oh god” you whimpered, feeling exposed and completely vulnerable. As you leaned your head to the side and closed your eyes, the feeling of Chris’s wet lips centimeters away from your core caused you to buck your hips in surprise as he started paving his way along your thigh with soft kisses.

“You want this?”

“Please” you begged suggestively

“Look at me” he demanded in a new harsh deep tone that sent shivers down your spine. You raised your head and looked down at Chris, who upon making eye contact, tapped your hips twice. You took the hint and propped your feet on the wooden edge of the bed as he circled his fingers around the sides of your underwear, pulling it down your legs in one swift motion.

After settling back into his position, Chris probed your folds with his thumb, smiling, more to himself, pride most likely pumping through his veins at the sight of his effect on you. He finally leaned down, his mouth volunteering to take his fingers spot, as he teased his way to your clit.

“Chris-!” you hissed at the feeling of his wet tongue working carefully on your bundle of nerves.

“Mmm..mm” he hummed lowly against your sensitive spot, the vibrations of his lips adding to your pleasure, “So fucking sweet”. His voice was hurried, as he lifted his head only for a second in order to look at you. His hands came around your thighs, as he released some of his own tension by vehemently slapping and gripping your skin.

With every lap Chris worked on your clit, a painful need inside of you to spill out profanity after profanity only grew bigger, but you managed to control yourself.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” he asked smugly, and before managing to give a decent answer, you felt one of his fingers enter you slowly.

“I- Uh, god” you cried out, arching your back as your left hand flew down so you could curl your fingers around and pull on the elegant collar of his shirt. Feeling every muscle in your body tense as your hips quivered uncontrollably, you secured Chris in his place by bringing your other hand too into his hair. Realizing how on the edge you were, he added another finger, swirling them against your wall, as his lips maintained the same avid pace around your clit. Impossible to tell how much longer it took, but most likely in a matter of seconds your orgasm came thundering down on you, curling your toes as the muscles of your legs trembled furiously. Chris kept going until you let your body fall flush against his bed, when he came up to your level.

Your eyes were closed, still enjoying the last waves of bliss that traveled along your legs as he teasingly caressed your cheeks with his lips and the tip of his nose.

Coming back to your senses, you gripped his neck, wrapping your legs around his middle, pressing him down against you. His mouth slowly met yours, igniting sparkles in your chest as he tugged on your lower lip before allowing your tongue to meet his’.

After pulling away, Chris straightened up at the edge of the bed and started working on undressing himself. The metal clicking of his belt buckle prompted you to suck in a long breath, smiling to yourself at how this man could make you feel so much, as you were already craving more.

You steadied yourself on your knees and crawled over to Chris, turning your back at him and getting your hair out of the way. He didn’t waste a second before getting back to you and pulling down your zipper of your dress, which allowed his hands to roam freely under the thin material. His fingers softly caressed your sides before sneaking to the front and cupping your breasts as his lips found your neck again. He lowered himself forward, pushing you down on the bed on your stomach and climbed on top of you.

Feeling his lips burn icy tracks along your shoulders, you pushed yourself up, flipping the two of you over. You slipped out of your dress fast and straddled his hips, not caring the slightest bit about being in any way seductive; you already had him. Under you, panting in anticipation, long fingers digging mercilessly into the smooth skin of your thighs.

Your lips were again on his’, working slowly, doing your best to tease him and push his buttons. Your hands traced his sides, making their way up his body,

“Yes, fuck” Chris whined. He had managed to take off his dark shirt before you distracted him, so he was now laying on the bed, half naked with his jeans undone, waiting for you.

You slowly lifted yourself off of him and tugged at his pants, pulling them down with a little bit of help from him.

“Tell me Chris” you teased looking up at him, your face inches away from his erect cock, “You want this?”. Following your question, you licked your lips as they fell into a one sided grin.

Squeezing his eyes shut as his head went from side to side, Chris chuckled bitterly at the taste of his own medicine, “Show me what you can do”

You placed one of your hands at the top of his thigh and lowered yourself even more, maintaining the eye contact as you carefully lifted him up. With your fingers wrapped around his cock, your lips barely brushed his base before you made your way lower.

“Fuck- fuck, (Y/n)” Chris hissed, bucking his hips violently at the way you kept pushing him. He brought his hand to the top of your head, his thumb softly caressing your hair as you worked on his balls.

At an agonizingly slow pace, your hand made its way up his length and when you reached his tip, your fingers continued teasing.

“Fu- take me in your mouth, baby” he tried to demand but under your burning stare, his words came out more as a plea, a struggling moan.

You gave him a false approving nod before you licked your way up his dick, wrapped your puckered lips around his end and sucked harshly a few, short times. When his head flew black as he white knuckled the sheets, you took it as your cue to stop.

“Hey Chris” you whispered as you let his cock fall against his stomach and you climbed on top of him.

A weak chuckle escaped his lips as he tried to smile when he realized the way you were going to play this. You leaned down to his level and slipped two fingers into his mouth before gripping his chin tightly and engulfing his lips in a fervid kiss. After caressing their way up and down your thighs, his hands settled on your ass, gripping tightly as he pushed himself up to meet your core.

You lowered yourself to add to his pleasure, your tongues not parting as you started pressing down on his cock.

“Please?” you teased, your hot breath hitting his damp lips.

“You’re not going there” he stated, his dominant side starting to show as his expression darkened.

“No?” you asked guiding one of your hands between your bodies, against his hard abdomen, wrapping your fingers around his dick. You nodded your head ‘no’ as you pumped him slowly, his squinted eyes prompting a smirk to appear on your lips. You had him; no matter what he said, you could go anywhere you wanted, “No, I’m not”

You guided his tip to your folds, slipping around him without any kind of warning. Straightening your back and supporting your weight by gluing your hands to his stomach, your hips started working in circular motions along his cock. You let your head fall forward before you pushed all your hair to one side, in order to be able to look him in the eyes. His body was responding to your actions, as he kept pushing himself up in sync with your movements.

It didn’t take long before you felt your second orgasm approach, and lost in the moment, you didn’t realize Chris took notice of the choked back whimpers that escaped your throat.

“Hey gorgeous” he grunted, his big hands digging holes into your waist, “As much as I love this-” he tried to speak but ended up concentrating all his energy into picking you up and flipping the both of you over, “-this is what I want right now”. He finished his sentence with a harsh whisper in your year from behind, as you struggled to maintain your balance on your elbows under his weight.

You smiled to yourself feeling his wet, hot chest against your naked back, before he rapidly guided himself inside of you.

“Mmh- Chris-” you moaned feeling his hands roam around your body as he maintained his avid pace.

“Taking me so well, hm?” he hummed in your ear. After caressing your cheek clumsily, Chris trailed his hand on the side of your head, his fingers losing themselves in your hair as he tugged back, forming a makeshift ponytail. The forcefulness of his touch caused you to tilt your head, eyes gluing to the ceiling as he grunted in your ear.

“Hell ugh-” you screamed as your body rocked back and forth under his’.

“Who would’ve thought?” he growled, exploring the skin of your neck with his lips as he kept your head back, “The way you act- so sweet and innocent, but then you down vodkas and take my cock like a good little slut”. Chris’s words were carelessly spilling out of his mouth, the pleasure of each thrust giving him more and more trouble forming coherent sentences, “Fuck, (Y/n)-”.

He let go of your hair in order to steady himself, as his movements became sloppier and angrier by the second, “Sh- Chris!-” you yelled gripping the sheets into your fists to keep yourself up, even though one of his arms was wrapped around your abdomen. “I’m so close, fuck, Chris!” you exclaimed again, letting your head fall against your shoulder.

He moved his hand to grip your ass tightly, before detaching it and then sending it to connect forcefully with your butt cheek again, causing a loud slap to accompany both your moans.

It’s all a blur what happened after that; his fingers kept digging into your skin hard as he was enjoying his high, the loud profanities he screamed sending you over the horizon. You soon went limp in his hold, but he didn’t pull out until he placed a loving kiss between your shoulder blades. Your whole body was trembling, from your lower lip to the tip of your toes, but the way he was still inside you as his lips carefully treated your skin, still managed to electrify your mind.

After that your night didn’t last much longer. A fragile amount of comfortable small talk emerged as you both settled under the covers but your mind was somewhere else. You had a lot of fun with him and your heart ached when you thought that this was a only one night stand after all. With your gaze getting lost in the darkness of his room, you found yourself fighting the urge to snuggle into him. As much as you wanted it, as bad of an idea you thought it was. Chris was laying on his stomach with his head in your direction, as you rested on your back. Honestly, you hoped he’d make the first move and pull you closer but he didn’t so you pushed your thoughts away. Or at least you tried. After saying your 'good night’s, much to your surprise, Chris’s hand found yours under the covers as he started to lazily play with your fingers. You smiled to yourself a little even though you knew he couldn’t see it. Your palm was against the sheets as he softly rubbed your thumb with his own. This didn’t help, all it managed to do was make you want to cuddle into his side even more, to rest your head in the crook of his neck and to fall asleep listening to his heart beat. Though none of those things happened, you managed to fall asleep on your own, despite the fact that the few inches of space between your bodies was killing you.

Surprisingly, at one point during the night you woke up. This time you were laying on your side, and it took you a couple of seconds to realise what it was that disrupted your sleep. You turned your head slowly to peak over your shoulder, and you physically felt your soul break. Chris was cuddled into your back, his whole body pressed against yours as his face was tucked into the back of your neck. You didn’t mind it, but the simple fact that his arms were gathered around himself and not around you, made it all clear. He was shivering in his sleep as the night breeze made its way in through the window that somehow was left open, and as you apparently had hogged all the covers, his pair of boxers failed to keep him warm.

“Shit” you muttered to yourself, turning around and doing your best to wrap the blanket around him. Your warm hand connected to his freezing shoulder in a pathetic attempt to warm him up, and instinctively, moments later, Chris wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You didn’t fight him this time, you just helped him cuddle into your chest before you fell back asleep.

Ironically enough, in the morning, you woke up to Chris pulling the blanket higher up your body. You didn’t open your eyes immediately as it took you a moment to come back to reality. Right now, you were facing him but not one inch of your body was touching his. When you finally looked at Chris, he was resting against the headboard, typing away on his phone. You wondered how long he must’ve been awake for but judging by his squinted eyes, you figured that not for too long.

“What time is it?” you finally mumbled

“Shit, I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said. He turned to look at you apologetically, but a smile still made its way to his lips as soon as his eyes landed on your figure, “It’s 10:12”

“Why are you awake?” you asked, not moving a muscle.

“My phone kept ringing, I have no idea how that didn’t wake you up”

You just shrugged your shoulders and crawled a bit closer to him before closing your eyes again.

“You can go back to sleep” he whispered, lowering himself to be at the same level as you.

“No, it’s ok” you protested, bringing your arms over your head to stretch, “I just need a minute”

He settled under the covers mirroring your position. His tired eyes matched his tired smile, and his cheek squished against the pillow made him all the more adorable, “I could make you breakfast, do you want some?”

Your stomach was begging for food, but this wasn’t an offer you expected. The dudes you’ve had hook ups with like this one, usually woke up horny and then that was it.

“Oh, yees, thank you”

“I could make you pancakes, like they do in movies” he offered chuckling in his groggy morning voice.

“Pancakes…” you repeated content, mouth starting to water at the thought.

“You can sleep some more while I make them,” he suggested.

“No” you argued, rolling into your back, “I’m coming with you, the girl makes breakfast in movies”

Chris raised himself up, prompting his weight on his elbow as he hovered over you with a bitter smirk on his lips, “The girl usually leaves before the boy wakes up”

His words stung a bit, “Are you trying to kick me out?”

“God, no!” he exclaimed, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. Finally something. “That’s just what usually happens”. He was weirdly right, that was what you did most of the time too, but apparently not today.

“I guess” you agreed, looking into his big brown eyes. Before allowing the situation to slip into a direction you weren’t too fond of, you stood up on the bed, “Can you give me a shirt, please?”

“Of course” he said in an instant, jumping up from the bed and running to his closet. “This one ok?” he asked, showing you a navy blue one with long sleeves.

“Yeah” you smiled, extending your arm to grab it.

“Or this one?” he suggested again, this time a black t-shirt in his hands.

“Chris, give me the black one” you laughed before he had the opportunity to offer you another one to choose from.

You hurried to pull it over your head as he put on some gray sweatpants, and then you both left for the kitchen.

“Is this the bathroom?” you asked, pointing to a door right next to the one just came from.

“Yeah, but no” he laughed grabbing your shoulders and turning you in a different direction, “Go to that one” he gestured towards another door on the opposite side of the hallway, “This one is messy”

You wanted to protest for a second, as you were curious and maybe you wanted to snoop a little, but eventually nodded and went where he told you.

“Do you have Nutella or some kind of chocolate?” you asked, eyeing the pancakes.

“Um, no..” he mumbled, “But I can go grab some”

“What? No!”

“It’s just around the corner, I’ll be back in like 5 minutes”

“I was just asking” you giggled, grabbing his wrist, pulling him towards the table.

“It would take me-”

“Chris, no” you laughed, this time your tone was more serious.

He eventually caved, and you sat down to eat. The conversation picked up instantly and not for one second did it feel forced or uncomfortable. The awkwardness of getting too close to him disappeared immediately, as when you were halfway done, he pulled you into his lap, to demonstrate how a proper pancake should be eaten. Maple syrup and strawberry jam got everywhere but it wasn’t like any of you cared. Unlike last night, his lips were now sweet, kinda sticky even but it was perfect.

“So, like, last night you came with Anne, right? How do you know her?” he asked as he struggled to pour some more syrup on his pancakes with his left hand, as his right arm was locked around your hips.

“She’s my best friend” you answered smiling, “We actually met at the gym a few years ago”, you paused to shake your head, “God, I hate gyms”

“Why?” he asked curious

“I’m an embarrassment, I’d much rather work out at home”

“Oh god” he laughed dropping his pancake and throwing his head back, “I can make you feel better about that if you want to”

“Sure.. go ahead” you hesitated, afraid of what might come out of his mouth

“So like I was at the gym a few days ago, and there was this lady lifting some weights that, by the way, looked way too heavy for her but who am I to judge. Anyway so as she’s squatting, you know, when she tries to straighten her legs and go back up, this loud fart comes out, and I swear to god it echoed through the whole room-”

“Oh god, no!” you exclaimed, covering your eyes with your palms, “I feel so sorry for her”

“That’s not even the best part” he laughed tapping your tight to get your attention.

“We’re eating Chris, please tell me she didn’t-”

“She didn’t don’t worry” he chuckled, “So like after it comes out, she starts rummaging like crazy through her stuff, pulls out her phone and goes - I’m sorry I didn’t answer faster, it was on vibrate-”

“I’m so embarrassed for her” you whined

“Yeah, like a part of me wanted to reassure her that it’s ok but I’m sure that would’ve made everything worse” he said laughing.

“Definitely”

“And like she left for the locker room but when she came back she was still pretending to be on the phone and headed straight to the door and didn’t look back”

“I can’t” you managed to say between your giggles

“Now I’m so afraid I’ll fart in the middle of the gym” he confessed

With your pancake still in your hand, you felt your eyes start to water, trying to picture him all flustered and embarrassed and you couldn’t help but laugh even louder.

“It’s ok, you won’t” you tried to reassure him, but he was just as amused as you were

“I hope” he sighed

After you were done eating, and then done arguing about Chris not allowing you to help him clean up the mess, it was time for you to leave.

“Do you want me to drive you?” he asked, most likely sure you were going to agree, so probably that’s why his face fell when you declined.

“No, it’s ok, but have you seen my jacket?”

“You didn’t have one”

“Yes, I did, a long maroon one” you explained thinking about where you could’ve left it.

“Trust me, I know what you were wearing last night” he said smirking

“Then I must have left it at the bar, I hope someone saw it and took it”

“Wait, let me give you something to wear” he said, sprinting to his bedroom. You waited patiently for him in the hallway, realizing that this meant you had to see each other again. But you had mutual friends, someone could give it back to him for you, right? This was usually the time you blew the guy off, but this time, something inside of you simply didn’t let you.

“What about this one?” he asks, handing you an army green hoodie.

“It’s perfect, thank you”

“I don’t have your number, and I kinda want it back,” he joked, pointing to the jacket.

“Give me your phone” you laughed, and after he gave it to you, you added the number quickly and handed it back to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you, I feel bad for letting you walk home”

“No, it’s ok, it’s not that far, I’m gonna cut through the park and listen to music, it’s ok” you reassured him, stepping away from the door so he could unlock it.

Once you passed the threshold, you turned around wanting to kiss him one last time, but the moment his hands caught your waist, the teasing side of you awakened, so you just placed a long peck to his cheek.

“Bye” he laughed at your antics, before closing the door after you.

As you were walking home, you wrapped your arms around yourself, causing the smell of his hoodie to reach your nose. You were happy he didn’t give you a clean one, this one smelled like him, and maybe he chose this one on purpose. Your mind drifted back to the events of the last 15 hours and unconsciously, they put a smile on your lips. You had so much fun with Chris, and grew so fond of his sweetness, that you almost felt bad for giving him the number of your 50 year old laundromat lady.

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naitiaclo960writings · 4 years ago

Text

Day 8 - Heartless

(Warnings: Past major character’s death and quick mention of disease / grief. It’s an happy ending tho)

September

When Castiel fell asleep in the operating room on the morning of September 14, he was prepared to never wake up again. He had never been a religiously committed man unlike his parents, and yet he knew that he had prayed before closing his eyes.

It has been more than 3 months since he entered the list of organ recipients to replace his heart tired by illness. Unfortunately, he had inherited a heart malformation from birth and had survived to the age of 28 without being too disabled, but the congenital heart disease had caught up with him midyear. After a whole series of tests and a permanent hospitalization, the doctors had been very clear: either he had a heart transplant or he had only a few months left to live.

The hardest part was seeing his friends and family coming to see him every day with a darker face as nothing moved on the side of the organ center. Castiel was aware that he was not a priority among the thousands of people in need of a heart in the United States, but he tried to remain optimistic for the people he loved. His fight was rewarded a few days ago when he was told he had found a match donor.

For medical reasons, Castiel and his family weren’t allowed to know who the donor was. It was obviously not the priority in the eyes of all, but Castiel had insisted on knowing more and he had simply been informed that a heart had become available following a fatal road accident in the nearby city. There was something macabre about celebrating someone’s death, but that person had been generous enough to help other souls struggling to live and he could only salute that gesture.

"Take a deep breath." The nurse intimated, securing a mask on his face.

Thus the day of the fateful operation had arrived and Castiel was terrified. There were so many things to consider, so many factors that could tip the scales one way or the other. After one last thought to his family and, surprisingly, to his donor’s family, Castiel did as he was asked.

* * *

October

The operation was a success. He opened his eyes after said surgery. There was nothing more to say except that Castiel was grateful every day for the new beating heart in his chest. It was with this heart that he could now embrace his loved ones, laugh with his friends and discover a world he thought destined to disappear beyond the doors of this hospital.

Castiel was still in hospital and in the recovery phase, but he was doing well and could be out very soon according to his doctors. He had seen the scar on his chest last week and he couldn’t help but cherish it. This mark was the sign that he had survived. The sign that he had the right to live longer and to continue to build his life away from the health problems that had accompanied him all his life.

He was currently distracted by the television channels in his room — the afternoon programs were truly deplorable — when the nurse came in to serve him his meal.

"Hi Clarence. How’s my hottest patient today?" She exclaimed.

Castiel turned his head towards her with a small awkward smile as usual. He stood up gently in bed.

"Hello Meg." He said politely. "I’m fine, my scar doesn’t even itch anymore."

Meg was definitely his favorite nurse and it seemed to be mutual. She had told him one day that she always arranged to be assigned to his room, for she liked their conversations, and Castiel could only agree with her. Despite her bad girl tease, Meg was now a good friend, always listening and present to support him in addition to being a good caregiver. Her honesty had helped Castiel to carry on in his fight against the disease and during his remission. They sometimes spent long minutes discussing their respective lives before Meg’s pager rang and she was called away. In addition, she sometimes smuggled him chocolate bars to make up for the hospital food and Castiel calling it "a survival aid".

"I hope so!" Meg said, setting up his lunch tray with a small smile." But at least it has the merit of giving you a little adventurous side. Did I ever tell you I have a thing for guys with chest scars?"

Castiel laughed softly, playing the game they both took pleasure in maintaining. Despite everything, it didn’t go any further than that: a game to brighten their days. Both knew how to settle for their already atypical friendship.

"At least twice a day." Castiel joked while leaning in his pillows. "Did anyone leave a message for me today?"

Meg could not help sighing and Castiel pinched his lips with sympathy.

They both knew what that meant. Castiel had insisted on registering on a site that put organ donor families and recipients in contact. However, the process was complex and if the family of his donor did not post any message on this site, then Castiel would have no chance to get in touch with them. Yet he was almost obsessed with this situation. He had this need, no, this irrepressible urge to thank the family of the one who had saved his life. It was something so important and, although he respected the choice of some to remain anonymous, he felt that he would not be able to leave this all behind until he had put a definitive end to this chapter of his life.

"No, Clarence, squat" Meg shook her head. "And even if they did, you know very well that you will not be able to contact them. The site does not allow any personal information or too intimate exchanges between families."

"I know." Castiel replied, abashed while planting his fork in the mashed peas. "But perhaps they will make an exception? I just want to know them and thank them for the gesture of their loved one".

Meg clicked her tongue while pushing the wagon towards the door.

"I know you want to do the right thing, you’re a damn angel with a halo over your head." She gave him a small grin of disgust that made Castiel smile. "But what if they didn’t want to meet you? They are probably—"

"Living a difficult situation and I would only remind them of their loss, yes, I know." Castiel mumbled without being able to help it. "But… Maybe that they also would like to know that the death of their loved one helped other people cope. It’s possible Meg. And maybe they just don’t know how to contact me or-"

Meg shook her head again with a little compassionate pout.

"Even if they knew, handsome, they couldn’t. It’s against the law. Medical confidentiality and all that crap." She sighed before she came to sit on the chair beside him and put her feet on his bed.

Castiel let out a groan of frustration.

"Yes… But there are necessarily registers somewhere, a way to find a contact." Suddenly, something seemed to light up in his eyes and he turned his hopeful face towards Meg.

"Oh no, don’t give me that look." She groaned, knowing that it was not good news.

Castiel ignored her.

"Could you have access to organ donor records? You told me the heart came from the next town."

"And just by doing that, I’ve already told you too much." Meg said, raising an insolent eyebrow.

"You must be able to find an address, right? There must be even a name or maybe a phone number. I mean, if it’s a medical secret then the information has to be somewhere. If I could just put my finger on a semblance of something, it would be…" He moistened his lips, thinking. " It would be incredible."

Meg grumbled again, throwing her head back with exaggeration.

"Let’s say I have access to this information, and I mean maybe. Just giving it to you could cost me my job, Clarence. Why is it so important for you to find the name of a dead guy?" She snapped.

At these words Castiel’s face slumped slightly. He remained silent for a moment, seeking the right answer to this question. Meanwhile, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest and the blood it sent to his brain was enough to formulate his next words.

"Because it is unfair that I survived among so many others." He said." My donor had relatives, maybe siblings, a dog, friends and all lost something too valuable to be replaced in this car accident. Yet that’s how organ donation works. Someone dies and allows others to live. But I know that, if I had died on that operating table, my parents would have liked to know through whom I would have continued to live. I feel responsible Meg."

Castiel took a shaky breath before gently biting his lip while his friend welcomed his words with contemplative silence. Television continued to gossip in the background, but Castiel no longer heard it, lost in his thoughts.

"And yet, you are not." Meg said gently, leaving aside her usual sarcasm this time.

Castiel nodded slowly.

"I know." He sighed again before returning to his plate. "I’m sorry, you’re right. I can’t ask you anything like that anyway, it was selfish of me."

Following this, only the noise of the cutlery against the ceramics as well as the television journalist was heard in the hospital room. Meg didn’t move, didn’t open her mouth either, while each of them thought about their commitments in this story.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, the nurse sighed dramatically.

"What the hell wouldn’t I do for those beautiful blue eyes." She said under her breath. "Okay, I’ll see what I can do about the address." She says while rolling her eyes before standing up.

Castiel turned his head so quickly towards her that he was afraid to break his neck.

"What?" He asked, stunned.

"But I can’t guarantee you anything, Clarence." Meg told him while sighing. "You don’t access their organ donor files like that, but… I may have a couple of people I could contact. But it’s just between us."

She glared at him, and Castiel nodded, mouth open.

"I... of course."

Meg swore softly.

"One more thing." She said." I’ll try everything, but if I don’t find anything, you have to promise me you won’t try to get a name anymore. Do we have a deal?"

Castiel closed his mouth in a discreet snap before taking his friend’s last words into consideration. Finally, he nodded again.

"I promise you." He said seriously.

"Good." Meg sighed. "You’ll owe me one, angel."

A smile appeared again on Castiel’s face, more tender this time, his heart still playing up its own behind the scar of his chest.

"Thank you, Meg." He whispered.

"Shuddup." She grumbled with a wink before her pager rang in the room.

In no time, she waved at him and disappeared in the corridor, taking the empty wagon with her. Castiel went back to his bed with a light smile on his face. Yes, Meg was a good friend.

* * *

November

Meg’s research had still not yielded anything even a month after Castiel left the hospital. Although he was now alone again in his large apartment, there was something exhilarating about being able to live normally as if he had not nearly died a few months ago. Finding a job at the florist in his town had been the first step in his new life as he slowly resumed a normal social life with his friends and family.

His own search had also given nothing and the inbox of the website that could put him in contact with his donor’s family remained hopelessly empty. Nevertheless, Castiel did not get the idea out of his head. He often dreamed of meeting these strangers, of the words he would say to them if they had the chance to do so.

It was during a cold November evening, while he was bundled up in a plaid on his couch in front of a TV show, that Castiel’s cellphone rang. It was not something particularly unusual, but the late hour of the evening immediately gave this call something special. When he reached out to his phone, he could see Meg’s name on the screen.

"Hello?" He said, picking up, his heartbeat accelerating.

"Hi Clarence." Meg, a net of excitement in the voice, hastily replied. "Tell me you’re sitting, handsome, I’d hate to hear you fall on your ass because of what I’m about to tell you."

At this, Castiel straightened up in the sofa, his heart going up his throat.

"I’m sitting." He simply said, his fingers tightening around his phone.

"Okay, because I have something for you!" Meg hummed. "The info cost me at least three boxes of chocolate and the promise of a date to the shady guy in the operating room. You know, the one who keeps wearing Britney Spears t-shirts under his blouses? He’d be doing karaoke parties with the girl from the fourth floor that I wouldn’t even be surprised at-

"Meg." Castiel impatiently cut her off.

"Yes, yes. All this to say that he knows who approved your transplant application. So…" She said with pride, leaving a second of silence to settle her effect. I know where your little heart comes from and how to reach out to the family!"

At once, Castiel felt the air blocked in his throat. These words, he had waited for them for months while everything gradually turned into a crazy and inaccessible hope. Suddenly, through a simple phone call, Meg had just remade his world.

"Are you certain?" He finally asked, with a short breath.

"Oh, Clarence, please! Don’t you trust your favorite nurse anymore?" Meg laughed immediately.

Castiel shook his head, a bit stunned. Meg resumed.

"I sent you everything by e-mail, you must have received it." She said with malice. "But remember: keep it under your hat pretty boy. You don’t know me."

"Yes, I... of course." Castiel stuttered, rising to rush towards his computer.

"Hey." Meg called him through the phone, her voice softer. "I know it’s important to you, but… take the time to assimilate the information, okay? You don’t have to contact them tonight."

Castiel knew she was right, but the excitement was in his chest. However, he took the time to thank Meg warmly and invite her to dinner next week before hanging up. A few minutes later he had his eyes fixed on a brand new e-mail in his inbox. Castiel took a great inspiration. He had waited so long for this moment that, now that he was faced with a fait accompli, he was almost afraid to go for it.

Finally, he found the courage to click on the screen. His eyes quickly passed over her friend’s introductory text before fixating on a name written in bold as well as a lot of personal information listed just below. Reading these few lines, Castiel felt his heart racing again.

Samuel William Winchester

Born: March 2, 1983, in Lawrence, Kansas

Died: September 13, 2006, in Des Moines, Iowa

Cause: Head injury, road accident

Blood type: O negative

Applicant for organ donation: Yes

Organ removed: Heart

The data sheet thus continued in a professional coldness that affected Castiel slightly as he felt his throat tightening. His donor was only 23 when he died. He read every piece of information carefully before he got to the part he was most interested in.

Contact person in case of problem: Dean Winchester

Donor affiliation: older brother

Castiel felt his hands become sweaty as his gaze slid over the address and telephone number of Dean Winchester. A heavy silence filled his apartment, Castiel still unable to detach his gaze from this decisive email.

That’s it. The family of his donor was only a phone call away and he could finally thank the entourage of his savior. However, with this crucial information came a bitter feeling that Castiel had not apprehended. He remained all night pacing in his living room, his eyes regularly returning to the phone number taunting him from the screen of his computer.

* * *

December

Three months. Three long months since his little brother had disappeared in a car accident, leaving him and their parents in the grip of nameless sadness. He could barely breathe most of the time thinking of that youthful face he would never see again.

Dean passed a tired hand over his face as he walked past the windows of an umpteenth shop decorated with trees and garlands. Celebrating Christmas seemed absurd, totally meaningless in such a context. What’s the point if he can’t see Sammy’s jaded face in front of his usual porn magazine that he buys especially for him every year, for the joke? His world has been tasteless for far too long now.

Mary managed to keep her head above water half the time, calling him every day to hear from him, to which Dean responded with as many reassuring words as he could. Everyone knew that most of them sounded empty, but they could only pretend to be okay these past few months. Dean was wondering if the pain would eventually go away. He was told yes. He doubted that. John, on the other hand, drank a little more every day and Dean felt guilty about leaving his mother with him all day, regardless of Mary’s reassuring words.

The ground seemed to collapse under his feet as Dean looked for a way out. The truth is, he didn’t know how to do it without breaking everything around him. His days passed one after the other in a sickly similarity: work, eat, reassure, start again. He no longer had his stupid little brother to listen to his stories, no one to share his Friday night evenings with and who would be there to support him in any situation. He had his friends left, but, honestly, no one could understand him like Sam did for 23 years.

An umpteenth sigh passed through the barrier of his lips when a rock-like music rose out of his pocket. Already worried that it was still his mother, Dean took out his cell phone. Unknown number. He raised an eyebrow and picked up.

"Hello?" He said in a hoarse voice.

The line remained silent and Dean frowned. He could hear a breath at the other end of the line, so he tried again.

"Hello?"

"Oh, uh, yes! Hello, sir, uh, Dean?" An uncertain voice immediately answered with a short breath and tangled words.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Had he given his phone number to anyone recently? Not to his knowledge in any case, he very rarely went outside the garage in which he worked. Curious, Dean turned into a quiet street to concentrate on his interlocutor.

"Who am I speaking with?" He asked with a hint of sarcasm.

The man on the other side of the phone seemed to take a breath before resuming in an equally nervous tone.

"I’m sorry, we don’t really know each other. I am aware that my call may be unwelcome, in fact I hesitated for a long time before contacting you." The man stuttered.

Dean sighed.

"Well, listen, if it’s to sell me something then I’m not interested, thank you."

"No!" The man quickly added. "No, I don’t want to sell you anything. I…" Another inspiration."My name is Castiel Novak. I live in Waterloo. I know this is going to sound weird, but… I received your brother Samuel’s heart."

Dean remained silent for a long time, trying to assimilate each of the words he had just heard. At the sound of Sam’s name, he thought he was dying a bit more. A kind of thud rose in his ears, so that he thought he had fallen into a pool while he was not paying attention to his steps. Besides, Dean wasn’t even sure where he was, now standing still in the middle of the street. Only a deep and sizzling voice gradually emerged from his torpor.

"I am sorry." Castiel went on after a long silence. "I’ve taken the liberty of contacting you, but I can assure you that I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than that." He seemed to be searching for his words for a moment." I know I could never thank Samuel for his gesture, but... your brother saved my life. I just wanted to let you know how grateful I was, even though I couldn’t replace what you lost. If there’s anything I can do to help, it would be my pleasure. However, I also understand that you would never want to hear from me again... But I can assure you that I will take care of his heart. Samuel really did a lot of good in my life and with my loved ones."

Castiel started to mutter, as if he was suddenly deeply embarrassed by this phone call. Dean was convinced that he had to send back the image of a man ravaged by grief right now, his arms swaying and his gaze lost.

"Sam." He finally replied in a trembling voice. Dean took the time to clear his throat before continuing. "He preferred to be called Sam."

"Okay." Castiel said after another moment of hesitation. "Well… Sam really is a hero to me, Dean, I wanted you to know that."

Dean nodded stupidly, no matter how Castiel couldn’t see him. He felt that the sky had just fallen on his head, he felt completely disoriented. Of course Sammy was a hero, the rest of humanity didn’t even know how lucky they were to be around him. Dean knew that Sam had donated his organs, he had even given everything he could, because he was like that. But knowing that the heart was beating in someone else’s body, giving them a chance to continue to live and breathe… It was something he hadn’t really thought about until then.

"I’m going to leave you, I’m sorry I interfered in your life like this." Castiel apologized again. "I will not call this number again, I promise. I hope everything will be all right for your family, sincerely."

Dean’s heart skipped a beat and his muscles began to move, pushing him to almost scream on the phone.

"No, wait!" Realizing that Castiel had still not hung up, Dean quieted down, a shiver in his voice. "I don’t even know how you found this number, but… Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re from Waterloo? Iowa?

"Yes." Castiel said. "I’m about a two-hour drive from Des Moines. I don’t know if you live nearby, but-

"Des Moines, yeah." Dean replied, stunned. How did this guy know so much about Sam, he thought that the organ donation was anonymous? "Would you be available to meet in the week?"

An umpteenth silence answered his question and, frankly, Dean himself did not know why he had asked it. Maybe he was holding on to a ghost, a hopeless, senseless hope of finding something that once belonged to Sam. But what else did he have to lose now?

"… Are you going to punch me in the face if I say yes?" Castiel asked with distrust.

Surprisingly, it snatched a small laugh from Dean who barely recognized the sound of his voice. He hadn’t laughed that easily in weeks now.

"No." He answered. "I just want to talk, if that’s okay?"

He didn’t know what to think of this situation, it was too surreal. Was he angry with this man? No, not really. Sad? Maybe, but nothing new. Curious? Certainly. There were so many questions that now turned in his mind, almost stunning him. Never before had he heard a similar story and, yes, he was driven to the unknown by the despair of that mourn which he had never ended. But to hell with it, he needed to feel Sam’s heart beating against his hand again.

"Okay, I’d love to, then. What’s your schedule?"

Dean felt a piece of his soul warming up.

* * *

January

Their first encounter had definitely been strange and completely atypical. They had arranged to meet in a café halfway between their two cities, and despite a tense start, Dean and Castiel had talking much of the afternoon. Dean had been biting his tongue all along so he wouldn’t ask the fateful question of "excuse me, can we stop talking so I can put my hand against your heart?". But Castiel had finally come to the point by asking him if he could tell him about Sam and things had been done naturally. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and quickly, Dean was unable to stop the incessant flow of words about his little brother. He told him the most important thing, from his childhood memories to that weird tic that Sam had every time he was upset.

Castiel had then smiled softly at each of his anecdotes and, when Dean had finally been allowed to feel this pulsating heart against his hand, Castiel had not moved. Dean was almost certain that he had let slip a strangled exclamation, but Castiel had just contented himself with that sweet and understanding look. At the end of their appointment, they had agreed to meet again. They both needed it.

The month of February began on another encounter at the park this time, at Des Moines. The winter was still rough and persistent this year, so they had decided to go and enjoy a hot chocolate near the pond. Dean hadn’t told his parents about it, not yet, but this meeting with Castiel did him as much good as the first. When he returned home, he found himself feeling much lighter than before.

They did not wait until the following month to meet again, and their third meeting took place in Waterloo this time. Castiel had invited him to dinner at a restaurant he called "the best in town" and Dean could not possibly say no to the prospect of a good meal.

March hosted their first meeting in a private place. Dean had taken care to clean up the mess from top to bottom before Castiel rang his doorbell and, seeing the huge bouquet of flowers that his friend had brought him, an easy smile spread over his face. Easy. It was the right word to define Castiel. Everything was easy with him, obvious and sweet. He never judged him, no matter what topic of conversation he decided to share with him. Castiel listened and supported and Dean had not felt so free and understood since at least 6 months now. One evening, he even wildly wondered if Sam’s heart had not completely taken possession of Castiel to make him this radiant and exceptional person. Until then, Dean had never known anyone but his brother who could read him like an open book.

In April and several appointments later, however, Dean understood that it was not really a fraternal connection he shared with Castiel. He learned to dwell more on the looks and gestures exchanged. Everything was crazy, insane, but once again, everything had always been crazy between them, and this from the first day.

May marked the beginning of a mental breakdown for Dean. He was definitely falling in love with his now best friend and that terrified him. What if he was wrong? What if the fear of losing sight of the only thing that still connected him to his deceased brother led him to feel faked feelings for Castiel? He had no right to be wrong here, he could not make his friend suffer, for he was too stubborn and miserable to properly analyze his own feelings. His cowardice pushed him away from Castiel — "to avoid making him suffer," he said — and the deep despair that this created in each of them was almost as hard as a second mourning. Almost.

Despite his best efforts not to hurt his best friend, June began with a considerable argument. Castiel felt rightfully unfairly rejected, and Dean could not bring himself to pronounce the words that burned his throat. However, neither of them expressed themselves more when Castiel, after a final overwhelming exclamation, brutally kissed Dean’s lips. The latter greeted him with a sob before deepening their kiss. No, Dean did not only love that beating heart in his chest… He had fallen in love with so much more.

July and August passed at an alarming speed as each of the two men discovered another facet of the other. Castiel had met Dean’s parents and Dean had not seen his mother so happy for a long time now. However, the one-year date of Sam’s accident was fast approaching and Dean could not ignore the weight it added to his shoulders. Little by little, Sam’s heart had become Castiel’s one in his eyes and his boyfriend was gradually filling the void that he felt deep inside him, but this dammed month of September was now taunting him every day on the calendar.

"Would you like to put your head against my chest?" Castiel once proposed as they both prepare to go to bed.

Dean froze, air jammed in his lungs.

"What?" He asked, stunned. He wasn’t sure if he heard correctly.

Castiel smiled softly, as always, before taking his hand in his.

"Just tonight." He replied, as if that explains everything.

And without really understanding how, Dean nodded and lay down with Castiel. Docilely, he had let his companion draw him to himself until his ear rested against the scar of his chest. Some breathing later, Dean was able to discern the beats under the mutilated skin and the world stopped spinning. He remained there for hours, his eyes open but lost in nostalgia and stifling emotion. He was alive and well, determined not to disappear. Not this time. When Dean began to cry silently, Castiel simply hugged him harder to comfort him, without a word. This was so precious to him. It quickly became their favorite position, Dean kissing the scar whenever he could.

September passed by in a bitter sweet atmosphere that neither Dean nor Castiel regretted sharing together. One evening in October, bundled up under the duvet to fight off a new winter, Dean could not take his eyes off the blue gaze smiling back. He thought of what his last months had been, what he had lost, but also what he had found. In front of him, Castiel squeezed the hand on his chest while breathing the same warm air as his partner. Their heart rate was calm and painless.

"I love you." Dean huffed at the bend of another tender smile.

At his words, Dean felt Castiel’s heart miss a beat under his palm and maybe, just maybe, was this the way his brother told him how happy he was for him.

* * * @winchester-reload

I hope you enjoyed it! I would really like to develop other moments like their first meeting or the evolution of their friendship until they become a couple. However, I had only one day to write and I had to make choices :). I am proud of this work but also rather doubtful of the final result so, if you liked it, please take the time to leave me a quick review in the comments. It would mean a lot to me. Thanks again for reading to the end, see you tomorrow!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

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silverwhiteraven · 4 years ago

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Borne of the Stars - Chapter 14 - An MLB Kryptonian AU

Tag List: @eve-valution @weird-pale-blonde-person @kris-pines04 @soulmate-game @abrx2002 @amayakans @vixen-uchiha @heldtogetherbysafetypins @raisuke06 @dorkus-minimus @mopester-is-here @moonlightstar64 @annabellabrookes @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-navistar-carol @elspethshadow @chocolatecatstheron @ivymala07 @maribat-is-lifeblood

[ Summary: Author is Back! The Heroes now meet. They also meet their first Akuma. ]

[ Posted on A03 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 13 ] [ Chapter 15 ]

Marinette was falling.

Well, falling as much one could when holding on for dear life to one end of a magical yo-yo that acted as its own weird grappler mixed with a trapeze. Neither of which she had ever used in her life.

First time for everything she supposed, though she also hoped this wouldn’t end with lasts, either.

Speaking of firsts being lasts, she realized her latest upswing was about to turn into a crash course collision with a black clad figure floating in the open air. As she yelled a terrified “ Look out!! ” at the person she didn't know was friend or foe, she really did wish this would be her one and only time her bad aim with a yo-yo ever turned into this situation. She really doubted it, though, but a girl can dream.

She barely saw a flash of blonde hair and green, green eyes turn towards her in shock before they slammed into each other, and fell several meters to a high rooftop below with mutual ‘ oofs ’ and wire wrapped around them. They rolled to a stop, Marinette resting awkwardly atop the other who had her back to the roof.

“I am so so sorry!” Marinette immediately apologized as soon as breath was back in her lungs. “I’m really new at this, I-” She was interrupted and silenced a moment later by a laugh and green, feline eyes looking into her own from below.

“Don’t worry about it, little lady,” the girl clad in black soothed reassuringly, her French accented. “I know a thing or two about knocking everything over when you first start out. I’d make a great practice dummy if you ever need it. Now, let's get out of this- uh…” She looked down, confused, at the string around them as she gave her arms a tug. “Wow, this stuff is stronger than I thought.”

Marinette could just feel the yo-yo string staying firmly tight with every tug, and realized she still had one end of it in her hand. “Oh! Let me just-” One tug, and the yo-yo came zipping around them and back into her hand. She was up in an instant, backing up with a flush of embarrassment on her face. “S-sorry, again, I’ll get better at this soon.”

The other girl just grinned, revealing pointed canines as she stood up as well. “Take your time, I can carry us both for as long as we need until you’re ready.”

A distant rumble caught their attention, and the blonde girl went tense and turned back to Marinette.

“Let’s make these introductions quick. I’m Oncilla the Black Cat,” The girl in black said, a hand over her heart and the other behind her back, taking a rather formal looking bow. “You must be the Ladybug I was told to expect?”

Marinette gaped like a fish for a moment before nodding quickly. “Oh, yes! Ladybug, yeah, you can call me that, not many other options with this costume, huh?” She joked nervously with a glance at her red and black-spotted hoodie.

“It suits you, Buggy,” Oncilla said with a grin, then walked over to the edge of the roof towards where the noise was coming from. Marinette- Ladybug- followed, fidgeting the yo-yo in her hand. “We should get going,” Oncilla added, squinting into the distance. “If there's anything I know, it’s that the damage only gets worse with time.”

“Experienced?” Ladybug asked, looking out over the edge nervously.

“Very. You?”

Ladybug laughed nervously once more. “Only with classroom bullies. This is…”

“Bigger, yeah. But think of it this way,” Oncilla turned to Ladybug and set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “In a classroom, you're both on equal footing. Out here with villains? The field is bigger, but being Ladybug means your footing is the same, too. And you know what else you have that they don’t?”

“What?” Ladybug asked curiously.

“Back-up,” Oncilla said confidently through a big grin. “Bullies never have many friends, and villains are nothing more than slightly bigger bullies with even bigger heroes to oppose them. Trust me, your Ladyship, we got this. ”

Ladybug’s shoulders relaxed, and a grateful smile spread on her face. “Thank you. Having friends to back you up is always a good choice. Glad to have you as one of mine.”

Oncilla beamed at her. “Let’s head off. I can fly, but since you can’t, I'll stick with you. I've learned my lesson with going in head-first without my team, I won’t be teaching that to you on our first day together.”

“I appreciate it, considering I’m still not used to this yet at all,” Ladybug showed the yo-yo in her hand. “Catch me if I fall again? I don’t think ladybugs land on their feet…”

“‘Course,” Oncilla answered, then pulled a silver staff from behind her back. Not only did she plan to stay by Ladybug, she also seemed to be planning to forego flying so she could keep the same pace. Ladybug appreciated the gesture, and with a toss of her yo-yo and a step off the edge, she was off towards her first ever in-person super-villain, partner close behind.

Their travel wasn't long, though it felt like forever to the poor Ladybug, who was holding any more panicked yells from escaping. She really hoped she would get used to this soon, she really did.

They found their villain near the Eiffel Tower, the large monument clearly being the Akuma’s goal.

“They're trying to get a higher vantage point,” Oncilla fills in as Ladybug notices the Akuma was only floating so high off the ground. One of the Black Cat hero’s feline ears was flicking, cluing the other into Oncilla’s enhanced hearing as well.

As Ladybug turned back to look at the villain, squinting at them, she could have sworn for just a second she heard the Akuma muttering to themself. Maybe she got her hearing enhanced, too, just not as much? She supposed it went along with the themes, really.

“So how do you usually handle this kind of thing?” Ladybug questioned without moving her eyes from the target. She also kept them moving closer, though slower to keep from rushing or alerting the Akuma.

“Observe, strategize, attack, and don’t ever hesitate. Waiting is only good if it lets you get information, otherwise that’s just stalling, and stalling is bad if you don’t want extra collateral damage.” Oncilla was clearly concentrating well on the situation, looking and sounding perfectly in her element. Ladybug felt out of place, but she still held to the hope that she could fill her new role without any classic Marinette-clumsiness getting in the way.

“Observe…” Ladybug mused. “I saw earlier from my own, uh, high places, that all the glowing street parts popping up are a big, connecting map. The roofs of some buildings are even getting marked with icons.”

“Oh, I noticed that too, a... friend pointed it out to me,” Oncilla nodded. “But why turn the whole city into a giant map?”

Ladybug shrugged. “Maybe they got lost, couldn't find a place to ask directions?” She tapped her chin, thinking more. “I also saw a few odd things while I was swinging around. A few miscellaneous places had markers on them, almost like pins in a personal map rather than existing landmarks. They could be caused by the Akuma’s personal interests in those places?��

“Sounds reasonable. But in that case, they already know the layout of the city. Again, why a map ? Maybe...”

“They're tracking something?” Ladybug filled in.

“Exactly!” Oncilla snapped and smiled at her. “Maybe a bit more like a GPS system. Or a treasure hunt. They don't know where the thing they're looking for is, but they know it’s going to be marked on the map. So, they need to get somewhere to be able to see the map best.”

“Like a really tall tower in the middle of a lot of shorter buildings,” Ladybug finished, then looked onward, past the Akuma, to the Tower itself.

“Let’s intercept them at the base,” she suggested, “If we can't stop them there, we can at least follow them up and see where they go from there.”

“Smart,” the other replied. “Let’s go.” And with that, Oncilla was running and pole vaulting towards the Tower, skirting far around the Akuma to avoid notice, Ladybug close behind with her yo-yo.

The two heroes got to the base of the Eiffel Tower before the Akuma did, though not by long. However, the Akuma seemed not to notice them, eyes locked on the upper levels. That is, until a violet glow ringed their mask, and their eyes snapped downward to the duo, before their previously pensive expression warped into a cold sneer.

“The Ladybeetle and Black Cat! You finally arrived!” The Akuma spoke loudly, impatience thick in their tone.

The two dropped into defensive stances at the recognition, Ladybug’s more sloppy and unpracticed than Oncilla’s. Ladybug thought to herself that she should really take more fencing classes as Marinette. Maybe Kara and her friends could assist, too? Not the time to think about this! She self reprimanded, turning her focus back to the villain.

“What about us?” Oncilla taunted, bringing the focus of the Akuma to her.

“I am Atlas, and in exchange for your Miraculous, I shall be able to find what I have lost with the gift I have been granted. So hand them over.”

“Yeah, no,” the Black Cat wielder continued, “These aren't toys to trade like Halloween candy. We keep them, and you get lost.”

"No! Give me your Miraculous and get out of my way so I can get back to finding my things!" The Akuma bellowed at the heroes.

"I'm sorry Atlas, but we really can't do that," Ladybug chimed in, looking conflicted. She wasn't used to this, it was only her first time as a hero, let alone negotiating with a super-villain or a possessed civilian. Yet, there was something here she did know how to do.

"But!" She interrupts the Akuma as their face contorts into a deeper scowl, their body crouched and coiled, ready to jump at them. "But, maybe we can help?"

"Help?" Atlas became confused, and the butterfly-shaped glow returned. They waved it away with a shake of their head, "Quiet, Hawk Moth, maybe she can help you with this, too."

"Yeah- Yes! I can try to help, what is it you lost, maybe we can look for it." She glanced back to the other hero, making sure she was on board. Oncilla shrugged, relaxing from her previous stance and restraining herself from jumping right into fighting.

The Akuma looked thoughtful before answering.

"Well, at first, I just lost my pens,” the Akuma recalled aloud. “But then..." Their expression contorted in pain as they remembered their moments that led to their Akumatization.

"I lost a lot, actually," they amended. "Today was rough, a lot went bad. I just wanted to relax and work on my calligraphy when I was finally home. But I couldn't find my pens, or my backups... God, I found my good paper with spilled ink! " Their voice rose again, the anger and frustration growing and radiating from them like a toxin. Ladybug kept herself from recoiling and held herself as steady as she could, listening.

"I'm probably the one who spilled it when I left this morning, hell, I probably forgot my pens in the locker when I emptied it, or on the subway like a freaking idiot . I keep doing things like this, losing everything . I can't keep anything straight, I can't remember anything right, I can't do what's expected of me! " Tears streamed down their cheeks now, and their cries had risen to a yell.

"I need everything mapped out for me because I'm useless without that!! So just, HELP ME , or GIVE UP and GIVE ME THE MIRACULOUS!! "

The butterfly glow returned, and only a split second of unheard prompting had the sorrowful and angered Atlas attacking the heroes off-guard.

The two heroes jumped apart, dodging the first attack. Oncilla was quick to engage Atlas in close combat while Ladybug recovered herself.

The fight moved away from the newer hero, and in an attempt to get herself closer, tossed her yo-yo into the beams of the Tower. It stuck and pulled her up, but she failed to get it back down, and ended up hanging from the string a few meters in the air. Looking around to see if there was anywhere for her to safely fall to, she realized, even if it wasn't much, she could see things better than from the ground.

“Oncilla!” Ladybug called out, and saw the other hero’s feline ears twitch towards her in acknowledgment. “I need to get higher, I have an idea! Can you handle them for a minute more?”

“Of course!” came the response. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, I got this! Go!”

With a quick, hard tug, and another throw of the yo-yo as she fell, Ladybug was heading up the Eiffel Tower.

As she swung to the peak, she called out, “ Lucky Charm! ”

#Borne of the Stars #maribat #Krypto-Mari AU #marinette dupain cheng #kara danvers #miraculous ladybug #dc super hero girls #black cat kara #kryptonian au

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shoyomeow · 4 years ago

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WINTER WONDERLAND

- a @babythotshq collaboration

❀ characters : motoya komori x gnl! reader

❀ genre : fluff

❀ warnings : mentions of alcohol, language , mentions of the pandemic

❀ wc : 2444

❀prompt : game night

shoutout to @sempiternal-amour . i got you for the secret santa event and i hope you had a wonderful christmas.

USUALLY CHRISTMAS WAS YOUR FAVOURITE HOLIDAY.

There had always been a set routine that you had adopted during this time of the year that always filled you with more happiness that you could imagine and once you had started dating Motoya, who had been just as enthusiastic as you and would not only tolerate but add on to your extreme love for Christmas, it seemed that nothing in your life could go wrong.

At least during Christmas.

That was until this year of course.

2020, the year that you hope you never have to relive again and the year that has filled you with so much pain, anguish and exhaustion that the disconnection you felt from Christmas was not even unexpected at this point.

There was no part of you that felt like it was Christmas time and you figured that the same could be said for your beloved boyfriend as well since he didn’t show you any signs of holiday spirit either. Going through the year had been hard on both of them, while neither of them were extroverts who liked going out there was something oddly stifling about being forced to stay home instead of choosing to.

As the months passed by and the virus didn’t show any signs of going away, their irritation at being forced to stay at home morphed into sheer fear for themselves and their loved ones so you suppose it was understandable that neither of you felt up for Christmas this year,

You flinched as cold and slightly damp skin came in contact with your exposed arms, the sleeves of your hoodie having been rolled up to give you more comfort as you kneaded the dough, “How many times have I told you not to hug me after working out? You smell gross babe.”

You teased as you turned your head to see your boyfriend better, his bangs were sticking to his forehead, no doubt because of the sweat but there was a bright smile on his face which even after all these years made you swoon.

“The love of my life looked so serious how could I not comfort them by bestowing my loving embrace upon them.” he pouted prompting an automatic eyeroll.

“Okay you dork,” you pecked his cheek to reassure him before pushing him away, “Now go take a shower before you stink up the whole place. I didn’t spend that much money on scented candles for you to ruin it with your sweat.”

“Whatever my love commands, i shall do.” With one last kiss to the back of your neck, Motoya walked away from you and into the washroom.

God, even though three years had passed since you started dating the volleyball player you couldn’t help but feel giddy over him. You used to think that it was only in fiction that people didn’t get completely and utterly bored with their partners.

“So i was thinking,” Motoya started as the two of you lounged on the sofa with your legs perched up on his lap as the two of you searched for something to watch.

“Oh dear, that’s never a good sign now is it?”

You laughed as he flicked the back of your feet, briefly making a quip about how you should moisturise more before looking at you and continuing his earlier sentence, “What if we have a game night or something for Christmas?”

“Hah?” You sat up at that and frowned at him, “Babe won’t that be like really irresponsible? We’re still in danger from the virus and shit.”

“No no,” he shook his head vehemently as if the very thought of breaking safety protocols was terrifying, “Like a virtual thing. I was talking to a few of my old teammates from high school and shit so they were telling me how they had a virtual party for a birthday so I dunno.”

“Look, I know we’ve both been in sort of a funk recently and you haven’t been feeling the vibe for this year either but I just thought it would be nice to go through our routine and just try to enjoy ourselves?”

“What would we even play though?” You mused as you looked at the boy who seemed to beam at the prospect of not having his idea shut down.

“I already googled that shit,” Motoya giggled as he leaned forward to press a light kiss to your lips, “You really should start moisturising babe.”

“Yeah yeah,” you pecked his nose, briefly wondering if people would hate how absolutely cringey the two of you were as a couple, “Does that mean we’re going to go through all the traditions?”

“Mm, of course. The others might not want to but we can do it ourselves right?”

“Yeah,” your enthusiasm for Christmas was still pretty much nonexistent but as you looked at your boyfriend who was showering you with kisses you couldn’t help but think that you didn’t have to be enthusiastic for Christmas at all.

Christmas Eve was surprisingly amazing.

The two of you had woken up at the same time, which was odd considering that Motoya always woke up before you for his training. A part of you wanted to stay snuggled up next to him in bed but there was a slightly bigger part of you which wanted to start with the festivities already.

Like all Christmases before today, it started with baking. Of course neither of you were that great at cooking so you had ordered the batters for everything that you were supposed to make.

The cookies and plum cake were first, considering that the mixes for them were the easiest to navigate through , the gingerbread house was next. You and Motoya had always had a certain amount of fondness for assembling the house , maybe it was because of the food fight that usually used to follow that used to prompt you to head to the backyard to hose each other down.

The second event was of course getting ready to wear the ugliest possible Christmas outfits the two of you could find. There was one Christmas, the very first one that you two spent together where you dressed up in attractive clothes taking inspiration from the Mean Girls outfit and while Motoya had appreciated that he had immediately made you swoon when he said that he would love to dress up in ugly outfits starting next year.

With your and Motoya’s nails painted with bright red and green nail polish and the two of you dressed in equally bright (and horrendous) red and green sweaters, you sat down with your laptops in front of you and logged into the zoom meeting.

Sakusa was the first one there of course, always the one to be ten minutes before the given time no matter how much he hated events like this, you and Motoya smiled triumphantly as his eyes narrowed in to look at something on the screen and his nose turned up in disgust.

“What in the hell are the two of you even wearing?”

The look of sheer disgust filled the two of you with a sense of pride , after all that was always the wanted reaction for you two. Second to horror of course.

“Are the others not here yet?”

“There are a few in the waiting room, I’ll just let them in.”

“Babe didn’t you disable the waiting room?” You questioned as you saw Motoya accept everyone individually.

He just looked at you with wide eyes with his eyebrows scrunched up, “Wait you can do that?”

You let out a snort before taking his laptop from him, out of the two of you you had always been the more tech savvy one.

“Heya everyone!” You tried to mask the awkwardness you were feeling as you greeted the handful of people who had joined in. Motoya and you wanted it to be a “small event” so you hadn’t invited many people in the first place except for a few of your mutual friends and Sakusa, “Thank you for joining us. Motoya and I didn’t want Christmas to suck so we figured something like this would be sorta fun.”

The circle you and Motoya mostly ran in was a close knit one where everyone knew each other and honestly you preferred having this than being surrounded by a bunch of fake people with whom you couldn’t be yourself.

Akira, your oldest friend and the person who had introduced you to Motoya in the first place was adorning her favourite cosplay , one of some character called Uravity and she smiled at you (well you assumed it was at you) before opening her mouth, “MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU WHORES.”

You winced at the loudness of her tone, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to connect your laptop to the Bluetooth speaker, “Akira my love, are you drunk already?”

“What’s Christmas without eggnog?” Akira grinned at you before picking up a piece of fried chicken and biting into it, “Besides, I’m exhausted as fuck this Christmas so you can’t judge me.”

“If you’re all exhausted and shit then why the fuck are you cosplaying?” Ryo, a teammate of Motoya's, grumbled as he looked at his screen. Surprisingly enough Ryo and Akira went to the same college, when you and Motoya got together it was a bit surprising to see that so many of the people you knew were somehow connected to him.

“Ryo stop being mean to Akira, she can do whatever she wants to do.” Like a true mom friend Azusa let out a soft sigh as he looked at the people on his screen. Azusa, was probably the only “new addition” you had to your group.

It was a bit surprising to say this but it was Sakusa who had introduced you and Motoya to the purple haired man who became your friend instantly. Apparently Azusa was one of the only people Sakusa respected enough to introduce to his circle, even his MSBY team members hadn’t received that privilege yet.

“Why can’t you all just shut up?” The final person in your tiny little group spoke up as he hid his face with the cloth of his turtleneck , “You guys are way too loud.”

“Now now,” Motoya intervened, “Why don’t we all start with the games already?”

Ryo’s lips turned up to form a competitive grin, “Of course, I’m going to pummel all of you to the ground.”

“Not if i pummel you first you stupid hoe,” Akira yelled at her screen but it was obvious that the declaration was meant for the only person who considered to be her rival (who she used to watch disney movies with and cried)

Sakusa had won all the games.

They didn’t play many games , just a few basic ones like Pictionary , bingo, and some trivia. They added a little spice to it by incorporating sharpies, drinks and junk food into the equation but at the end of it all, Sakusa was the only one who was fully sober while the rest were stuffed and tipsy and had drawings all over their face.

“FUCK,” you raised your head from Motoya’s shoulder and looked at the small square box where Ryo was staring at his lap? table? well whatever it was, “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THAT I WAS USING A PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FACE?”

You let out a loud laugh as you looked at his face, there were drawings all over it - a proof that he lost miserably against Sakusa’s prowess - and the fact that he couldn’t get rid of it easily combined with her tipsy state , she burst into laughter.

The kind of laughter that made it hard to breathe and was so painful that you had to clutch your stomach , despite knowing that doing so had absolutely no impact on the pain you felt. Your laughter must’ve triggered a domino as everyone who was present in the zoom meeting started cackling, except for of course Ryo who was staring at all of you angrily.

“Whatever I’m leaving you assholes,” Ryo grumbled as he moved towards his laptop before moving back, “I’m only leaving because my mother is calling me so don’t bother pestering me to join again. Merry Christmas and bye you dicks.”

“Hey guys,” Akira’s girlfriend, Sumire, popped up on her screen and smiled sheepishly at the group, “Kira’s completely knocked out so I’m just gonna tuck her in. I’m sure she appreciated this, she’s been feeling funky lately.”

“No problemo Sumire,” you smiled at the girl, “the pleasure was all ours. Merry Christmas beautiful!”

Sumire blushed at the compliment before smiling at everyone, “Merry Christmas everyone, good night.”

“Aight I’m gonna sleep. I have work to finish tomorrow , this was fun guys.” Azusa smiled at them wryly as he clutched his head , he had always been the most sensitive to alcohol in their group.

“Good night Zuzu!”

The boy blushed at the nickname before growling angrily , “STOP CALLING ME THAT.”

You and Motoya shared a laugh as he left, the only people who were left in the meeting now were the two of you and Sakusa who seemed like he was on the verge of falling asleep then and there.

“Goodbye.”

Never mind , Sakusa left as well.

You laughed at his antics , already expecting an eloquent text about how the event was fun from the MSBY player, before you moved forward to shut down your laptop and Motoya’s laptop.

“Are we gonna get up to wash our face?” Motoya grumbled as he pulled you back into his arms.

“We can wait till tomorrow can’t we?” You nuzzled into his neck before placing a soft kiss there, “Thank you for doing this love. It was really fun.”

“Mm,” he nodded slowly , “it was. Maybe next year it will be better?”

“We can only hope can’t we?” You raised your head to press soft kisses on his face, “Besides as long as I’m with you, every Christmas is amazing.”

Motoya stared at you for a moment before the two of you burst out laughing, “That was so cheesy!”

“I know right? I almost couldn’t keep a straight face when I said it.”

“I love you so much,” Motoya leaned down to kiss you languidly before resting his forehead on yours, “I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes.”

“I know you will. Weren’t you the one who asked me to marry you on our first date?”

“That was because you gave me cake!”

“Yeah yeah,” Motoya moved in his position to make you more comfortable as you laid on his chest, “Merry Christmas love.”

“Merry Christmas handsome.”

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captain-emmajones · 4 years ago

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Love, Emma (7/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Big thank you to @profdanglaisstuff for being a wonderful beta and having my back all through this work!

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 7000 words - ao3

Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN

Note: This is it, the great, the terrible last chapter. I hope you guys will like this as much as I tortured myself writing it, making sure it is the perfect ending to this story :’) It’s been a pleasure writing this story, I loved every second of it and yeah...Thank you for sticking with me through this. It’s been really lovely having you as my readers.

PART 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

Present Day -- August, Storybrooke, Maine.

That night, Granny’s dinner is fuller than usual. Fuller with people, fuller with life.

It’s an agreeable summer night, the air a cool breeze against Killian and Emma’s bare arms as Mary Margaret and David argue over the color choice of the napkins for their upcoming wedding. Crickets chirp all around them, seeming to mock them.

Their plates of food are now empty, and Ruby expertely piles them up on her left arm as Mary Margaret shoots a death glare at her boyfriend.

“White is simply perfect, David.”

“So you play Snow White once in High School and now it’s your favorite color? That’s ridiculous, Mary Margaret.”

“Is it now? And what kind of color would you go for? Orange?”

“Well, orange would be a statement for one!”

“Over my dead body, David. It’s white or nothing.”

If Emma weren’t so distracted by the warmth of Killian’s fingers around hers, she would have probably choked on her beer and mumbled “Mary Margaret - 1, David - 0.”

Thankfully for everyone, the palm that curled around hers a few minutes ago metaphorically threw her straight into a pink cloud kind of paradise.

Looking up from their intertwined fingers, Emma is greeted by the very real purple pink clouds in the night sky, behind Killian and Mary Margaret’s back. They are sitting opposite Emma and David, while Ingrid sits in the middle, a small contented smile on her lips, as she eats her onion rings in silence.

Fairy lights hang above their heads. Emma loves fairy lights, she always has.

“Why not settle for another color, mates?” tries Killian in a calm, soothing voice, and Emma is surprised he is talking at all.

He should know better. Grave, stupid mistake it is to get between Mary Margaret, David and their napkins.

“NEVER,” the couple answer as one voice, and Emma watches with a chuckle caught in her throat as Killian backs away, hands in front of his face.

“Wohoho, mates. Calm down. The only people you’re allowed to kill are each other.”

And as Emma swallows another grin, she thinks Killian and she haven’t talked about it, but that’s fine. Emma’s brain doesn’t seem able to come up with words, anyway.

A few hours ago, the walk back to Ingrid’s was achieved in near complete silence, and it was weird -- considering with whom she was walking. Actually, cross that -- it was weird to be walking back to her childhood house with Killian Jones, period.

But Emma was able to find comfort in Killian’s lack of words as well, and god knows how talkative Killian can be, she found comfort in his breathy tone when he handed her the box back and the flush on his cheeks, knowing if she could barely hear anything if not for her own heartbeats, surely he wasn’t pulling this any better than she was.

“Earth to Emma, would you like a desert?”

Emma blinks. Two green eyes are staring at her.

Right. Dinner. Granny’s. Damnit, focus Emma. Ruby’s voice sends a shameful loop down Emma’s belly.

“...Mmm, no, actually. I’m fine, for now.”

Ruby’s raising an eyebrow. Everyone is staring at her. Why are they staring?

“Are you sure, Ems?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“...It’s just, it doesn’t sound a lot like you.”

And then Emma’s pretty sure her hair stands on end.

“Really.” And each word is meant to sound more threatening than the last. “I. Am. Fine. Ruby.”

She’s not looking at him, but Emma catches Killian’s small chuckle all the same. It’s hard to ignore how easily her rage melts away, and she hides the beginning of a smile behind a napkin.

“Fine.” And Ruby nearly sounds like she is the one who got attacked. (Perhaps she was. But she deserved it.)

As the waitress disappears in a clatter of heels, Ingrid is tapping a napkin against her mouth, delicately, and Emma knows very well what this means.

“Well, it’s already 10pm. I think I’ll leave you youngsters to it.”

Emma watches as Ingrid folds the napkin in front of her, just like she always does, and gracefully stands up.

“Goodnight, kids.” Ingrid grins, and everyone replies with a lively “Goodnight, Ingrid!”

A kiss is dropped onto Emma’s forehead, and Emma doesn’t miss the subtle pat on the back Killian receives on Ingrid’s way out. Emma thinks Ingrid’s always liked Killian, but then she stops thinking about it because David and Mary Margaret are coughing, and it is the least natural piece of acting Emma’s had the chance to witness in a while.

They both exchange a sly glance, nod and stand up at their turn, and Emma stares at them -- cheeks burning.

“Yeah, we’ll go, too. It’s getting pretty late, and we flew in very early this morning.”

Traitor, shout Emma’s eyes at Mary Margaret, but the small brunette is smiling with all of her teeth out and doesn’t seem concerned by Emma’s impending murder threat.

“Enjoy your night, guys,” David looks far too delighted. “Byye.”

“Aha, bye guys.”

Away from Granny’s dinner and up Main Street towards Granny’s B&B, the couple vanishes into the night.

And just like that, Emma and Killian are alone under the fairy lights.

Chirp, chirp.

This time, Emma cannot ignore the childish panic that strangles her throat, as his touch begins to burn her skin and her hand slowly slides out of his palm. She looks down at the green plastic table.

What to do now? Jesus, she is not nineteen anymore, she needs to take initiative, and—

“Fancy a walk along the beach, Emma?”asks Killian, and Emma is so thankful for the distraction she nearly knocks the table down as she springs to her feet.

“Excellent idea!” Why do her legs feel so wobbly?

And Killian smirks, and she wonders if he knows just how badly she is afraid, of him, of her, of risking her heart.

“Perfect then, let’s sail away.”

But she wants this to work, she wants them to work. She spent a good part of her life agonizing over this relationship, daydreaming about it, and then cursing it, and it better be as good as she thought it would be.

As things turn out, this walk along the beach feels like brutally falling down a rabbit hole. It knocks the wind out of Emma and it is wonderfully terrifying.

The wind blows that night. Salt air dances with Emma’s light dress and Killian’s hair.

Emma’s shoes dangle from her fingers, but she is still shaking like a leaf.

Awful, isn’t it, to finally get all you’ve ever dreamed of?

She knows it’s not entirely hers yet, she knows she still has to dash forward and grab it with her two hands, and not let it go – on any account. (Do you want it?)

It’s terrifying.

She did not reach out to Killian, this past month, although she knew about his letter...and she probably wouldn’t have reached out first, had he not appeared on her porch.

There is still this stupid fear, down her stomach, this stupid fear that he never cared, he never will, and this is all a sick joke.

(She wants it.)

“Should we sit?”

“Aye.”

He complies as she sprawls into the sand she feels moist under her toes, sitting down a few inches from him.

Somehow, staring at him still feels illegal.

When he gets a flask of rum out of his leather jacket, she rolls her eyes, and her bracelet glints under the moonlight. For the first time in ages, it is not a painful sight. She does not twist the little charms.

“Really? Is rum your solution to everything?”

“It’s not rum, Swan. It’s merely water.”

“Is it now?”

“Nah, it’s definitely rum. But it never hurts to have a drink between friends.”

And at that wicked, wicked word, they both stare at one another and gape slightly.

It should be funny. Except it still itches.

Aren’t they friends?

There are stars reflected in his eyes. There is still this ache inside her chest.

Emma is urged by a desire to look down then, but she doesn’t cave in. Instead, her mouth curves into a smile.

“…Friends or other types of acquaintances,” he adds after a while, and Emma’s smile widens.

The flask of rum is handed to her, and she drinks a few mouthfuls that diffuse a sweet heat and courage down her throat. Lord does she need it.

“Acquaintances, you say, um?”

She licks the small drop of rum that rolls down her lower lip, notices with satisfaction as Killian’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue and widen when he realizes she has caught him red-handed.

“Aye. I believe we’ve been acquainted.” There is a delicious twirl, down in her stomach, that could drown her fears, she knows it, if only she allowed herself to let go.

“Right.”

Idiot. Her cheeks burn. It is ridiculous, they are ridiculous and she doesn’t mind.

Woosh, woosh, the waves giggle.

As Emma inhales deeply, she figures she has to give him back his flask and that this -- whatever the hell this really is -- is probably going to be more difficult than she initially thought.

Her fingers brush against his as his hand closes over the flask -- of course they do -- and Emma couldn’t honestly say who’s to blame.

“Thanks, Swan.”

Oh, how many scenarios she made up in her mind, about him showing up. They all ended with their lips locked together. What she had a very hard time figuring out was the in-between. The talking. The confession. Because there has to be one, right?

She hears him gulp a few mouthfuls of rum down next to her and she refocuses her gaze on him. He clears his throat.

“So, erm, any plans for the foreseeable future?” he inquires.

The flask is buried in the sand between them.

“I don’t know, to be honest. For now, I think I’ll stay in Storybrooke. It’s my home.”

And then a pause, she glances at him through her eyelashes. A mischievous wave comes crashing at their feet, bites their toes.

“What about you, Killian? Still in Portsmouth?”

She watches him tilt his head next to her as he carefully sieves a handful of sand between his fingers, brows furrowed.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about moving back to Storybrooke. Joining the Navy again would not be easy, and I’m not sure it’s entirely what I desire. I mostly did it to honour Liam but it’s never been a dream of mine…”

A pause, a breath, for him, Emma has stopped breathing somewhere after “Storybrooke”. And her mouth refuses to shut.

“Plus, there’s the fact that Graham did mention the need for another deputy,” he casually adds, shoots a swift glance at her.

Oh. Breathe, Emma, breathe.

It’s very hard, then, for Emma to swallow the smile that tingles her lips.

“You are?” she asks, curses silently her quivering tone. Clears her throat. Dammit, why did it come out like this?

If he notices it, Killian doesn’t show it. Instead, he goes on, the ghost of a smile over his lips.

“Aye. I don’t think there’s anywhere else for me to be. It is high time I came home.”

Home. The word echoes between them, much like the gentle rustling of the waves.

And Emma nods and she has no idea where to put herself, what to say. She settles for telling the truth.

“That’s great. I could really use you around.” A pause. “I’ve missed you.”

Twinkle, twinkle the stars in the night sky, and the constellations in her heart as her eyes meet his. They put to shame the sea of stars in front of them.

Emma’s heart is bursting out as he slowly glances down at her lips, and then even more slowly looks up, a dangerous grin overtaking his features.

“Aye. I’ve missed you too, Swan. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Hearing him repeat her words is positively the worst thing that could have happened to her heart rate. That one nearly rips her heart out of her chest and sends it ricocheting on the waves.

She nods, laughs a bit, crinkles her nose mostly to hide how flustered she truly is.

“How…How did this happen?”

And he sighs next to her, a very dramatic sigh that she recognizes as a poor attempt to hide a deeper kind of pain. She watches as he stretches his legs, digs a shape into the sand with his fingers.

“How did you end up marrying Neal Cassidy, you mean? Poor judgement, if I do say so myself.”

The bastard.

She elbows him in the ribs, of course, he deserves it.

And he only chuckles, feigns a moan of pain, and… and grabs the arm she threw at him to bring her closer to him. There are grains of sand stuck to his skin as his hand closes over her fisted palm. As he stares at her, all air has definitely been knocked out of Emma’s lungs.

His nose gently brushes hers. Little pulses of magic seem to climb up her hand, her arm, to gently tickle her heart.

And she gazes into his eyes, mortified. Swallows hard.

“To be fair, he did hide that letter from you. A shame really, it was truly a pearl of literature.”

His breath tingles Emma’s lips, and it isn’t fair.

She snorts, she tries to at least, because it is hard to do anything when he is this close to her.

“David told you,” she mumbles, rolls her eyes dramatically, blushes furiously.

He isn’t denying the letter. He isn’t denying anything.

“Aye that he did. You can’t trust the guy with a secret, love.”

She doesn’t know what David told him over the phone, but Emma thinks it is safe to assume that it is somewhere near absolutely everything. And it should bother her, it should bother that secret and private part of herself, but Emma’s tired of fighting against herself, and she lets it go. All of it.

Her hand is still in his, twisted against his chest, right above his heart. She doesn’t mind. They could remain like this, forever, for all she minds. But that wouldn’t be very practical, now, would it?

“And it’s not like I didn’t know…” he continues, and Emma’s mouth drops even more, if it is possible. “I think I’ve known from the moment I met you. Haven’t you?”

A nervous chuckle shakes her shoulders.

“What exactly have you always known?”

“You can’t answer my question with another question, Swan. That’s just not how the English language works.”

“Well, if you could drop the metaphors and double entendre, then perhaps, perhaps I…” A breath. There’s no need to hide anymore, although something ludicrous seems about to explode inside her chest. “Y-yes, I think I knew...But I --”

“-- Good, because in that case, there’s no use for me to hold back from doing this…”

And as she opens her mouth to complain about metaphors and double entendre, again, he leans into her, tilts his face and, as Emma’s heart does a weird leaping thing in her chest, delicately presses his lips to hers.

While Emma does think it is definitely very rude of him to interrupt her like that, she cannot bring herself to complain too much.

Neither can she ignore the sudden explosion in her chest, thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness that taste of childhood and dreams bursting out.

Oh god. She muffles a moan against his mouth, snatches her hand from his grip to tug at his hair, brings him closer to her, as close as humanly possible, presses her mouth harder against his, as hard she can, and she quite literally feels like a house set on fire.

Thump, thump, cries her heart, as their lips dance together, as his hand gets lost in her hair, and no air reaches her lungs and this goddamn flower keeps blooming inside her chest and there isn’t any space between them, and she’s pretty sure she’s combusting into flames, but it’s fine, it’s really fine when his mouth opens and gives her access to his tongue.

It’s a gentle kiss, in spite of the passion. It’s such a gentle kiss, in the way with which his hand tenderly lingers in her curls, as if he were afraid she’d shatter under his touch, or in the way his other arm curls around her waist, holds her tightly, but not too tightly, so as not to break her it seems.

Years of yearning will do that to you, make you afraid of shattering the glittering and fragile object of your affection.

And when they let go, burning forehead against burning forehead, because they really, really need to breathe, Emma doesn’t want to run. In fact, she doesn’t want this to ever end. And she doesn’t know it, but she smiles.

“Then why –” he begins, his lips lightly, delicately brushing against hers as he speaks.

And how dare he be talking! She can barely breathe.

“—why the wedding?” she lazily answers against his lips. “Because I didn’t think you cared…” A pause. “You never told me you did... You didn’t even call, after the k-kiss.”

Damnit, that was harder to spit out than anticipated. And it probably sounded more accusing than she wanted it to, but she forgives herself.

The painful memory allows her to step back a little, to gaze into his blue eyes and discover his cheeks crimson and an awestruck look on his face, as well as a lot of guilt and tenderness.

A sigh. “Of course I didn’t. I was waiting for you to do it. You were bloody engaged, may I remind you.”

Her brows furrow.

“And I did! But you didn’t answer.” Silence. “Tink did.”

She watches his features with weariness. She watches as he frowns. Backs away slightly, to gaze into her eyes, seems to seek the truth. And then, sighs.

“Of bloody course. Tink.” Emma watches as he rolls his eyes dramatically, hisses a few insults between his teeth.

She thinks he is still infuriatingly handsome.

Another nervous laughter begins rattling her body, because this is ridiculous, they are ridiculous, they just had to talk it out and it would have been fine but --

“Seems like our lack of communication isn’t only on us.”

Emma smirks. “Well, it’s mostly on us.”

“Point taken.” And it’s unfair because he smiles a bright smile then and her heart jumps once more.

And he looks down, again, at her lips, and Emma feels frozen only she is burning. She needs to kiss him again, and forever, probably.

“But if you cared--” Why is he talking again? She opens eyes she didn’t know she had shut to dart a murderous gaze on him. He doesn’t see it, the fool, keeps talking instead. “--why did you ask me to forget our kiss?”

That nearly knocks her out. “Our kiss? Which kiss?”

She doesn’t know just how right she is to ask this question.

He raises an eyebrow. His cheeks are flushed and his hair dishevelled, and Emma has to focus to look into his eyes and not stare at his swollen lips.

“You mean to tell me you don’t remember?”

And his eyes do a weird twitching thing. He doesn’t seem alright. And he sounds a little bit as if a part of himself has just died.

“I mean… I sure as hell think I would remember this.” Oh, she totally would.

“Your nineteenth birthday,” he exhales, and if he could raise his eyebrows any harder, they’d get stuck up his hairline, “we kissed on the rooftop right before you fell to the ground.”

Well, she does remember the wicked headache she got that day, but she thought it was caused by the alcohol and…

“No…Yes?” A pause. She frowns. Realization sinks in. Well that would explain a lot, indeed. “We did?”

That would explain his crumpled face as she asked him to forget their night, it would explain why he avoided her all through summer, and why he stayed with Milah, and why she started dating Neal in the first place, and oh -- they are two idiots, aren’t they?

“Aye. And you specifically asked me to forget that night.”

If she keeps frowning her eyebrows will remain stuck forever. She frowns harder.

“But I had no memory of that kiss.”

“Bloody hell.” And Killian lets go of a very dramatic sigh, shakes his head.

Emma’s mouth forms an “O” as she watches Killian glance further away, to the sea, and she begins to understand years of struggle could have been avoided, had they, had they…well, talked about it, it seems.

An angel passes.

“Damnit,” she whispers.

And Emma is surprised to find a chuckle tickling her throat. Why is she laughing? This isn’t funny.

He still isn’t looking at her. Impish waves keep nibbling their toes. She hates how heavy everything suddenly feels.

Emma thinks that all this time he thought-- he thought she didn’t care, but she did, oh she cared, and...

Emma breathes in, fingers pressed to her temples. Shrugs a bit, breathes out and casts an eye on Killian. He doesn’t seem alright. But she knows how to distract him.

“Since I don’t remember, allow me to ask: did you kiss me?”

His blue eyes flash in the dimness as she smirks.

She doesn’t think she has seen him look this offended before.

“I beg your pardon? You bloody kissed me, Emma!”

His high pitch does make her chuckle.

“Don’t give me that offended look. That does sound like something you’d do.”

Oh, the wrath sparkling in his gaze then, it’s a sight for sore eyes, and she cannot stop smiling.

“Nah, you were the one who melted onto my lips and sucked the bloody life out of me, perched on your high heels.”

“They weren’t that high. And, at least I did something about my feelings.”

“Well, you forgot so it was pretty useless in the end, anyway.”

“Hey!”

And her fist punches his chest, and he captures it again, traitor, and time stands still for a moment, as they glance at each other.

Everything still feels very fragile and terrifying. But that’s quite alright.

And then with a swing of his hip, he shifts her under his weight, onto the sand, and her body meets the ground softly.

His face surrounded by dark, tousled hair hides the moon from her sight, but as her breath catches in her chest, she doesn’t mind.

“You were saying?”

“Mmm…”

Emma thinks sand will get stuck in her hair. And it’s going to be a pain to wash it out. But that’s okay.

They’re only twenty-three, murmurs her inner voice, they’re allowed to be young and stupid and messy and –

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t take us another ten years to figure our shit out. Wouldn’t be nearly as sexy.”

“Speak for yourself, Swan.”

“Idiot.”

And without a second thought, or a first, she raises her face to capture his lips, drink his breath, because she is allowed to, and this is right and all she’s ever wanted.

Up the beach, down Main street, Killian and Emma walk along the roads of their childhood.

Emma doesn’t know where they are going, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not just yet.

Fear is of course lurking in one deep corner of her mind, but it is easy to ignore it while her hand is safely tucked in his.

“Where are you staying?” she asks as they shift to stare at one another.

Granny’s green B&B sign flashes behind Killian’s back.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Granny’s.”

Emma remembers New York’s cold street lights, and the snow melting onto her lips, and Killian’s damp hair, and the sad glimmer in his blue eyes and her cold, shaking hand in his.

It was the night she decided to give him up, not knowing, not knowing he cared too.

It was the night she would have burned in hell to hear him invite her into his hotel room.

(Was it worth it, all the pain, in the end?)

“Fancy a last drink, Swan?”

Streetlights dabble gold beams into his blue eyes.

She nods, a little out of breath. Something soft and awful swallows her from inside.

“Yeah.”

And down the road, up the stairs, they go, hands clasped together. Her bracelet jingles up the stairs.

Emma remembers standing on his porch before her eighteenth birthday party, forehead pressed to the door, eyes locked on her phone screen, heart beating fast, fast.

“Come in whenever you want, I’m ready!” And her stomach twisting at his reply.

Things were so easy while she was still convinced that she was in love with him and she would never love anyone else and they had all the time in the world.

She was wrong, but that’s also fine.

(Isn’t pain just pain?)

Click, he’s unlocked the door, and Emma steps forward to gaze inside. Beyond Granny’s questionable decoration choices, everything is clean and proper and Navy and Killian. What a relief.

It is quite late now, and exhaustion burns Emma’s eyes, circles her throat and crudely brings to light her fears and insecurities. She feels bare, exposed, vulnerable under the dark green chandelier.

For a short moment, she fears there will be too much to mend between them, too many scars over their chest for them to offer their hearts again.

“Make yourself at home, Swan.”

The red leather jacket is dropped onto the bed just as he neatly folds his own on a chair by the wall.

And she keeps staring at those four walls, at this cramped room, and she thinks a month ago she was marrying someone else.

She’s still scared. Is she supposed to be scared?

“You okay, love?” he nudges her.

His hand softly grabs her shoulder.

She shrugs. If she is honest with herself, she does feel a little bit overwhelmed. This room is too silent. She can almost hear past echoes of their hearts breaking.

“Yes, I’m just…”

“Reminiscing?”

A smile. “That’s not the word I would have gone for, but yeah.”

His hand hurtles down her arm and slides into hers. His touch still shoots electric trails all over her skin.

“Want to sit down, Swan?” A nod, and he’s tucking her down with him.

When Killian switches on the small outdated TV on the wooden table in front of them, Emma sighs in relief.

And when still no words echo between them, Emma feels his eyes burn the skin of her cheek.

New York again. A cold bench. The snow falling onto his hair. This pain, in her chest, as he utters her name. Milah.

(Pain is just pain.)

“What are you thinking about, Swan?”

She blinks, licks her lips. Breathes in.

Will not look at him.

Augusta airport this time. His back, his image printed in blood over her retinas, this dark shape she cannot forget, forever turned on her.

“The past.”

The pain.

Storybrooke’s town hall. Her weary eyes twitching back and forth from Neal towards the door. Begging Killian to appear. And he doesn’t. (Or he does, but he’s too late.)

“Listen, Emma,” and his fingers have found hers again, and they are soft, and she looks up to discover his eyes even gentler, and his lips spread in a tender smile, “The past is behind us and we cannot change it.”

“But there’s been so much pain…”

She sounds like she is twelve again, she can almost touch Ingrid’s wooden fence under her fingers, can almost feel the tingling fear that a splinter might get stuck in the tender skin, and she can almost smell the yellow irises, and it almost brings her to tears.

“I know. But we can do better now.”

She nods. Can they do better? What if all of this is just a chimera and they’ve both idealized their love and what if … What if none of this is real?

She should sleep. Her eyelids are heavy and her eyes burn.

But then his hand cups her cheek, and its warmth brings her back to reality, tethers her. Her own palm settles above his as she leans into his touch. Closes her eyes, for just one bit.

She is so tired. Morpheus is luring her into his arms.

“As long as I am alive--” Oh, but then he is talking, and his voice is velvet against her skin, and she opens her eyes to stare at him. She’s pretty sure he can hear the thump of her heart. “--you can live with the conviction, Swan, that I will always be by your side.” A pause. “Always.” Another silence, his words sinking into her skin, as his fingers trace butterflies along her neck. A smile. “I’ve always been in love with you. From the moment I met you.”

Oh. Her eyes widen. Thump, thump.

She is swallowed by a gigantic wave of confused feelings. She thinks an earthquake is shattering the windows and shaking the walls. She thinks a tear rolls down her cheek, but she is not crying.

And it’s not like she didn’t know, she knew, but, but also she didn’t, for so long, and this is all very confusing and unexpected but very much expected, and he keeps staring at her and she doesn’t know what to say, for fuck’s sake.

And the only answer she can come up with is her trembling hands caressing his cheeks and then slowly grabbing the lapel of his t-shirt, and then, finally -- the pressure of her lips against his. Tender, at first, and then furious, desperate, hungry.

She wants to tell him, I loved you when you walked away from me, the first time, and the times after that, as well. I loved you although you never looked back at me, and I couldn’t look forward. I loved you when you were avoiding me, and I loved you when I didn’t think I loved you anymore. But mostly, I loved you from the moment I met you.

Instead, she presses her mouth into his, fiercely, for all of those times she wishes she had been brave enough to kiss him and she didn’t.

And Emma forgives them both. Forgives their past mistakes and heartaches.

They will do better. (They want to, and that’s already half of the journey, isn’t it?)

A number. Nineteen. Emma’s nineteen tonight. He’s been for a while now. (He feels a hundred years old since Liam left. Feels like he’s been holding his breath for centuries. Only the pain doesn’t flatter.)

They’re on a rooftop. Emma’s pink dress floats in the wind, much like a pirate flag. Her smile, that night, is bright, vivid, infuriatingly confident as she glances down at his lips.

The waves crash against the sand, back and forth, back and forth.

Her body is warm against his chest. Both of his hands hold her waist.

Time stands still, as she stands up on her tip toes and kisses him.

It’s an explosion, then, in his chest. A mercurial bliss.

And this time, he catches her before the fall. He doesn’t let her go. This time, his grip is secure around her waist, his fingers firm around her hips as she stumbles forward and they chuckle together.

This time, she doesn’t forget their kiss.

No.

Instead, she stares deeply into his eyes and she says: “I’ve been meaning to do that for a while, now.”

And he says: “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

And if everything is easy, it’s only because it is a dream.

A ray of sunshine tickles Killian’s eyelids. His face crinkles, he groans, opens one hesitant eye.

Bloody hell. What a dream. Or a nightmare, he cannot really tell.

There is a weight against his chest, bitterness at the back of his mouth.

He glances down. Emma. She fell asleep in his arms last night while he was slowly rocking her, and they forgot to close the shutters and now Killian will never fall back to sleep again.

His eyes still burn.

He gazes at her face buried in the hollow of his neck, blonde hair across his chest. He smiles.

A hospital room, eight months ago. A blinding, golden light. Her sleepy smile. “Oh, you’re awake?”

He would pinch himself if he had a hand to spare.

Those six months, without her, thinking she didn’t want him, were some of the bleakest of his life.

It was like losing a limb, only he lost two. And he had to keep on learning how to walk without an anchor, how to live without a hand and without hers to hold.

And then, David’s call, one morning.

“They broke up, Killian. Neal found your letter. I think you should do something about that, or I will personally come to murder you in your pitiful apartment, do you hear me?”

Emma snores lightly against his skin. He traces the shape of her jawline with gentle fingers.

He is terrified. Perhaps it is the only way to be, for now.

Perhaps it is good. It means they’re trying. They’re evolving, together, for the first time in ages.

A grunt, her small hand spread across her face, she’s starting to wake up, he can tell.

There is still a lot of sadness in his chest, for the boy who loved a girl and suffered deeply for it. For the boy who lost everything and still managed to lose more through the years, until there wasn’t anything left to lose.

Liam’s smile from his car window. A wave. And then void, nothing.

Killian clenches his jaw.

“Hey,” a small voice groans, “if you keep staring at me while I sleep, it’s going to get creepy.”

A grin.

“Sorry love, couldn’t sleep.”

Emma lifts her chin, green eyes shimmering in this golden morning light, and she tries a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Killian.”

“Morning, Emma.”

“Am I crushing you under my weight?”

“I think I’ll survive, love.”

She still hesitates to kiss him, he sees it in the small start of her head backwards, so he bends forward to kiss her.

It’s a sloppy morning kiss, but he wants all of them.

Last night, they absolutely did not take time to undress. Emma fell asleep like a rock, and he was too afraid he’d wake her up to try and remove his clothes.

But she seems very much awake as her legs curl around his hips, and it is very hard for Killian to ignore the way her dress climbs back up her thighs and gives away the beginning of her red panties.

He can feel his cheeks become hot and red, and suddenly Emma’s smirking at him.

“Like what you see?”

He swallows down.

“It’s quite alright, aye.”

A squeeze of her thighs around his torso, he is trapped, and his heart leaps.

“Alright?” she repeats. “That’s definitely a disappointing answer.”

As for Killian’s heart, it’s practically bursting out in his chest by now. He gulps.

He cannot say he hasn’t thought a lot about it, what it would feel like to go beyond a simple kiss with Emma. How her skin would taste under his tongue.

He may have started to think about it at around age fifteen, when he saw her come back from summer vacation all tan legs out, and he can still hear Liam’s mocking tone “If you open your mouth any wider, little brother, you’re going to swallow flies.”

The thoughts worsened after their kiss. There were some lonely, desperate moments as well during which he imagined tracing the shape of her body, much like his fingers flutter against the side of her leg right now.

His eyes don’t leave hers, scrutinizing her to know if he is allowed to go further.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, Emma,” he whispers.

The wicked smile she shoots him is a sufficient answer. “Oh don’t worry, I want to.”

And then her lips find his again and his fingers are gripping her thigh now, clutching her skin, leaving marks, climbing back up some more and feel the soft skin right under the fabric of her dress.

She moans against his mouth, and it’s a wonderful sound, and suddenly they are both wearing far too many clothes and they have to hurry or they’ll combust into flames.

Emma straddles him just as her nimble fingers pull her dress up and throw it over her head.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself,” he mumbles and it’s very hard to look anywhere else but at her naked body.

But she’s already getting impatient with his t-shirt, and she groans. “Come on Killian, help me. Raise your arms up.”

“Didn’t think you’d become such a morning person, Swan.”

She laughs a bit as his t-shirt hits the floor in its turn in a muffled sound, and she does this thing where she stops to gaze into his eyes and he will die for a lack of oxygen.

He watches as she swallows, ogling him.

“Some things are worth waking up for.”

And then she’s melting into the skin of his neck as her fingers sift through his hair, and Killian ceases completely to think.

A month later -- Augusta Airport.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest. Her hold is gentle but her lips form a firm line.

As she stares at the Arrivals Board in front of her, the beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs.

He’s only been gone a week, mumbles her inner voice, but Emma’s too happy to pay attention to her pride.

She glances up, and a breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.

“He’s landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She glances down, careful not to damage the beautiful bouquet Ingrid offered last night, over the dinner table.

“I know how much he loves them,” Ingrid smiled.

Another look at the clock. He should be here any time now.

Her heart skips a blissful beat.

A part of her still cannot believe this is real. That he is coming home, for good, that Emma found them a cute apartment near the beach and they’re going to get everything they’ve ever dreamed of.

“Are you sure you want to do this...I mean, we could wait, and I could go back to Ingrid’s for a while…”

A butterfly in the dark, a kiss in the night.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything…”

Gazing all around her, Emma spots the familiar large window in front of her. It still shows a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. Well, that will never change. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair.

It is now mid September in Storybrooke, Maine, and Emma has to admit she’s missed him.

It wasn’t the kind of missing him she was far too familiar with only two months ago. It wasn’t a burning ache in her chest. It was just like losing your glasses and finding them again on your bed table, where you left them. It’s a kind of missing she knew to end. And it made a great difference.

As she remains very still, feet stuck to the ground, she remembers shaking, bouncing up and down on her feet, waiting for him to come back the first time, four years ago.

Nothing’s really changed. She is still Emma and he is still Killian. Except everything’s changed.

It feels like another lifetime. Emma smiles down at the flowers in her hands. A very peaceful sunflower blooms in her chest.

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

And she waits, knowing her love is about to arrive.

Another few minutes go by, and time seems to slow down. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Come on, relax, Emma.

And then… And then, there he is.

“Killian.” The blissful whisper escapes her throat as a brutal wave of bliss sweeps her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back. It isn’t scary anymore.

She’s somehow thankful to notice he hasn’t changed one bit, but it’s only been a week, what was she expecting? A tender hue of blue meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma, my love,” he mirrors her happy sigh.

Her heart beams as they walk towards each other, their pace sure and quick and knowing, and in a few steps he lets go of a thousand suitcases to pick her up from the ground.

“Careful, Killian, your flowers,” she complains even as her feet quit the floor.

And she tries to hold the bouquet away from his face, but he doesn’t seem to care and presses a long kiss to her mouth instead.

She sighs happily into his embrace, wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she is only too familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair.

“I missed you,” he exhales against her cheek, and drops another kiss to her cheek.

She slowly backs away, smiling. “It’s only been a week…”

He raises an eyebrow that challenges her to lie some more. She chuckles, crinkles her nose, mumbles: “Okay, I might have missed you too…”

He sighs a dramatic sigh, rolls his eyes.

“Now, you nearly gave me a heart attack, Swan. I was this close from flying back to Portsmouth.”

Idiot, her inner voice snorts, unimpressed. But her heart isn’t very concerned, and a giggle jolts out of her throat. Even her cheeks give her away, flush furiously, and she hates them for it - come on, it’s been a month now.

Her hand lingers on his face, tracing the little scar on his cheek.

“Are you going to take those flowers, or should I keep them for myself?” She attacks in a coy, sharp tone.

He flutters his eyelashes. The fucker.

“If the lady insists.”

A roll of the eye, a bright smile, and Emma’s heart sighs -- defeated. And the flowers carefully slip into his hand.

He drops another kiss to her lips. “Thank you, love.”

“Of course, Killian.”

And then there is this very dramatic moment during which they both stare at his three enormous suitcases and wonder how the hell they are going to make this work.

“Damnit. Did you have to take your whole life with you?”

“Well, a blonde lass did ask me to move in with her.”

Her fist punches his shoulder, playfully. Another sigh echoes all through the airport’s hall.

“Well, let’s go, I guess.”

She’s quick to grab the bag he let go of to hold her and seizes two red suitcases. And he watches her, the fucker, flowers in the crook of his arm and the third suitcase secure his hand. He seems infinitely entertained.

“Don’t you dare laugh in my face, Killian Jones.”

“Well, if it weren’t for the flowers, I could maybe hel-”

“-- NO. You keep the damn flowers! For once Ingrid offered them.”

And as they are walking down the airport like old times, Emma knows they’ll do better. They already are doing better.

(Emma thinks pain is just pain, and they should have known sooner, they should have known better but she also thinks that doesn’t matter because surely there is no kind of pain that cannot be absolved by a lot of love.)

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

@yasbio2015 @bubblegum1425 @daenerysmyhsa @dancingnancyy @elizabeethan @farewell-courgette @beca0912 @stina-g @tenaciouskittynightmare @noensnaringnet @klynn-stormz @sekretny13 @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @brustudyblog @peggyyswan @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @courtorderedcake @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @teamhook @mariakov81 @folkloreismylullaby @officerrogers

(Might write some missing scenes, and add a few bonuses to this story, so if you’ve got anything in mind you’d like to read, hit me up ;) (actually hit me up for anything and let’s be friends.)

#cs fanfics #cs ff #captain swan #my stuff #amy writes #i need to find a new source of serotonin guys #my brain doesn't want to let this go #thank you all for your comments #and likes #and just for reading this story #it means the world to me #and i'm so glad i got to talk to some of you through this <3 #i hope you'll this #and now i'll shut up

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heathers-wig · 4 years ago

Text

last kiss oneshot aka a sad heathers-wig making a duncney oneshot at 1AM and getting emotional over the duncney parallels because i’m THAT bitch

listen,,,,, i know. i have no shame. making duncney content in 2020? to old taylor swift songs? my pride has evaporated, so please td tumblr, have mercy.

also @ my few non-td mutuals and non-writer mutuals: do not judge me more than you already have please i’m begging.

available on ao3 here

I still remember the look on your face

Lit through the darkness at 1:58

The words that you whispered

For just us to know

You told me you loved me

So why did you go away?

A somber reflection of her own face stared back at Courtney as the brown eyed girl stared, saddened, outside one of the jet’s windows. The Jumbo-Jet had been flying for hours, to wherever the show’s next location was, and the rest of her team was fast asleep; even Cody, who was terrified of Sierra rubbing his feet at the dead of the night. Sierra herself had been worn out after hours of cutting out perfectly shaped pieces of paper of a Gwen silhouette and then destroying it — she had taken so much joy out of it, and had done it so flawlessly, that Courtney was sure it had become a routine over the few years Total Drama had been airing on TV. After today, Courtney would gladly join Sierra, if she wasn’t so busy making a list on how much of a back-stabbing, helio-phobic goth-loving liar that Gwen was.

God, Gwen; just the name made Courtney want to let out one of the most pathetic sobs that had ever been seen on television. She knew it was stupid, she honestly did, that she trusted Gwen — it wasn’t anything she said, or really anything that she did, that deemed Gwen as untrustworthy, it was more like the feeling of being unsettled that came after every time Duncan’s name would worm its way into the conversation, and the way Gwen had tensed and how the goth’s cheeks would become slightly pinker, yet her skin somehow paler; in hindsight, it was so dreadfully and painfully obvious that this would happen, and how inevitable it was that this sad, beautifully breathtaking destruction would crumble down on the fragments of happiness in Courtney’s life, but maybe that’s why Courtney and Gwen were drawn together in the first place. To prove the paparazzi wrong, or maybe because Courtney really believed that Gwen wouldn’t stoop as low and confirm the public’s suspicions. However, time had slowly gone by and Courtney learned the hard, cruel way that they were absolutely right.

Chef, who had never taken any sort of liking or pity on Courtney — except when she had sued Chris, he had begrudgingly admitted that he was impressed — had been nice (or cruel, Courtney couldn’t decide which one was more accurate,) enough to show the brunette the clip herself. Herself hugging Duncan (who she now nicknamed Dumbcan in her own mind — ugh, the jerk!) so lovingly after being separated for what felt like ages, and feeling her heart soar when he said he thought of her while he was gone —

— But that was all a lie. A lie that made Courtney feel secure in her deteriorating relationship, a lie that allowed Duncan an easy way out, a lie that filled Gwen’s stomach to the brim with fluttering butterflies. Courtney had to watch, with something that felt all too familiar to horror, as Duncan and Gwen embraced and slowly leaned towards each other, all while knowing and ignoring the brunette outside who was just so happy that she had her boyfriend back and someone she could call the closest to a best friend was still in the game with her. It was almost ironic how that ended. Almost.

Now, staring out the window, Courtney couldn’t help but wander how this could have possibly happened. Of course, she knew the actual answer; Gwen falling for Duncan after her public and awful breakup with Trent, and Duncan losing interest in her as Courtney thought more and more of their relationship as long-term versus until one of them had gotten a sudden sweep of common sense and dumped the other. Whenever Courtney had tried to construct the words in her head of what she would say to Duncan when she eventually had to actually face him, the thoughts that were so carefully balanced on the tip of her tongue would come tumbling back down to the pit of her stomach. Throwing a pity party and tantrum when breaking up with Duncan would be inevitable — she knew it, as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it — but the feeling of dread she felt when looking back on their initial relationship was too much to bear.

It was ironic, wasn’t it, how she was the first to lean in, while Duncan had took the final lean out? And how he didn’t even have enough guts to breakup with her to begin with? Sure, it would definitely hurt, but she was almost positive that it would be nowhere near the amount of heartache she felt while watching that clip.

What killed her the most was that she could still remember the electric blue eyes of his that seemed to illuminate the darkness of night that day she rebelled, the very day she would now do anything to erase from history. The look of initial shock on his face when Courtney grabbed his face and smashed their lips together in one electrifying kiss... it was painful to remember such a time. If Courtney tried hard enough, she was sure she could hear the slight chatter of their friends behind them and the crickets around them and maybe even the humming of porch lights next to them. Possibly even pick up on the slight smell of cigarettes that followed Duncan everywhere (like his criminal record, as Courtney would snidely berate him, though those days were left to wither in the past), or unfortunately the resting puddle of vomit next to the porch.

“Enjoy a peanut butter-less life,” he had remarked, the words still ringing in Courtney’s head almost two years later.

“Thanks,” Courtney herself had quipped, leaning up against him. “Enjoy prison,”

“I will,” the juvenile smirked. It all felt like such a long time ago. Had it all meant nothing? Maybe it had been broadcasted around the world, but it was such a private and intimate moment between them that felt like it was for them and them alone — and yet he cheated? He turned around and kissed up her best friend with little to no remorse? Did it mean anything to him? She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

If it did, wouldn’t he had stayed? Wouldn’t he had wanted to talk things out, instead of hurting her in the worst way possible? Wouldn’t he have meant every ‘I love you,’ he said while they were still dating with no second thought? Did he even mean every ‘I love you’? Or were they just lies that tasted as sweet as honey on his tongue, that he spoon-fed to Courtney every now and then to keep her from leaving him.

She wasn’t sure what haunted her more; knowing that Duncan felt no regret for what he did or having a last kiss with no knowledge of its significance.

I do recall now

The smell of the rain

Fresh on the pavement

I ran off the plane

That July ninth

The beat of your heart

It jumps through your skin

I can still feel your arms

As odd as it felt, a few weeks have gone by since her nasty breakup with Duncan. She finally got to shove Gwen (who was swelling up from her allergic reaction at a concerning rate, but Courtney had no pity left for Gwen in her heart that the goth and Duncan were responsible for breaking) off of Chris’s jet, but to her disappointment it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she hoped it would be. Sure, seeing Gwen’s falling figure struggle to open the parachute brought a smile to her face and earned a chuckle from Heather (and a maniacal laugh from Sierra), but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to personally shove Duncan off the plane herself, but she wouldn’t be as kind to him as she was with Gwen; she’d be taking the parachute right before she shoved the fatal push.

The feeling that came after Gwen’s elimination was hard to describe — of course, sheer joy immediately after, but after the cameras stopped rolling and Chris instructed them all to head to bed, panic took its place. Courtney knew she was a target from her fellow teammates — Heather probably wanted to chop all her hair off for flirting with her dear Alejandro; Courtney almost wished the two would get together and save Courtney the heartbreak she’d have to face that there was no one left for her. Duncan would of course crave Courtney’s elimination, and Alejandro and Sierra would probably agree to anything so as long as it wasn’t them, or Cody, in Sierra’s case. Just about everything seemed to be going her way, wasn’t it?

Courtney wasn’t even sure if she cared at this point. Should she? Of course, winning would be a great payment for everything she’s had to put up with on Total Drama, this season in particular, but at the same time, with Gwen officially out of the running, following her and going back home would feel even better.

Home. Courtney hadn’t been there in ages, and at this point she wasn’t sure what she considered home to be. There was the pristine mansion she was raised in by her lawyer parents, and while that place might have looked like the front of a magazine cover, it felt like an empty ghost of a home. Not a single thing was out of place — not a throw pillow or piece of silverware. Her parents were either always at work, travelling for a case, or holed up in their respective offices; there was rarely “family time”. Courtney was fine with this, though; that’s just how things were for the Castillo family.

There was Camp Wawanakwa, as evil and ironic as it was. For a few weeks, she lived with teenagers, not the reality stars they were now. When her friends from debate club sometimes dragged her to a rewatch of the first season, it was odd to see how different they were all back then, but at the same time, they really hadn’t changed at all. Though Courtney was unsure if she would ever step foot on that island ever again, it would always hold a place in her heart — good or bad? She hadn’t decided yet — for the beginning of whatever her life was now.

Her apartment was an option, as well. It wasn’t as much home as just the place she so happened to live in. No emotional attachment whatsoever; some boxes were still stacked in a spare coat closet, all neatly labeled in a thick Sharpie. It wasn’t that Courtney was disorganized or lazy, more like there was no use in unpacking all of her belongings in a temporary home. She moved out of her parents’ mansion as college crept closer and closer, and she hadn’t lived with her parents since last summer.

That summer felt alien at this point, looking at old photographs that were neatly organized on her cellphone. She remembered her family went on a month-long vacation in Europe, and Duncan had come to pick her up from the airport, much to her parents’ displeasure. The Castillos and Duncan did not get along, but tried to be civil for Courtney’s sake — they knew how much it could upset her when they were constantly at odds. Being civil was nowhere easy for either parties, but seeing Courtney’s happiness and hope that there was just maybe a hope that she and Duncan would be able to have a future together made it worth it.

However, seeing his arm around her waist with easy smiles on both of their lips made Courtney’s stomach lurch, just knowing what he would do a little more than a year later. It brought back too many memories that were painful to recall, and came all at once with no warning, much like a band-aid being harshly torn off the surface of a child’s knee.

That day it had been raining all afternoon, and there was still a slight drizzle and mist in the air when Courtney’s family had landed. Duncan was there, at the pickup area, with brunch for herself and her entire family from some local cafe — as much as he would deny it, deep down she just knew he was a sweetheart — and as soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around Courtney, which Courtney had gladly returned.

The smell of rose and cigarettes, a smell that had become the twisted combination of the aromas surrounding Courtney and Duncan, filled Courtney’s nose, and she couldn’t help but bask in how glorious it felt, to simply be embraced by Duncan. No bickering, no making out, just a simple sign of affection was all it took for Courtney to feel at peace. They were so close, she could’ve swore she could feel the faint beat of his heart underneath his t-shirt.

It was such a quick, and rather insignificant moment, of their relationship, that Courtney couldn’t figure out, for the life of her, why it stuck with her. Maybe because it was insignificant in the long run it was so cherishable to her — a quick, stolen moment of sweet nothings that was caught in the middle of the timeline of her rather messy and confusing relationship with Duncan.

Did Duncan still remember that July ninth? Probably not. Realistically, not. In fact, he was probably busy daydreaming making out with his new girlfriend in another all new spot on Gwen’s neck that made them feel something new that they never felt with Trent or Courtney. Not at all reminiscing on Courtney unwillingly falling in love with Duncan that July ninth in front of her parents, not at all remembering the imprint he left on her heart (though it did give her a sense of satisfaction that all Duncan could do was wish, as Courtney could gladly say she heard Gwen’s shrieks of terror as she plummeted towards the Earth at a rapid pace with a broken parachute).

Feeling a sudden chill in the air, Courtney runs her hands up and down her upper arms. As much as she hated him for it, she could still feel Duncan’s arms wrapping themselves around her, and she felt less colder.

She doubted Duncan remembered the smell of lingering rain on the pavement that July ninth, or the hand squeeze and smile she gave him, or her parents finally warming up to him when he remembered their favorite brunch meal.

She doubted he would even want to remember any of it.

But now I’ll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don’t know how to be something you missed

Never thought we’d have a last kiss

Never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Courtney wasn’t sure what to feel; upset? Angered? Humiliated? Robbed of winning, yet again? Maybe even a little relieved? They were all emotions she had felt before on the previous times she had been eliminated from Total Drama, but considering the circumstances... Courtney decided a combination of all would be the most appropriate.

She was upset she allowed herself to cheat for Alejandro, who she was only really using to spite Duncan (not like Duncan had even batted an eye, which admittedly really stung), and she was fully aware Alejandro didn’t return her feelings, but God, she hadn’t felt any joy in what felt like ages, maybe she felt Alejandro would, what, reward her? All she got was a kiss after she freshened up, and it wasn’t even that good to begin with — too much tongue for her liking.

Duncan knew how to kiss me just right. Crossed her mind, but as soon as it surfaces, she shoves it far, far down.

And she was angry, so angry that she had allowed herself to be used and manipulated, on International TV no less! She looked like exactly what she was, and she did not like it in any way, whatsoever — weak. And with that, humiliation; being cheated on, blanked, used and then sent packing with that trashy, gossip-craving Blaineley of all people was such a huge hit to her pride, Courtney was unsure if her pride would ever be able to recover, even five years from now. God, that was pathetic, the thought of still being sensitive to her Total Drama World Tour experience as a full-on adult. Definition of embarrassing. Her ego was massively bruised, and had taken such a fall that Courtney was sure she would never allow herself to get close to anyone ever again. Was it selfish? Maybe. But a businesswoman has to do what she has to do to be successful and strong, and if that meant ghosting everyone and plunging herself into her work — so be it.

However... a small, incredibly fragile fraction of herself was so relieved. Of course, she wanted to win, to show to her ex-friend and boyfriend she was more than capable of destroying them, but she had already endured so much humiliation during that season that she felt her shoulders relax a little rather than tense up before she jumped off the plane. Though the cameras didn’t show it, Courtney found herself smiling like a lunatic — like Izzy, as she had now come to realize, not that she enjoyed acknowledging it one bit — as she dived off the jet, finally free from Chris, the cameras and most of all, Duncan.

But now that she was back at her bleak apartment, she realized that cruelly ironically enough that he was more present in her own dorm even when he was across the world, with no thought or emotion to spare in her direction. The couch reeked of him, where he had spent New Years’ Eve and where they ended up falling asleep at 4 in the morning; the coffee table underneath her bare fingers felt like him, where an engraving of D+C was proudly displayed on the corner; the fridge seemed to still have him traced all over it, where she and Duncan had a huge argument in front of before he had slipped out the words “I love you” for the first time, and even the coat racket was imprinted with Duncan, where one of his jackets still hung, firm from months of not being used. Though a part of her wanted to reach out for it and wrap it around herself for some source of comfort, Courtney knew she shouldn’t — she couldn’t. But...

It was ridiculous. A stupid, humiliating and reckless idea that would take the mere shreds left of her ego, dignity and pride and bury them six feet under. But right now, nobody would know... there was no paparazzi or roommate around to expose her, and she did feel awfully cold....

Grabbing the collar of the jacket, Courtney wrapped it around her shoulders and (shamefully, she couldn’t believe she was allowing her pride to stoop even lower than it already had) dashed in her pristine bedroom and immediately opened one of her drawers; Duncan’s drawer, which was filled with even more memories, both good and bad. To be fair, they were once all good, but now they left a sour sting on Courtney’s tongue. She tore through the drawer, before fixating on one item and pulling it out — one of Duncan’s many copies of his infamous skull t-shirt.

Without even meaning to, Courtney found herself crumbling like a piece of wet gingerbread. How pathetic are you? She mentally scolded herself, but at that moment she found herself realizing she simply didn’t care. After a lifetime of being as cold and emotionless as she could be, a boy of all things is what broke her down. After being rid of Total Drama — for now, Courtney had to remind herself — and the travel, the cameras and the clothes, and now just in her pajamas and dreadfully Duncan’s jacket, Courtney couldn’t help but unleash the full power of the sobs that had been building up in Courtney since the breakup.

How was she going to get past this? Would she always be remembered as the bitch that a criminal cheated on on TV? What about her future? Would this all affect her chances in office? How could her ego possibly come back from this? Most of all, how would she cope knowing that Duncan, the nuisance criminal she’s despised for around two or three years, was gone for good and was never, ever coming back, no matter how much Courtney craved for it?

Would Duncan even miss her? Would he ever, someday in the future, when things with Gwen were rocky? Would he remember Courtney, and think of her as something he missed? Was that even a title Courtney had the chance of claiming?

Courtney craved Duncan. She wanted his presence in her apartment, she wanted his arms around her, his lips pressed on her own; she hadn’t, didn’t and probably would never have wanted a last kiss, and knowing that they were as good as done with no chance of having another stolen kiss — it was too much. How could she have let them end like this?

“D... Duncan,” The name forces itself out of Courtney’s throat and through her lips, crumpling his shirt in her hands and bringing her knees to the ground, where she continues to sob. Tossing one more item from the drawer — the wooden skull, with D+C engraved on it, looking as new as it did years ago — she hurls it at the mirror in the corner of her room, its impact cracking the glass.

Maybe in the morning Courtney would care, but at that moment, all she wanted was to be comforted by the one person who couldn’t, wouldn’t and would never comfort her ever again. All she knew was that she would never stop craving Duncan, no matter who was by her side or made her smile and laugh and shower her with kisses — the whole time she would be wishing it was Duncan instead, sharing a kiss that would be far from their last.

I do remember

The swing in your step

The life of the party, you’re showing off again

And I roll my eyes and then

You pull me in

I’m not much for dancing

But for you I did

Because I love your handshake

Meetin’ my father

I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something

There’s not a day that I don’t miss those rude interruptions

Courtney despised the nights that followed post-World Tour elimination; they were filled with nightmares of happier times that mocked Courtney, nightmares that were dressed like perfect, safe and welcoming dreams. Nightmares that felt like incredible dreams at first, until Courtney woke up and remembered how alone she truly was.

That night it was a random, and rather insignificant, memory of a wild party that Duncan had dragged her to. It was hosted by the cousin of a friend of Geoff’s friend, and of course Geoff and Duncan insisted that Bridgette, Courtney and DJ to come with, as much as Courtney was opposed to the idea. Duncan always made impacts, for lack of better word, on the guests, that would usually result in him adding a hundred followers to his Instagram, starting a riot and Courtney having to bail him out of jail or being kicked out by the host; it was a gamble each time.

That night, Duncan had chosen to boast in front of a group of guests on all the laws he had broken and tattoos he had gotten — just Duncan’s usual load of shit.

Courtney had rolled her eyes and sneered in disgust — just Courtney’s typical reaction to said load of shit. “God, Duncan, those tattoos are disgusting, I don’t see how you put up with them,” She had scowled. Duncan shrugged and wrapped his arm around her, leaning into Courtney, intently watching her incredibly dark and hypnotizing (at least, they were to him) eyes widen in surprise.

“You’re just no fun,” Duncan lamely insulted, poking his tongue out at her and showcasing his tongue piercing that made Courtney’s nose scrunch up.

“I am plenty of fun!” Courtney snapped.

“Really? Prove it,” Duncan challenged, jerking his head toward the dance floor. Courtney gave him a withering glare that would have turned anyone else to a mere pile of dust, before gripping his wrist and dragging her with him, determined to prove him wrong. Unbeknownst to her, he was grinning like an enamored puppy behind her.

As a slow song came on, Courtney wrapped her arms around Duncan’s neck while her wrapped his around her waist as they slowly swayed around to the beat of the song. Just as Duncan dipped her down, and Courtney felt a glamorous sensation as they both leaned toward each other and —

— suddenly, Duncan impaled a hook through Courtney (that looked all too familiar to the one he had spooked her with a long time ago) that Courtney hadn’t even noticed he had, before dropping her on the dance floor, her white dress staining with red blood like wine, as everyone else continued dancing to the romantic melody, paying no glance to Courtney.

She felt light headed while her eyelids felt like three tons, and as she fell on her knees, hunched over from the wound, she couldn’t help but notice as her eyes began to flutter shut no one spared a glance at her way; not even Duncan, who was back with his friends, showcasing the book like it was a trophy. As Courtney knew she was breathing her last breath, Duncan glanced her way and gave a crooked smirk, his eyes flashing hot with satisfaction at her pain. The ocean blue in his eyes had become a ferocious storm.

Courtney had jarred awake, hot, sweaty, emotional and desperate with the time of 2:34 staring back at her from her alarm clock. Courtney sighed with relief upon the realization it was just another nightmare about her ex-boyfriend, one that was rather cheesy anyway — what she would give to not be haunted by him as she still was. Unfortunately, as much as she hated the fact, she knew he still roamed her consciousness, subconsciousness and unconsciousness because of the fact she still loved him, even after everything, and a fraction of that love would probably live on for years to come until Courtney was on her deathbed.

With that comforting thought, Courtney groaned and turned away from her clock and towards the wall, studying the plaster like her life depended on it; anything to get her away from the angry electric blue that followed her even when her eyes were sealed shut.

It was plain annoying how she knew that she still loved Duncan, no matter how many times she was forced to re-live the brutal truth that he no longer loved her whenever she came face-to-face with a tabloid at the checkout line when she would occasionally get groceries, or search his name on the Internet to see how he was coping; maybe Courtney couldn’t face the truth, couldn’t face that maybe she was no longer in love with Duncan but instead with the memories of him that were scattered about her life.

It felt odd going to her parents’ and not having to deal with her father staring Duncan down, and for Duncan to stare right back, passive-aggressively. Not to watch both men clench each other’s hands firmly while looking at the other dead in the eye when Courtney introduced them. Now whenever she went to her parents’, all she felt was the sore reminder that in the end, the Castillos were right — Duncan was nothing but trouble and pain in the end.

It was painful going to the mall without Duncan to lean on, or his hand to clutch as they would lazily walk around the shops. Or how Courtney no longer had to unfold each of Duncan’s clothes from being inside-out in the laundry or hand a mountain of objects found in Duncan’s pockets to him before stuffing his pants in the washer. Duncan used to (or maybe he still did, Courtney would have no idea,) stuff anything and everything he possibly could into his pockets — keys, empty wrappers of gum, cigarettes or small things he’d pick pocketed, even spare change (though Courtney used to mock him for still carrying pennies around — who does that? She’d tease).

“That’s what you get for always walking with your hands in your pockets,” Courtney used to barate. “Someday, you’re going to end up washing your wallet if it isn’t for me,”

“Yeah, well, you’ll always be here, so that’s not a concern,” Duncan had winked back.

All Courtney could do now was scowl at how that had aged.

Hell, Courtney found herself missing their arguments — mostly over the small and rather unimportant things, they were ironically some of her fondest memories. Half the time their arguments would end up with the two making out after Duncan had silenced her with a kiss, and Courtney was now well-aware no one would ever interrupt her in such a way ever again.

Duncan was the only person who Courtney would allow to interrupt her, though now he wouldn’t want to even listen to her, let alone care enough to plant a kiss on her lips when she was in the middle of talking. Courtney had never wanted someone to interrupt her more than she wanted Duncan to.

And I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don't know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe

And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are

Hope it's nice where you are

( TIME JUMP: 4 Months after TDAS )

Two months after coming home, Courtney found herself slowly healing from the damage that Duncan had caused on her heart. Two more months after that, Courtney found herself genuinely able to smile after that without the desire for Duncan and Gwen to be by her side; a year after that, Total Drama All Stars has been done for four months and Courtney lived day-to-day life without thinking of either Duncan or Gwen.

Courtney had been laying low for that time; obnoxious, gossip-hungry tabloids had asked for a “statement” from her whenever Gwen or Duncan or one of her ex-contestants found themselves on a headline, but Courtney shot them down every time — her ego might have taken a huge hit from World Tour and that episode from All Stars, but she wasn’t desperate enough to willingly make an appearance and be interviewed by Celebrity Manhunt.

The questions for “statements” seemed to blur over time; do you have any words of advice for Heather, who suspects Alejandro of cheating? Have you heard Trent’s new single? Rumor has it it’s about Gwen and Duncan! Speaking of Gwen and Duncan, if they were reading this, what would you say to them?

It was an endless and rather tiring cycle of the paparazzi trying to lure a reaction out of her, which Courtney refused to give into.

However, one day as Courtney was loading her groceries on a conveyor belt at the local grocery store, a headline from a tabloid caught her eye. All Courtney read were the words Totally Dramatic, and Courtney knew she should look away — they were the same magazine that publicly called Courtney a bitch a few months ago, which she would never forget. Though she had self-control in public, she found that at 11PM on a Friday night she had little to no self-control and found herself pulling open her laptop and typing Totally Dramatic in the search bar on Safari.

Almost immediately, the faces of her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend take over her screen, with the text underneath that’s all too hard to miss — Gwuncan Engagement Rumors Confirmed!?

Courtney could feel her the pit of her stomach drop and her heart shatter as it crashed to the ground below her.

It wasn’t that she missed Duncan — she didn’t! It was just that she so good at her job of avoiding Gwen and Duncan’s names like the plague she was blissfully unaware that they had gotten back together.

She would be lying if Courtney said she hadn’t thought of reaching out to Gwen — and shamefully, it would be a lie if Courtney swore she never considered sending a drunk text to Duncan (thankfully, she never had; it was a nightmare just thinking of the embarrassment that would cause) — but always decided against it because of three reasonings; there was no way either would want to hear from her, they hated her guts and Courtney would never allow her dignity to stoop as low as it had during the third season ever again.

But now — now Courtney was sure she would never reach out. Not even a quick Congratulations! text, not a gift basket, not even show up to Gwen’s bachelorette party if she felt bold enough. Courtney was positive that she was reduced to the stalking ex, browsing through both of their Instagrams, watching them mature and fall back in love through their own photographs. It was... strange, to say the least.

What was this feeling that was erupting inside her? It wasn’t jealousy, she had gotten over Duncan months ago, but it wasn’t sadness, resentment or anger, either. It was like the feeling of realizing that, as ironically and unbelievable as it was, the two had grown up without Courtney, and all she could do was watch from a distance. Watch them slowly move on from their memories of Courtney — both bad and good — until the mention of her left both indifferent; Courtney was almost positive that being hated by the two would be less painful than knowing that at one point, they were the closest and best people in her life and now they couldn’t care less on how Courtney was.

Courtney used to watch Gwen paint and draw with such concentration that she was sure she would be held accountable for messing her art up if she just so much as breathed too loudly. The furrow between her brows would deepen and the stormy gray of her eyes would be clouded over with concentration and care, and Courtney found herself wishing that she was as passionate about something as Gwen was of her art. Sure, she had her studies in law, but Gwen’s skills — they were truly beautiful. She used to watch Gwen’s head very thrown back a little when she laughed a little too hard, and how tears would leak from the corner of her eyes from laughter so easily. Or how whenever Gwen dyed her hair again, she would unintentionally run her fingers through it all of the time, leaving Courtney wandering just how soft her hair could possibly be with her double-conditioning. But now she would witness all of Gwen’s happiness through her phone’s screen when she would look up her name on Instagram.

Courtney also used to watch Duncan do so many miscellaneous things that it would be impossible to list them all; like how his eyes would glint with joy whenever he would successfully break a law, a small shot of success and pride to keep him going. Or how, as much as he stated he hated them, always showing great amounts of concern when his friends or family were stressed and immediately began brainstorming how to make them feel better. Or how no matter how tough he pretended to be, when he slept, he just looked so peaceful that it was impossible to find yourself able to avoid falling for him. But now all she’d be seeing of him was his face plastered on a tabloid, probably with his arms around Gwen’s waist.

Maybe she was being overdramatic, but it really was ironic how at one point, she had held them both so close she could feel them breathe but now all she felt was herself slowly becoming more and more insignificant to the two of them, until she was nothing more than just a blurry memory and a face that was hard to recall among others.

Someday in the future, she could already picture herself casually asking Bridgette how Duncan was, since he was still friends with Geoff and DJ, afterall — what would she be expecting? For him to be struggling to make a living and pay rent? For Duncan to be unhappy with his life and relationship? For Gwen and Duncan to experience as much pain as they inflicted on her?

Deep down, she knew the real answer; no matter how many times they’d backstab the other, Courtney just wanted Gwen and Duncan to have the best, even if it killed her to admit it.

A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the same about her, too.

And I hope the sun shines

And it's a beautiful day

And something reminds you

You wish you had stayed

You can plan for a change in weather and time

But I never planned on you changing your mind

Maybe one day Duncan would look back on their relationship like Courtney had been doing for months — or maybe, a small part of her hoped, he had been.

All Courtney could hope for was that someday in the future, when Courtney had found peace and Gwen and Duncan were happily moving on to whatever chapter of their lives lied ahead of them, something small would catch Duncan’s eye — a picture of her on the news, a box that reeked of memories of her, even the mere mention of her name — would send him back in time to when they were sixteen and still in love and clueless to the cruel world around them, and maybe a small part of him that he thought died when he was a teenager would blossom again with the wish that he had stayed; they would always be their own biggest what-ifs.

Courtney had planned anything and everything in her life ahead of time; one thing she hadn’t ever expected? Duncan to give up on her and leave her with a last kiss while she still craved for more. And while he had moved on, Courtney was stuck in the past, but that was okay — if he could move on, so could she, and her while that may take time, she was fully prepared to wait it out; she may have been painted as the villain of the story, but she also deserved her happily ever after.

So I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don’t know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Just like our last kiss

Forever the name on my lips

Just like our last

#duncney #writing angsty and sad duncney in 2020?#couldn’t be me #total drama #td courtney #td duncan #gwuncan #td gwen #total drama world tour #total drama all stars #pls td tumblr forgive me #WHY DID I WRITE SM #song fic #song fic oneshots are my jam #please forgive me for writing all of this #enjoy angsty courtney is it obvious i love her with my entire heart

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years ago

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 64 - Bridges Built and Burned

Chapter Rating: Teen Chapter Warnings: description of a panic/anxiety attack Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 or start at Chapter 1

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Twelfth day of Haring, 9:31 Dragon

An air of calm followed Rosslyn over the following days as she settled into the limitations the mages put on her for her recovery. In the beginning, she chafed at not being allowed to do more, but after the first hour-long meeting with Cailan and his surviving advisors left her grey-faced and staring into thin air, she gave in to her convalescence with barely a grumble. Anora, at least, understood her need to be doing something, even if beneath the graceful manners and elegant pours of tea every conversation with the queen felt like a test, a way to pry out her inclinations and posture over the king’s good opinion. Perhaps the suspicion was merely a holdover from too many years of habit, a wariness for the woman who had been set up as her rival before she even left the schoolroom, but it didn’t make their talks any less exhausting.

Far more pleasant was the extra time she got to spend with Alistair. Charming as ever, he kept as much in her company as he could with all her duties loaded on his shoulders, taking her out onto the battlements or to see Cuno, or tucked up in the warmth of the library so they could go through paperwork together. The normalcy of it felt strange after almost a year of sleeping with only a thin sheet of canvas to keep out the weather, and the routine and bustle of an army camp to keep her from thinking too deeply of home. Now home was the reality, complete with the familiar comforts and faces she had left behind, even if the fit was slightly off, like a favourite shirt pulled out of shape after one too many launderings.

On the third day, she even managed to sneak away. It was good to have a little rebellion, despite her reluctance to go further than either seeing Lasan in the stables, or to the kennel to check on Cuno’s recovery. Her dog’s missing foreleg had done nothing to quell his excitement when she had first stepped into the runs, his fits of whistling sneezes setting all the others off in mad barking so they wouldn’t be left out. Only Alistair’s sharp check for her injuries had stopped the dog bowling her over, but he had pushed into her face nonetheless, anxious as a nursemaid as she buried her head against his neck and erupted into sobs. He was still wobbly on his feet and a little incontinent, thanks to the medicines mixed by the healers, but otherwise he had recovered well.

“A few more days, and the mages say they can start to wean him off their potions,” Gareth informed her now as they watched his eyelids droop from the latest dose.

“That’s good,” she answered, smiling. “Then he can come upstairs and stop howling the walls down every time I have to leave.”

“Daft sod. Uh – I mean –”

“You’re the one living with him,” Rosslyn allowed. “If anyone’s earned the right to call him that, it’s you.”

Gareth chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s a good lad, mind.”

“He is.”

On her way back to the keep, she turned right instead of left beyond the harness room, and followed the stairs down towards the cells claimed from the old Alamarri settlement on the hill. Guilt prodded her steps, and intrigue. A question that had bothered her since finding out how her dog had survived. The guards posted to the vestibule at the bottom snapped to attention when they saw her coming, though the nervous glance they shared betrayed more than simple surprise.

“I’m here to see the blood mage,” she announced, before they could ask, or tell her to go away. When they hesitated, as if she were no more than a mere servant wanting to satisfy her curiosity, she drew herself up and stared them down.

“With all due respect, Ma’am, that man is maleficar, he canna be trusted.”

“And with no templars in the keep –”

“Am I still the Teyrna of Highever, or has something changed in the last half an hour?” she demanded. “Your concern for my safety is noted, but you wear the Laurels and you will stand aside at my orders.”

Defeated, the guards shared another glance before the one with the keys led the way to the right cell. The weight of the rock pressed down on her, almost as heavy as the darkness crowding around the oil-burning lanterns set in alcoves in the wall.

“Leave me the light, and lock the door behind me,” she commanded.

“Aye, Your Ladyship.”

She held the lantern high as she stepped into the cell – the same one that so lately had housed Fergus, though she tried not to think about it, or the animalistic odour lingering in the stone. The blood mage huddled in the far corner, flinching away from the light as it fell on him, but not fast enough that her breath didn’t catch. He was thinner now, and the scruff on his face had lengthened into a thin beard, but the lank hair and pale skin were the same as they had been when she confronted Howe. Pushing the memories away, she looked further and noted the cloth wrapped around his manacles to stop him cutting himself on the sharp edges, though she doubted that would be much of a barrier to one determined to make themselves bleed. That he hadn’t resorted to those desperate measures counted for him – but then, perhaps he was just patient.

“Jowan,” she said, as the lock clicked behind her.

When he turned to her, he had to blink until his eyes adjusted to the light, and when he recognised her, trepidation stiffened every muscle in his body.

“Your – I mean, my lady?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how all these different title things work.”

“Your Ladyship,” she affirmed. “To you, anyway. I’m told you’re the one responsible for saving my dog’s life.”

A hasty, terrified nod.

“Then I owe you my thanks. He’s doing well, almost back to his old self.”

“I – I’m glad to hear it, Your Ladyship,” he managed.

Rosslyn let the silence stretch. As the moments passed under what Alistair called her general’s stare she watched the mage fidget and drop his gaze to the floor, covering his arms across his body as best he could. Good; if he were flustered, she would more easily spot a lie.

“I want to know why you did it,” she said at last.

“Uh…”

“Why didn’t you let him die when you already had a hand in the deaths of so many others?”

Jowan’s eyes flicked to hers in what might have been defiance, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. “I never wanted to kill anyone,” he confessed. “I only ever wanted to live free of the Circle. I don’t know if you have any idea what it was like there –”

“I saw what it became,” she replied, gently.

“That’s right. I heard about what Uldred did. He was the one who taught me about blood magic. If I’d been braver…” He swallowed. “But I was just an apprentice, and he was one of the senior enchanters – I knew they’d never believe me if I said anything, they’d just… All I wanted was to escape. I’m not that good at magic, I was never like Surana or Clement or Karyna, and there were always so many horror stories about the Harrowing, I knew they’d kill me or make me Tranquil for sure.” He seemed to realise he was speaking too quickly, and sighed to centre himself. “But I was caught trying to get into the phylactery chamber. I had no choice. I wanted to protect Lily, but she… I don’t know what they did to her.”

“Who’s Lily?” Rosslyn asked.

“I love her. But when I… Maker’s breath, she looked at me like I was a monster. The thought that she might have paid for my crime…”

She recognised the spiral he was about to fall into, had been there herself. Steady, she leaned into his eyeline and repeated her first question. “Why did you save my dog’s life?”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” he replied, looking up from his hands at last. “I was too afraid before, but you stood up to him, even after everything he said. Howe and Loghain threatened to hand me over to the templars if I didn’t do what they asked, but when I saw what you did, I couldn’t sit by anymore.” He straightened, and for the first time met her eye without hesitation. “That’s the truth. I’ve made so many mistakes, disappointed so many people – I wish I could go back and fix it. I don’t know if anything I do could ever make it right.”

With a sigh, Rosslyn lowered the lantern. “His Majesty has asked for my opinion on what should be done with you. As it stands, the templars are not in a position to take you back to the Circle, but nor can he just let you go.”

“I understand, Your Ladyship.”

“For my own part,” she went on, “I am grateful for what you did, but it wouldn’t be fair to weigh one life against the many more you’ve caused to suffer.”

At that, the mage slumped, though his expression lacked surprise. “I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I do wish I could go back and fix everything.” He licked his lips. “Thank you for coming to see me, anyway, for… giving me a chance to talk. It means a lot.”

“No decision has been made yet,” she told him, without quite knowing why.

He offered her a smile as she called for the guard, but it was thin and faded quickly. His eyes followed the swing of the door as it was opened, and as she ducked through back into the corridor, she didn’t look back. The second guard had followed his mate to watch her, and he saluted. The door slammed. She almost turned away, but something about his manner stopped her, a nervousness more sensed than seen, and while she couldn’t source it, it brought her notice to his posture, the way he stood not by the wall but in the middle of the corridor as if to herd her back the way she had come. Considering she had already escaped Jowan’s cell unscathed, it made little sense.

“What’s down there?” she asked, with a jut of her chin.

“No one.” The guard’s eyes flew wide. “That’s – nothing. I meant, ‘nothing’. Your Ladyship.”

She advanced on him, just a step. “Who is down there?”

“Uh… It’s really nothing to concern yourself with,” he tried again, but before she could squeeze anymore out of him, a dry, nasally voice trickled through the cracks in the stone walls and turned her blood to ice.

“Is that a visitor for little old me? Do hurry up, I’ve got a busy schedule.”

The guard tried to push in front of her. “Your –”

“Give me the keys,” she growled.

She didn’t even wait to be given them, instead snatched the ring out of the guard’s half-obedient hand, already marching forward. Her fingers shook. Disbelief raged through her blood. Her heart beat so loudly she didn’t hear the key when she turned it in the lock, but when the door swung open, with the light spilling through around her against the opposite wall, even that seemed to stop.

Howe’s face was obscured by dirt and a grey tangle of beard, layers of old bandages wrapped around his head crusted with blood on the left side, his skin saggy from lost weight, but the hooked nose and narrow, polecat eyes would be recognisable anywhere. It was like being stabbed again. She wanted to vomit.

The swine smirked at her. “Well, well, well. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

She tried to focus on his chains, his clothes, how the once-bright satin hung off him in tatters. “They found you.”

Her lungs wouldn’t work. How long had he been kept in the dungeon – under her feet? Why was he still alive? Why had nobody told her?

“I suppose it was too much to hope Loghain might have killed you,” he drawled, as if remarking about a small bet on a slow horse. “You’ve shown such an infuriating talent for survival – or maybe it’s just that so many people are willing to die in your place.” His eyes glittered. “Your father, your people, your dog –”

“You didn’t kill him,” she snapped. “He lives.”

“Oh? Pity.”

“What are you doing here?” Every word ground like glass on her tongue.

At this, Howe looked absolutely delighted. “Me?” he repeated. “I am here on the king’s invitation.”

“You’re a lopsided old man sitting in his own shit in a dungeon.” The wound in her side ached. She couldn’t stop shaking. “You have nothing left. And you’ll die a traitor’s death.”

“Will I?” he asked. “And what about you? You seem surprised to see me. Nobody told you I was here, did they? Not your crippled excuse for a brother, or the king, or even your dear princey-wincey. It must hurt, thinking you’re so important, so grown up, only to find those closest to you have so little regard for you. imagine not even telling you they’re secretly hiding your greatest enemy in your own keep!”

A pause, to let the realisation settle, but even though she knew what he was doing her feet were rooted to the stone and every barb stung and her mind stuck on the sight of him and it whisked away to what he had done, what he had wanted to do –

“They still consider you a child, just like your father when he sent you away. Do you want to know what his last words were? The look in his eyes when he realised I was the one who had brought him what he finally deserved?” He laughed. “And your mother. Do you want to know how long it took her to die? How many arrows –”

“ENOUGH!”

He fell silent, still smirking as if he weren’t manacled in a prison cell, as if this confrontation were a victory, and revulsion crawled so far up her throat she could no longer breathe. She reeled away from the door like a drunkard, vaguely aware of the guards calling her name. Her lantern slipped form nerveless fingers and smashed.

“If he speaks again, cut out his tongue.”

If she spoke the words out loud, she couldn’t tell. The only thought in her head was the need to leave, to run, never mind the ache in her side and the jumble of questions stirred up in her mind like wind-scattered leaves. The whos and hows and whens swirled before her eyes, until her legs buckled and a sharp pain in her knees found her halfway up the stairs to the keep. A sob lurched in her throat, caught only by the hand she slapped across her mouth. Tears came unbidden. She bit her lips together and forced her lungs to still against the heaving breaths they tried to gouge out of the air, to keep silent in case the soldiers heard her, in case they came looking.

It was the pain from her wound that finally calmed her weeping, the fact that every cut-off inhale sent a jagged line of fire from her ribs to her hip, but with it her mind was allowed to drift from the blank panic of needing to keep quiet, and a seed of thought sprouted in the dark. She hadn’t known about Howe’s capture, but someone had ordered the guards to keep watch. Someone had kept this information from her, ordered them to keep it from her. The spark of realisation set among her tremors like dry tinder and flared into real, scalding anger.

It had her body in its grip before her mind decided where to go, drove her only up, past a startled maid on her way from the kitchen, past Cailan and Anora arm in arm with only the most instinctive of obeisances, before she reached the second floor of the keep, her family’s private level, the pull of her wound worsening with every step but not enough to stop her.

“My lady, what –”

But she swept away again before Graela had time to finish her question or drop the linens being folded on the bed. The Cousland sword clinked as she plucked it from its corner in white-knuckled hands. She had carried it through battle and fire and the swell of the Waking Sea, and now she had only a few strides left until she reached her brother’s temporary room.

Amell, tending him, jumped away with a small shriek as Rosslyn kicked in the door. Fury took her to the bed, where Fergus hastily flung the covers over to hide the truth of his atrophied legs.

“Rosslyn, what –”

“This is yours,” she snarled, and flung the blade onto the mattress by his hand.

“Father’s sword?” He glanced from it, back to her. “I don’t understand –”

“I was going to talk to you about it,” she rushed. “About the title and who should have it and what we would do next – but why should I bother if you’ve already decided to shut me out of decisions that are mine to make by right!”

“Rosslyn –”

“I know Howe is here!” she thundered, and her lips bared in a feral smile as he winced. “You didn’t think to tell me you’d found the man who slaughtered our entire family?”

How dare he. How dare he take this from her. Her breath came in spurts, her nails biting into her palms, flesh washing hot and cold as if night and day were chasing over her skin.

“I didn’t want –”

“He’s sitting beneath us right now and you thought you could keep it from me? How long has he been there? How long have you been lying to me? Was it before I woke up, or after? Those soldiers down there were wearing the Blue, plain as day, and only one person could tell them to lie to my face. How could you –”

“Your Ladyship, your wound.” Amell started forward. “It would be best if you –”

“Get away from me.”

“Don’t snap at her,” Fergus chided, as if he had the right, then slumped. “How did you find out?”

“What does it matter when you didn’t tell me?” she cried. “You’re my brother! You should understand! What, do you think I’m still a child who should be kept away from the kitchen knives? While you were cringing away in that dungeon doing nothing I was out leading armies, fighting for our people’s freedom! I did everything expected of me and more to get back here! I retook this castle! And yet none of that means anything?”

“You were still recovering,” he ground out, but the excuse only made her anger flare hotter.

“I have hunted him for a year, I had to read report after report of everything he did, I saw what happened to Canavan and Gilmore, and Mother, and Father, and I led Highever’s army away and into war even though it was the last thing I wanted to do! And you, meanwhile, can’t even find the guts to walk ten steps to your own room! You’re a coward. How dare you make decisions for me? The monster responsible for everything we’ve been through has been locked away right beneath our feet and you’re just sat here as if you don’t even care!”

“Don’t you dare tell me I don’t care!” he roared, his own anger finally let loose. “He took everything from me – everything. I couldn’t lose you as well. We thought it best –”

But she pounced on that word like a jackal. “We?” she repeated. Spots danced in front of her eyes now that her battle rage was burning itself out. She clutched at her side, felt something wet seeping through the fabric of her dress, but his blanch turned her stomach more than the agony gritting her teeth.

“We wanted to protect you,” Fergus insisted.

“Alistair knows.”

Her legs crumpled. She had to catch herself on the bedpost, and in the confusion that followed, Amell’s hands pressed over hers with cool words of reassurance, a shoulder under her arm hoisting her up, her brother reaching for her from so far away – and him in the doorway, transfixed, horrified.

“Graela told me you were…”

She swallowed past the knot of tears gathering sharp at the back of her throat and turned to the enchanter. “I – I can’t breathe.”

“You’ve torn the muscle layers. Here –”

Alistair darted in to help as she staggered forwards on Amell’s arm, but she pierced him with such a glare he stopped short, mouth slack with a look of puppyish hurt that woke a vindictive squeeze of satisfaction in her chest. She vaguely heard him exchanging low, desperate words with Fergus as she limped back to her own room, a curse, and then tentative footsteps as she was eased down into a chair by the fire. Now that she had opportunity to notice, every tiny shift of her clothes over her reopened wound tugged at the edges like fishhooks.

“Rosslyn.”

“This isn’t your room,” she growled at him. Air hissed between her teeth. She couldn’t tell if it was the pain causing the sting at the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Pushing down the discomfort she let her eyes fall on him, taking him in, hunched shoulders and hands wringing with the suppressed need to reach for her. “You’re sorry you were found out,” she corrected, slowly, with only the barest wobble in her voice before she turned her gaze to the hearth.

A pause, and then a sigh.

“Riley and half a squad of infantry brought him back two days ago. They found him with Loren and Mother Berit. It seems Loren decided favour with the Maker was worth more than his loyalty to the Crown.”

“And yet I didn’t hear a thing about it,” she replied. “You lied to me. To my face. Even though you knew what he meant to me.” The struggle to keep her voice level was one she was losing, but between the threatening tears and the words she had already hurled at Fergus, her throat ached as if she had swallowed smoke. And still her anger smouldered. “Ever since the battle you’ve treated me like I’m incapable of even standing on my own feet, like I’m a fool who can’t be trusted to drink out of a proper goblet. Fergus doesn’t surprise me, but you – How could you keep this from me?”

Alistair threw his hands up in exasperation. “Because I was afraid something like this would happen! Every time Howe turns up you get this – this intense focus and you stop caring about anything else. You push yourself, and you hurt yourself, and you get so blinded by the idea of vengeance you turn into someone I barely recognise!”

“I don’t turn into anyone!” she shot back, staggering upright once more.

“No, you should sit –”

She slapped his hand away. “This is me, and it’s not something that can be tucked away out of sight just because you find it distasteful. What do you think I was doing all those months you sat so cosily under that mountain? I killed people. I’ve lost count of how many, not to mention all the others that were sent to die on my orders. Why shouldn’t I seek vengeance?” she demanded. “Howe deserves to die. He deserves every ounce of suffering I can wring out of him.”

“There – that’s it right there!” he shot back. “You’re so focussed on how he hurt you, you can’t see how it’s twisting you into something exactly like him!”

“‘How he hurt me’?” Incredulous, she could only stare at him. “He ruined my life! Are you saying I shouldn’t be angry about everything he’s done?”

“This isn’t anger, this is blackness, and you’re letting it consume you.”

“He murdered my family!” she shouted. “He pretended to be my father’s friend for years and then he slaughtered him like an animal! Doesn’t it matter what he did to Cuno, to my people – what he was planning to do to me? He has caused so much pain and he deserves all of it back again –”

“And how would you do that?” Alistair challenged, in a voice like steel. “He’s one man – you can only kill him once.”

“I’d find a way – I will find a way to make it right. I let him go at West Roth and I have regretted it ever since!”

He drew back at that, as if she had struck him.

“I can’t do it again,” she promised. “I won’t.”

“And this isn’t a path I can see you walk down. I won’t watch you destroy yourself.”

Until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the physical distance separating them. There was hurt in his eyes, but also a plea to a part of her still reeling from the blow of being lied to – that he had lied to her about the one thing she had wanted for almost a year – and it channelled her rage into something colder, harder, like the slow of a river freezing into winter ice.

“Then get out,” she said.

He stepped towards her instead. She looked away, stiff, shoulders straight, a dismissal she had learned in her time at court when pretending someone didn’t exist was the biggest insult of all.

“Damn your pride,” he spat, after a long moment of watching her. She followed the stomp of his boots to the doorway with her face still turned to the window, refusing to be cowed, and when he paused, she braced for whatever curses he would choose.

“You saved my life at West Roth, in case you didn’t remember. I hope you don’t regret that as well.”

And then he was gone, and the anger clutching at her heart unspooled, and when her breath came back it was the sharp, desperate gasp of a sob as she fell to her knees.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #cousland #f!cousland #alistair x cousland #the falcon and the rose

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missmentelle · 5 years ago

Note

About the post being jealous/controlling your bf & his friends, social media, etc. how do you stop those jealous feelings? How do you become ready for a relationship? What are the steps to take?? It tells you what Not to do but not how to fix it or prepare?

You make a good point - jealousy is very common emotion, but it’s not one that we’re really taught how to deal with. Many people don’t start trying to get a handle on their toxic jealousy until they’ve already had one or more relationships fall apart because of it, sometimes in explosive and spectacular ways. I used to blog about ways to manage jealousy, waaaaaay back in the early days of this blog, but the posts have long since been buried - this seems like as good a time as any to revive them.

So if you’re struggling with jealousy in your relationships, or you’re concerned that jealousy might be a problem in your future relationships, it’s important that you:

Separate jealous feelings from jealous actions. It is okay to feel jealous - it’s a very natural feeling that we all experience from time to time. What’s not okay is acting on your jealousy, and giving yourself permission to control and monitor your partner because of it. When you’re merely feeling jealous, that’s something that only affects you, and it’s something that you can cope with on your own. When you act jealous, suddenly you are negatively impacting your partner, and turning your issue into their issue. Learn to separate the two things. When you feel yourself starting to experience jealousy, learn to check yourself and catch jealous behaviours before they happen. Ask yourself, “Am I about to do or say something that’s motivated by jealousy?”. If the answer is yes, that’s a solid sign that you need to remove yourself from the situation or distract yourself until you have a better handle on those feelings. If your partner texts an attractive classmate to ask them for class notes and you feel a sudden urge to interrogate them about their relationship with that classmate, stop yourself. Recognize that you are entitled to feel jealous, but that acting on that jealousy will likely be toxic for the relationship.

Work on your personal insecurities. Insecurity is one of the main roots of jealousy. Many of us would feel jealous if our partner started working closely with an attractive 25-year-old coworker, but most of us would feel no jealousy if our partner started working closely with an unattractive 68-year-old coworker. All of us have shortcomings that we are sensitive about, and we are at our most jealous when our partner interacts with someone we perceive as a “threat” to us. If you are insecure about your body, you’ll likely be jealous of your partner interacting with people who are fitter than you. If you are insecure about your age, you’ll be jealous of people who are younger than you. If you are balding, you might be wary of possible rivals who have a full head of hair. The list goes on. But in general, the more insecurities you have, and the worse those insecurities are, the more you are going to struggle with jealousy. One of the best things you can do to prevent jealousy from taking root is to tackle those insecurities head-on. That doesn’t mean relying on compliments and reassurance from your partner - having your self-esteem tied to your partner’s opinion of you is just a recipe for more jealousy and insecurity. There’s no one-size-fits-all method for dealing with insecurity, but there are a lot of things you can try - seek therapy, find support groups, start a positivity journal, do things you enjoy, work on a skill. Find a method that works for you.

Communicate with your partner. Assumptions and expectations of mind-reading are a recipe for toxic jealousy. Talk to your partner. Have an explicit conversation about jealousy, your feelings, your boundaries and your expectations. Ask them what they consider to be “cheating”, and share your opinions on the matter - you could ask 20 people this question and get 20 slightly different answers, and not discussing this topic in explicit terms is a recipe for disaster. If the two of you have any areas that you disagree on, talk about it and see if you can reach a compromise. If you anticipate that jealousy is going to be an issue for you in the relationship, tell your partner that, so that the two of you can find ways to support you in dealing with this problem. If at any point in the relationship, you are uncomfortable with a partner’s connection to someone else, don’t go secretly digging through their phone for evidence of cheating -tackle the issue head-on, explain your feelings to your partner, and look for a way that the two of you can move forward on this.

Work on not feeding your jealousy. If you go looking for reasons to feel jealous, you will find them. Caving into jealousy is a vicious cycle - the harder you look, the more potentially “suspicious” things you will find, until you reach a point where you find yourself needing to monitor everything your partner does just to trust that they aren’t cheating... even if they have never cheated. Don’t spy, stalk or monitor your partner. Once you’ve decided that a certain friend of theirs poses a threat to the relationship, your brain is going to turn every innocent message and “liked” photo into a potential sign of unfaithfulness. Don’t feed those feelings. Find ways to cope, and have a direct conversation with your partner if you feel there is legitimate cause for concern.

Don’t punish your current partner for your ex’s actions. In both my personal and professional life, I have seen many controlling, over-bearing jealous partners who justify their actions by saying that a previous partner cheated on them, and they are taking the steps that they feel are necessary to avoid being hurt again. Being cheated on is a horrible, gut-wrenching experience, and once you’ve been through it once, it’s natural to want to do everything in your power to avoid experiencing it again. Loving a new partner, however, requires that you find a way to put your past behind you and offer that new partner your complete trust and benefit of the doubt. If you are not emotionally in a place where you can fully trust your partner, then you are not yet in a place to be dating - you still need more time to recover from your previous relationship before you can get into a new one, and that’s okay.

I’ve actually been having a lot of conversations about jealousy lately in my own personal life; a close friend of mine is currently struggling to cope after her partner left her due to her jealous behaviour. She was never cheated on, but her best friend was, and she absorbed some fairly toxic beliefs about relationships and men that led her to spy on her boyfriend and constantly accuse him of cheating. She was so terrified of being walked on or being made a fool of that she took things to extremes, and reached a point where she spent hours every day combing through her partner’s Instagram activity and regularly told him that he clearly didn’t love her if he wouldn’t accept her constant distrust. It was a toxic situation that her jealousy created, and I have spent a lot of time trying to help her figure out how to strike a balance between “expecting your partner to behave appropriately with others and respect the relationship” and “driving your partner away with controlling and abusive behaviour”. In working with her, I’ve been able to put together a couple of concrete “dos and don’ts” to address that balancing act. So if you are concerned that you might be a jealous person and you’re in a monogamous relationship (or a polyamorous relationship with set boundaries), these are some things that you should be steering clear of:

Stay out of your partner’s messages and emails. Those are not for you, and looking through them feeds jealousy. I personally have confidential client information in my work email, and there is zero reason for my partner to ever access it.

Don’t demand your partner’s account passwords. They have a right to privacy, and it doesn’t mean that they are hiding something.

Do not delete contacts, followers, or photos from your partner’s phone or social media accounts. This is gross, overbearingly jealous behaviour.

Do not block people from your partner’s accounts without their knowledge. If you feel that you need to hide people from your partner’s view to keep the relationship going, the relationship is not going to survive.

Never “test” your partner’s loyalty by having an attractive friend hit on them, or by trying to catfish them with a fake online account. I struggle to find words for how toxic this is.

Do not demand that your partner drop all platonic friends of their preferred gender, or restrict contact with all members of their preferred gender. This is super controlling, and it’s not even possible if your partner is bi/pan.

If you are uncomfortable with how close someone is getting to your partner, do not confront that person directly. Nothing screams “controlling” quite like texting your partner’s coworker out of the blue to tell them to back the fuck off. If you have an issue, bring it up with your partner, not the other person.

Do not make sharing GPS location a condition of the relationship. If your partner wants to share this, fine, but it’s beyond unreasonable to make it mandatory.

Do not constantly check up on your partner or blow up their phone if they don’t text you back right away when they are out. Let them enjoy time with their friends.

Do not insist on tagging along every time your partner goes out. If you have a lot of mutual friends that you hang out with together, great, but they are not a child, and they do not need constant supervision.

At the same time, though, I am not advocating for anyone to be their partner’s doormat. It’s important to understand that “not being jealous” does not mean “letting your partner walk all over you”. Telling your partner that they aren’t allowed any friends of a certain gender is certainly toxic, but at the same time, it’s okay to lay down some basic expectations that your partner will respect you and the relationship. So in general, this would include:

It’s okay to ask a partner to limit contact with their ex-partners. If your partner is in constant communication with their ex, it’s okay for you to feel uncomfortable with that and make it clear to your partner that they need to decide which relationship they want to be in.

It’s okay to ask your partner to prioritize your feelings over an ex’s. If a partner is avoiding being public about the relationship, moving in together or getting engaged because they don’t want to make their ex sad, it’s reasonable to be upset about that.

If your partner has suddenly developed an extremely close relationship with someone of their preferred gender that has obvious flirty overtones or takes up most of their time, it’s okay to voice your concerns.

It is okay to ask your partner not to exchange sexual jokes, memes or images with friends of their preferred gender, or to let them know that it makes you uncomfortable.

It’s okay to expect your partner not to do things with their friends that could be outwardly seen as flirty or romantic - like asking them not to sleep in the same bed as a friend of their preferred sex, or not to text a friend of their preferred sex late at night when they’re in bed with you.

If you and your partner wear rings or other symbols of your commitment, it’s okay to ask your partner to wear their ring in public (assuming they aren’t leaving it off for safety or health reasons, like a hazardous job).

If your partner continually tramples over your boundaries and behaves inappropriately with members of their preferred sex unless you watch them like a hawk, the solution is not to become more hawk-like. The solution is to leave.

Again, this is all a balancing act, and sometimes there is going to be a bit of trial and error involved in figuring out which boundaries are reasonable, and which are controlling. Open communication and constant work on your insecurities is necessary. Having jealous tendencies does not have to be a death sentence for a relationship, however, and it is possible to get to place where both partners feel secure and respected.

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mizukiri · 4 years ago

Text

Penny Dreadful - Chapter One:

DECEMBER 16TH 2028

"Hello Urchin." He softly greets her, and Penny needs to remind herself that her father and Linda have been worried sick about him.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Penny continues in her cold disapproving tone while she nears Lucifer, her arms crossed. Her previous quadruple D (drunk-dead-demon-dude) is not forgotten so easily.

Lucifer's brilliant white wings are a vision to behold, as usual, flexing to their grandest state before he tucks them away into their incorporeal-other-dimension form. His black suit reveals no signs of wear, although there are traces of blood on his dress-shirt collar. He smells of brimstone and smoke again, and she's pretty sure she knows exactly where he's been for the last six months.

"I considered you may react as such, and I can explain." He tells her, holding up his hands submissively as she continues her march towards him. At twenty, she knows she has always terrified him, but instead of binding him with the torturous embraces of her youth, she seizes his elbow and turns him on the heels of his Louboutins towards her original bounty.

"You can explain as we follow one of your friends. I assume that's what this is about." As soon as the words are out of Penny's mouth, he roots himself and her momentum has her turning to face him.

"I'm afraid that we share a mutual interest in your target—"

"Fuck—"

"Pardon? My child I have no need—"

"WHATINTHEACTUALHELLPENNY?!" Seems to come out in one singularly loud breath, as though she is angrily singing her way over to them. For the briefest of moments when he appeared, Penny had forgotten her. But Lucifer had a way of causing that within her, visions of tackling him repressed deep in her heart.

"Penny?" Lucifer lifts a brow at Beatrice Penelope Jane Espinoza, standing in front of him.

"Want to go there right now Sam?"

"Duly noted." The corner of his mouth curls up, and he bows his head gently at her.

Vae swallows, her eyes bright and wide. Penny can see she is breathing erratically solely from the steams of breath coming from her mouth.

"And who might your uh, angel-winged-five-seconds-ago-and-now-clearly-not, friend be?"

My mom's partner. Satan? My step-devil? That had always been Penny's favourite moniker he held, but she decides against it in this instance.

"Vae. This is my stepfather I was telling you about," and she swears out of the corner of her eye she can see Lucifer stand a little taller (if that's even possible) and smile.

"You speak of me?"

"Of course, dummy." Penny gives him a dubious look. "How on Earth can I get around that?"

Vae starts to giggle, her whole face going red as she looks back and forth between Penny and Lucifer.

"Right, of course. Are we still not going to address the issue I'm currently having with the ethereal white wings?" Vae is doing that thing she does with her whole arm when she's circling a situation in front of her that she needs to get to the bottom of. Penny also registers that she is looking at her step-devil with a longing that Penny has watched women project for as long as she can remember. But Vae also seems far more interested in finding out precisely what she had seen more than throwing him to the snowy ground.

Penny looks over to Lucifer and sighs.

"Lu...ook Dad, could you maybe, help a daughter out and explain to my roommate and longest friend, since I left home... exactly, what she may have seen?"

Lucifer's eyes travel between the two young ladies in front of him, and his shoulders sink as he resigns to Penny's request.

"Right. Well, first— is it possible to meet you back at the loft? I never actually allowed Hell to freeze over and while immortal I'm not impervious to this..." and she watches him wave his hand with fluid grace at the snow falling around them, "temperature."

A brisk wind picks up, and she watches as he fights a shudder standing there in nothing but his suit. They're wasting time, and he doesn't seem to be that concerned about her quadruple D.

"Are we not tracking... someone?"

"You might be Urchin. But I have no clue what you are talking about."

"Well that's just fucking perfect. Isn't it?"

Scowling, Penny turns from him and takes Vae by the arm, turning her back towards the park entrance.

"Come on Vae," Penny sighs, "Let's go home."

"What about—" And the sound of Lucifer leaving interrupts Vae, who was turning around to address him.

"Right. Wings."

~***~

"Are we not going to talk about the fact that your stepfather has wings? Like straight up, gorgeous angelic—"

"We'll talk about it when we get home," Penny tersely answers. They are almost halfway home before Vae has seemingly come down from whatever level of shock she had been suffering from. Vae feeling better, however, also means Vae being her usual talkative self.

"How about the fact that he smelt like sulphu—"

"We'll talk about it when we get home."

Penny relishes in a brief reprieve before Vae starts again.

"He said 'allow Hell to freeze over.' "

"We'll talk—"

"He said immortal."

"—about it when we get home."

"I guess the immortality makes sense. I mean when I was processing it all, images of your Mom as a hot cougar or having you when she was like twelve kept popping up."

"Vae."

"Nicely done by the way, Penny's mom because DAAAAAAMN girl, your dad—"

"Vae."

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell me you want to sleep with my stepfather."

"Don't you?"

"NEVAEH!"

"Oh please. You have eyes," and Vaeh dramatically rolls hers before crossing her arms and adding, "don't pretend you don't know that kink exists."

Penny remembers when they had boundaries. Vae did warn her, but Penny wasn't expecting L.A. to catch up with her so fast.

~***~

In her bedroom, she finds Lucifer, freshly showered, and redressed in a crisp white dress shirt covered in a grey cashmere sweater. He's brushing his hair in her vanity mirror when he sees her.

"I see you found the extra clothes Linda sent me in your in my closet." Penny tells him, sighing and leaning up against the doorframe.

"I would have preferred more than just one suit, and a Burberry at that. If it's black it might as well be Prada. Nonetheless I appreciate the good Doctor thought of something a tad warmer. Now, your friend—"

"Vae."

"Vae, what exactly is you're expectation?"

Penny sighs. "I don't expect you to lie, if that's what you're asking."

"Yes," and he places her brush down before rubbing the bridge of his nose impatiently, "but what, for your sake my dear, am I omitting here?"

"Just, take it as it comes. She thinks Mom is dead or maybe has dementia? It's easier when they don't straight out ask. She knows you were missing; she saw your wings, and she knows me as Penny. The name we chose when we agreed I was being stationed here undercover, so... that being said."

"Right. Well as you know time in Hell moves much differently than here—"

Penny cuts him off. "Yes. Yes. Millenia’s, probably ten. Put it back in the deck Lucifer. You're choice this time."

"Right..." He stares off beyond her and nods, swallowing. "Well, I'll do right by you Urchin, as best as your favourite celestial parent can."

"That's... not fair, regardless of how accurate, in the moment."

"Well, we're all doing our best."

"Are you? Because after Vae goes to bed you and I," Penny practically snarls, "are going to have our own conversation about how you abandoned training Charlie—"

"About that—"

"—After being an absolute asshat to both Dad and Maze."

"So, you heard about that did you?"

"And you know how I got to hear about that? From a very concerned Linda who took your note to mean something COMPLETELY different than what I think you intended."

"I was TRYING to communicate!"

"Then the same day I receive three bloodied feathers from Maze, after a text that read, and I quote, 'A gift from the King of Fuckery.'"

"Oh, so you got my gift!" He exclaims.

A giggle echoes from the floor below, and Penny steps out of her room to see Vae waiting for them in the living room. Turning back, Penny leans in towards him.

"Lucifer?" She whispers harshly.

"Yes, my dear."

"You have ten seconds to get downstairs or so help me Mom you're going to lose more than three feathers."

~***~

Vae sits in Penny's favourite chair, where she keeps her knife and scotch, sitting on her knees. Her hands are placed in her lap like a child waiting for their instructor this evening, amber brown eyes wide with wonder.

She had always imagined Penny had some insanely wild upbringing. Vae had fantasized that it involved chauffeurs and private jets, boarding school and the social elite.

Months ago, Vae had found a hidden photo of what she had assumed was Penny's incredibly beautiful parents, all surrounding her as she blew out nine candles on a cake. It had been tucked in Penny's dresser and had been accidentally seen while putting Penny's socks away. So when Vae witnessed him appear out of nowhere, with ethereal white wings, she had assumed that he was Penny's father. Their colouring had seemed to her, the most similar.

But this?

Vae isn't a private investigator, but she has always been keenly inquisitive and observant as far back as she can remember. That and an hour trip back home? She's pretty sure she's figured out some details.

He said Hell. He said immortal. No one denied angel wings.

Penny is sitting closest to her on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath her as she takes a knife and soap carving out of the end table that separates them. Vae watches while Penny takes the tumbler of scotch and pours him a glass. He takes it graciously from her and sips, slightly wincing.

"I'm not legal yet. It's not like I have Macallan or Woodford Reserve on hand." Penny tersely tells him.

Penny's impossibly-handsome-most-likely-an-angel-possibly-the-devil stepfather crosses, then re-crosses his legs, placing his hands over his knees and exhaling loudly.

"Alright Vale,"

"Vae—"

"Vae, what would you like to know about?"

"Wings. Angel?"

"Once."

That adds up. Vae looks over at Penny, who is doing an excellent job of pretending her soap carving is far more interesting than the conversation happening in the room currently. Vae swallows down the silence. There is one part that isn't making much sense to her.

"And Penny called you Sam."

"For Samael. The name Father gave me."

"Father as in God?"

"The only Father I've ever had."

"Right."

Silence once more. Penny's impossibly-handsome-definitely-a-fallen-angel-was-there-a-Sam-name-for-the-devil? Stepfather holds her gaze with a wry smile plastered on his face, but she senses sadness in his eyes. He told her his name, so why does she feel if she were to refer to him as Sam, it would bother him immensely?

"Why do I feel like I'm being lied to?"

"I do NOT lie Miss Vae, friend of my daughter."

"What should I call you then sir?"

He looks at Penny, and she sighs before saying. "She's going to find out sooner or later."

"Lucifer Morningstar."

Vae's signature giggle of wonderment springs forth in awkward waves. Lucifer laughs, charmingly along with her, but Penny, Penny, chooses to remain silent if the point needs to be driven home. Vae's eyes go slightly bigger as the realization hits, and then...

And then she's laughing hysterically, a gasping wheeze as tears are falling out of the corners of her eyes.

"Vae?"

"It's natural Urchin, although the delay seems to be a new variable, almost all humans go slightly mad at the sight of divinity."

Vae finds this even more amusing and is holding her side and going slightly red.

"I didn't."

"Yes well, you were never for following norms were you dear?"

"Vae?!"

"I'm sorry..." Vae manages to get out, "I'm sorry Penny... but... You don't like taking the Lord's name in vain?" And she's back to dying of laughter as she tries to spit out, "But then you called him a flying fuck?!"

"Once." Penny's eyebrows almost lift into her hairline as she turns to Lucifer, her hand holding the blade lifts a finger in protest. "Maybe twice. And sorry-not-sorry."

"So, let me get this straight Miss Vae, you just found out that celestials, divinity, God, and the Devil are real, and your reaction seems to be one of mocking my adopted offspring?"

Vae nods her head fervently. "You can't see the humour in this? How can you NOT see how bullshit-cuckoo-bananas this all is?"

"Oh, so you’re merely mocking me, and calling me a liar," and flames are alight in his eyes.

"Lucifer!" Penny chastises.

But whatever Lucifer's desired effect may have been, it doesn't seem to have worked because now Vae is practically falling out of the chair laughing at Lucifer and Penny.

"YOU DO THE EYE THING EVEN!"

"Urchin, I don't know if I have the fortitude to handle this ridiculousness much farther."

"They literally relaunched the Diablo television series last year, and she wouldn't let me talk about it at ALL with her! I mean Penny even told me that all her parents worked in law enforcement in some way or another. So, I mean, while I'm aware this is my current reality. You can't blame me for thinking I've had a stroke and have woken up today to live in this fairy tale wouldn't you agree?"

Lucifer leans back on the couch and takes another sip of the scotch.

"This is so unfair, Penny. This whole time we kept listening to Rose and David talk about future religious upbringing for their non-existent progeny at our dinner party and you didn't even mic drop them? And we have lived together for almost a year, and this is how I find out? What the Hell was going on back there? What were we chasing? Why does Satan have bad ass angel wings? I mean I'm an arts major and I've heard of the Gentlemen Devil archetype but this," and she waves her arm at Lucifer. He is sitting there, his hair in light curls from no product, a five o'clock shadow already appearing even though he seemed to have shaved before they got back.

"This, I gotta say seems a tad on the nose."

"Archetypes exist for a reason Miss Vae."

"I'm not finished." Vae tells him, and he appears shocked by her blatant rudeness. "—sir, Morningstar sir. Sorry. But again... but I'm going to roll with it."

"Like do I watch that show and I know your entire life story? Is that on purpose? How did you meet Penny's Mom? I know she said you were partners for years before you got together. I thought you guys had married, does the Devil write vows? Is it before God? Do Satanists get it right, or do you despise them?"

"Vae—"

"If you're here what's going on with Hell? Wait are Hell and Heaven real? You don't seem evil; do you work with God? That's what always threw me off... why punish the bad if you're all about it am I right?"

"Vae—"

"Urchin, dear, let me." Lucifer says, holding his hand out gently in Penny's direction and placing the glass of Scotch on the table in front of him. He turns his gaze back towards Vae and smiles.

"No. No. Through a case. We were partners four years before we became partnered. Yes. Yes, I wrote them and yes. They get some right and some wrong, like every being and organization on the planet, and yes because I abhor most organizations that misinterpret the truth. I am here, meaning Hell has no ruler currently, and yes both are very real." He pauses to take another sip of the scotch Penny poured him but does not seem to wince this time at the lacklustre taste, "I am pleased to hear that you skipped past the exam's evil portion. So yes, I punish the wicked, those whose guilt sends them to my kingdom, and yes, I work with God. I think that covers everything. So please, do you have any more banal queries you'd like to subject me to Miss Vale?"

"Vae—"

"Or will you relinquish my time so I can spend what little I have with my daughter before returning to my post?"

Vae rolls her eyes. "Passive aggressive gentlemen devil? You've underhandedly praised my ability to weather this, but then chastise me for wasting time? You can just say you'd like some alone time, just please don't kick me out, I also pay you rent."

Both look at Vae inquisitively.

"Right Penny. A top floor apartment that's 2300 square feet in Greenwich Village and you're telling me that one of your other three parent's name is on the deed?"

Penny and Lucifer exchange looks and shrugs in understanding. It seems Vae is more than capable of deducing elements without the two other investigators in the room.

"Penny, I know how articulate you can be and how well-bred, but I've also seen what you can do in 5.4 seconds to that—" and Vae points to Penny's practice target, "—you lovingly rename every month depending on who has pissed you off. I know to buy you the ramen that is spiciest, that you need at least three expressos a day just to function, and that when I really annoy you, I can always rely on chocolate cake to get back into your good graces. So I am asking you, as what I had assumed was your best friend: What. The. Actual. Fuck?"

"Vae." Penny sighs, turning her body away from Lucifer and towards her friend.

"I know I have ALOT to catch you up on—a lot. And you deserve answers, and you know I don't lie."

"OOOOH OOOOH You said you don't lie." Vae is snapping her fingers and pointing at Lucifer, every snap causing him to wince. "Why do they call you the prince of lies?"

"My twin brother Michael used to bare a striking resemblance to me, even though I've never been one to see it, it's all in the posture. Anyways, he has always been the one to enjoy deceiving humans. From my understanding, he has changed a lot also since his fall."

"When did that happen?" Vae asks.

"When I was twelve, or was I eleven?" Penny asks Lucifer.

"It was after you initiated martial law at our family dinner, Urchin."

Vae looks slightly horrified.

"I started a food fight. Martial law to him means I started a food fight."

"You're little act of vigilantism ruined a very lovely Armani suit that night Beat...iful daughter of mine?"

Vae gives them a confused look. Lucifer and Penny so weird around each other, she assumes it's because he's been missing (from the smell of sulphur probably back in Hell) for the last six months. But there's an undercurrent that Lucifer needs to do a lot more than show up to get Penny to calm down.

"So, you're saying that Michael liked to lie and because he looks like you everyone associates it with you because you have a bad wrap." Vae postulates.

"That would summarize the situation very well indeed."

"Twin stuff."

Penny eyes Vae as though she can tell Vae is bringing another new thing to the table she wasn't expecting. Vae doesn't give in to Penny's expectant look. Vae is now acutely aware of JUST how much Penny keeps from her, and she's allowed to have secrets too.

"Vae we need to talk."

"Yes, we do."

"No, I know that. I understand you and I, but I'm saying, Lucifer and I, we need to discuss some things. Privately. And tomorrow? Tomorrow when you get up? We will go grab breakfast," And Penny turns around, "ON HIM, wherever you want to go. And if he is still here in the morning, I will make him come with us, and you can subject him to as many questions as you want."

"Please," Vae eyes him suspiciously, "He's already made it clear he's going to be gone by morning."

"True, but he's still going to leave me an allowance because regardless of who he is, Lucifer's still my dad, and if he leaves, I promise I will fill you in. But I have to find out first."

~***~

"My child—" but Penny holds up a finger to Lucifer and waits for Vae to leave the bathroom and return to her room. She looks up to see Vae watching them suspiciously as she walks out of the upstairs bathroom and into her room, a brush stroking her hair as she paces towards her door. The door closes, and then Penny puts her finger down.

"Cut the crap Lucifer, I heard you say he was a mutual suspect."

"Then why call him a friend? you knew I could deny that."

"For that reason. You don't have friends in Hell, you have subjects. If you wanted me to track him, you would have agreed."

He looks at her with such wistful pride she is taken back. "You have so much of her in you. Her bravado, and keen mind."

"Dad stop! I don't want to talk about Mom." They both stop and break eye contact; the emotion is a little too raw for either of them. It was a slip into old habits, comfortable years ago, yet painful in their current state.

"Well then, the next part is going to be rather difficult, as that is why I'm precisely here."

FEBRUARY 6TH 2020 7:06 P.M. | |

Trixie thumbs her iPod's volume to the max, watching everyone around her argue in a pantomime to the music. Gathered with her at the table are angels, adults, a demon, the Devil, and God.

Charlie is asleep in the pack-and-play that Linda set up in her bedroom.

She kind of envies Charlie right now.

She tries to get her mother's attention by staring lasers at her, but Chloe is too busy yelling at her Dad sitting to her right, wincing. The bench that they share with Maze and Michael is vibrating underneath the eleven-year-old. She looks at Maze to her left, who is currently pointing at Linda and Amenadiel.

No one is paying her any attention, except for one.

She looks back at God and gives him her best Who-do-you-think-you-are? Scowl, the one she mastered last year when she met Eve.

No one asked Beatrice if she wanted to be here, listening to this.

She had no choice in the matter.

Okay, well, she did demand a seat at the table, but she thought it would be a typical awkward family dinner, not watching every adult in her life outside of Ella and school lose their temper on each other.

She picks up her fork and scrapes a bounty of mashed potatoes on to it. Maybe it's the music that inspires her, or perhaps it's the frustrations of being trapped with a bunch of adults who are behaving worse than her seventh-grade peers. Still, she looks up at God once more, meeting each other's eyes, and he smiles kindly at her, an invitation for what is about to happen next.

Like a miracle, white fluffy clouds of potato fly through the air catching the attention of the adults around her as they reach their final destination, landing with a resounding sloppy sound on God's right cheek.

And as the track dies out, the adults– speechless stare at her in awe, and she pulls off the headset of her ears and sighs.

"Finally," she murmurs and picks up the knife to cut into the roast beef on her plate.

She hardly participates as carrots begin to bounce of chests, potatoes slap against faces and into hair. There is still an uproar, but the cacophony now has squeals of laughter interlaced between ridiculous insults. She looks up at her original target, and he continues to smile warmly at her, not engaged in the foolishness around her.

FEBRUARY 6TH 2020 11:06 A.M.

Eight hours before Trixie started pandemonium at the dinner table, she had been sitting in her room listening to the hurried whispers of her mother on the phone.

"Dan, he asked that you be there, and really? After everything in the last few days you owe him."

She's anxious. And bored. And continuously feeling the battles that her mother and father seemed to be facing. Her birthday is next month, and she's pretty sure they both haven't even had time to think about it because usually, they're asking her what she wants for a special treat, perhaps a gift, anything at this point.

"No... Nonono... I mean God, as in you friend Amenadiel's dad. Your once frenemy Lucifer's father? HIM. He's asked that you be there. So essentially you're saying no to God Dan."

She moves from sitting on her bed to the chair at her desk and pulls out her coloured pencils and some paper before slapping it on the surface.

The school counsellor took her aside recently and helped her understand that she's frustrated and sad when she feels like this. And that when she does, she can always turn to her artwork, and so she does. She draws aliens and herself on Mars, even though she realizes that her childish dreams of being the first president of Mars are soooo three years ago.

But she doesn't see the harm in pretending, so she draws her mother first, a smile on instead of the tears that Trixie has gotten used to pretending not to notice. Then her Dad, his arms up in the air, cheering her on. She draws Maze because Maze was the first to take the dream seriously and can't imagine what life was like before she met Maze. She loves Maze and misses coming home to her every day. She doesn't understand how adults can be so hot and cold with each other. A few weeks ago, before Lucifer got back, Maze was spending almost every day with them.

"And you know what, Dan? I can't wait to watch you squirm because it's God Dan, and now that we are aaaaallll up to speed, I know you dated Lucifer's Mom, and so do you!" Before lowering her voice and harshly whispering, "because I'm petty, and you tried to kill my boyfriend."

Trixie had missed Lucifer, but it had been a long time since he and her Mom had been getting along. It seemed like ever since they left for Rome, her Mom had just been lost. So, when he left, and she could see just how upset that made her mother, she talked to Maze about it and found out exactly where he had gone. Maze doesn't ever speak to her like she's a child; Lucifer does.

Trixie finds herself drawing him, using red to create his glowing eyes. Trixie learned from her father and mother a long time ago you don't give up any information on anything unless someone asks you a direct question. Trixie has known precisely who Lucifer is and what that entails from the moment she met him.

Sure, she has accepted she'll always be urchin, or offspring. But he doesn't push her away like he used to. She also knows that he praises her most when she's clever and conniving, which makes her feel great. He saved her from those scary men who showed up when she went to see him and Eve. She saw his eyes then, even with Eve desperately trying to hide her behind her skirts. She watched him throw them through the stained glass and pick them up like they were nothing. It made her feel safe. He and her mother saved her from Malcolm. He came into her life, saving her mother, and her mom told her that he left it doing the same thing.

Lucifer never lies to her; everyone else in her life has. More than once.

Trixie also now knows what a hooker is.

"Trixie-babe?"

Trixie turns around to see her mother standing in the door-jam.

"Time to pack up; I've got Ella coming to get you to go for a girl’s night."

"What? Come on."

"What's wrong with that? I thought you liked Ella?"

"I love Ella, but why can't I have dinner with you and the family?"

Chloe pauses for a moment, her left eye twitching slightly, but that's all her face betrays.

"Why would you wanna hang out with a bunch of boring old adults? Come on Monkey, you're going to totally love this!"

"No! You're lying!"

Chloe squints her eyes at Trixie, and she can tell her mom is deducing right now, so she sits still while she assesses the situation.

Trixie watches as her mother's eyes fall on the drawing on the desk.

"This is really important to you hey?" Chloe asks, sounding resigned.

Sometimes her mom doesn't talk to her like a child; That helps.

"Mom, I know you're worried. It's God. It's a big deal."

Her mother's eyes narrow again.

"You're not that quiet, and even if you were. I figured it out pretty early. Maze and Lucifer have always told me the truth."

Chloe removes herself from Trixie's door and heads over to her daughter's bed. Trixie turns in her chair so she can face her.

"Yeah, I guess that helps, hey Monkey? Having adults in your life who treat you like your not a little kid."

"Lucifer treats me like a little kid Mom, he just never lies to me." Trixie looks back at her drawing. "He saves that for himself."

Chloe's eyes go wide.

"Well, that's definitely not a deduction a little kid would make, especially one so astute." And Trixie looks back to her mother, shrugging.

"We all have our moments. Can I ask you a question Mom?"

"Anything baby. You can always ask me about anything, and if I have made you feel like you can't, for however long, I'm really sorry about that."

"When did you start believing?"

Trixie watches Chloe's eye twitch.

"Was it when you took us to Rome?"

Chloe's eyes fill up with tears, and she nods quietly.

"Was it because you were afraid?"

"So afraid baby. Afraid for you, afraid for me. Afraid for Lucifer even."

Trixie nods and gets up from her chair and moves over to the bed. Trixie knows if she tells her mom that she overheard that her dad tried to hurt Lucifer, it will break her heart. Sometimes adults forgot she was there. She knows it's not just her mom though, she and her friend Celine have been talking about it when they walk the school halls at recess. So instead of bringing up Dan, Trixie tries a different approach.

"Who... doesn't know?"

"Ella."

Trixie's shoulders drop. She knows how this conversation is going to end. Her mom is going to tell her that she needs to go for her safety. That angels and demons, while totally wicked-awesome, are also dangerous. And everyone is kind of mad at each other right now, and Lucifer really doesn't like his dad, and it's just not the place for an eleven-year-old mortal kid from Los Angeles.

"Well, I'm going to tell you the truth then, Monkey. I'm still not entirely comfortable knowing about angels and demons, and God and the Devil are real. Monkey don't you ever miss when it was just you and me?"

Trixie shakes her head; it's a lie. She does miss it, but she fears that if she admits to her mother, in this moment, that that information will be fodder for her mother to send her away. She needs this; she needs to see Maze and her dad, Lucifer, and Charlie. If her mom makes her go with Ella, she feels like it's her mother lying too. So, she lies.

Chloe looks slightly hurt, but she smiles sadly and nods. "Okay baby, I'll call Ella and you can stay."

~***~

Penny sometimes lies awake at night, remembering this lie. Now that loft is silent, and Lucifer's headed back to the Penthouse to make arrangements for her upcoming travels, Penny finds herself thinking about that day once more. As she rolls over to try once more to go to sleep, she twirls the ring she wears and sigh, biting her lip in a way that would remind most of her mother. As she drifts off, she can't help but let her guilt remind her, once more, that if she had not lied— if she had gone with Ella if things may have ended up differently.

#lucifer fanfiction #lucifans #trixie espinoza #rating: mature #Penny Dreadful #trixiefic #lucifer #Trixie Espinoza/Lucifer #trixie espinoza/original character #dazikeen #deckerstar #michaella

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ivory-insanity · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / slightly canon-divergent / fandomless��

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. Are they underrated? Y E S / NO. Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO. Were they relevant for the main character? Y E S / NO / THEY’RE (literally) CONNECTED TO THE PROTAG. Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. ( everyone knows ichigo has an inner hollow, but no one really knows him ) How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL.

How strictly do you follow canon? — I try to follow canon almost to the point, particularly for characterization purposes. unfortunately, trying to take canon development away from shirosaki / hollow ichigo is detrimental to him. without his connection to being the inner hollow of ichigo, most of his personality is taken along with it, leaving him with almost nothing in terms of character ( i won’t go into detail here ).

i fully stand by my statement that without all the canon events, he is not shirosaki & would become a different person/muse entirely.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — honestly ??? he’s literally the only instance of a highly intelligent & humanoid hollow that is NOT an arrancar. most of them are "forced” evolutions & they took in shinigami powers with its power, which put them down an evolution line different from the hollow one. they have most likely gained traits that shiro DOES NOT HAVE. he is not an evolution. his soul is entirely hollow, a derivative of white & nothing else. he is a base hollow that was made and became a zanpakuto spirit through unforeseen methods. he’s new. he’s unknown. he is entirely different from an arrancar & almost can’t be compared to one.

every single part of his being is a contradiction. he’s a hollow & and a zanpakuto. he’s destructive & protective of ichigo’s soul, even if they are for selfish reasons. there is a not a shadow of a doubt that he’s the only person of his kind, so any character in the entire series ( aside from ichigo ) will be faced with something new. will be faced with an unknown. his entiRE EXISTENCE IS INTERESTING and terrifying at the same time.

not to mention, have you seen how he fights ???

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — for one, he’s untrustworthy, he’s suspicious, he’s a maniac that will attack at first attack. i would say it is pretty common to avoid him. & he would avoid everyone too cause that’s how he is. not to mention the fact he is trapped inside ichigo & has little to no screentime.

tbh i don’t blame people who skip from entirely & just make him off as some sort of plot armor. without digging into it, it’s pretty hard to catch a substantive personality. in the long run, he didn’t do much for canon.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — LOOOL see. he was my favorite character and that’s really it. he was just a cool character at the time, but he’s been really fun since he feels so different from writing other characters.

What keeps your inspiration going? — kari. i don’t even need to say more. writing with other people has been a blast & i truly love everyone here, but without her i probably wouldn’t still be on tumblr right now. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO. ( all of shirosaki’s portrayals across the fandom varies immensely & i don’t think one is more inherently wrong or right, but i think my version is done very well in terms of keeping within what appears in canon. ) Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO. Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES very sometimes / NO. Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO. ( see: my discord pms with kari ) Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO. Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — i gladly take criticisms !! i have never read the manga of bleach & i actually don’t remember much of the series in general, so i am confident there are things i miss that are either directly or indirectly related to shiro. & i am also sure there are better ways to approach & ‘justify’ some of his more odd actions in the series, so please go ahead and critique me all you like !! however, i will note that if i can find evidence to argue against a criticism, i will most likely not take it.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — absolutely <3 questions are very important because they make you think about things that you may not have thought about before. exploring things about shiro is one of my favorite things to do because of just how he is.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — yes, i would want to know why. when it comes to arguments or disagreements, i am very adamant about how they should go. arguments must include insights on both sides in a mature manner, so you can learn from both perspectives. who knows, you might see something you like & decide to combine it into something entirely new.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — just fine. with shirosaki especially, i don’t think one person has the same idea about him as another LOL in fact, i’m pretty confident many views between me & friends go against each other. there are so many ways to interpret him due to a lack of canon material, it’s just bound to happen.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — i’d think you’re a little crazy tbh. that or you missed everything that made him interesting. i may get not seeing much in him & ignoring him but omg i don’t really get how you could hate him ??? tybw solidified that idea even more, but eh. if you hate him, you hate him. don’t bring that hate over to me :P

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — yes. i am a grammar disaster. literally the worst. fuck grammar, man.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — uh. depends on who you speak to ??? i’m pretty intimidating at the first few glances, i’ve been told L O L. but i am actually very very very easy going & am okay with a lot of things. also i crave social interaction like all the time so.

That’s about it, congrats for filling out! tagged by: @deivorous ( i enjoyed ur response btw ) Tagging: the problems of me being inactive & a small blog in general LOOOL idk who has done this so whoever has not, please feel free to take it :> these are fun to read

#ooc;#headcanon;#whoop #listen i know people going to be disagreeing with me on shiro not being anything like an arrancar but i won't take it L OL #cause he's not #that's how it be #sorry guys #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#this was fun thoooo thank u for the tag plou i love you

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thenightmareofyourdrems · 4 years ago

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@myhiraeth || Emori

She’s watching him watch her, wondering what had happened between them to change so much. She wants back to the days where she could read him, where she could practically hear his thoughts even as he considered them because he felt comfortable letting them play across his beautiful, sharp features. Now as he studied her ( could he read her as easily as he once could or did this disconnect go both ways, she wondered ) she desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, desperately wanted to know why he blamed her so much, why he was punishing her for ADAPTING. He knew her ( or she thought he had ), he knew how she worked and how she thought. Survival above all. Adaptation to ensure survival.

That had once worked for both of them, and she felt he wanted an apology that this wasn’t like his experience in Polis, that this wasn’t aggressive, forced, something to suffer through. She was ENJOYING it; was she not allowed to enjoy things? Five years they were stuck here, was she supposed to hate every moment? Did HE want to HATE every moment? Did they not deserve a BREAK?

i miss you. i miss you. i’m acting like this because i miss you.

The words echoed in her head, her only thoughts: I’m right here. I miss you too. The you I know you can be. The fighter. The survivor. The adaptor. This… he was BETTER than this. I miss you too, the words were on the tip of her tongue. Did it MATTER, that was always the question. Did it matter that they missed each other when they clearly didn’t work anymore? Did it matter that all she wanted was to touch him, to pull him to her and KISS HIM HARD enough to forget their newfound differences and remind herself of how well they fit, when it was just going to be the same disconnect tomorrow? It didn’t. It couldn’t.

He wasn’t finished and she was glad she’d kept from speaking. Blame. Accusation. Same old same old, and her expression twisted into defensive anger. “I’ve changed?” She laughs, a mean sound even to her own ears. “Don’t blame Raven for our problems. Because you know what, John, you’re RIGHT. I have changed. I’m working with people now. I’m learning, I’m getting smarter. I’m becoming something to others. I AM something now.” Angry tears still burned but she ignored them. “And I thought you might actually be happy for me.” She’d clearly been wrong. “But all you do is blame me for not hating it up here, for not hating the others.”

FEAR. He was afraid, terrified. The moment Emori grew PERFECT, she’d stop caring. She’d join the others, their battles, their purposes and wars. She wouldn’t need him anymore. She’d see nothing but the useless abomination, everyone saw. That selfish outsider, who deserved absolutely nothing. And he was HORRIFIED. He was overshadowed by that deep, terrible boding; the knowledge that Emori’s tears meant the end of THEM. The fact this fight would be the last. The fact they’d lose it all. Maybe during their previous quarrels, they’d called truce. Maybe during their previous arguments, they’d made a temporal peace. This time, they’d crossed the line, though; fought SERIOUSLY and for real.

They’d been immured in the scheme of PERFECT independence. Never in need of people’s acceptance. Never desiring the others’ approval. They’d been the perfect couple; the mutual understanding, the similar way of thinking, that perfect connection… All good things must come to an end, though; and in the face of terrible disillusions, their very flawless fairytale had apparently reached its finale. The common ground had ebbed away into nothingness. The similarities had faded out, disappeared into the thin air.

“I will blame whoever I WANT.” Before he could even realise so, he was raising his voice. Impulsively -something that he instantly regretted-. Something that he’d never done in the past. He never shouted, he never yelled at Emori. Not even in requital for her excruciating words. Not even in response to her painful behavior. She didn’t deserve it. SHE DIDN’T DESERVE HIM. “Good for you then.” He gave a negligible shrug -one of cruel apathy and indifference, of abandonment-. For this was what he was planning to do; GIVE UP. It was over; the fairytale had gone bad. There was no fixing it now. No mending the wound. No bridging the gap.

Or maybe… maybe there was that small chance. Maybe…

Why were they even fighting? Why were they doing this? Why…

“Believe it or not, I am happy for you.” But I don’t want to lose you. Only, when his own sight went blurred, did he realise that his own tears had made their appearance. It was the same pain, he’d felt the moment he’d watched Emori walking towards her death. The pain of losing her. Of spending a life without her. The torment of grief and loss and… He sighed. Got a hold of himself. For the slightest of a word could get him snapping. Shouting. CRYING.

“I am really happy for you, Emori.” His voice was barely audible now -almost as if talking instead of whispering could set them ablaze. Almost as if a slightly louder volume could ravage their already destroyed relationship. Almost as if EVERYTHING could tear them even more apart. “And…” No. Don’t do it. She should do it. She should FINALLY understand her mistakes. “I am very sorry for being jealous of your happiness.” It’s unfair. It’s her fault. She chose the others. She abandoned the dream. “But I am also tired. I’ve been chasing you for the past months CONSTANTLY. I’ve been trying to learn the new you. To compromise with you. But you kept keeping at bay, almost as if I am the PROBLEM in your survival plan.” He looked away. Just for a moment. “When we get to the ground… will you follow them? Because I won’t… Just keep in mind they’ll return to THEIR people. Their friends. Their families. That place and the ring are two entirely different worlds. So, will you?”

#muse[johnmurphy]#i: john x emori #v: the ring #the angst #myhiraeth #did I get carried away

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riseandshinelittleblossom · 5 years ago

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Unfinished Business (4/6)

Summary: Today is the day that Renee will become the Queen of Cordonia, but oh how her mind still wanders…

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, we’re just having a good time. Also this series will contain smatters of Canon dialogue that I also do not own

Part one

Part two

Part three

Masterlist

Tags: @ritachacha@fullbeaumonty@leelee10898@tornbetween2loves@zaffrenotes@hopefulmoonobject@ownworldresident @alj4890@writerxdreamer@stiles-o-dylan24@lettersofwrittencollective @dcbbw@ao719 @lizeboredom@carabeth @zilch3 @rainbowsinthestorm @friedherringclodthing

After making last minute wardrobe selections for her wedding party, Renee steeled her nerves and followed everyone out of the boutique. As she entered the hallway, Liam took her gently by the elbow pulling her aside.

"This is where we part ways. Next time we meet you'll be walking down the aisle."

His eyes searched hers for a long moment and Renee wondered if this was his way of trying to give her an out. She licked her lips, considering it.

A part of her knew that even if she and Liam were not in love with one another in the way most couples were upon marriage, he would always take care of her. He would always do anything to ensure her happiness. He would be a good husband and they would make an excellent team.

However, the other part of her-the hopeless romantic part- couldn't shake the feeling that she and Liam both deserved to be marrying the person that truly made their hearts soar. She wasn't meant to be his one true love, nor he hers. It felt wrong, disgusting even, to be cheating themselves out of what could be.

Liam did love her, in fact he would likely say he was actually in love the way one ought to be in this situation. Renee knew better though. Liam was in love with what she represented. Freedom. A wife and a queen not from the tradition he'd been raised with. One of his own choosing.

And although Liam had never admitted it out loud, the feelings he had for Drake were all but evident. Many times over the course of her stay in Cordonia she had caught the two men, eyes locked across a crowded room as if no one else even existed. She had often found herself wondering what it must be like, to feel as though the person you were inside wasn't good enough for the station you were born to. Those ponderings had only left her more confused when Maxwell and Bertrand had given her lessons in Cordonian ancient history and she learned all about the storied Queens of Stormholt, the first rulers of the Five Kingdoms.

Kenna and Annalyse Rys had seen their kingdom flourish and expand.

Renee questioned why Liam didn't simply follow his heart given the accepting nature of his people. Surely Cordonians everywhere would accept Drake Walker as a king consort, especially given the great lengths he'd gone through to save their country recently. An heir could be sorted, just as it had been for Queen Kenna and Queen Annalyse.

Deciding she may never know the king's true reasons for denying himself the love of his life and filled with her own shame she looked away from Liam as she replied, "If everything goes smoothly."

The king's strong arms wrapped around her, squeezing her gently against his chest. He held her for a few moments, his steady heartbeat thumping below her head, calming her by measures. When he pulled away from her he was smiling.

"See you soon, my queen."

He pressed his lips to her temple before disappearing out the door.

Maxwell approached her from across the corridor, spewing nonsense about writing vows, as Liam had gone off script with his. She shook her head, dread beginning to set in. It was almost time to promise herself to someone forever and she could see no reason for her to change the traditional vows of a Cordonian wedding when she was already less than enthused to be a part of it. Then suddenly, Bertrand stood behind his brother his expression far away. Renee could tell he was struggling to properly hide his emotions and for a moment she was glad.

"Good. You should feel as rotten as I do. It should be every inch as difficult for you to give me away as it is for me to let you go." She thought, but quickly and silently reprimanded herself. This was a mutual decision, after all. Her love for Bertrand Beaumont was so strong that the mere thought of his unhappiness pained her, and yet she was happy to see it in his eyes. It almost validated her, in fact.

"Renee, it's time to make your final preparations." The duke said finally, clearing his throat as his voice threatened to betray him.

"It's happening." Her face fell, despite her best efforts.

"Yes, the time is upon us. Now, let's move lest you risk being late to your own marriage."

Maxwell turned to her, ever the uplifting force of nature that he was, and grinned from ear to ear kissing her forehead quickly.

"Good luck, Renee. I'll see you soon."

He bounced away and Renee felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach as she was left alone with Bertrand.

He extended an elbow to her which she accepted almost reluctantly. The warmth of his arm beneath his tweed suit coat was a blessing and a curse, simultaneously comforting her and ripping her heart out of her chest.

Together they stepped into the sunlight, Renee blinking rapidly forcing her eyes to adjust. Bertrand led her down a short cobblestone path to an awaiting carriage, navy blue with golden filigree. It reminded her of the future she was barreling towards- gilded and dripping in decadence, yet destined to never be enough.

He opened the door, rambling about where they were headed so that Renee could dress and have her hair and makeup done.

They took seats on either side of the carriage, their knees knocking each other's slightly in the center. Bertrand fixed his gaze solemnly out the window, Renee fixed hers on the Duke,trying desperately to memorize his every line and every feature.

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

"... I'll never forgive myself for putting you in danger." Liam told her with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, I chose to be here. We're in this together," Renee squeezed his hand reassuringly, "For better or worse."

"I plan to make it more of the former and less of the latter."

Just then Maxwell chimed in demanding to know where the love was. Hana scolded him playfully and a wide smile bloomed on Renee's lips as she threw her arms around them both. She blinked back tears of joy as she caught sight of Bertrand over Hana's shoulder and she pulled him into the group hug as well so thankful they'd all made it out of the palace unscathed.

"That's more like it." Maxwell sing-songed, squeezing her tight like a vice.

"I am...so pleased to see you in good health." Bertrand told her, pulling away from the embrace.

Maxwell was talking again but his words were lost on Renee, her eyes narrowing slightly at the Duke as he adjusted his cuffs. Thankfully Drake piped up from the couch, complaining that usually doctors prescribed quiet for gunshot victims. No one seemed to notice the new Duchess was distracted as they all hurried to their injured friend's side.

Feeling dejected by Bertrand's obvious lack of concern for her well being, Renee slipped quietly out of the front door and onto the small porch.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to regain composure. She was desperately attempting to sort through the flood of emotions washing over her as she started to pace.

Jealousy. Anger. Elation. Confusion. They all swirled together into a lump in Renee's throat. Just when she thought she would surely choke on them, Bertrand appeared on the porch as well.

"Leave it to you to sneak away, even under such dire circumstances, Duchess Valtoria."

His tone was smooth and even with a hint of playfulness that likely only Renee would have ever picked up on and she spun on her heels to face him.

" ' I am pleased to see you in good health.' ?! What the Hell was that, Your Grace?" she spat.

Bertrand blinked, unprepared for her outburst.

"Well I am. What else was I supposed to say?"

Renee's hands balled into fists by her side.

"Anything else, Bertrand, literally. Hours ago you finally confessed your love to me. Said that no matter where our lives take us next, you will always be in love with me. Now after I've been shot at 'I'm pleased you're in good health' is the best you've got?"

"Again I ask, Your Grace, what would have had me do differently? Thrust myself upon you? Wrap you up so tightly in my arms that ever letting you go would be an impossibility? Tell you that last night was the worst night I've ever lived through, not knowing if the love of my life was safe? You would have me tell you these things in front of my king, who is also your betrothed?"

Renee's chest was still heaving from her outburst, but hearing Bertrand's logic did seem to settle her nerves. Of course he was right, but she'd felt so betrayed by him in that moment that she hadn't thought of it like that.

He crossed the porch in two long strides, taking her hand in his and cupping her cheek with the other.

"That's exactly what I wanted to do. Renee, I thought I lost you-truly lost you. I-well I don't even want to think of living a life without you in it, no matter the capacity. I have never been so terrified."

She gripped his forearm, standing on tiptoes to capture his lips in a searing kiss, trying to convey exactly how much he meant to her.

They kissed until they were breathless, hair and clothing mussed by the time they pulled apart.

"I can't imagine losing you either. Every fiber of my being loves you, B. I just...I was so overjoyed to see you...all of this clandestine relationship stuff is getting so hard to keep up with. I just want you, Bertrand. I'm so tired of hiding that. Liam knows- hell they all know. Can't we just-?"

Bertrand cut her off with a somber shake of his head. "This is the way things have to be, Renee. It's what's best for everyone involved. I love you so much, and a world where the things you speak of are possible would be my greatest wish fulfilled, but it just isn't reality. I am so sorry, Sweetheart."

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

"We're here." Bertrand said plainly as they came to a stop.

"So what will you do while I'm getting ready?" Renee questioned as he exited the carriage, turning to help her out as well.

"Well, I will attend to you, of course. I will do any and everything I can to make your wedding day a day you will never forget, Sweetheart."

Renee's lips parted as her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes pierced through Bertrand's for several moments, and she couldn't help but wonder how she'd been lucky enough to find a man willing to give so much to her, even at his own expense.

"So you'll stay with me, then?" She finally managed.

The duke gave her a terse nod as he held out his arm to her.

"Until the bitter end." he assured.

#unfinished business au #choices the royal romance #the royal romance fanfiction #bertrand beaumont #bertrand x mc

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ilovemygaydad · 5 years ago

Text

Little Talks

from the friends in dark places au

pairing: remile, background logince, background moxiety

summary: remy andersen may be a stubborn, rude, leather-jacket wearing prick, but... nope, that’s it. that’s all he is.

WARNINGS: angsty mutual pining, teasing, flirting with someone else’s boyfriend (in a teasing manner), self hate, internalized enbyphobia, internalized transphobia, internalized queerphobia, doubting one’s sexuality, anxiety, trying to change for a crush, physical violence, transphobic slur, fighting, broken/bloody nose, small fight scene, doubtfulness, lots of swearing, mentions of wanting to die, manhandling, harassment, making out, kissing, flirting, being flustered, bets, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy and, by request for remile, @notalwaysthevillian

a/n: jsyk, it’s totally okay to ask for a modified chapter if you need it or if i need to add tags! i get it, and it’s no problem for me to quick edit a chapter or whatever :) also, feel free to send requests or questions that you have!

first of main plot - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

Remy dramatically flopped onto the bench at Logan’s table with an equally dramatic huff.

“Remus, why have you suddenly decided to… grace us with your presence?” Logan deadpanned.

“Lo, sweetheart, can’t I just sit with my cousin and his lovely friends every once in a while?”

“No,” Logan said. “You cannot because there is never a time that you interact with me if it isn’t for a favor or to insult me.”

Remy gasped, glancing at the other patrons of the table. The emo one looked confused and borderline terrified, and Remy would feel bad if his problems weren’t more important. “Can y’all believe what he’s saying? I’m hurt, truly.”

“Just say whatever it is that you want to so that we may go back to eating our meals in peace.”

“Fine. I need help wooin’ this absolute doll of a girl, and--”

“Hold up,” Roman interrupted. “I thought you were gay.”

If Remy had rolled his eyes any harder, he might have strained a muscle. “Ro, honey, I’d have to be deader’n dirt if I wasn’t attracted to Emile freaking Picani. Ain’t no sexuality that can trump utter beauty.”

or maybe he wasn't gay maybe he was straight or pan or maybe he only liked emile because sometimes she wanted to use he/him pronouns--

“Okay, fair.”

“So,” Logan started, tilting his head the tiniest bit. “Why’d you come to me for romance advice, of all people?”

“Because you caught yourself a cutie--” Remy winked at Roman over his sunglasses-- “so you’ve obviously got some sort of game.”

Logan blushed slightly. “You do know about the whole fight thing, right?”

Remy rolled his eyes again. “Sugar, I’m not as much of a dumbass as you. I can navigate around any dumb advice you give me.”

“Rem—“

“Please, Logan,” Remy pleaded, gripping his cousin’s shoulders. He hated to have to stoop to begging, but he felt so desperate. “You can’t imagine how badly I want Emile to see me as a worthy partner.”

“Remy, kiddo, you’ve gotta breathe, okay?” Patton coaxed from across the table. “You’re going to work yourself into a panic if you don’t take it easy.”

And Remy knew that it wasn’t a big deal, but he couldn’t shake his doubts.

“I just… Emile is a livin’ blessing, and I’m the equivalent of milk left out on a hot, sunny day. I ain’t got a chance with ‘er if I can’t get a fairy godmother to bippity-boppity-boo me into a respectable young man.”

The emo kid slightly raised his hand, making eye contact with his lunch. “Uh, who’s Emile?”

“Oh my goodness gracious!” Remy exclaimed. “I can’t believe you don’t know who Emile Picani is. She is just the sweetest; let me tell you. She absolutely adores cartoons, and she loves helping others--I swear, that girl is gonna fix the whole world someday. She--oops, they must’ve changed headbands during lunch. They’re right over there. The cutie with the gorgeous brown hair and blue headband.” A dreamy sigh escaped him as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair. “They look good in every outfit they wear, on my honor! They’re wearin’ this Steven Universe skater skirt today, and it shows off their legs in a way that’s got me half a step away from fainting. Honest to god, I can’t believe that they’re still single. They’re absolute perfection.”

“I don’t… You just…” The emo boy trailed off, unable to find his words. “You seem really in love with them. I just don’t see why you think that you don’t have a chance.”

Remy frowned, turning to face the others. “Well, every time they see me walking in their general direction, they turn tail and run the opposite direction like I’m some sorta demon that’s comin’ to reap their soul. On the off chance that they hadn’t fled by the time I can get a word in, they always seem like they’d rather be eatin’ soap. It became real obvious, real fast that they ain’t into me in any way, shape, or form.”

“Well,” Patton said, staring somewhere behind Remy. “They’re coming over right now.”

“What? Shit--”

“Hey, guys!” Emile greeted in their sweet, gentle voice as they walked up to the table. Everyone turned to look at them, save for Remy. “Can I borrow Remy for a bit?”

Remy put on his sweetest, fakest smile and finally looked at Emile. “‘Course, hon. You wanna go somewhere else?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.” Emile began to walk toward the hall, and Remy quickly got up to follow. He took one last glance toward the table and caught Roman winking at him. God bless that boy’s soul.

They ended up just outside the cafeteria. Remy leaned against the wall, sliding his sunglasses back over his face in the hopes that he’d be less of an idiot with them on, and Emile stood a couple of feet away. They were nervously picking at a loose thread on their sweater, so Remy patiently waited for them to speak. There was no reason for him to make a fool of himself if he didn’t need to.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

Remy was so stunned by the question that he couldn’t even get a word in.

“‘Cause, like, you were staring at me earlier, and I’m probably jumping to conclusions like always, but I’d hate it if I hurt you. That would be a really shi--”

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

Emile’s face twisted in confusion. “What? No, of course not.”

“Darlin’, there’s just about nothin’ that you could do to make me mad at you. I was just--” Staring creepily at you because I think you’re the finest thing under the sun. Yeah, Remy. That’d be real cool of you to say-- “I was just starin’ off into space.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was an awkward pause before Emile blurted out, “Cool, well, I’m gonna go now. Bye!”

They were gone in a flash, leaving Remy staring at the space that they’d previously occupied. With a heavy sigh, he exited the school. Lucky him, having a free period after lunch anyway. He could cry in the comfort of his own home.

---

If you had told Remy Andersen a week ago that he’d be wearing a sweatshirt to school, he would have told you, “I’d rather be dead than wear a sweatshirt, sugar.”

Well.

The point still stood because Remy really fucking wanted to die.

And, yes, it was his own choice to completely disregard all of the times that his friends had told him not to change just to impress some boy, but heaven be damned if Remy wasn’t thirsty as hell. There was a cute boy, and Remy was ready and willing to try just about anything to gain the ability to kiss that pretty face.

Read: almost anything.

Remy wanted his leather jacket back, and he wanted his ripped skinny jeans, not the plain blue ones that he’d pulled from the darkest recesses of his wardrobe. He’d had to borrow this baby blue hoodie from Patton because, of course, he owned zero hoodies.

And everything was fucking great because Emile was totally paying attention to him trying to be more approachable.

This was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

---

Remy wore sweatshirts for a whole two days before he caved and went back to his leather jacket. There was exactly zero change in the way that Emile acted, and it fucking sucked. It was pretty obvious that he had no chance in getting Emile’s attention, and there was even less of a chance of actually being able to date them. Or even of being Emile’s friend because the fact still stood that Emile disliked Remy so much that they physically ran away every time he was nearby.

Thus, it was Dramatic Bitch Hours, and Dramatic Bitch Hours meant spending the entirety of lunch outside, brooding in the student courtyard.

Although it was nearing the end of May, it was a rather chilly day, and very few students wanted to be outside in the cold. One might suspect that Remy wouldn’t like the cooler days with him being from the south and all, but he found them rather pleasant for this very reason. Fewer people made it easier to relax and brood in peace. He was the only one in the courtyard, which made everything so nice and peaceful.

Well…

It was peaceful for a few minutes before some idiotic jocks decided to barge in.

“Don’t run away from us you fucking tranny!”

“You can’t waltz around and pretend to be something you aren’t,” a second voice snarled. “We saw you using the men’s bathroom earlier.”

“I’m surprised, seeing as your heads are so far up your asses!” a smaller voice shot back.

A smaller voice that belonged to the one and only Emile Picani.

Shit.

“Don’t fucking talk to us like that!” The group rounded the corner, and Remy could see that it was two jocks (one tall and the other muscular) harassing Emile. It felt like slow motion as he saw Emile’s small body stumble after being pushed by the taller jock.

“Hey!” Remy shouted, launching up from his table and storming over to the group. “Y’all had better knock it off real fast and leave them alone!”

The taller one sneered. “Or what? You’ll hit us with your precious sunglasses?” He took a step forward, and the other jock grabbed Emile from the ground in a tight grip.

“Remy, stop,” they pleaded. “Please, just leave.”

“Yeah, Remy,” mocked the muscular boy, gripping Emile even tighter. “Run away like the coward you are.”

Remy glared at the jock looming over him. “Sorry, doll. I don’t back down so easy.”

There was about a half second of angry silence before the tall one pounced at him. With the grace of many years of training, Remy took advantage of the momentum and threw the jock over his shoulder. The boy let out a heavy wheeze as the air was knocked clean out of his lungs, and Remy turned to face the other bully just in time to see Emile thrown to the ground again. The boy who had been holding them growled, stalking up to Remy and reeling back for a punch.

In a fraction of a second, Remy’s knee jerked up to catch the jock in the stomach. He took advantage of the moment of shock and ran his elbow into his nose. The boy stumbled back, clutching his face. The taller jock, who had recovered from being thrown, ran over to his friend with a gasp.

Remy casually straightened out his jacket, not even slightly winded. “I think it’d be the best for both of y’all if you went to the nurse’s office. That broken nose sure ain’t gonna heal itself, hon.”

The boys began to rush out of the courtyard, but Remy called out to them, “Oh, and I wouldn’t tell anyone what really happened out here.” He smirked. “Wouldn’t want everyone to know that y’all got beat up by the queer kid, now would we?”

Both jocks had the fear of god in their eyes as they nodded and ran into the building. As soon as they were gone, Remy was at Emile’s side.

“Sugar, are you okay?”

Emile nodded slightly as Remy sat down next to them. “Yeah, just startled. Also, how the hell did you do that?”

“I’m a black belt in taekwondo. Ma thought it’d be a good way to get out my destructive energy as a kid, so I ended up getting real invested.” Remy shrugged. He didn’t find it a very interesting part of his history, but it was useful at times.

“Holy shmokes…”

Remy smiled slightly, leaning back on his hands. “Y’know, I’d reckon that this is the longest conversation that we’ve had without you runnin’ off.”

A bright pink blush spread across Emile’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“‘S all right,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “Ain’t your fault that you don’t like bein’ ‘round me, hon. I don’t really blame ya; I’d prob’ly hate me, too, if I were you.”

“You think I hate you?” Emile’s voice sounded sad and hurt, which didn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Yeah? Sure made it seem like you did.”

“Oh my god,” Emile said. They buried their face in their hands. “God, no, Remy. I don’t hate you at all!”

Remy stared at Emile for a hot second. “If that’s some kind of practical joke, it sure as hell ain’t funny.”

“No, no! It’s for real; I swear. I don’t hate you in the slightest.” Emile peeked out from behind their fingers. “I actually kinda have a crush on you.”

“Holy shit. This can’t possibly be real.” Remy shook his head.

“Trust me, Rem. It definitely is,” Emile said as they slowly crawled into Remy’s lap. It was as if they’d been doing it their whole life. “Is this okay?”

Remy’s mind went haywire at the close proximity to his crush. “Yeah. It’s very much okay, Emile.”

“I don’t think that I’ve ever heard you call me by my real name.” Emile leaned in closer to Remy. Their eyes met, and it was easy to see the flirtatious fire in Emile’s eyes. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it again.”

“Gurl, you can’t--it isn’t fair for you to say that kinda stuff and expect me to think properly.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” Emile whispered as they finally closed the minuscule gap between their lips.

And wow. Remy had imagined being able to kiss Emile in many daydream sessions, but the real thing was something else entirely. It was soft, and he could taste brown sugar and cinnamon on Emile’s lips, but a warmth had bloomed in his chest unlike anything that he had ever felt before. It took him a second to realize in his romantic haze that he had Emile’s skirt clutched tightly in his hand, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Not while he was kissing a literal angel.

All too soon, Emile leaned back from the kiss. Remy pouted, but he wasn’t able to get a complaint out before Emile said, “You look absolutely wrecked right now.”

Suddenly, the heat wasn’t just in his chest. “That… I swear to god, that ain’t fair.”

Emile cocked their head the tiniest bit. “What isn’t fair?”

“No human bein’ should be so perfect. You’ve got the looks--” Remy placed a kiss on their cheek-- “and the personality--” Another kiss to their nose-- “and you’re an amazing flirt.” He pressed a final, quick kiss to Emile’s lips, which made them giggle.

“Shut up! You’ve been my boyfriend for a whole two minutes; let me get used to it before you do sappy stuff!”

Remy’s eyes widened. “I-I’m your boyfriend?”

“Yeah! I mean, unless you don’t want to! I’m not going to force you or anything—“

Emile was cut off by Remy engulfing them in a hug. “Sugar, you’ve got no idea how much I wanna be your boyfriend. I’m just surprised that you wanna court me.”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Have you not heard a single word I’ve said this whole time? You’re, like, the most incredible person on this planet. It’d be an honor just to be able to call you my friend.”

Emile laughed, leaning their head on their boyfriend’s shoulder. “Since we’re letting out our dirty laundry, I suppose that I should confess that I was worried that you weren’t going to want to date me because you’re gay, and I’m not a guy.”

“Sexuality is fluid. I can like you and still call myself gay, right?” Remy’s voice almost sounded scared—like he was afraid to say something wrong.

“That’s fair.” They felt Remy shift a bit, smiling. “Is it too early to say that I love you?”

“Nah. I love you, too.”

---

“That’ll be ten bucks, Virgil,” Logan said, holding his hand out for the money as he stared out the doors to the courtyard. They had been planning to eat outside to work on a project together, but Virgil had seen their friends sitting on the sidewalk and stopped them before they intruded.

“We don’t even know what happened! This is stupid,” Virgil grumbled as he slammed the money into Logan’s hand.

A wicked smirk spread on Logan’s face. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“I’m gonna fucking tattle on you to Patton, and he’ll kick your ass to next week.”

Terror overshadowed the smugness in Logan’s expression, and he moved to chase after his best friend. “Wait, hold on! We can talk about this!”

#sanders sides fics #remile #remy sanders #emile picani #m writes things #logince #moxiety #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders

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