#and now we’re finishing with my brain telling me how much of a useless piece of shit I am

[shunshin3]

.

[chateautae]

flirt | pjm. (m)

➵ summary :  park jimin is a notorious flirt, but so are you. when you both meet at a party after weeks of back and forth, it’s a matter of time before somebody gives in

➵ pairing : jimin x reader

➵ genre :  college!au, sexual tension, smut, pwp

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 4k

➵ warnings : super suggestive flirting, alcohol consumption (both parties able to consent), swearing, light dom and sub themes, soft dom!jimin, brat!reader, little bit of brat-handling, dirty talk, praising but also degradation? it’s hot i promise, use of slut, slight body worshipping, mentions of oral, jimin is hot and yes that’s a warning in itself, breast play, unprotected sex, penetrative + rough sex, bit of angsty sex, creampie cause i seem to not like it any other way

➵ a/n : and my first jimin fic is here!! dear god i love this boy to the moon and back so i got a bit carried with him lmao, hopefully this isn’t terrible cause i still need to edit it but your support and feedback are always appreciated!! <3

2 hours.

2 hours since you first came to this party. You’ve bumped into at least a hundred people, danced your legs numb, God knew how many and what concoction of drinks were inebriating your system and still, you hadn’t seen Park Jimin the whole night. 

The only reason you even dragged yourself to this party was because of him. You were initially bailing on the annual ‘one-last-hurrah-before-midterms’ party because you, like everyone else here had midterms haunting them Monday. It was Friday night and as the ever diligent student, you were planning to study over the weekend.

Though your nagging best friend Hoseok had other plans, threatening you to come with every piece of dirt he had on you until he finally sprinkled Jimin’s name into the mix. You couldn’t lie, it was the only reason you decided to hell with your education, wiggled into a barely-there dress and waltzed in with Hoseok ready to take the night on.

But when you hadn’t seen Jimin at all, you were left annoyed, pissed off and with a headache raking your brain.

Seeing him was a selfish desire, one you’d develop after realizing you had met your match when you first encountered Jimin. You were always fairly notorious for your flirtatious habits and touchiness, a sort of trademark of yours and the same was always said about a ‘Park Jimin’ unknown to you, sometimes described to be an even bigger flirt.

It automatically intrigued you, curious of what kind of rival you secretly harbored until one day, you chanced upon Hoseok who just so happened to be with Jimin. 

At first, you didn't think Jimin could be a daring flirt. He had this sweet smile and disciplined way of speaking that screamed innocent to you, his mannerisms and demeanor shy and introverted. He didn’t make big moves and so you wrote him off as just that. 

But it wasn’t until you started seeing him outside your class’ building, alone, and multiple times after that, enough for you to realize he was anything but shy or innocent.

You ended up observing that a) he was sex on legs, b) easily flipped between the persona of an angel and a demon and c) anything he did could seem flirting. 

You two hit it off without a hitch, your flirtatious tendencies meeting to form a relationship of mutual interest. It was clear as day, both your actions almost always held some sort of unknown intentions behind them, your every saying a double meaning. 

It became the norm between you two, anytime you met turning into a conversation riddled with innuendos, suggestive lip-biting or eyes that couldn’t help but wander. And you weren't stupid, you could tell he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You two were dangerous, testing the limits of either’s control, hoping someone would give in and only left disappointed when nobody did. 

So when Hoseok mentioned this party, and graciously added Park Jimin’s name to it, you knew this was your chance. A party with buzzing bodies, loud music and copious amounts of alcohol was bound to set him off, especially if you were dressed scandalously and felt bolder with liquid courage pumping through your system.  

But it’d been 2 hours, and you hadn’t seen him all night. You were taking another shot in the kitchen, sulking by yourself and reflecting on the fact that you’d been duped by Hoseok. This party became useless to you, a mere waste of your time as you quickly discarded your cup and began stomping out of the kitchen.

You ventured further into the house to look for Hoseok’s 5’10 ass, tell him he’s the worst best friend for lying to you and that you were leaving this disappointment of a party.

You stepped around people mindfully, dodging them until you rammed smack dab into someone’s back, scrambling for an apology before looking at the unaffected victim.

Park fucking Jimin.

“Y/N!” Jimin beamed, holding a drink in his hand as he smiled widely.

“Jimin, hey! I thought you didn’t come tonight.” You attempted biting back your smile from finally finding him, shouting over the bass of the music as you met him on the dance floor.

“I just ran late. You know me, of course I’d be here!” Jimin raised his drink to his plump lips and sipped, stepping side-to-side in rhythm with the music. 

You couldn’t make him out that well, the disco lights of whatever lights system the only means of seeing him in the dark, but you swear the smirky grin on his face as he scanned you over wasn’t just a figment of your imagination, ecstatic that you already seemed to be reeling him in. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, I already had-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence as someone’s raging body stumbled into yours suddenly, sending you off balance until Jimin reached out for you cautiously.

“Woah, easy there.” Jimin’s arms quickly held you, flashing a scolding look at the person who bumped into you and pulling you towards himself. “Are you here with someone tonight?”

“Yeah, Hoseok! I was looking for him.”

“Why’s that?”

“I.. wasn’t having fun, so I wanted to leave with him.” You swiftly masked the real truth, your voice becoming less of a shout as Jimin encased you, just a few centimeters between your bodies as you peered up at him, cheeks flushed with heat and alcohol.

“Leave with him? Damn, didn’t know you two were like that.” Jimin flashed you a suggestive look, raising his eyebrows.

“Shut up, you know we’re just best friends.” You both erupted into a fit of chuckles as you hit his chest, your hand smacking against his jacket and now that you were close, registered what a meal he looked like tonight; ripped black jeans, plain white t-shirt underneath a distressed jean jacket, all pulled together sexily by his tousled hair, small hoop earrings and a Chanel necklace decorating his neck.

Dear God, how many times you’ve ached to kiss that pretty, pretty neck.

You internally groaned, habitually drawing closer to him as you enjoyed the warmth of his body, nostrils filling with the familiar scent of his intoxicating cologne.

“So I hear you wanna have some fun.” Jimin perked up, eyes amused and hands smoothing over your sides slowly after faltering from your arms.

“Are you suggesting I’ll have fun with you?”

“Of course, gorgeous, but up to you how we do that.” Jimin stepped dangerously closer to you as his voice lowered, your face tucked into his chest as his body blocked other people from touching you.

Excitement shot to your center at his use of a pet name, a common occurrence during your exchanges though his choices of which always an added thrill. 

“And what if I just want to leave and eat at a diner instead?”

“Then I’d definitely take you, food and you? A win in my book.”

You cocked an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Adding me to the mix suddenly makes it a win? I’m not the one on the menu, Park.” 

Jimin’s eyes seem to blow out, leaning down as his plushy lips ghosted your ear as he spoke, tone darkened, “We can change that, princess.”

A thrill shot throughout your body, hyper aware of his lips mere inches from your face as your heart began to race, turning towards him expectantly.

You began advancing slowly to decrease the gap between your mouths, feeling him inch forward in response, letting him hover just above your lips for a tease before you stopped, “I’d like to see you try, Park.”

Then you abruptly turned out of his hold and walked away, making it through a few people into a hallway, allowing yourself to breathe. You loved teasing Jimin, it was an incredibly entertaining pass time but dear God, did it knock the fucking wind out of you. 

You were mentally recuperating from the fact that he almost let you kiss him, distracted as you stepped away until someone suddenly snatched your arm and pinned you against the nearest wall. You were honestly shocked to see Jimin, surprised he actually took your bait and stayed on your trail to stop you. His dancing eyes held nothing but greed, evident even in the darkness of the party.

“You know just how to test people, don’t you?” Jimin warned as he narrowed his dangerous eyes at you, holding your hot-skinned wrists against the cool wall. 

“Of course I do, it makes things fun and last time I checked,”  You brought your face to his and left only an inch between you two, “that’s just what I want.”

Jimin visibly grew less tamed, glancing down towards your lips as he tried breathing controllably, “Careful what you wish for, princess. It might come true.” 

“And if that’s what I want?” You titled your head expectantly, licking your lips as you watched Jimin bite his own. He eyed you the whole time, making it a statement to drink you in every inch of you. 

You could smell the alcohol on him, assuming liquor was the only driving force behind his actions but then contemplated his level-headedness, his coherent speech and clear judgment in this moment.

Jimin was choosing to chase after you, choosing to not let you go after weeks of incessant back and fourth and you knew you were finally getting closer to exactly what you wanted. 

Park Jimin giving in. 

“You’re fucking hot.” Jimin commented, eyes eating you up hungrily.

“You’re hotter.” You grinned and leaned back against the wall, cleavage unintentionally popping out for him and Jimin’s look immediately shifted, bringing his body closer against yours.

“You look submissive as hell right now, is that what you like? To be dominated?”

“Only if you like to dominate.” 

Jimin could feel the reigns on his control snapping, biting down to contain his raw desire to fuck you. He’s been holding himself back, knowing you seemed willing on your end of the interactions but never wanting to take the leap in case it was all just an act. 

But as he watched you go along with his every comment, staring back at him with the same devious eyes and practically offering yourself to him in his hold, he knew you weren’t acting at all. 

“You talk a big game, but can you put your money where your mouth is?” Jimin leaned his hips against yours, ensuring you could feel his growing hardness. 

“My mouth can do a lot of fucking things, Park.” You jutted your hips into his.

Jimin shut his eyes frustratedly before he re-opened them, a downright obsidian colour taking them over.

“Go the fuck upstairs.” 

“Wh-”

“I said, go the fuck upstairs.” Jimin demanded, looking at you with conviction so searing you in fact did become submissive. 

“W-which room-” You didn’t complete your question as Jimin’s deft hands encased you and lifted you off the ground, bridal-style.

“Jimin-!” You exclaimed.

“Say another word and I’ll make sure you feel me in your throat.” 

You immediately swallowed your mouth shut as Jimin cluthed you to him, core alighting with desire as he carried you up the stairs. Jimin arrived at the second floor and rushed towards the first room with an ajar door, shutting it with your feet after entering.

He made towards the bed and practically threw you onto it, stepping away to lock the door before leaning against it, arms crossed and serious. 

“You sure you want this?” His voice came out considerate, no haste or pressure.

“Yes, Jimin.” 

“You’re completely sure?” 

You nodded incessantly. 

“I need your words, Y/N.”

“Yes.” You affirmed, unintentionally becoming submissive as you awaited him, and Jimin couldn't resist you, not any longer. He made towards your smaller figure on the bed and immediately crashed his lips onto yours, knee sinking into the mattress as he leaned over you, splaying you onto the bed.  

He held your wrists against the sheets, kissing you open as his plump lips worked tirelessly against your mouth. He continued to swallow you, opening up to catch all of you as he sank further downwards to feel your body arch into his.

His wet tongue glided over your lips and you welcomed him in lightspeed, letting his muscle entangle with yours hastily and you instantly loved the taste of him. 

Jimin’s kisses began deepening, exploring your mouth like he was dehydrated and your mouth was fresh water. His thigh began pressing against your core and you moaned into his mouth as Jimin disconnected from you, panting for air. 

“Don’t fucking do that.” He voiced frustratedly, his full lips swollen and pink as he tried to contain himself. 

“Do what?” 

“Fucking moan, it does shit to me.” 

“Sucks for you, I’m responsive as fuck.” You snipped as his sudden confession made you hot, squishing your thighs together. Jimin took notice and he flashed a look at your core. 

“Responsive, huh?” Jimin let go of your wrist, sliding his hand down your body before pressing his fingers to your heat through your dress. You instantly gasped, arching as you felt your walls clench around absolutely nothing. 

“J-Jimin.” you warned him weakly. 

“Mm?” Jimin paid no attention as he lowered himself to your neck and began kissing, tonguing, sucking at a spot that had you cowering and squirming underneath him. 

You groaned as your free hand tangled into his hair, hugging him to your neck as you basked in the glory of his plush lips devouring you. He was laving and nibbling at your skin, continuously kissing the area of your carotid all while rubbing his hand against your clothed cunt. Jimin began rutting his body against yours, the tip of his cock prodding you the more he moved.

“Fuck you, Jimin. This isn’t fair.” You moaned breathlessly

“As fair as it gets, princess. You wanted to see my try, yeah?” Jimin suddenly stopped his movements on your core and slid his hand up your bare thigh, only to shift your stained panties to the side and glide his fingers all over your bare pussy. You gasped Jimin’s name and tugged at his hair harshly, the alcohol hazing everything over with sensitivity and trying to sustain the sheer amount of pleasure he was rewarding you.

“N-nothing’s fair about this.”

Jimin smoothed the pads of his fingers over your slick core, eliciting your incessant gasps, “Fuck with my ego and I fuck with you, baby.” 

He was leaving purple marks all along your neck and chest, moving down to the valley of your breasts and you whined headily, hating that he had such an advantage in this position. 

You immediately grew bold enough to push him off by his chest, detaching him as Jimin looked at you confused. “Y/N, what the fu-” was all Jimin could get out before you stood up and gripped his cock through his pants, his breath immediately hitching. He looked at you with surprised eyes, growing weaker in your hold as you walked him back against a vanity in the room.

You had no clue who this room belonged to, but you could care less when you were minutes away from getting fucked by Park Jimin.

He let out breathy little moans as you palmed him, shutting his eyes in bliss as he turned harder by the second, leaning back against the counter. You planted your lips to his neck and mouthed fervently, making sure you embellished his skin with your desire for him. “F-fuck. Y/N, this isn’t fair.”

“Fuck with my ego and I fuck with you, baby.” You mocked him and began rubbing at his shaft, sucking hickies onto his pretty neck and licking over the areas your teeth grazed. Jimin continued groaning, hugging you close to him as he fisted his hands against your body, trying everything to cherish the pleasure he felt. 

The person he’s been desiring ever since he heard about you, his every nerve thrilled by your ability to counter him, match his energy of constant flirting and testing the waters, venturing further than him sometimes.

You were just so tempting and Jimin wanted every last bit of you. 

That sentiment increased when he felt your hands snake towards the belt of his jeans, unbuckling harshly with need so apparent he wanted nothing but to stuff your walls, now. 

“No, fuck off, getting inside you first.” Jimin denied your hands, capturing them in his hold.

You instantly whined, “But Jimin, want you to fuck my face.” You pouted into his neck, kissing along his collar bones as you rutted against him. 

“Fucking God, I’m destroying you for that.” Jimin wrapped you up in his arms and switched the positions, shoving you against the vanity, your ass on the edge of the counter as Jimin stood in between your spread out legs, lips meeting yours again. 

Jimin lifted the skirt of your dress up and over your backside, pooling around your waist as his hands slid over your fleshy thighs to the band of your panties. He pulled only to snap them back against your skin, the contact making you gasp.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing these?”

“And why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?” You chastised, hands greedily shoving his jacket off him even with your mouth attached to his.

Jimin didn’t allow the action to compromise your kiss either, practically ripping his jacket off and breathing hard against you as he threw it away. He then pulled his t-shirt over himself, revealing his toned, lean body underneath and only leaving his Chanel necklace hanging over his bare chest. You licked your lips at the sight of his smooth and pretty body, the outline of his abs like a work of art.

You reached out to touch him, his face and skin flushed with lust as he watched you. “You’re so hot, Jimin, so pretty.” You praised, eyes ogling him.

Jimin smirked proudly before speaking, “Your turn.”

He searched for the zipper of your dress and unzipped hastily, peeling away the top to reveal your naked breasts and now it was his turn to ogle at you.

“Fuck me, you’re prettier.” He huffed out, eyes blown out entirely.

“Probably not as pretty as your cock, let me suck.” You pouted playfully and pulled him closer to you with the back of your shins, hands greedily feeling up his bare chest.

“Only good girls get to suck my dick.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you’re a fucking brat and a half.” Jimin started kneading your breasts, licking his lips as he watched you spread your legs wider for him and lean your head back out of pure bliss.

“I am not a brat, you just fucking take 10 years to get it on.” You snapped back, moaning in between at the way he groped your breasts, rolling the buds of your nipples with his fingertips.

“Sorry I was a fucking gentleman, didn’t know you were such a cock-hungry slut.” Jimin bit as he planted his thick lips to your perched nipple, eliciting curses from you as his tongue began swirling around, sucking teasingly.

“You just can’t fuck, isn’t it? All bark and no bite?”

Jimin scoffed darkly at that, sucking harder on your sensitive nipples before letting go with a pop. “I’ll fucking break you is why I kept holding off, you’ll regret this, princess.”

“Break me then, Jimin, please. Fuck me like you say you will, I need you.” Your arousal became unbearable as you grew hornier, rocking your hips against him for friction while he laved at either of your nipples.

“I will, baby. Get these off and I’ll fuck you so good.” Jimin tugged at your panties and you lifted your ass for him to discard them.

You unhooked Jimin’s belt and shoved into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans down until you finally freed his leaking length, thick and throbbing to be treated.

What you always thought was right, his cock was pretty just like him. You graciously pumped him, spreading his pre-cum over the head as you watched him lean his head back, kissing under his jaw.

“So pretty, Jimin, just like you.”

Jimin stopped caring about any and everything and instantly grabbed one of your legs, spreading you wide open for him and situated himself before your entrance.

He brought a hand over yours pumping his member and moved you quicker against his hot flesh, looking down at the lewd scene and your pretty pussy aching for him.

“Look at you soaking, baby, so much prettier.” 

You moaned needily, the back of your shins urging Jimin closer to you again as you whined. “Jimin..”

“Raw?” he breathed impatiently. 

“Fuck yes, birth control.”

Jimin didn’t even take a millisecond before he was pushing against your hole, placing the hand that was pumping his member now against your pelvic bone, pressing down to feel himself sink inside of you.

You instantly careened, moaning out so loud that if there wasn’t music blaring in the house, everyone would know how stuffed Jimin made you feel.

“Fuck-Jimin! Stop doing that, it feels too fucking good..!” You nearly cried, the pressure of Jimin’s hand making you feel any and every ridge, vein and hardness of his thick cock, your walls drinking him in.

“Fuck you, this is what you get.” Jimin blurted as he buried himself to the hilt, groaning satisfyingly at your warm walls hugging him before plunging to make out with you.

Jimin began fucking you with conviction, determination to drive you insane for him as he spread you open. He thrusted fast and hard from the get-go, neglecting to set a pace knowing how much of a cock-loving brat you were. His thumb resting just above your clit dipped down to lightly play with your bud, tease it, all the while licking into your mouth and thrusting into you.

You gasped hard, so much that Jimin’s name was the only thing coherent within them and he swallowed all your sounds with his lips. Your body was on fire at the drag of his cock, shocked at how wet you were when he hadn’t even fingered or eaten you out, his cock doing all the work, leaving you only thinking of Park Jimin’s sheer power.

You wanted all of him so badly, wanted him to ruin you, destroy you like he said he would, fuck you open like he always insinuated he would.

“Jimin, please, harder! Fuck me like the brat I am, teach me a fucking lesson.”

“Princess likes it hard, huh? Want me to fuck this pussy up? Make it all mine?” Jimin’s words were so filthy they had you clutching onto him tightly, arousal gushing from you as Jimin impaled you harder, snapping into you.

His thumb continued its onslaught, your walls convulsing to his every stroke as you gripped his shoulders and kissed him, biting his plushy bottom lip as he fucked you harder.

“Mm, Jimin, fuck!” Your tits bounced as he pounded into you, taking his every thrust like a champ and he damn well shook the entire vanity, continuously drilling your hole as he gave no room for mercy. Your hands snaked into his hair and tugged, making him groan in approval and he only pushed you open wider in response.

“You pretty brat, look at you getting what you want. Fucked like the cock-loving princess you are.” Jimin breathed against your mouth, his skin slicking with sweat as he worked tirelessly against your opening, battering your pussy with an unforgiving speed.

“You would’ve gotten your dick sucked, but apparently-” you shuddered breathily, “I w-wasn’t a good girl.” You felt weak from his repeated onslaught, the bubbling pleasure in your gut keeping you going. 

“Yeah, so fucking behave and maybe I’ll let you choke on my dick.”

“Y-you stop playing games and maybe I’ll let you eat my pussy.”

Jimin only ticked his head to the side as he chuckled darkly, starting to propel his thick cock into your gut and raging at your clit so roughly, you gasped as you carved your pleasure into his skin. Jimin did the same as he bore his fingers into you, a hand squeezing your thigh harshly as he held your leg and your walls fluttered around him, moans growing higher in pitch.

“Jimin! I’m gonna-“ you didn’t even complete your sentence as your walls clamped around him, orgasm washing over you so quickly you barely realized it came. You clenched him like a vice and panted hard against his mouth, Jimin finally coming undone as well, spurts of cum painting your insides and filling you to the brim, certain he’d leak out of you for hours.

You felt stuffed, so full of him you were hazed over with post-orgasm bliss, mind unwinding from any trifling matter on Earth. Your forehead slacked against his shoulder as you both panted for air, sweating as Jimin held your weak body in his arms.

His cock remained shoved inside you, the throbbing letting up on both of you as your highs settled down.

“You..” Jimin swallowed dryly, breathing. “took me like a good girl. Maybe you can suck me off next time.”

“Next time?” You breathed labourly, turning your face towards his.

Jimin peered down at you resting against him, biting back a grin. “Of course, there’s always a next time with flirts like us.”

[lostinthewiind]

I don’t know if you write for them as well, but could I request a poly fic for Reki, Langa and the reader and maybe them explaining them explaining their relationship to Langas and/or Rekis mom after being caught cuddling together? Thank you in advance and sorry, if you don’t write for them.

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Reki & Langa: Three's a Crowd

A/N: my first request for Reki and Langa! I'm so excited because I love those boys with my whole heart; they deserve the world! So excited to write this!

Rating: PG13

Warnings: use of the term "slut", complex teenage relationships/sexuality discussed

Flopping over onto your back on the bed, you stretched your arms and legs out and let out a loud yawn. You, Reki, and Langa had been working on homework ever since the three of you had arrived at Langa's house after school and you were starting to get mentally exhausted. 

"I'm done!" you exclaimed, shutting your eyes and exhaling.

Peeking at you from where he was lying on the floor, Reki cocked a brow at you. "You finished all of it?"

"No." You shook your head. "I'm just done. My brain hurts. If I do any more I think I might die."

"Good enough for me!" Reki closed his textbook as well and stopped doing his homework too.

Sighing from his spot at his desk, Langa turned in his desk chair to face the two of you. "We have to have this done for tomorrow. You do know that, right?"

"Yes, obviously." You rolled your eyes. "I'm going to do the rest later. I just need a break."

"Exactly. Break time!" Reki stood up from the floor and promptly fell down on top of you on Langa's bed, crushing you and pushing the air out of your lungs in the process. "I'll finish later too."

Langa scoffed. "Y/N I believe . . . but Reki, we all know you'll forget about it tonight and end up scrambling to finish as the teacher goes around collecting it tomorrow morning."

"He does have a point," you wheezed out, trying your hardest to push Reki off of your stomach.

Reki frowned and stuck his bottom lip out dramatically. "You guys are so mean to me." He adjusted himself on top of you so his face was hovering right above yours. "I expected this from Langa, but you, Y/N? I thought you loved me."

You forced out a laugh as you cupped his face with your hands. "I do love you, but that doesn't mean you don't have faults, Reki. I love you despite your faults, and one of your faults is procrastination."

He furrowed his brows, his face scrunching up in thought. "I can't tell if that was a compliment or not."

"The gist was that you're loved," Langa muttered as he continued working away at the homework one question at a time, trying his best to ignore the two of you.

Reki's eyes lit up at that. "Well, good!" He smiled as he cupped your face with his hands in return and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Immediately, your cheeks turned red and you averted his gaze. Things between the three of you were still relatively new and you were still working out how a relationship with three people worked, exactly. The fact that neither one of you had ever really had a serious relationship before only made things more complicated.

Noticing your reaction, Reki brushed the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks. "Sorry," he apologized. "I should have asked before I kissed you."

"No, it's okay," you assured him, a soft smile on your face as you did so. "I'm just not used to it yet, especially since our relationship isn't exactly . . . normal."

"I know." Reki hugged you tight and buried his face in your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. "Did you tell your parents yet?"

You shook your head as your heart began to pound nervously. "No. Did you?"

"Not yet," he mumbled into your neck. "Every time I try to, one of my siblings is around and I abort mission."

Craning your neck, you looked over at Langa. "Did you tell your mom yet, Langa?"

Only half-listening to the conversation, Langa perked at his name but tilted his head quizzically at the inquiry. "Did I tell my mom what?"

"About us," Reki clarified. "The three of us being together."

"Oh." He seemed to grow nervous about the topic as well. "Not yet. Soon."

Finally rolling off of you, Reki laid on his back and pulled you into his side, his arm wrapped around you and your head resting on his chest. "If only we were adults and didn't have to worry about the approval of our parents."

"Yeah," Langa agreed, thoroughly distracted from his homework now, his mind running a mile a minute while he thought about the current predicament. The three of you had to be careful when you went over to each others' houses, trying your best to convince everyone that you were just close friends and nothing more.

Cuddling and kissing were usually reserved for late nights when the sun went down, the lights were turned off, and the three of you hid behind the excuse of watching a movie together. Funnily enough, watching a movie together and cuddling had been how the three of you had discovered your feelings for one another.

"Speaking of that, you two should be careful." Langa gestured to the way you and Reki were holding each other on his bed. "What if my mom walks in?"

"Yeah, you're right," Reki sighed. "I just feel like we never get to be together how we want . . . we're worried about what our parents will think at home and worried about what everyone else will think at school. Nevermind the fact that Langa and I are gay, or, bisexual I guess . . . but polyamory? We'd never hear the end of it."

You exhaled slowly, cuddling closer to Reki. "They'd probably call me a slut for having two boyfriends."

Standing from his chair, Langa walked over to the bed and laid down with you and Reki, forgetting about all of his usual paranoid worries for the time being. "You're not a slut," he told you, wrapping his arms around you as well. "And who cares what anyone else thinks anyway, right? As long as we're happy and we're not hurting anyone else, that's all that matters."

Relishing in the feeling of having your two favourite people on either side of you, you started feeling the stress fade away and your body relax from its usual tense state. "I wish we could stay like this forever."

Before either Reki or Langa had the chance to respond, the bedroom door suddenly swung open and Langa's mom poked her head into the room. "Langa, are you friends staying for dinner or-" She stopped talking as soon as she saw the three of you tangled up in one another on the bed.

Immediately, the three of you jumped away from each other, the stress that had just left filling your body once more. Completely caught off guard since Langa's mom usually knocked first before opening the door, neither one of you knew how to explain away what she had just seen.

"M-mom!" Langa was standing on the opposite side of the room now while you and Reki stood on either side of the bed. "Why didn't you knock?"

Langa's mom eyed the three of you, quickly noticing the flushed faces and obvious nerves radiating off of you. Even if she hadn't thought anything of what she had seen at first, she definitely suspected something now with how the three of you were acting.

"I apologize," she said, pushing the door open all the way and standing in the doorway. "Langa, dear, do you have something you want to tell me?"

Fiddling nervously with his fingers, Langa turned to look at you and Reki, trying to gauge your reactions and decide whether he should tell the truth or try to pull off some sort of lie; but both you and Reki were completely useless as you stared down at the floor and shifted anxiously.

"Langa?" His mom prompted once more.

Finally meeting his mother's gaze, Langa drew in a deep breath. "Can you promise not to be mad?"

Langa's mother quirked a brow quizzically. "You're starting to worry me, honey. Just tell me what's got you so flustered."

"Well . . . u-um," Langa stumbled over his words, completely unsure how he was supposed to just come out and say it. "Well, Mom . . . Reki, Y/N, and I aren't . . . aren't just friends."

Langa's mother folded her arms over her chest and took a minute to process what she had just heard. "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand what you're trying to tell me."

Deciding to rescue Langa from having to ride solo on this, you stepped over to him and took his hand in yours. "Mrs. Hasegawa, Langa and I are dating," you told her.

"Oh, I see." Langa's mom's face flashed with understanding, but then she looked over at Reki, no doubt wondering how he fit into all of this.

"And I'm dating Y/N." Reki stood on the other side of you.

Langa nodded. "And I'm also dating Reki."

The understanding that had once been visible on Langa's mom's face had completely vanished after the three of you had elaborated. "S-so . . ." She paused as she tried to fit all the pieces together in her head. "So the three of you are all dating each other? Is that right?"

"Y-yes," Langa confirmed. "We know people will think it's weird but it's just what makes us happy and I just . . . just please don't be mad."

"Mad?" Langa's mother seemed offended at the insinuation that she could ever be mad at her son for, for lack of a better term, coming out to her more or less. "Oh, dear, I could never be mad at you for who you love."

Before either of you had the chance to process how well that conversation had just gone, Langa's mother was striding over to the three of you and pulling you all into a hug. "All that matters is that you're happy and healthy," she told Langa before looking to you and Reki. "And the same goes for the two of you. I don't know what your parents have said about this, but just remember that being happy and healthy is all that matters."

"Y-you're really okay with this?" Happy tears began to well in Langa's eyes. It was clear that he was overjoyed and shocked that his mother had been so accepting so easily.

Placing her hands on her son's face, Langa's mother smiled at him. "Of course, I am. Is it a little confusing for me? Sure. Do I know much about being in a polyamorous relationship? No. But if the three of you have discovered that this is what makes you happy, as I'm sure you have since you're all old enough to make your own decisions and know what's best for you, then I'm happy as well."

"Thank you!" Langa hugged his mom tightly, silent sobs escaping him as all the worry he had been carrying around for weeks dissipated and he was flooded with relief.

"I'll always love you, no matter what," Langa's mom told him as she glanced at you and Reki, who were starting to tear up as well. "Do your parents know as well?"

You and Reki shook your heads. "No, not yet," you said in unison.

"Well, I hope they are understanding," she told you. "And just know that the three of you are always welcome here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hasegawa." Reki wrapped his arms around you and held you tight as you cried as well. "Really, thank you so much. We were all scared that everyone would think we were weird or gross."

"People are often scared of things that they think are different," Langa's mom explained to the three of you. "But that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with being different. I won't lie and say that everyone will be understanding, but the world is changing . . . don't assume the worst from people just yet; they might surprise you."

With that, Langa let go of his mother and engulfed you and Reki in a hug. Finally, the three of you had safe space where you could be together and not worry about judgmental people looking in on your relationship. 

Overjoyed and unable to control his excitement, Reki planted kisses on both you and Langa—marking the first time either of you had dared show affection in front of someone outside of the relationship.

Hopefully, the first of many. 

[ateezmakemeweep]

line without a hook.

mingi x reader; lovers to strangers au

word count: 13k

angst, fluff (tw: mentions of death)

you could personally never understand one’s desire to run as far away from their hometown as they could.

maybe it’s because you’ve had the privilege of growing up in a beautiful, prosperous place, with cozy winters, amazing festivals and snowfalls on the frozen lake before spring came and melted it away.

maybe it’s because you have fond memories tied back to this picturesque place, shops and restaurants surrounding the lake in a way that almost seemed too magical to really exist.

you’ve met so many different people purely because of that sight, men and women of different cultures and backgrounds always so eager to take in your hometown’s natural beauty.

fortunately for you, the lake ran right through your yard and acted as a place of solace where you could get away from everything in the busy, touristy town.

a place you went when you were feeling happy, sad, angry or when, truthfully, you didn’t know how to feel.

it’s also where you first met your boyfriend, one of the many come and go visitors, who introduced himself as mingi.

except he had walked right through your backyard like he owned the place, a small smile on his handsome face as he took in the sight of the frozen water.

he looked at it with such wonder and fascination, like he’d never seen anything like it before in his life; and you can remember that night, even with how you’re feeling right now, that he looked at you the same way.

it’s the only thing that reminds you, at some point, you two must have really loved each other.

two years ago - december 13th

you were hunched over your desk finishing the last of your final essay, only a page left before you could throw every syllabus away and rejoice at having two months of winter break.

it was a chilly night but you couldn’t help but be outside on the porch, a big warm sweater and fuzzy socks on as you read over your work so far.

you’d gotten used to the sounds of nature, the chirping of birds, pitter patter of animal feet and even the loud, slightly terrifying barks of deer.

but the footsteps crunching on the leaves in your driveway definitely weren’t those of chipmunks or rabbits, your strained neck craning over to see a tall figure walking right past your porch and deep into your backyard.

strangely enough, whether it be the frigid temperatures getting to you or the stress of finishing this paper, you weren’t panicked; the man technically wasn’t even on your property, he was right outside of it along the grass that turned to decking.

so you continued to make revisions and edit your paper silently, your eyes fluttering up ever so often to check on the mysterious, tall figure. his shoulders were broad and his hair was messy, that much you could tell from your spot on the porch.

when five minutes past, then ten, then twenty, and he had still yet to move or realize he was in someone’s yard, you decided to investigate - because one, how long could he really stare at this frozen mass of water and two, your head was pounding from looking at this stupid document.

so without an ounce of fear or hesitation, you wrapped your sweater tighter around your body and made your way down to the man.

your slippers were loose so the last remaining bits of snow were seeping into your socks, a slight grimace on your face when the coldness touched your skin.

the sound of crunching snow caused him to turn around, his lips quirking up into a small smile when you came into view.

it was when you got closer that you saw just how attractive he was, pale skin that glowed, plump lips that were slightly chapped and messy hair that looked even better up close.

he looked different than most locals and tourists around here, many of them pastel wearing men who wouldn’t dare stick an earring in their skin.

but the man in front of you had a completely different vibe, earrings and chains and a gray t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest despite the freezing temperatures tonight.

a few minutes of silence pass, neither him nor you concerned about filling it; it seemed as if he could’ve stared at the lake just as long as you could’ve wondered why the hell he liked it so much.

“aren’t you cold?”

more silence passed and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear your blurted out question.

but then you discover he did when he looked at you with a smirk, the snow crackling underneath him as he shifts to take in your big sweater and pink slippers.

“no.”

it’s a short and simple response but his voice is somehow incredibly warm, looking at you with a twinge of soft light in his eyes before he opens his mouth again.

“why? are you?”

a confused smile pulls at your lips as you shake your head, looking over his bare (muscular) arms conspicuously.

“no. but i’m not wearing a t-shirt in december.”

he sends a smile your way, his large body turning allowing you to fully take in just how big he is. you feel incredibly small next to him and it should probably make you nervous - a large, stranger unwelcomed in your yard and staring down at you.

but there’s a weird sense of tranquility over both of you in this moment, the moon shining off the frozen lake as his gaze meets yours.

“well that’s a good thing,” he hums, your eyebrow quirking up before he continues. “because i don’t have a jacket to give you.”

a surprised chuckle leaves your mouth that has a smile spreading across your face and he feels his own doing the same at the sight of it.

“what makes you think i’d take a jacket from a stranger?”

his eyebrow raises after a few seconds of pondering the rhetorical question, his large hand suddenly coming between your bodies.

“my name’s mingi. i’m staying a few houses over at my aunt’s for the holidays.”

your lips purse together as you wrack your brain for which neighbor it could possibly be, remembering that the woman who brought you left over lasagna for thanksgiving mentioned her nephew was coming for christmas and new years.

she didn’t mention that her nephew looked like this or that he went onto the property of anyone he pleased.

“i’m y/n,” you say, taking your smaller hand in his cold one before a teasing smiles crosses your face. “and we’re actually standing in my backyard. so thank you for trespassing so politely, mingi.”

his eyes widen as an embarrassed look crosses his face, the small hint of pink on his cheeks just as endearing as it is humorous.

“i- i’m so sorry, oh, my god,” he chuckles out, your cold hands still intertwined. “my aunt said i could take the first road i saw to get to the lake. that there was a better view down here than from her house.”

and you can see in his eyes the exact moment his next sentence came into his mind, like he thought it was gonna be the smoothest and coolest thing he’d ever said.

“and it looks like she was right.”

the loud laugh that bubbles out of you is uncontrollable, mingi’s quickly following as his cheeks turn even more pink.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself,” he mumbles sheepishly, sounding completely unapologetic as he finally pulls his hand away from yours; you try not to think about how much colder your hand feels now, quickly sticking it in the pocket of your sweater to compensate.

“right,” you quip, a tiny giggle leaving you as you crane your neck to meet his gaze. “but really, you should probably get a jacket if you’re gonna be out here a lot. you don’t wanna get sick and it can get pretty cold here.”

“will do,” he hums, his eyes roaming yours and making your heart jump in your chest; he really is the most attractive person you’ve ever seen.

there’s a few beats of silence as he cranes his neck to look out at the lake, eyes roaming what seems like every piece of frozen ice and snowy tree surrounding it.

“my aunt actually told me people sometimes skate on it.”

“yeah,” you confirm with a nod, taking the time to look at the beauty you take for granted every day. “it’s thick enough this year. sometime we’re not allowed.”

“cool,” he says with a smile, a slight shiver running through him that makes you frown. “so... can i come back here to do that?” he asks, his eyes hopeful and soft as he looks at you. “or should i use the real path?”

your eyebrows pull together at his question, confusion covering your face but only meeting his cocky, playful one.

“are you asking if we can skate together?”

he bites down on his lip so he doesn’t smile larger, his tongue peeking out just before his teeth make contact.

“yeah,” he hums lowly, the deep tone of his voice sending butterflies through your stomach. “i guess i am.”

your lips quirk to the side as you weigh out the pros and cons.

you’re on your own a lot and definitely miss talking to someone.

he’s attractive and funny and seemingly nice enough.

you know his aunt and can easily confirm his story, the chances of him being a murderer who moseyed into town considerably low.

the only con you can think of is falling on your ass in front of him and even that it isn’t such a deal breaker.

so you smile at him and nod your head, a melodic “okay,” leaving your mouth that has him smiling back at you just as sweetly.

present day:

you knew going to this dinner with mingi was gonna end in disaster.

you were both too on edge after your fight this morning, past the point of screaming and yelling for hours that, now, you’ll exchange a few harsh words at each other before falling silent.

you’ve learned that the tense silence after a fight is worse than screaming and yelling.

at least with that, it seems as if there’s still some passion there. there’s words being exchanged and feelings coming to the surface that both people feel motivated enough to express.

but with the silence, you’re both bottling it up.

deeming it useless and letting it brew and brew and brew until one of you goes completely over the edge - and more often than not, that person is him.

the car ride over is no better, not even the radio playing to distract you both from the building tension in the air.

your friends know immediately that something is up, yunho eyeing mingi and san eyeing you; yunho, san, seonghwa, and wooyoung had been your friends since elementary school.

you’d been through a lot with them and have seen each other at all your highs and lows.

throughout your two-year relationship with mingi, him and yunho had grown especially close and it was sweet to see; you knew it was important for mingi to have another friend in a place he didn’t grow up in and you were genuinely happy they created a great friendship.

“hey guys!” wooyoung chirped happily, already chowing down on the chips and salsa in the middle of the table. “how is everyone?”

and like he’s almost oblivious to the tension in the room, mingi only mumbles a grumbled “fine,” before he starts happily babbling again. you try a little harder to put up on a happy front, giving wooyoung a small smile as you talk to him about your last semester of school.

as the dinner goes on, appetizers turning to meals and meals turning to alcohol, mingi downs sangria after sangria before he becomes a lot more chatty.

“oh, shit, there he is,” wooyoung smiles happily, a drunken flush to his face as he pokes his arm playfully. “you were scaring me for a hot second. looking all pissed off and shit.”

“that’s because i was pissed off. still am, if i’m being honest, woo,” mingi says, a conniving hint in his tone as he finishes the last of his drink.

your eyes immediately move to him and you’re quick to narrow them, hoping and praying he doesn’t start round two in this public restaurant right now; but apparently, that’s exactly what he plans on doing.

“what’s with the face, y/n?”

mingi spits your name out like it’s the last thing he wants to say, a quietly snapped “nothing,” leaving your mouth.

san and yunho look to each other immediately, concern on both their faces as they feel the tension start creeping back up.

they knew something was wrong the second you both came in, have known things have been off between you two for months, and it was even more obvious when you immediately took the seats a few spots away from each other.

“nothing?” he asks, his voice deep and gravely due to his anger and the alcohol. “because it sure looks like you wanna say something.”

“i don’t have anything to say to you.”

“you never do, do you, babe?” he asks, his humorless laugh and vindictive tone making your skin prickle.

“did you even miss me?”

your eyes meet his from across the table when he finally speaks, your eyebrow raising as you two stare at each other blankly.

he had left two nights ago after telling you he needed space, not hearing a word from him until he came barreling through the door just a few moments ago at seven a.m.

you’d just gotten up to make yourself coffee, plagued with worry and upset over your fight and his lack of communication.

“maybe if you looked at your phone, you’d know.”

because how could he think you wouldn’t miss him? how could he think you’re actually okay with him leaving after every fight? not hearing from him for a day or two while you stay in this apartment and let your mind go off into every worst case scenario.

a humorless laugh can only leave him as he shakes his head.

“of course you’re putting the blame back on me. i just can’t make you happy, can i, y/n?”

“you staying after a fight would make me happy. but of course, you can’t do that for me, can you?”

he doesn’t say anything and instead just clenches his jaw painfully tight.

you watch it tick dangerously and instead of feeling anger or sadness, you just feel utterly defeated; you don’t know how many times you guys have had this exact conversation.

a fight will happen.

he yells, you cry.

you just want him to see your tears and obvious pain and stop the yelling.

hold you and kiss your hair and mumble that you guys are gonna figure this out and get passed it.

he leaves, you stay silent.

he just wants you to fight for him a little.

call him out on his shit and prove to his insecure self that you still love and care for him, even though he’s a dick. ask him to please stay because he wants to figure this out and get passed it.

but then he comes back and you’re both okay for a bit, just for the cycle to repeat itself over and over.

“is that why you leave, mingi?” you speak again, looking at him curiously as you shake your head. 

“make me sit here and worry about you for days, while you purposely ignore me, just so i can tell you i miss you? is that what you want?”

the words are on the tip of his tongue. that yes, that’s exactly what he wants from you.

but the words are also on the tip of your tongue. that you want his first instinct to be to stay. to stay here and talk things out with you before immediately jumping up to flee.

he wants you to tell him you miss him but you want him to tell you he loves you, that he loves you enough to stay when you guys fight; but right now, neither of you are even sure if that’s true anymore.

“i don’t know about y/n, you guys,” mingi says suddenly at dinner, the drunken slur to his voice evident to everyone. “i love her but sometimes.... i think i actually fucking hate her.”

you feel your heart sink when those words leave his mouth, your face dropping just as the boys call out his name roughly.

“mingi, what the fuck,” san growls from across the table; but the boy is completely unbothered, shrugging his broad shoulders as he looks directly at you.

“how ‘bout you, babe? how do you feel about me?” he asks, leaned back against his chair like he’s completely calm, cool and collected.

“i’m not having this discussion with you right now.”

“you never want to have this discussion,” he mocks, the anger and rage in his eyes only making your blood boil even more. 

“i’m getting tired of it, y/n. i’m getting tired of all this shit.”

his voice is raising and you’re becoming increasingly embarrassed, knowing that the last place for this blowout fight is in front of your friends in a public setting.

“mingi, this really isn’t the place to-”

“shut up, yunho, we’re gonna finally-”

but you’re not intending on doing anything, already feeling humiliated and belittled as you get up from your seat and walk toward the door.

you leave your bag and jacket so the boys know you’re not leaving, hoping and praying that your drunk asshole of a boyfriend follows you outside; and sure enough, two minutes later, you smell his familiar cologne when the door opens.

neither of you say anything for the first few seconds, him leaned against the wall and you facing him with your hands on your hips.

“what’s your problem?”

it’s the first thing you think to ask, looking at him with such concern and defeat in your eyes. 

you hope he can see it but you’re sure he can’t, far too absorbed in whatever he’s been going through for the past few months to notice.

“i don’t have a problem.”

“you obviously do,” you snap, your voice raising as you take a step closer to him.

“you just embarrassed me in front of everyone and you’re acting like a fucking child. we could’ve had this conversation at the house instead of not speaking for days.”

“why? so you could just turn shit around on me or ignore what i’m saying?” he snaps back, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you. “maybe we need an outside source to listen.”

“not our friends, mingi, and not at a public dinner when you’re getting drunk.”

“you always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” he snaps, his jaw clenching and eyes flaring as he continues to peer down at you.

“and it’s always on me. when we tried to talk this morning, you blew me off, too, y/n. it’s like you don’t ever wanna have this discussion.”

“because i don’t know what you want me to say, mingi. how many times do i have to repeat myself and tell you i don’t know what you want from me?”

“have you ever thought that maybe that’s the fucking problem, y/n? that after all of this, you still don’t know what i want from you? are you fucking stupid?”

“are you fucking stupid?” you yell back, the suppressed anger and rage you knew was brewing boiling over right here and now.

“you want me to tell you that i miss you when you leave every other week, mingi? why would i tell someone that who could give a shit? i could tell you i miss you or that i’ll miss you and you’ll still fucking leave me.”

“how do you know?” he snaps, “you’ve never tried!”

“i’ve never tried?” you yelp, tears of frustration burning your eyes as you look at him.

“what’s me texting you when you leave like a little bitch every single time? or me obviously worrying when you pull that stupid shit over and over? i’ve been trying mingi and you don’t care! you leave me crying alone every single time!”

he meets your gaze with fire in his eyes and you can only stare back with tears in yours, waiting for him to scream something before he decides to kick over the metal garbage can a few feet away from you.

you watch as it clatters against the side walk, a loud, deep “fuck!” leaving him as you watch him blankly. his chest is heaving and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself right now but you also don’t know anymore.

because you’re shaking inside and out and feel like you wanna throw up, knowing that right now you both look like the worst type of couple; but it’s nothing compared to how you feel, how even though you don’t want to, you can’t stop yourself from acting out on these negative feelings.

“and if i never try, mingi, then just leave again,” you say, tears blurring your vision and a lump growing in your throat. “you can stay and come home with me tonight. or you can leave. at this point, i’m too tired to care.”

you weren’t surprised to go home alone that night.

watch as seonghwa and yunho helped your boyfriend to their car and promised that he’d be back in a few days; you were only able to sleep soundly that night because you knew he was safe with them.

but it didn’t stop you from crying yourself to sleep that night, the night after that and the night after that for the next week; the same would’ve probably happened the next night, too, at least for a little bit, had you not heard your front door open just after midnight.

you were getting in one last episode of your drama when mingi returned home, craning your neck back to see him lazily kicking off his shoes at the front door.

his head looked up to meet your gaze, the glow of the tv hitting him just enough to tell you he looked like shit.

he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was tousled messily, like he hadn’t washed it since you last saw him. his face was sunken and pale as if he’d been away in the wild for months opposed to his friend’s house for just a little over a week.

but when he’s away from you, this is what happens each and every time - he can’t sleep or eat or function properly.

he’s only plagued with the thought of you, memories running through his mind or constantly wondering what you’re doing. if you’re safe and feeling okay or if something bad is gonna happen to you because he’s not there.

the couch dips next to you before you feel his skin graze yours, a quietly mumbled “hey,” like he just came in from work casually spoken through the air.

you crane your neck up at him to look in his sunken eyes, an uncontrollable frown on your face as you swipe your finger across his purple skin.

it’s the softest touch he’s received in a week and he’s missed it more than he cares to admit. shutting his eyes and smiling slightly when he hears you mumble “hi” back.

you bask in each other’s comfort and warmth for the rest of the episode in silence, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm wound tightly around you until the tv screen falls black.

you two walk into bed and he pulls you down with him, your head falling to his chest and his hands in your hair. you moan against him sleepily and it’s a sound he’s missed so dearly, tightening his hold on you as he feels his body immediately relax.

you’re both completely comfortable and at ease, days of worrying finally calmed as you’re beside one another again.

but even with this comfort, even with the familiar feel of each other’s skin and warmth soothing both of you, you know it won’t be enough.

because you still don’t say you missed him and he still doesn’t tell you he loves you.

a year and 11 months ago - january 10th

you weren’t sure if it was possible to fall in love in less than a month but it really felt as if you and mingi did.

from the moment you saw him two days after your initial meeting, skating together and braving the frozen lake together, your connection was immediate.

you’d spent everyday with each other, frolicking through the town in the afternoon before going back to your house at night.

you usually spent it cuddled up on the couch or making food in your kitchen, his arms wrapping around your waist before tossing you up on the counter playfully.

“you didn’t strike me as a chef,” you tell him, watching him stir a pot of noodles with a content look on his face.

“well, i didn’t strike you as a rapper either,” he says, a smirk on his face as a giggle leaves your mouth.

you learned that mingi was an aspiring rapper, him and his friend hongjoong trying to get their foot in the door for the past year. you listened to a few of their songs and even got a live performance from him, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you watched him.

in a fit of absolute astonishment, because you didn’t think mingi could get any more attractive, you blurted out that he didn’t seem like a rapper. that his personality was too “cute and charming” despite the deep growl to his raps and voice.

“i told you just personality wise,” you whine with a pout, reaching your hand out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “but appearance wise, absolutely. you’re very tough. very cool looking. i’m scared of you.”

“you’re making this a lot worse for yourself, baby,” he hums lowly, another giggle leaving your mouth as you bite down on your lip.

“did your friend hear back from that producer yet?” you ask him curiously, your legs criss-crossed as you sit on the counter and peer up at him.

he looks over to see you staring at him all wide-eyed and interested, a soft, happy glint in your gaze that makes his heart pull in his chest.

he hasn’t even known you for a month but he’s never been this happy before.

he’s never had anyone be there for him the way you’ve been, dedicating their time to him and being so actively interested and supportive of his decisions; it also doesn’t help that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both inside and out, that made him extend his trip a week longer.

he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to you yet and he’s still not sure if he can; he’s grown incredibly attached to you and it’s something he’s never felt before.

something all consuming and magical that’s making him incredibly vulnerable.

“not yet,” he mumbles, his eyes roaming your face.

your eyebrows pull together when you notice the way he’s looking at you, soft and sweet with a fondness that makes your heart flutter dangerously.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

a smile crosses his face as he lowers the heat on the stove, caging your body in and cocking his head to the side. he bites down on his lip when he sees your eyes widen, a large hand coming up to push pieces of hair out of your face.

“because i’m happy i met you.”

a small, touched smile pulls at your lips as you peer up at him, raising your own hand to smooth out the chain around his neck.

your fingers brush against his warm skin and it’s like there’s electricity coursing through both of you, your bodies close and hot breath wafting together.

“i’m happy i met you too, mingi.”

his heart soars at the way you say his name, eyes falling to your lips as he presses himself closer to you. you push yourself against the cabinets, swallowing the lump in your throat when you follow his gaze.

your tongue peeks out to lick over them unconsciously, your own eyes falling to his lips. you feel your stomach swoop dangerously, wanting so badly to feel them on yours - they’re one of the first things you noticed about him.

“y/n?”

“hm?” you hum, your eyes lingering on his mouth before hazily meeting his eyes; and there you see it, the soft intensity you’ve yet to grow used to.

you’ve seen this look from him more times than you can remember despite the short time you’ve known each other.

on the lake when you two were skating, grasping each other’s hands and giggling as you tried to keep yourselves from falling back.

in town when your hands bumped and you’d stop dead in your tracks to look at each other, completely unaware of the people around you giving each other knowing looks.

on the couch when you’d allow your head to rest on his shoulder, cuddling closer to him because the weather is really cold for january and you need body heat.

but it’s never been as strong as it now.

your heart’s never been beating this fast and you haven’t been able to feel his own pounding against his chest. probably because he was nervous to ask-

“can i kiss you?”

neither of you can remember what happened after he uttered those words.

just that one minute, he said it and the next, your mouths were connected. parting on one another’s as he completely caged your body with his.

your arms wound around his neck and he hummed contently against your mouth, slipping his tongue in when you started playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

he had half the mind to turn off the stove before carrying you to the couch, your legs wound tightly around his waist as every hint of desire and want overtook you.

he plopped himself down as you situated yourself on his lap, lips never disconnecting. you moaned against him when you felt his body underneath yours, tongues colliding and mouths pulled into smiles.

his hands gripped onto your hips gently, pulling your body closer to his as your kisses grew hungrier and more intense.

you finally pulled apart for air with heaving chests and red, puffy lips, your eyes meeting and every hint of vulnerability and longing in them.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he finally says softly, almost whispering it in fear that someone else would hear.

but this house is empty. it always is and it has been for quite some time.

until you met him and he completely changed your life.

now there were two pairs of shoes at the door and two empty cups in the sink. there was someone to talk to and someone to be in the silence with.

because you’ve learned over this past month that even a silence with someone else is way better than the silence of being alone.

“me... me too,” you admit shyly, a warm blush creeping up on your face. “i’m... really, really happy you’re here, mingi.”

his eyes widen when he sees tears well up in your eyes, his mouth pulled into a frown as he brings his hands to your face.

but you only shake your head before he can comment on it, placing your hand atop his before connecting your lips again.

he meets the kiss with the fervor you need, everything about it soft and sweet and passionate. like you guys know time is running out and you need to fit it all in.

“that producer got back to me and wants to meet in person so you’ll be home next week, yeah?” hongjoong asked mingi over the phone, the boy laid out on his bed a few days later.

he can only keep replaying the memory of you in his mind, the tone of your voice and the teary look in your eye when you told him how happy you were that he’s been here.

there was a certain type of sadness behind you that he hasn’t been able to shake, making it incredibly hard for him to pick a day to just pack up his car and go.

“i... uh. i don’t know, yet.”

“what?” hongjoong asked.

him and mingi had been waiting to meet producers for months, getting either put on a list or straight up rejected. and now when they have a chance, “you don’t know yet?”

mingi licks over his lips as he hears the disbelief in his friend’s voice, knowing that hongjoong won’t be able to believe this. they’ve been waiting for this moment ever since they were in high school and had the dream of rapping as a duo.

he was only supposed to be here for a few days and now it was almost a month. what could possibly be keeping him there? what could possibly have made mingi-

“what could you possibly not know, mingi? we’ve been waiting for this moment for years. you even extended your trip for a bullshit reason thinking i’d really buy it.”

“okay but my aunt really did need help around the house...” he mumbles because yes, she needed help around the house as she redid her bathroom but she was quick to hire professionals so, technically not a lie.

“so what, what’s your excuse this time? did you meet some chick?”

there’s a silence that stretches over the phone for what feels like hours, mingi attempting to find any words before hongjoong lets out a loud groan.

“a girl? mingi, are you fucking kidding me?”

“i really like her, hongjoong,” mingi tells his friend, a sweet genuineness and innocence in his deep tone. “i really, really like her and i... i don’t think i can leave her yet.”

he reluctantly opens up to hongjoong about you, telling him that you’re in school and live alone in this quiet little lake town. that you and him have been spending every second together and he’s never felt this way about anyone before.

“i’m happy for you, man, i really am,” hongjoong says, never having heard his friend talk like this before. “but i mean... is she worth changing your plans? what the hell is there for you?”

he wants to say that you. you’re there.

the girl he’s known for less than a month but has gotten him so tight around her finger - and once he leaves, will still be here.

except she’ll be within the walls of her house all alone again, in a town based off people coming and going where she’s never seemed to have a stable relationship with anyone.

where she now knows what it’s like to spend every day with someone and look forward to their company every morning and night. spend hours talking until the sun rises and sleep until it’s dark out.

“i wouldn’t be changing my plans that much. i still have our music, hongjoong. we can still do shit even if i live here.”

“live there?!? hongjoong blurts out, “you’ve been there for a less than a month, dude, that’s fucking crazy. you’ve barely know her and you’re gonna move there?”

“i can’t leave her.”

he didn’t think at the time that it was crazy. he didn’t think he’d ever come to regret that decision because, at the time, he really couldn’t imagine leaving you.

he couldn’t picture himself hugging you goodbye and telling you that you’d keep in touch via texting and facetime.

he couldn’t picture going back home with a genuine smile on his face when it felt as if he left behind something, someone, would could make him the happiest he’s ever felt.

he couldn’t picture that he’d ever come to resent you because when he told you he was gonna consider staying in town longer, a bit more permanently, the smile that lit up your face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“really?” you smile, jumping up from your spot on the couch and running over to him.

you’re so smiley and happy and bouncy until you’re not, your face dropping ever so slightly when you look over his face.

“but wait... what about the producer? did he ever answer?”

“he did. hongjoong’s meeting with him tomorrow.”

your eyes widen at the news but he’s quick to cut you off, bend down and press a long, lingering kiss to your lips before scooping you up into his arms.

“but i told him there was something better for me here.”

present day:

he wasn’t sure when the resentment started.

he just knew that, one minute he loved you, and the next, he started to question everything.

it could’ve been from seeing hongjoong’s success, album after album and talk of him all over social media right in his face every day.

it could’ve been his lack of success, pursuing a music degree via online school while still keeping up with his previously established career as a rapper; it was enough to get the bills paid and keep his name lingering around but that’s all it was now.

it could’ve been that all of his passion was gone and he blamed you for that; because if it weren’t for you, he’d be with hongjoong now. he’d be making money and feeling inspired and at the peak of his creativity and motivation.

but he loves you, right? he loves you more than he’s loved anyone in the world and he made the right decision.

“sometimes i question if i made the right decision.”

it was a relativity quiet night for you and mingi, the past few days calm and uneventful, so you knew a fight was bound to happen soon.

and with that statement, it seemed as if the night was quickly headed in that direction.

“what do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your textbook.

he was sat on the love seat opposite you, computer in his lap and a beer on the side table as he watched you. he’d been wordlessly watching you all night and you hadn’t been sure what to make of it.

now, you can see, he might’ve been watching you with disdain.

“i mean i sometimes wonder if i made the right decision in staying here. just... so quickly not accepting that producer’s offer with hongjoong’s.”

his words hurt you more than you let on, your stomach sinking and knotting as you let his words sink in.

you had asked him for weeks after he made that decision if he was sure.

if something he worked so hard on and something he looked forward to for so long was something was worth giving up.

and anytime you asked, he’d say the same thing.

“you’re worth it.”

you wonder now if he said it so many times to qualm your ever present worries or to convince himself. tell himself over and over again that, yes this girl is worth staying here and no, i won’t come to resent her.

it’s something you worried about in the beginning but faded with time.

because your love grew stronger and you both became more secure. your relationship was the closest thing to perfect you’d ever experienced.

but not now.

now it’s a fucking disaster.  

“where did that even come from?”

you can hear to your own ears how shaky and unsure your voice sounds. it’s filling you with as much shame as it does embarrassment, knowing that you can’t even talk to your own boyfriend openly and honestly.

without feeling upset, like you know you have to walk on eggshells or can’t express how much he’s been hurting you.

“i don’t know, i’ve just been thinking,” he hums, taking a swig of his beer as he adjusts himself on the couch.

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, only humming lowly as you nod your head.

you lick over your lips as you look back down uncomfortably, blankly staring at the words of your textbook. your brain can’t absorb any of the terms or phrases on the page, the sinking, awful feeling in your stomach taking over.

you can’t even remember how long you’ve felt like this.

when butterflies turned to this gut wrenching, awful feeling.

like the feeling before a plane takes off or you have a presentation to do or when the one person you’ve loved in this world has decided they don’t want you anymore.

“i stayed for you.”

the words you feared hearing pierce the air and you hold back a shaky breath, biting the inside of your cheek so harshly you’re hit with the metallic taste blood.

you look up and see his eyes narrowed in on you, tears burning the back of yours as you beg them not to fall.

because you can’t keep crying in front of him just for him to ignore you. to just watch you lose it with a blank look in his eyes, instead of holding you or attempting to soothe you.

“i couldn’t leave you alone in your house,” he begins, like the words he’s rationalizing in his head are coming out of his mouth uncontrollably.

“i wasn’t ready to leave you yet and i didn’t even think twice about how i would feel in the future. because i was so fucking consumed by you, y/n.”

there’s an obvious and palpable pain in his voice and it makes your gut wrench even more; you hate that he’s in pain but you’re in pain, too. you were in pain before him and now you’re in pain because of him.

“i’m still consumed by you but i feel...angry now. i feel so fucking angry, y/n, and i don’t know why. i don’t know if i’m mad at you or myself but i know i stayed for you. if i never met you, i never would’ve stayed here and now i feel like i’m stuck.”

“but i never asked you to stay, mingi,” you whimper out, the tears quickly coming to the surface.

they’re a mix of sadness and frustration, because it hurts so much hearing this, the obvious regret in his words, but it also makes you mad - that was his choice and his choice alone.

and it’s like he knows that too. because he doesn’t say anything in response, just continues to stare at you with a look in his eye that breaks your heart.

“i asked you so many times if you were okay with doing that,” you begin after moments of silence, your teary, wet gaze meeting his. “i asked you again and again because i knew you’d come to regret it.”

“i’m not saying i regret it, i’m just saying i-”

“you’re saying you stayed here for me like it’s my fault,” you say, shaking your head as tears leak from your eyes and down your cheek. “like i asked you to and like meeting me was your downfall. but i never told you to and i would’ve never ever expected you to.”

“what, so i was just supposed to leave you alone?” mingi growls lowly, emotion behind his tone that’s almost masked by the brashness.

he can’t help but feel all of this coming up, all of these feelings he’s been going through these past months and making him a completely different person.

“why would i have left you when i knew i loved you?”

neither of you focused on loved being past tense, probably because it’s a fact both of you know by now.

“i didn’t want anything else but you in that moment.”

“do you want a prize, mingi?” you snap, every defensive and defeated emotion coursing through your veins.

“you could’ve left me alone. you could’ve just left the way you wished you did so fucking badly. you would’ve saved yourself all of this obvious regret.”

“you think i regret staying with you?” he asks, his voice low and deep as he rises from the chair.

his frame is tall and broad and looming as he walks closer to you, standing over your chair as you sit there and stare up at him. his eyes roam your face and he follows the few tears rolling down your cheeks, his hands stiffly hanging at his sides.

he used to hate seeing you cry.

it used to make him wanna destroy whatever was hurting you. he used to kiss your tears away and wouldn’t let you leave his arms until you were smiling and laughing again.

“well, what do you call this?” you whimper quietly, sniffling and stuffy and feeling small tears stream down your face.

“you basically said if it weren’t for me, you’d be happier with your life. and i... i was so happy when you decided to stay, mingi, i’m not gonna lie to you. i was so happy because i knew we would love each other so much,” you whimper out, the knot in your throat making it difficult to speak.

“but i also knew that one day, you would probably regret it and resent me. it’s why i asked you over and over and over again. because i was so scared this was gonna happen.”

his mouth grows dry as he licks over his lips, a burning behind his eyes as he hears your voice break. he’s quick to shake his head and blink away the tears, though, because he knows if he starts crying, he’s never gonna stop.

“i thought you would leave with me eventually,” he’s finally able to get out, his throat clogged and voice gruff as he voices his innermost thoughts and wishes.

you compromised for him once, why wouldn’t you do it again?

“i thought if you actually loved me the way you claimed to, you’d be able to go.”

“well, i was always honest with you about that too,” you murmur, feeling utterly defeated and guilty as you meet mingi’s glossy eyes. “you know i never intend on leaving.”

a year and 5 months ago - june 19th

he learned about your parents accident on the 4th year anniversary of their death.

he had noticed that week you were especially gloomy, a sad look in your eye and the fake smile on your face making him cling to you just a bit more than usual.

and apparently, you had noticed too.

“mingi, are you okay?”

the words were muffled against his shirt, your face pressed against his chest as the two of you lay on the couch. his hand had been running up and down your back gently all night, like he’d been trying to calm you without any words.

like he knew there was something wrong, even though you hadn’t said a word.

his eyebrows pull together in confusion, placing his fingers under your chin. he lifts your face as his eyes search yours, that sad look behind them masked by a soft curiosity.

you’re trying to hide your pain because you think he’s hurting and that alone only makes him even more sad.

“of course i am, baby. but are you okay?”

you can’t find it in you to say yes so you only nod shyly, a small smile gracing your face as you look at him.

his eyes are full of such warmth and love that it makes tears prick behind your eyes, dropping your gaze quickly as you bury your face back in his chest.

the movement causes him to swallow nervously, adams apple bobbing as he presses his lips to the top of your head.

he knows something’s wrong. he knows something’s very wrong but he doesn’t know what happened or what’s brought this on.

“you can tell me anything,” he mumbles against your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around your body. “you know that, right?”

because he also noticed that you started seeming off when he mentioned moving in together, looking at apartments in town for himself before getting the idea to live with you.

you guys are already together all the time, it only made sense for you two to live together as well.

but he could tell immediately the idea unsettled you, you clutching desperately on to him as you muttered that you’d think about it.

at first, he would’ve assumed you didn’t wanna go that far with him. that it was too serious a commitment and you were completely uncomfortable with that.

but it was the way you were clinging to him, burying your face in his chest like you were begging him not to leave you that made him realize something deeper was going.

it’s why he dropped it at first. looked for apartments on his own with the idea that, best case scenario, you’d move in with him too.

could that be what’s wrong right now? you dealing with moving in with him and fears coming from that? or something else entirely?

he just knows that when he starts to hear you cry quietly into his chest, he needs to know what’s been wrong because he hates seeing you like this.

“hey, hey, hey,” his deep voice mumbles, large hands pulling you from his chest and wiping at your face. “what happened, baby? what’s wrong?”

and since you started crying about this, remembering the day and the circumstances around it so well, you won’t be able to stop. you can only continue to cry into him, tiny sobs wracking your body as you clutched onto him tightly.

“i... i can’t.”

you couldn’t talk, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t tell him, he wasn’t sure.

that’s why he shook his head and pulled you back into his chest, the warm safe place you’ve come to know so well and usually calmed you whenever you needed.

“i don’t know what’s wrong but i promise you’ll be okay,” you hear him mumble against your head, his hand running up and down your back gently. “i’ll try to help you in any way i can, baby, but i’m gonna need to know what’s wrong.”

but he can’t help you bring back your dead parents.

he can’t help you time travel the way you so desperately wish you could to tell yourself not to go on that senior trip.

that if you didn’t go, your parents never would’ve driven you to the airport and they never would’ve gotten in the car accident that took their life on the way back.

you’d spent a week in a foreign country while they spent a week in the hospital, your aunt and grandparents dealing with the repercussions before you came back and said your goodbyes in a dingy, hospital room.

mingi doesn’t know how long you both sat there in silence, your cries muffled against his chest and his arms wound tightly around you.

he loosened his hold immediately when he felt you try to pull away, watching as you stared at him, wiped your eyes and told him everything.

“my parents died four years ago, today.”

he watches with soft, sympathetic eyes and a breaking heart as you tell him about your guilt.

how if you just decided to stay home after weeks of begging them to go, they’d still be here.

“they didn’t have the money but i begged them for weeks, mingi,” you tell him, tears in your eyes and voice thick with emotion. 

“i wanted to go so badly because all my friends were going and i was too selfish to see they really couldn’t afford it.”

he can tell you’re not done talking so he only presses his lips together and grasps your hand tightly. squeezes it reassuringly as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against your skin.

“they both worked overtime for two weeks straight and gave me the money the last day it was due. and i barely thanked them,” you remember, the scene you’ve replayed in your mind hundreds of times flashing yet again.

you jumped up from the couch and snatched the money from their hands, throwing your arms around them in a quick hug before screaming your thanks and running up to your room to tell your friends.

“a drunk diver hit them on their way home from the airport and the doctors couldn’t believe they both didn’t die on impact. a-and no one in my family could even call me so i said my goodbyes when i got home, in the hospital.”

you look to mingi with tears streaming down your cheeks and you see wetness in his own eyes, his hand grasping onto yours tight.

“i couldn’t even talk to them one last time. or hear their voices. i don’t even know if they heard me.”

your voice breaks off after that, not being able to handle recounting this after years of staying silent about it; he’s the first person you’ve talked to about this besides the counselor you saw a few months after their death.

he pulls you in his lap and wraps his arms tightly around you, rocking you back and forth as he presses his lips to your head.

your eyes are closed tight as you focus on his breathing and soft murmurs. his deep, full voice muttering sweet nothings and quiet reassurances.

that your parents did hear you and they loved you till the end.

that it was no one’s fault but the driver who decided to get in a car after getting drunk.

that you shouldn’t put any blame on yourself, because your parents would want you to be happy and thriving.

“i know but it’s just hard,” you tell him, you teary face pulling away from his wet chest.

you look around the living room full of books and wooden furniture, a family portrait hung above a cluttered-filled desk; it was taken when you were ten and you remember hating that day because you had to wear an uncomfortable dress and tights.

“i don’t know how i’m ever gonna leave this place,” you voice aloud to him, one of the many concerns that muddled your mind when you started deciding on college or jobs or moving in with your perfect boyfriend of almost a year.

“it’s the last thing i have of them. i don’t... i don’t know if i’d be ever to leave this place, mingi.”

not after what happened last time.

not wanting to leave the house you grew up in to strangers who would create more happy memories and replace the ones you made with your own parents.

his face contorts into one of sympathy and pain, his heart breaking as the obvious guilt and dread is in your eyes.

he’d always seen a bit of torment behind them but you were always able to smile.

laugh with him and tease him and push whatever demons he knew you had aside; but he started seeing it again when he mentioned moving in, fear and anxiety and discomfort that he hated to even see behind your eyes.

“i don’t know how that will effect us, it’s something i’ve thought about a lot recently,” you confess quietly, playing with the edge of the blanket nervously. “especially when you mentioned us moving in together. i... i want to, so bad, because i love you and i think it’d be fun. but... i can’t leave.”

your tears start up again and a frown crosses mingi’s face, his body hovering over yours as he takes your face in his big hands.

he wipes at the tears threatening to slide down your cheeks before placing his lips on your head, breathing slowly and calmly against you as his warm breath wafts over you.

“baby, i understand completely, i really do,” he says, everything making sense now but... “but i don’t think your parents would want you to... limit your life like this.”

because you obviously had an interest in seeing the world. you obviously wanted to see different places and cultures and sights in the world that even your precious little town doesn’t hold.

but he can see tonight isn’t the night you’re gonna see that, if the way you shake your head and bury yourself back in his chest doesn’t show that.

and because he loved you more than anything else in the world, he understood it. held you and kissed you and made sure you knew he’d be by your side in whatever way you needed.

it was with his patience and love and unconditional support that you were able to live with him. keep your parents house as a sense of security but slowly move yourself out of it.

leaving a toothbrush at the apartment, a few sets of clothes, some shampoos and soaps until one night, you were waking up and falling asleep with him every morning and night.

present day:

the fight that ended you and mingi was over a trip to disney.

something meant to be so childish and fun and innocent morphing into a blowout, gut-wrenching fight that left the two of distraught.

hit both of you with the realization that whatever you once had had fizzled out and turned so horribly toxic, you were both losing yourselves.

it had started with yunho, san and wooyoung planning the trip, mingi over their house one day after the tension in the apartment got too much. he had scoffed when san mentioned it at first, wondering what business they had as college going twenty-somethings booking a trip to disney.

“it’ll be sweet!” san said, “we could go to the parks for a few days, everyone loves roller coasters! and then we can drive down to the beach, go surfing and go to bars and shit. it’d be so much fun, guys.”

and the more all of them thought about it, the more excited they got. looking at flights and car rentals and getting all their swim suits in order - that was until mingi came back home a day later and informed you of these plans.

“me and the guys were talking about booking a trip to disney,” was the first thing he said to you. not a hello or how are you or sorry for leaving and making you worry for a week.

“oh?” you hummed quietly, looking up from your spot at the kitchen sink; you’d made breakfast for two just in case he came home early but it was another serving of eggs and bacon in the trash.

“yeah, so is that something you’d wanna do?”

there’s something off about his tone that you immediately pick up on. snippy and on edge and defensive, like he’s already fully prepared to break out into a fight.

because he already knows you won’t do it. you won’t leave the 70 mile radius you’ve trapped yourself nor will you even try to go out of your comfort zone for him and you or anyone else.

and quite frankly, he’s grown really fucking sick of it. call him selfish or call him someone looking out for you, someone who knows this type of living isn’t normal, he can’t deal with it anymore.

“i... well i mean...how would we get there? and when?”

“we were looking at flights three weeks from now,” he says, carefully observing your face with slightly cold eyes. carefully waiting for the next hint of a breakdown he’s not gonna properly respond to.

you bite the inside of your cheek as panic starts to stir in your chest.

you haven’t been anywhere since the accident. you’ve gotten yourself so used to this environment that going anywhere else seems terrifying.

but you’ve seen how bad things will happen when you try to venture out. you left to do the same and it cost your parents your life - who’s to say you wouldn’t get your karma soon?

leave mingi without a girlfriend he doesn’t even care about anymore or your grandparents without a granddaughter you can’t help but feel they blame for their child’s death.

tears are quick to prick your eyes as you try to push down all of these feelings, looking down at the floor in a move mingi already knows is dismissive.

you hear him scoff and it sends a flurry of emotions through you, not even needing to lift your head to know he’s shaking his head.

“figures,” he hums lowly, making extra noise as he puts down his bag or plops down on the dining room chair. “i don’t know why i bothered asking.”

“mingi...” you begin breathlessly, guilt and shame and sorrow filling you.

“no, y/n.”

his voice is firm and hard and makes you meet his gaze, the look he’s throwing you icy and completely empty. he’s done and you’re done and there’s basically a ticking time bomb between you two.

“you didn’t even let me give you an answer.”

“because i know what it’s gonna be!” he roars, feeling stupid for getting excited when he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to leave. “i know you’re gonna make up some bullshit excuse about school or work or money and you’re gonna say no.”

you can’t say anything because you know he’s right. but what he doesn’t know is that you’re trying. you try every day and every week and every month to push yourself out of your comfort zone and it just doesn’t work.

you’ve tried going away with him and you’ve tried expanding your horizons - you’e even moved out of your parents house to live with him. but it’s hard when you’re constantly reminded by the fact that your decisions ended a life.

while it was technically the drunk driver’s fault, your survivors guilt heavily outweighs that. intrusive thought after intrusive thought until you start to question why you’re even still here, too.

“i’m trying, mingi,” you say, your voice shaky and defeated. “i’m trying but you don’t even see that.”

“how are you trying?” he asks, watching your dejected form a few feet away from him. “you haven’t done anything different since you moved in with me. we’ve been living the same life for the past two years, y/n.”

but you just remember how patient he was when you first tried moving in. how he was so patient and kind and gentle and was everything you needed him to be.

but he can just remember how much he loved you. how patient and understanding he was, not fully grasping the severity of what happened to you and how incapable he was of dealing with it.

“i’m... so fucking sick of it. i’ve grown to be so sick of you and i hate that, y/n. i hate feeling like this but it’s the truth.”

“and you don’t think i am?” you blurt out, the dam of tears breaking as you hear him say those specific words to you - i’ve grown to be so sick of you.

your frame is smaller and fragile and you’re like a shell of the person you were when you first met as you make your way up to him, looking over him with all the pain and exhaustion in your eyes.

“you don’t think i’m sick of feeling this way? of seeing how much you obviously hate me and are over this when i can’t stop feeling this way? because i’m sorry it’s been inconveniencing you, mingi, but it’s been ruining me, too. sometimes i can’t even believe i’m still here.”

the last part of your sentence stirs something in him but he can only focus on your broken state. watching as you grow weaker and weaker because of him.

“you haven’t even been helping me,” you suddenly say, words quiet and soft-spoke but filled with an obvious hurt. “i... i don’t know why you’d even wanna go on a trip with me because we’d just fight, mingi. we’d just fight and i’d cry and you’d leave me. th-that’s what we keep doing.”

tears burn the back of his eyes, a knot growing in his stomach so big it feels like he’s about to puke.

“because i don’t know what to do anymore, y/n,” he say, his voice less harsh but still holding a certain degree of bite. “i tried so hard with you and nothing seems to work. i loved you, i still love you, and i was there for you and i tried so hard with you but... i don’t know how to help you.”

“you think yelling is the way? or leaving me is the way?” you laugh out manically, tears rolling down your face that you desperately try to reach out and wipe. “you’re sick of me but i’m sick of you, too. i’m sick of feeling this way and i’m so fucking sick of thinking you still love me.”

“you don’t think i love you?” he asks, rising from his chair and making his way over to you. 

his looming height should make you nervous, the way he’s looking down at you and threatening to trap you against the counter should make you nervous, but it doesn’t.

because coming to terms with this right here is the worst part. the conversation you’ve been avoiding for months and the obvious change in what you two have become.

“i don’t,” you say, finally meeting his gaze and seeing hurt and anger swirl behind them. they used to hold such a sweet softness that would sometimes make you feel better, even if just for a little bit.

“because even if you do, you’re still sick of me, right?”

one year ago:

“what if you get sick of me?”

the newest compromise had been his family coming here to meet you.

you and mingi had booked refundable tickets for a week in his hometown, a part of you wanting to desperately prove you could do something for him. something that would make him happy and maybe prove you love him a little more than you can convey.

but the second you got on the highway to the airport, you knew you weren’t gonna be able to.

memories played through your mind of you in the backseat of your parents car, laughing and talking with them as you promised to be careful and take a lot of pictures with them.

hearing them tell you they loved you and were so happy you were able to go after all.

and then you’d looked to the other side and see in your mind a car hitting the other. spinning out and smacking into the divider as an eruption of fire, car parts and the chaotic screeching of breaks echoed through the air.

mingi had to pull over to calm you down, bring you back to the real world in the form of hugging you close to his body and his hand running through your hair.

“i’m- i’m sorry, mingi, i’m sorry, i-”

“sh, you don’t have to apologize, baby, there’s nothing to apologize for,” he hums against your head, pulling you over the console to rock you gently in his lap.

he was warm and broad and soft spoken and everything about him made you feel safe. you couldn’t grasp at the time how or why he was so understanding and sweet but you didn’t even wanna question it.

because he was the one thing in your life that made you feel okay. that you had him and he had you and there was nothing that could be that bad if you had each other still. 

he didn’t let go of your hand once as pulled onto the highway, got off the exit and made his way back home.

he guided you back into the apartment and told you to go lay down and that he’d be there in a second. 

he cancelled the flight and called his mom, telling her you guys got rained out and that, if it was okay, he’d pay for them to fly out here next week.

the bed dips a few moments later, broad strong arms wrapping around your waist before you’re pulled into his chest.

it was after a few silent minutes stretched between you two, the calming rise and fall of his chest against your back, your small voice pierced the air.

“i’m sorry, mingi.”

he could tell you were gonna cry before you even started, turning you in his arms as he pulled you closer to him.

“baby, i already told you you don’t have to-”

“but i do,” you cut him off, lower lip trembling and stomach knotting guiltily. 

“i... i don’t think this is normal, mingi. i should be able to move on with my life and travel somewhere. i wanted to go so badly and meet your mom but i-” your voice breaks as tears fill your eyes and you try to catch the breath threatening to suffocate you.

“i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever,” you say quietly, looking up and meeting his soft, sweet gaze. “i’m scared i’m gonna be like this forever and you’re gonna become tired of it.”

“baby... that’s never gonna happen,” he assures you, voice gentle but firm as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“and you’re not gonna be like this forever. we can get you help. and i can help you,” he says, his eyes looking into yours with such a raw honesty and love. “i... don’t really know how but i’ll do whatever it takes.”

“what if it’s not enough?” you ask, because at the time it’s like you knew just how bad this was gonna get. that even with as low as you felt then, it wasn’t even rock bottom.

“what if you get sick of me?”

“i won’t,” he reassures, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your head before settling you onto his chest carefully. “that’ll never happen because i love you, y/n. and i always will.”

present day:

in a turn of events, you were the one who left after that. 

came right to the place you first met, except now the lake isn’t frozen over and the late-afternoon sun had just set.

his words were too harsh and reminded you too much of his broken promises.

you felt too weak and pathetic and completely hopeless, the tense silence so horribly loud between you two you left without a word; and he hadn’t said anything either.

and now, as you sit at the spot you’ve always come to and found solace in, you can feel why he was always so hurt when you didn’t ask him to stay. because even though you were fighting and even though you both hurt each other, you wanted him to ask you to stay.

to please not go because that would’ve been the last possible way for you both to see there was something still there - even though it’s plain to see there isn’t.

too many fights and too many words have been said. too many lapses of silence and too many unspoken thoughts that now when uttered are just hurting both of you.

you’re both too hurt and you both have too many things to sort through that you can’t do together. 

one second you were staring down at the lake, your own broken reflection staring back as your feet hung in the water, and the next you couldn’t see. tears flooded your vision and sobs wracked through your body, loud, ugly, horrific sobs that you’ve been holding back for far too long.

you cry because you know it’s over with him, you know it’s been over for a while, but now it all feels real. 

you cry because you know you need some help to get past all of the guilt you feel, how if you don’t get help, you’re never gonna leave this town and see what else is out there.

you cry because you don’t even know where to start and know, even though it hurts, you have to do it alone.

you’re so lost in your thoughts and the way your cries echo through the yard that you don’t hear footsteps approach you.

you don’t even know anyone’s behind you until someone bends down and pulls you into their broad, warm chest. a chest you know far too well and a body that hasn’t held you like this in what feels like forever.

he knew you’d be here and he couldn’t stop his legs from jumping in the car and coming to see you after you left. half because he knew this had to happen and half because he was far too scared for you to be out here like this.

he knew what conversation was gonna follow but he knew had to hold you one last time. he missed holding you and he missed wiping your tears away.

“i don’t know what happened to us, mingi,” you whimper into his chest, the tears that have been building behind his eyes finally coming to the surface.

he doesn’t know what happened either. he doesn’t know when or where you guys went wrong or when you stopped talking to each other. he doesn’t know when he stopped loving you in such a way that was all consuming, where he knew he’d do anything and everything for you.

“i don’t... i don’t think this is working. i don’t know what to do but i know i can’t do this anymore.”

“i don’t know what happened either, baby,” he mumbles against your head, his words wobbly and wet as he tightens his hold on you. it feels as if every part of is heart is breaking, for the way he’s neglected you and the way your crying against him.

“i’m sorry i can’t help you. i wanted to so fucking badly but now... i just, i can’t, baby.”

you cry harder as you shake your head against him, feeling him plop down and pull you into his arms tighter.

it feels every bit as heartbreaking and upsetting as you both knew it’d be. it’s probably why you guys put it off for so long. because even though you feel the love you used to feel, you both know nothing will change.

he’ll resent you and you’ll resent him right back.

he’ll say he stayed for you and tried to help you and you’ll say you never asked him to do any of it.

you both sit there and cry and hold each other until the sky falls dark and air turns crisp, the moon reflecting off the lake in a way that hasn’t changed in two years.

but everything’s changed between you both and it’s too heartbreakingly obvious.

“i’ll miss you,” you mumbled to him.

because you know he’s gonna go on and do all the great things he’s wanted to. move out of this town and pursue whatever dreams he put off for you, the girl he once loved more than anything.

“i love you,” he confesses quietly against your head. “i really really did love you.”

because he knows he still does, he knows he always will, but it’s not something either of you can bear to hear right now.

you both have said what the other needed to hear and when you guys part tonight, maybe you’ll finally start feeling better. fix yourselves and the damage you’ve caused each other and maybe reunite when the universe deems it right.

two and a half years later:

it had always been your dream to see the northern lights.

something about them had always fascinated you, how they almost didn’t see real or were just a figment of fake editing that would only ever be seen in photos.

but you had an overwhelming need to see them before your very eyes. see the sight before you and marvel in just how truly fascinating and beautiful it was.

so that’s exactly what you did.

you wrote down a list of all the places you wanted to see: the egyptian pyramids, the great wall of china, the taj mahal, the eiffel tower, all of the sights that you knew in order to see, you’d have to leave the perfect little town you loved so much.

it took a lot of attempts, a lot of tears and anxiety and frantic calls to your therapist, but finally, you were able to do it.

it was the third to last place on your 6-month journey around the world, jet lag getting to you immensely but an extremely fulfilling pride and excitement within you.

you were able to do it. see the sights and meet hundreds of different people and experience all the things you convinced yourself you didn’t need or want. 

and you didn’t have a single regret until this very moment. 

because the rookie mistake you made within this amazing, journey of self-discovery around the world was not investing in a parka.

the biting temperatures of alaska were surely getting to you right now, your glove covered hands over your ears as you trekked through the snow with other groups of (properly dressed) tourists during the aurora season.

you found yourself in a snowy, freezing field, tall evergreen trees above your heads as you waited patiently for the sky to change perfectly, a buzzing excitement and low chatter from the people around you.

footsteps crunching on snow filled your ears from every direction, your eyes on the trees and large sky above you. a harsh gust of wind whipped past you and you let out a tiny squeal, your hands shooting up to your red, wind-burnt face.

you could hear a quiet, low chuckle beside you, something about the strangely familiar sound sending a whoosh of butterflies through your stomach. you didn’t understand them at that moment, ignoring your bodies odd reaction and keeping your eyes focused on the sky. 

it took hearing his voice, the same one you’d fallen in love with in your own backyard, for your eyes widen and quickly look over the snowy vast of land surrounding you.

mingi stepped in front of you, eyes full of amusement and pride and even disbelief, looking over your face with the same type of a fascination he had when he first met you.  

“aren’t you cold?”

inspired by: line without a hook by ricky montgomery, ty tiktok

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @chrryhwa @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo​ @nlost21​ @toffee-hwa​ @hyunjeansuniverse​ @cherryeonii​

[writingtoforgetreality]

You’re A Winchester? - Part Two (Castiel x Winchester!Reader)

[Supernatural-Masterlist]

Part One

Summary: The case in Wisconsin got complicated. In more ways than one. Cas was not sure what happened to you but you were acting different. He had to find out why. He had to know if he did something wrong.

Words: 4,053

Warnings: language, kidnapping, angst, little bit of fluff?, Sam has the brains, angels are dicks, I feel like this could actually become a miniseries?, Do you want me to continue? I’m not sure…, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The drive to Wisconsin was slow & exhausting. Throughout the long hours, you did some more research on the case. It looked like an easy one, actually. Almost too easy for your liking. But who were you to bad talk an easy hunt? After all, you were still somewhat new to this business. Though, nobody would realize that. If they did not know, they would believe you had been hunting for your entire life.

“We’re almost there.” Cas broke the silence that had been accompanying the two of you for a while. A look out of the window & you could make out the small town you were rolling in. Almost immediately, a strange feeling washed over you. By the way Cas’ body tensed up, you knew he had a similar impression of this place.

“Cas?” you questioned. No way would this turn out to be an easy case.

“Yes, I know.” he soothed your thoughts a little. Something was off & neither you nor Cas could tell what it was. Not yet, at least. The ’78 Lincoln Continental Mark V came to a halt in the parking lot of an old-fashioned motel. Same old, same old. Back in your universe, you had never had enough money to afford an actual hotel so usually, the cheap version had to do. So, not that much had changed.

The two of you checked into a room, not bothering to get one with two beds since Castiel did not sleep anyway. The motel literally looked like every single other one across the country. Same uncomfortable bed, same ugly wallpaper, same ancient furniture. Moments like this, you missed the bunker an awful lot. Deciding to give your brothers a call, you dialed Sam’s number.

“(Y/N), hey! You already there?” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yep, it took forever.” sighing out tiredly, you plopped down onto the mattress. “I gotta say, though…something seems a little off.”

“As in…?” he inquired curiously.

“We don’t know yet.” your head was put into your hand. The traveling tired you out & you craved a few hours of rest.

“Okay. And besides that? Everything alright? It’s not…weird, is it?” it almost sounded like he was uncomfortable while asking this question.

“Should it be weird?” your eyebrows furrowed at his use of words.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” you could hear the smirk in his tone. That was when the realization kicked in.

“You’re talking about me being alone with Cas?” looking around, you were glad that the angel was still outside, grabbing your luggage.

“I might be.” Sam mumbled, then his voice got louder again. “Look, all I’m saying is take care & uh, use protection.”

“Oh my God, Sam.” shaking your head frantically, there was another sigh from you. “I’ll call when we’re done here. You’re a horrible brother, by the way.” your body was on fire. Embarrassed that now, even Sam called you out on your crush.

“I love you, too. Bye, (Y/N).” the call ended & you fell back onto the mattress. A second later, the door opened & Cas walked in. At least he missed that talk with Sam. Otherwise it would be painfully awkward between you guys.

In the morning, Cas & you went to investigate a family. They were close to the person that had been mysteriously killed & you hoped to receive a bit more background information from them. The couple seemed nice. Wealthy husband being incredibly happy with his beautiful wife. An apple pie life. Like the one Dean wanted Cas & you to have. Obviously, that would never be the case. Not when you were part of this business. Not when you were a hunter. When they offered, you thanked them for the coffee they brought you. Something that Cas could drink as well. The talk was not necessarily helpful. Nothing you had not already found out yourselves. Still, you acted politely towards them. After all, they had been very hospitable. Before leaving the house, you asked if you could use their bathroom. The man showed you the way. This family was not connected to your case, not in a way that helped you anyway. Which meant that you had to do more research. Yay. Finishing in the bathroom, you were confused when the door did not open. Like it was stuck. Rattling on the door knob a few times, you used your other hand to knock on the door. You had to bring their attention to you. But it seemed like nobody heard you. The bathroom was not that far away from the living room area so it did not make sense to you that they did not hear you in there. The lock clicked & you sighed out in content when the man who had lead you here helped you out a second time today. Your warm, thankful smile faltered when something hard hit your head. Darkness met your body after that.

Heavy eyelids opened slowly. The light blinded you & out of instinct, you squinted to avoid it. After a few more seconds, you adjusted to the light. Looking around, you found yourself inside an unfurnished room. The chair you sat on the only piece. But wait. Your wrists were tied to the armrests. Your legs strapped as well. Tightly. Painfully tight. No matter your efforts, it did not move an inch. How did you get here? Where was Cas? Looked like your assumptions about this family were wrong. Because kidnapping was not part of your plan. And you being trapped here changed your entire view of this case drastically. That strange feeling you had in this town was not for nothing. But who were you up against? No vengeful spirts, no demons, no witches. What else could it be?

“Would you look at that, the princess is awake.” the same man from earlier entered the room, a creepy smile adorning his features. It made you gulp. Your heart quickened its pace. You were skilled when it came to fighting but right now, there was not a lot of room left to move around. Which left you vulnerable.

“Aw, honey. You scared her. Can’t you see the fear in her eyes?” his wife followed, that sweet voice of hers erupting the room.

“(Y/N)…Can I call you (Y/N)?” the only response he got was a deathly glare from you. One, that made him chuckle enthusiastically. “The newest addition to the Winchesters. Leaving her universe behind to go live with her brothers.” he recapped the last months for you as if you had forgotten already. “You shouldn’t even be here.” remarking with sympathetic eyes, he walked closer to you. Kneeling down so you were on one level.

“You see…we wouldn’t care much for you. Another Winchester do deal with? Okay, fine. But there’s one thing we cannot accept.” the woman spoke up again.

“And what would that be?” sarcastically asking, looking between the pair in front of you.

“We can’t have you close to Castiel.” the kneeling man finished. Your expression turned into one of confusion. “Don’t play innocent here, sweetheart. We’re not that stupid.”

“You’re angels.” you concluded after piecing everything together. “That case in Wisconsin. It was a trap so you guys could get to me.”

“100 points for our contestant.” the woman fake cheered.

“You know, there would’ve been easier ways to catch me.”

“True but where would the fun be in that? Besides, we couldn’t have you close to those brothers of yours. Too protective over you for my liking.”

“Okay, Mister. But you do realize that Cas is here somewhere & he’ll try everyth-“

“Ah, I’ll stop you right there.” his finger lifted to shut you up. “You cannot reach him here. It’s…how do I say it? Castiel safe.”

“What do you want from me then? You wanna kill me?” though it was hard, you tried to hide how scared you truly were right now.

“I know you’re smarter than that, (Y/N). If we wanted you dead, we would’ve killed you already. Castiel would be after us if we did. We simply wanted to warn you. Stay close to him & you’ll regret it.” his threat was intimidating.

“How do you define close?” it was a legitimate question.

“You know what we mean…This room will be Castiel safe for a bit longer. After that, you can pray to him & he’ll hear you. If I were you, I’d think of a good excuse in the meantime. Don’t forget…one wrong move & we’ll be back. Goodbye, (Y/N).” & with that, the two of them left you alone. They did not tell you when it was possible to send out a prayer. They did not tell you where you were exactly. All you knew was that they were serious. And you should not mess with them. When Dean had told you that angels were dicks, you did not think that was what he was warning you about. Their condition was simple. You should stay away from Cas or you would regret it. And you assumed that these angels were a lot stronger than you could handle. You did not want to die & neither did you want to risk Cas’ well-being. Immediately, you started prayer after prayer. He had to hear it sooner or later. All you could do now was try.

It felt like days passed. Hundreds, thousands of prayers later & still no sight of Cas. Maybe that was your end. All those years of unsuccessful searching for your family only for you to end up in another universe. Reunited with your brothers. And that was how you would go? Not what you imagined your life to be if you were completely honest. You were close to passing out. No food, no water, nothing. Your body was weak. You were weak. By now, every last ounce of hope had vanished.

“(Y/N)?” the last thing you saw before falling unconscious was Cas running to you.

Castiel had finally heard you. Begging for him to help you. To rescue you. No time was wasted. He found you soon after, shocked by the state you were in. Three days ago, he left you out of his sight. He had not stopped looking for you but it seemed useless. Until a small, broken voice appeared inside his head. Yours. Desperate words reached him. He knew he had to act fast. How he had lost you? No idea. Everything went so fast. Before he knew it, you were gone. Of course this family hid more than they let on. The second he found you, a weight got lifted off of his shoulders. No way could he bear losing you so shortly after you got closer. Immediately, he went to heal you. No bad wounds were adorning your body. Just your weakness was present. Yet, you could not stay awake any longer. Cas did not know how long you had been in there but from your exhaustion, he assumed just as long as he had searched for you. Freeing you of the ropes that were holding you to the chair, he picked you up bridal style. Teleporting to your motel room where he laid you on the bed gently. Looked like you were not planning on waking up anytime soon. So Cas packed all of your stuff & got his car ready. He no longer cared about this case. All he cared about was you being safe. And the bunker was the best safety you could get. He could deal with this hunt later.

Sam & Dean had no idea about your state, they thought the two of you were still in Wisconsin. Wrong. And they started worrying like crazy the moment Cas entered the bunker with you in his arms, unconscious. Question after question was thrown at Castiel who seemed to ignore his surroundings entirely. He just wanted to get you to your bed. The entire drive was spent asleep & he knew you would be like that for a while.

Sore. Your body felt sore. Like you had not moved in ages. Like the smallest movement took too much strength. Strength you could not muster right now. A familiar smell filled your nostrils. The sheets welcoming you. These were no motel sheets. No. You were home. How did you make it back? You definitely were not in Wisconsin anymore. Wait a second. There were no angels to hold you hostage anymore. Had Cas heard your prayers? Seemed like it. You could yell for him, for your brothers, but no words came out as soon as you opened your mouth. The hours of sleep you got did not change the fact that you were incredibly tired. Exhausted. Groaning, you stood up from the comfort of your bed. If nobody was here with you right now, then you had to take matters into your own hands. A glass of water. Something. You needed something. Your body made this task unnecessarily hard, though. One step after the other. Small, slow steps & you would reach the kitchen not long after. You got this.

Your walk to the kitchen was cut short when Sam saw you walking unsteadily. Running over to you, he picked you up a second later & brought you to the main area in the bunker.

“(Y/N). Why didn’t you yell for us?” the concern was audible.

“My voice.” creaking out, Sam’s eyes widened in realization. He left only to return a second later with a glass of water in hand. Gladly, you took it from him & enjoyed the cold liquid soothing your throat. Downing the glass, you handed it back to him. In this moment, Dean & Cas entered the room. Noticing you were awake, the two of them jogged over to you.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” Cas cupped your cheeks, caressing your soft skin with his thumbs. How you wanted to enjoy this moment. How you wanted it to never end. But your conversation with those angels came into your mind again. You leaned back, out of Cas’ reach. Eyes training down, you hoped nobody would question you.

“Um, yeah…I’m okay now. Just a little sore.” three pairs of eyes bore into you. They knew something was off. Dean was the first one to speak up.

“What happened?” sighing loudly at his question, you knew you had to improvise now.

“I didn’t do enough research. The case wasn’t as easy as we first thought it to be. The couple Cas & I were investigating? Witches. It was my fault they caught me, really. I should’ve been more careful.” after finishing, you risked a look at the three men in front of you. Did not look like they bought your little lie.

“There were no hints of witches there. We would’ve noticed.” Cas argued & you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you the one they kidnapped?” snapping at him, your voice was sharp. It was not your intention to sound so rude but everything overwhelmed you. Jumping up a second later, you ran back to your room, leaving them behind dumbfounded.

A soft knock was on your door. Maybe if you kept quiet they would leave you alone. Today was not your lucky day, apparently. Dean opened the door slowly, peaking his head inside to make sure you were not sleeping.

“What do you want, Dean?” you sat on your bed, back pressed against the headboard.

“Something’s wrong.” he noted, approaching you.

“I guess being kidnapped does that to you.”

“Cut the crap, (Y/N).” his voice raised slightly, immediately shutting you down. Your head hung low. “What’s wrong?” now, much softer, he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Nothing, Dean.” sighing out, your head was thrown back, eyes closed in frustration.

“I think I know you well enough to notice when you’re lying.” & he was right. There was not a lot of things you could keep from him. Sam did not always tell when you lied to him but Dean could see right through you. “So, let’s do this again…What’s wrong?” his sincere eyes locked onto yours & that was when you knew you could not keep this from him. Not all of it.

“Cas kissed me.” Dean’s eyes widened at your statement. It took you two long enough. But when he saw your features change, he could tell that something about this was bothering you.

“But?” his question followed up.

“But it didn’t do anything with me.” your own words broke your heart but you could not risk it. Could not risk Cas’ safety. “The witches I could handle. Well…you know what I mean. They didn’t hurt me, just trapped me.” fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“What are you trying to say? You don’t like Cas?” Dean was confused. More than once had you let on that you liked the angel & when he talked to Cas about all of this, then he found out that he liked you, too.

“No. I do. Just not how I thought I would.” quieting down, you were done with the conversation for now. “I’m tired, Dean. I’ll join you guys later today, alright?” Dean nodded, stood up & left your room without another word. Though, his mind was running. Something about this entire situation felt wrong. Right now, he could not tell why. But he was sure he would find out sooner or later.

“Cas, man. What the hell did you do?” Dean was livid. For months, you had had eyes for the angel. And now, you told him he kissed you & you did not feel anything? What was going on?

“What?” Castiel was confused. Confused by Dean’s angry tone & by his accusation. Did he do something?

“You & (Y/N).” he pointed out.

“What about us?”

“Seriously? So I have to watch you guys dancing around your feelings for months only for her to tell me that when you kissed her it didn’t do anything with her?” his eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for an explanation. Cas, on the other hand, did not understand a single thing.

“She said that?” the angel’s voice was barely above a whisper. You kissed him back. Before you drove to Wisconsin, it was you who kissed him the second time.

“Yes. So you owe me an explanation before I kick your ass.” there it was. Dean’s protective side. He did not think, when you first came into their universe, that he would care for you on such a deep level. But here he was. And he could tell that Cas broke something in you.

“Dean, nothing happened. I kissed her, yes. But she kissed me, too. I thought we were fine until she woke up & didn’t want me to touch her.” it did not make sense to him. Was all of it a lie? Were you just playing around? He did not think you to be that kind of person. Whatever he did, he had to make it right before it was too late.

Later that day, you risked leaving your room once again. Hopefully, you would not come across anyone. You still had to greet Jack but that could wait. For now, you just wanted a little something to eat. It had been a while since you had your last meal & your stomach was rumbling with protest. Cas’ silhouette was in front of you. Shit, you really were not in the mood to interact with him. Yes, it hurt to know that whatever the two of you started the other day could never be. Before you could turn around & leave again, Castiel faced you. The hurt in his face was present & the guilt set in. He was like that because of you. You were the reason for his pain. And this thought itself hurt you more than anything. His feet dragged him over to you. A little step back from you made him stop. Apparently, you did not want to have him close.

“(Y/N)?” his tone brought tears to your eyes. But you would not let them fall. You could not. “Talk to me, please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” you were being cold towards him which was uncommon. It was not in your nature to act like that. You were the sweetest soul Cas had ever met. Whoever was standing in front of him right now was not you.

“What did I do?” his concerned eyes locked onto your (Y/E/C) ones.

“You didn’t do anything, Cas. Believe me, please.” your plea was almost inaudible. No longer could you bare looking at him. You would break down in tears.

“Something changed you when you were trapped.”

“Cas, can we not do this right now?” closing your eyes briefly, you let out a sigh to calm yourself down. Leaving him no time for a response, you left the room again. Still no food inside of you. But you lost your appetite anyway.

The next morning, when you made your way back to the kitchen area again, you were glad when you were only met with Sam. His warm smile was welcoming. Something that let you feel at ease.

“Good morning. Coffee?” he offered you a cup & you gladly accepted. “I made pancakes. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” chuckling when your stomach grumbled. Sam handed you a plate & you sat down, quietly munching on your breakfast. At least he did not ask you about the case.

“What do they hold against you?” Sam asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I did my own research on your case. No witches whatsoever. Though, it was a good excuse, I gotta admit.” your eyes widened. Shit, if he found out what went down then he sure as hell would tell everyone. “Everything leads to angels. They didn’t hurt you. But they told you something. So…what are they holding against you?”

“Sam.” you sighed loudly. “You have to keep it a secret. Please.” staring at the tall man sitting opposite of you, you saw a sympathetic smile on his face.

“(Y/N)…”

“Okay, you wanna know what happened? Those angels threatened me. Said if I stay this close to Cas, I’d regret it. That they’d come after me or Cas. No way in hell will I let this happen.” due to your rambling, you did not notice Cas entering the room. Only when Sam coughed did you look around. What was it with him overhearing conversations?

“(Y/N).” like the night before, Cas approached you carefully. This time, you did not move away from him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m scared.” you admitted quietly. While you were a great hunter, you were not sure if you could handle fighting against angels.

“Sam & Dean are your brothers. Jack is the strongest being I’ve ever met & you’ve got me.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there, Cas. We really shouldn’t mess with them.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to ignore Cas?” Sam chimed in. Right, you had almost forgotten that he was still there. Casting your eyes down in embarrassment, you suddenly felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. It was Cas.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, (Y/N). I promise.” he put a soft kiss on top of your head. You knew that. Castiel would do anything to keep you safe. But those angels scared you so much. You could not live with it if you were the reason of Cas getting hurt. Or worse. Looking up again, you noticed that Sam had left the room during your little interaction. Cas’ hands cupped your cheeks. Barely. Scared that you would not want to be touched by him. You did not move, though. No, you leaned into his touch. Closing your eyes to fully enjoy this intimate moment with him. His lips pressed against yours. Softly, as if your were fragile. When the two of you moved in sync, every little ounce of uncertainty washed away. You knew you could not stay away from him. But at the same time, you knew they would come after you now. This kiss would change everything. Whatever was awaiting you, it could not be good. But maybe, just maybe, if you went ahead & dealt with this together, nobody would get hurt.

~to be continued? (idk just yet)~

Published (03/31/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @vicmc624, @ayamenimthiriel, @teelagurl558, @babymango-writes, @hollymac79, @longinusfilibuster, @insanebot109, @down-down-inanulearan (thanks for your support <3)

[stusbunker]

BGDC: Stay Down

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini-series

Featuring: Female Hunter!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Chuck and Jack

Written for: @supernatural-jackles​​ Tell Me A Story Bingo

Summary: Everything comes to a head. Can she do better this time? Is there anything worth salvaging? Chuck has his own thoughts.

Square filled: In Vino Veritas

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: THIS HURTS, Flashbacks in italics, canon-ish, verbal arguments, that pesky motherfucker HOPE, Chuck is still a dick.

Series Masterlist

Inherit the Earth con’t

    It had taken Sam two weeks to get out of Dean what happened, why she left. It was not his proudest moment, but the thought of her in their home made him sick. So, he had shown her the door. He thought he was her hero, he’d never imagined she’d treat him like a piece of meat.

    There were some lines that you shouldn’t cross and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive her that.

The drive to Sam and Jack feels like an eternity, even ignoring all traffic laws. The day is bright, but the impala rumbles garishly, a black omen. The static hiss of unmanned radio stations gives her something to do. She diligently sorts the tapes, finds something to fill the void. 

Melody as white noise. A band aid on a bullet wound. Dean can’t fix what’s been broken. But she never even tried.

Sam cries at the sight of her. She runs into his arms and he squeezes until he can’t any longer. An ounce of redemption in the ocean of guilt. Sam glances over her head to his brother, he feels the other shoe drop.

“Where’s Cas?” Jack’s obvious question echoes the shame in the new arrivals’ eyes. She holds her breath as Dean explains, like she’s waiting for his story before she can move on. Like he didn’t tell her either.

Sam aches with what he’s allowed to happen. The old internal rage gnashing at his gut as he screams in an abandoned restaurant. They’re what was left behind. All they have left to do is give Chuck what he wants.

His ending, at last.

Dean didn’t tell her what he and Sam were doing. Didn’t need an outside opinion on this one. Instead he asked her to keep an eye on Jack, knowing she’d say yes. He guessed he wasn’t done asking for things. The sight of Chuck makes him see red. But this was it, he’d die with his brother beside him. For the world.

When Chuck blows off their offer, he can’t say that he’s surprised. Disgusted, angry, regretful maybe, but Dean’s not surprised. 

The house always wins.

They crash at a motel for the night, everyone gets their own rooms for a change. She knocks on his door just after midnight with a bottled peace offering and her ratty sleep clothes. Dean doesn’t need this right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to be cruel.

“Where’d you get this?” Dean holds the amber liquid up to the light to read the label.

“Liquor store down the street. Don’t even feel bad for taking the five finger discount anymore,” she sighs and drops on the spare bed. “You gonna tell me about your little side mission or do I just get to guess at the outcome?”

Dean cracks the bottle open and sighs. “Bupkis. So, nothing to tell, really.”

She’s watching him for signs of lies, at least she’s not overtly antagonistic with her appraisal.

He offers her the bottle and she shakes her head. ‘Maybe she learned her lesson,’ he thinks and then takes a long pull off the glass rim.

“So, the Empty, huh?” Dean grimaces as she closes her eyes, taken aback.

“What makes you think I want to talk about it?” Her faces pinches and he is just too fucking tired.

“Because you always want to talk about it. It was kind of a thing.” Dean shrugs.

“I came to check on you, dumbass,” she mutters. He sits on his bed, leaves the bottle between them on the nightstand.

He doesn’t stop the sour hum that claws up his throat. He was trying to play nice, but she just had to keep on being the tough guy. “Funny, didn’t think you cared much what happened to me anymore, or how I feel about things at least.”

She has the gall to look surprised, but underneath it he sees she’s almost as tired as he is. “I did not come here looking for a fight. If you’ve got something to say to me--- Maybe you should remember who called who. And who dropped everything to help.”

“And I don’t seem to remember you doing too much of that,” Dean snaps back, turning his head only.

She pauses and Dean feels a little smug that he’s getting to her. But not nearly as much as he should. He cocks his eyebrows, waiting for her obvious answer.

She shoves him back on his proverbial heels instead. “We both know you were just keeping tabs on me. There wasn’t anything for me to do. And then I became a fucking bargaining chip. So screw you, Dean. I’m not here for a performance review.”

“I think we already established, no one is screwing anyone here,” Dean mutters, letting his head fall back against the wall. 

“Is that what this is about?! You are honestly bringing that shit up now?!”

“So what if I am? Better than acting like it never happened. Playing the fucking martyr,” Dean bites back. “I, at least, own my shit. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“You kicked me out! What was I supposed to do, wait on a damn cross until you finished your case?!” She still doesn’t get it. Dean’s chest is writhing with all the things they never buried.

“It doesn’t matter. We were family. And you threw it all away,” Dean lays it out.

“ME?!”

“Yes, you!” Dean’s standing, hunching over her, unleashing. “You had to make it about your feelings and the crush you had on me when we were kids. Don’t you see? It was more than that. We WERE more than that. But you were lonely, or horny or needed to drown your feelings. And you cheapened everything. And now---- we can’t even have a real conversation.”

It’s like he’s looking at a completely different person. He doesn’t even know her anymore. 

“Dean, I---” He cuts her off, this was entirely pointless.

“Don’t, okay? Just--- leave it. I’m gonna get some air.” Dean starts towards the door and slumps, half turned he continues, “Look, I’m glad you didn’t get stuck in the Empty. But Cas did---- And to be clear, this wasn’t ever about rebuilding bridges, it was about stopping Chuck. And we couldn’t manage that.--- But we can’t just go back to the way things were just because we’re all that’s left. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be--- for everybody.”

The heaviness of wasted effort sinks into his shoulders. Dean closes the door behind him with a gentle click. They both know she’ll be gone before he gets back.

No one left in the entire world and one of my oldest friends still doesn’t want me around. This wasn’t humble pie, it was a goddamn humility infused vat of pie filling. Not a spoon in sight.

Fuck him. Fucking pie metaphors even. Fucking brain.

I leave the damn whiskey, but I really want to throw it against the wall. Dump it in his boots. Bath in it. But I don’t. I give him his twenty paces and I duck out, bypass my room, Jack’s, and head back towards the liquor store. There was a pick-up I might be able to hot wire, if I remember where I saw it.

I mash my lips together to stop their quake, but everything keeps clawing its way up, centering itself in my way. I did this. The one person I needed to believe in me and I fucking ruined it. It was never about Amara, or Cas or him being too good for me. I just wanted what wasn’t there. 

The dirtiness slides down and clings to me, like a wet coat. An unwashable stain, that’s all my presence is anymore. I don’t want to be where I am unwanted, unneeded, unuseful. Well, useless really. But, I can’t lose Sam too. Not again and definitely not now. I stop when I spot the truck. 

Running isn’t going to mend what running severed.

Know better, do better.

I creep back to the motel and pretend to sleep. There are salt lines dried across my skin when Jack knocks on my door.

The sun still rises. Dean tosses his things in his bag, even the whiskey. Waste not want not. They’re heading home to regroup or to hide or just for something to do. He doesn’t care, but being out in the open feels like he’s leaving them open for an ambush, or Chuck’s prying eyes at the very least.

He knows they’re not safe from that anywhere. It just feels safer somehow.

Dean feels good in motion. Sam’s at his side, while she and Jack sit in their own quiet corners in the back. The looming reality of an empty planet unnoticeable on the backroads. Denial is a helluva drug.

So is hope. Good thing he kicked that one.

When they pull into the garage, he doesn’t even bother grabbing his duffel from the trunk. Dean bee lines for the hard stuff and no one even bats an eye.

Maybe he has always been that predictable. Maybe he no longer cares.

I’m sitting on my bed, flipping through an old photo album when Sam finds me. It’s been three days and the bunker just keeps getting hollower the longer we stay inside. It’s like Chuck is slowly strangling the oxygen from the air.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be the first one to break.

Dean’s too far into a pity party at the bottom of a bottle to be pushed off any one edge and Sam’s too good at keeping on. Of course, Jack is getting by on sheer purity of spirit.

“How you holding up?” Sam’s voice is scratchy, but familiar, I don’t know the last time we actually spoke. I don’t really make eye contact, but shrug all the same.

“You?” I ask, unnecessarily.

He sits down beside me, looking over my shoulder. He huffs out a laugh at one of the pictures.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep all of these,” Sam says as he reaches over and slides his finger tips over the poorly taped Polaroids.

“They were at Bobby’s for a while, but I dug them out of a storage unit after--- well, after I fucked things up with your brother. Figured they were all I had left after that.”

Sam inhales at my bluntness, cocks his head because it hurts to hear, but also doesn’t sit right. What a doof.

“Spit it out, Legs, I know you wanna say something,” I goad.

“I guess I don’t really--- what happened?” Sam’s eternal need to know things going for my weak spot. “I mean, Dean said you tried to put the moves on him, but I guess, why was it so horrible?”

“Well, I actually have some new information on that front,” I offer, turning to face him and placing the memories on the far side of the bed. 

Sam’s brows pitch. 

“Apparently, I--- cheapened everything. Dean thought whatever our relationship was, was more important than hooking up. And I made it all about me.”

“He said that?” Sam asks in a hush.

“Yup,” I huff out. “And a very firm, ‘there is no rebuilding bridges’,” I say in my best/worst Dean voice.

“Wow.” Sam looks to the ceiling then scratches the back of his head. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, I mean, I did kiss him. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had psyched myself up that entire night, misread everything. I’ve never been the one guys willingly go home with. I shouldn’t have forced it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve had---,” Sam breaks off when he thinks about my asshole ex.

“I’ve had a couple of real winners,” I finish for him. “But it’s okay. Because now we’re the last people on Earth. No one left to break my heart.”

I slap the edge of the mattress and lurch to my feet, ignoring the pain in Sam’s eyes. He just lost Eileen and here I am moping about something that happened over two years ago. Once a shitty friend, always a shitty friend.

“You can keep looking through that if you want. I’m gonna start dinner,” I add at the door.

Sam nods, but he doesn’t reach for the album. He just sits on my bed and chews the inside of his lips.

Jack’s feeling things and Sam’s looking at Dean with insistence, but Dean’s hungover-leeched brain is not putting things together.

“What?!” 

Sam grimaces, heavy on the bitch factor. “I think you should be the one to tell her we’ve got a lead. Meanwhile, I’ll start packing the car.”

“Great. Sure.” Dean does little to hide his disdain. Sam doesn’t budge.

He grunts through an explanation as she cleans her gun. Luckily, she doesn’t ask too many questions because the vibrations of his own voice are adding to the throbbing at the base of his skull. 

She slips him a bottle of painkillers before ducking into the back seat next to Jack. He doesn’t say thank you, but he knows she knows he’s grateful. They used to be able to do that, not as easily as he and Sam, but silent communication was possible, once.

He gets them on the road before noon, the familiar feel of the wheel in his hands steadies Dean until the pain starts to subside. The soft, yet urgent Jack-P-S guiding their way.

They stop for an inevitable pitstop and Dean gets hit with a pure dose of that damning hope. A white, shaggy dog is laying outside the men’s room and his face breaks into a smile for the first time in weeks. It’s the proof he needed aside from Jack’s fuzzy radar.

Chuck didn’t get everything.

He scoops the dog up and shows him off to Sam, forgetting entirely about his need to pee. He sets the sudden miracle in the backseat, promises there’ll be enough room for him.

That’s when Dean spots Chuck in the field, menacing and knowing. Dean straightens on instinct, facing the threat. As Chuck raises his hand to snap, a gushing voice rushes to Dean’s side.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?!” She doesn’t see their destructive creator waiting in the wings and Dean moves to shield her from Chuck’s gaze. 

It’s too late.

Suddenly Chuck is standing beside the impala’s trunk.

“Now, how exactly did I miss you?” Chuck gapes, the disbelief and rage shifting across his once amiable face.

She chokes on her breath, freezes on the spot. Dean sees the power trip flash in Chuck’s piercing blue gaze. He likes when people are fearful, he likes to see them squirm.

“She wasn’t here when you iced everybody, Chuck. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s still just us,” Dean reasons, downplaying her worth.

“Nah, I don’t like it. It’s supposed to be you and Sam. Jack, fine. He’s just a pet anyway. But her? You guys get over your crap and suddenly there’s a whole new generation of thorns in my side. Sorry,” Chuck huffs and snaps his fingers. She disappears faster than Dean could take it in. “Not sorry.”

“What the hell?!” Dean barks. Panic, rage, and overwhelming sadness shoot through him as he dives towards Chuck. But he’s gone before Dean can get there. Falling to the gravel, gracelessly, Dean spins on his knees to see if Sam or Jack are still alive and accounted for. He spots their silhouettes through the convenience store windows. With that little platitude, Dean staggers over to soothe the dog’s sudden whimper. And then it vanishes too.

Maybe Dean never made it out of Hell after all.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @peridottea91​​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @flamencodiva​​ @akshi8278​​​ @dontshootmespence​​​ @smi727​​​ @ericaprice2008​​​ @crashdevlin​​​ @dolphincliffs​​​ @spnfamily-j2​​  

Read On: Free Will

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Bethany x Alistair (Bethistair)

Rating: T

Ch WC: 3115

AO3

Chapter 4

He was dreaming the most wonderful dream. He was old, he could tell by the amount of wrinkles on his hand. Her also. She had the same wrinkles in her skin as his as he held her, staring out over the lake. The sun was just setting and it was warm. Summer, it must have been. It was beautiful, almost as beautiful as her. Elissa smiled at him, her face clear as day and leaned into his shoulder. He kissed her forehead. They remained that way for what seemed an eternity and then—

He had to piss. Nothing was as jarring as that feeling after a nice dream. Alistair went about his business, the dream fading even though he’d clung to it desperately.

He crawled back into his bed. Squeezed his eyes shut. If he could just go back to sleep, he could be with her again. He pulled the blanket tighter. Burrowed himself in its dark and let himself be hollow. The day could start without him right?

He never slept.

Just sort of curled up into himself and let his mind lecture him instead.

Get out of bed Alistair.

No matter how many times his mind told him to get out of bed or tried to entice him with life’s beautiful delights, including the promise of spring, there seemed to be this external invisible force pressing him further into his mattress and he couldn’t get it off. That sudden urge to cry came over him again. Maker, would it ever end?

Clattering by his bed and Alistair groaned. Why hadn’t he written a decree stating that not a single soul could be in his castle excluding his son and the healer?

“I brought you some breakfast. The servants claim you haven’t been eating.”

Great. Somebody had called in the calvary. He clung even tighter to his blanket.

“Alistair. You can’t just lie in bed all day.”

He heard Anora sigh. A bit dramatic in his opinion.

He mentally prepared for her to yell at him or give him a stern talking to. She never came to the castle otherwise.

“Trust me. If I could have just lain in bed all day after Cailan passed, I would have. I understand how you must feel. But you’re not doing anyone any good by not eating. You want to waste away? Leave Bryce without either of his parents?”

The Maker knew his brain was useless for getting him out of bed so he’d thought it’d be comical to send Anora instead. He should count himself lucky.

Light blinded him as the blanket was ripped away. He should’ve clutched it tighter. Blankets these days were as precious as pearls.

“Get up. We’re going to the lake.”

He balked, shrinking away, scrambling for a cozy shadow. “But I don’t want to,” Alistair whined.

“But you’re going to. So sit up. Eat. Get your big boy pants on and meet me at the front gate in an hour. Or so help me I will drag you out of this bed myself and spoon feed you.”

He dared to glance at Anora. She was serious, of course. She shoved a glass of orange juice at him. He eyed it suspiciously as she rolled her eyes and forced it into his hands.

“Now drink,” she commanded.

He hesitated more out of defiance than anything. “I could have you thrown from court for how you’re speaking to me. Could even put your head on a pike.” Emphasis on the last word had to have sounded threatening.

Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head that time. “For Andraste’s sake Alistair, don’t be so morbid.” She shook her head and muttered something about an insufferable little brother. She handed him a piece of buttered toast next.

“Where am I supposed to put that?”

“In your mouth.”

He glared. Drank his juice and traded the empty glass for the toast. He took the world's smallest bite out of it and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. After he swallowed, Anora patted him on the cheek.

“There, wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Why are you here?” Alistair asked.

She cleaned the dirt from her nails with a brush she seemingly pulled out of nowhere. “Fergus has been concerned so he sent for me. He knows you listen to my council.”

Alistair scoffed. “More like I let you boss me around.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

After all this time, Alistair still wanted to stick his tongue out at some point in every interaction with her. He shoved his toast in his mouth instead. He didn’t miss that coy smirk on her face either.

She rose and strutted towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you in a short while. Oh, and do wear something comfortable.”

She exited like she was leading an army. Alistair glanced down at his nightshirt. A miserable army of one. He managed to finish half his breakfast and throw on some clothes before the time allotted to him. Though, his main motivator at that point was getting to check on Bryce before he went on an excursion with Anora.

He spotted Bethany and he froze. She should be at breakfast like every other morning when he visited Bryce. And he had been avoiding her for nearly a month, successfully, ever since what he referred to as the incident. He had half a mind to turn around and walk right back out that door.

“Oh good morning,” she said. She was even smiling. Then she motioned him over. Did she not remember him losing his shit over roses? “He’s been having longer periods of wakefulness. Though, he still often calls me his mum.”

All thought of embarrassing incidents, anxieties and what have you dispersed when he heard that. “He calls you mum? Does he not realize…” Alistair didn’t want to say it.

She shook her head and adjusted Bryce’s pillow, smoothed out his blanket. “You may or may not have to remind him. I wouldn’t worry about it now. It’s still too soon to tell whether his memory is affected long term. Of the patients I’ve seen sharing his condition, many have suffered from short term memory loss. I have rarely seen otherwise.”

Rarely. The word wasn’t lost on him. Alistair didn’t think he could explain her death to Bryce again. Maker, wasn’t once enough? He shuddered at the thought and Bethany’s hand was over his.

“Really, you shouldn’t worry.” She squeezed his hand then let it go.

Shouldn’t worry.

Good advice but his heart couldn’t take it. Alistair leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured. Then pulled back.

“I will return again after dinner. I’d like to read him some things.”

Bethany nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” She smiled gently at him and the thought crossed him that she had a very pretty smile. Not that he should notice such a thing. Maker, what was he thinking? Hadn’t he just dreamed of his wife this morning? Now he was admiring another woman’s smile?

Forgive me.

He rushed away from Bethany before he thought something else he shouldn’t possibly think.

—

He really didn’t want to be at the lake. Too many bad memories. Too much guilt. Too few enjoyments. And it was cold. Not quite Ferelden winter cold but the wind had a bite and nipped at the tips of his ears. He ticked the reasons off one by one, keeping his worries at bay with complaints until Anora interrupted his thoughts, shoving a fishing rod into his hands. He’d rather try aiming for fish with a bow and arrow. Fishing with a rod was a slow, agonizing way to catch fish, one in which he was left to marinate in his morose musings.

“Already has a worm. Do you prefer to fish off shore or…”

Neither. He didn’t like fishing at all. It was by far one of the most boring and wretched past times he’d ever encountered.

“Shore it is,” she decided for him.

“I don’t like fishing,” he said. But plodded after her anyway.

“Oh, I know. But I do. I find it quite relaxing.”

“Then why not go by yourself? Bringing me along with you seems the opposite of relaxing.”

“I should confess then, I did not bring you along for my benefit.” She cast her line.

“I already mentioned I don’t like fishing. Did you have a lapse in hearing?”

“My hearing is excellent. The benefit is you getting out of bed, getting some sun and fresh air while putting your duties for the day off for a few more hours. Perhaps it would be a good time for you to take your mind off things.”

Her motives were good, he could admit but they were absolute bollocks. The sky was overcast and looked like it would burst into tears at any moment. How was he supposed to get any sun? And if the fresh air was going to smell like fish, especially dead fish, he didn’t want it.

Alistair sighed and attempted to cast his own line. He got it tangled up in the reeds along the shore. Then he cursed and threw the rod on the ground. “Blast! I think I’d do better wrangling fish out of the water with my bare hands.”

Anora sniggered. “What a sight that would be.”

“I’m going to take a walk.”

“No, no!” She grabbed his cloak sleeve. “Stay. If it helps you can talk and I’ll try my very best to listen.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “I—no. I’m good. No need for a talk.”

Not that he didn’t want to talk. Talking would probably do him good. But he couldn’t think of anyone to talk to. Fergus maybe. Though Alistair didn’t feel like he could be honest without diminishing his grief. Ferguson had been through far worse and he didn’t seem to struggle to get himself together. It intimidated him.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She picked up his rod then and fixed his line, casting it for him. She placed it back in his hands. “I’m really sorry for your loss Alistair. However, being so sullen doesn’t suit you or your kingdom. I’m not saying you can’t grieve, just maybe try keeping it contained, hm?”

Alistair closed his eyes. “And how do you propose I just contain my sullenness?”

“Try fishing for starters.”

He wanted to mock her in a tiny man child voice but he refrained. Thankfully he had Morrigan as a traveling companion long enough to train him in the art of biting his tongue. As well as shoving his foot straight into his mouth but that was another story for another day.

He fished silently alongside her wishing desperately to be back with Bryce. The fresh air didn’t feel any different than the drafty castle. The sun was nice at least, when it decided to make an appearance. But the sky was looking more sullen by the minute and the wind was picking up.

“Isn’t this a terrible time to fish?” he asked.

“Any time is a good time to fish,” Anora said.

“I don’t think that’s true. I remember there were certain times fish were more likely to bite.”

“We’re not here for dinner,” Anora snapped.

“So we’re just dipping worms in water for what? Fun? Sounds like torture.” He reeled his line in and studied the sad soggy worm on the hook. “Aw see? Now the poor little worm is a goner. I’ll have to make it a little worm grave.” He removed the worm and set his pole in the crook of some driftwood.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“I won’t stop until you let me go back to my bed.”

“You know, I was quite fond of Lady Cousland. She was much better at fishing than you.”

“She was much better than me at a lot of things.”

“She was at that.” Anora got a bite on her line. She tugged her rod and reeled it in. No trouble at all.

Alistair sat on the driftwood with his chin in his hands. “I don’t mean to be so morose. I just miss her. I miss her terribly.”

Anora unhooked the fish–a cute little perch–and tossed it back into the water. She set her own pole aside and sat next to Alistair.

“I miss her terribly too,” Anora said.

“You do?”

“Yes. Is that really so surprising? I’d miss you too, even though you’re quite the lummox.”

“Aww,” Alistair placed a hand over his heart, “such warm fuzzy feelings, right here.”

“Must you always act like this?”

“Only with you. One day you’ll come to appreciate it. I–I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I’m glad you and Elissa became close after–well after everything. You could have found a clever way to toss us from the throne but you didn’t.”

“Not yet anyway. I could still.”

Alistair allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Treason!”

Anora clamped her hand over his. “You are such a child!”

A sort of chuckle snort escaped from Alistair as Anora placed her hands back in her lap. He noticed she could smile too. “I’d still like to take a walk. You could come with me, if you wanted. I promise I won’t run away or do anything stupid.”

She nodded. “I’d like to keep fishing. But do be back in time for dinner. I can’t keep you out forever.”

Alistair nodded and stood. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Anora was taken aback. “An honest thank you? With no snide remark? I–well you’re welcome then I suppose. Now shoo, enjoy the fresh air.”

Alistair went without further ado. Surprisingly, it did him some good. But when he entered the castle later that day to attend to his duties, his heart seemed heavy again.

–

Bethany wasn’t exactly sure if she should be in the room when Alistair came back. He had been dodging her since the garden. But she was tired and the fire was cozy. She also enjoyed seeing this side of the King and had missed him–no missed him interacting with Bryce. He was a kind and tentative father. Much like how her own had been. She pretended to read a book she had no interest in to provide an illusion of privacy.

“…and the young boy bravely reached out to touch the dragon’s snout. His friends gasped, waiting and watching for him to be scorched by fire. But the dragon closed its eyes and huffed, melting under the touch of the boy.” Alistair let out a big yawn. “I think that’s all I can manage tonight. We’ll have to pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Bethany stole a glance in their direction. Alistair was returning the book to the nightstand. Bryce was fast asleep.

He stretched and she admired his form. Strong arms, wide shoulders, and a slightly rounded belly that she briefly dreamed of laying on. Then her eyes flicked lower and saw he also had quite a lovely bottom, not that she was focusing too much on it. Just appreciative. She told herself to look away and stop thinking such things. He turned and definitely caught her staring. She tore her eyes away and buried her nose in the book. Cheeks flushed.

She pretended not to hear his footsteps coming towards her. The book was really really interesting then. She nearly bore a hole through the book with her immense interest.

He sat across from her.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for all you have been doing to help my son. So, I uh—“ He ran a tired hand through his shoulder length hair, wisps of reddish brown bangs with hints of gray, flopping to each side of his face. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Though I must say, it’s a pretty easy thing to do.”

“I don’t think most people would share your opinion.”

She laughed a little. “It’s a good thing I’m not most people then, isn’t it?”

He gave a half hearted chuckle coupled with a nod.

Then they both stared into the fire. Bethany wanted to say something more. Have an actual conversation but she wasn’t even sure where to start. Her brain kept wanting to think about the way her fingers would feel running through his hair. Through his beard and–

“Can I ask you something?”

Praise the maker. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you ever dream of him?”

She tilted her head, searching her mind for the him he was referring to. She blinked as everything came up blank.

“Your brother, I mean. Of Garret.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up and then that sad sort of feeling pooled in her stomach. She sighed. “Of course I do. They are always happy. And he is always safe. When I wake up, I remember that it’s all a lie and it hurts.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“Yes, in a way.”

“Hm.” He tugged at his beard.

“Have you been dreaming of your wife?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands came to rest in his lap and he fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt.

“Would you tell me about her?”

Alistair glanced up then. Eyes wide like she was asking him to jump off a cliff.

“I–I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about your dream? Do you remember it?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’d love to hear about it if you’re willing to tell me.”

And he did. He told her all about how they had grown old together. How it made him feel. How it had affected his entire day. How it tore him up inside.

“I just–when the person you share everything with, including your deepest secrets and darkest hurts–when they die, who do you turn to? Normally, they’d be your person. But she isn’t here and it’s so incredibly unfair. Which is ridiculous to think, I know. Life isn’t fair and all that.”

Bethany reached out without thinking, covering his large hand with her smaller one and squeezed. “It’s really not. It’s understandable you feel that way. I’m so sorry Alistair. You’re right. It is incredibly unfair. It’s unfair that the world took what you loved most and still moved on, leaving you to pick up pieces of yourself in the throes of responsibility. It must be difficult.”

“It–it is.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, retracting his hand. Then he bolted upright out of his chair. “I’ve taken up too much of your evening, Bethany. Have a good night,” he spit the words out in a hurry as he fled.

“You too, I guess,” she muttered, then doused the fire with a cone of frost.

[flameohotfamily]

I love all your fics and HC’s. After reading Maiko ff for nearly ten years I finally decided to write some of my own and it’s not getting responded to much. Any advice on if I should keep it up or quit while I’m ahead?

OMG, dear anon <3333333333333

I'm... speechless? Thank you so much! Sending you virtual bear hugs!!!!!

I tell you what. I had been writing my first original story a few years ago, in my second language (not English, hah), and it took me around a year to write it, nearly 400 pages (almost a novel). I posted new chapters every week, I replied to every comment, every mention, I researched every drop of information and read a lot to have a good vocabulary. What do you think how many likes or comments I gained?

About a year after finishing it (plus the whole year I've been writing it and it was free to read at any time), I gained 62 likes under my story. A whole year!! Someone gains 62 likes in one day from a first chapter. Do you think I felt inspired, or creative, or talented?

With my first maiko fic it was even harder, my English level is still low and definitely was on the bottom in spring, and I was so so so scared to post it. Perhaps, in my native language my text would float like a river, in English I tried to write it at least grammarly correct (I failed even with this, seriously, my brain slowly breaks every time when I read something harder than Present Perfect) lol. And what do we have? Almost the same story, I mean, none of my fics has at least 100 kudos even now. Maybe you asked a wrong person for advice after all.

I become upset when I notice a mistake in my writing, I get frustrated every time when I read gorgeously written fics or stories (not because they are written gorgeously, but because I cannot write like this and I feel like a complete failure), I'm angry at myself every time when I cannot write at least a line for a new chapter. I guess, I might know how you feel sometimes.

But all of this is... strangely okay. Writing is a process, it's your learning and growth. Your mistakes, your frustration, your critical view of your texts, your insomnia at 4 a.m. when you have weird inspiration, your sitting in front of your notebook or laptop waiting for some creativity from above, your tired amused smile when you see a short comment under your work.

There is a great quote from one Talmudic sage, Hillel the Elder: “The shy man will not learn; the impatient man should not teach.” And I think it describes a lot of things perfectly. I know it takes courage to start, to write, it takes courage to post your work, it takes courage to read a comment from some critic who tears to pieces the text that you've been carefully writing for three weeks or even more. It takes courage. And you already did a good job and made great efforts by writing something and posting it, and I'm very very proud of you!!! You stepped outside from your comfort zone, you stepped over your shyness and insecurity, you're learning and it's... it's awesome!!!

I tell you honestly, yesterday I wanted to delete my modern au fic because I have no inspiration, motivation or power to continue it. Last week I wanted to delete this blog because I felt exhausted and I saw all of it as a useless waste of time (I mean, how many 20 y.o. make a whole blog about two cartoons? In this era of productivity and glowing up and making your own business from everything?). I burned out some time ago, and I'm still recovering from it. Some of my readers ask me when they can expect a new chapter, and I have no answer. Because I literally force myself to write and it doesn't feel right. I still get upset when my text is not smooth and beautiful, when I cannot find the words, or I simply don't know the grammar, I still doubt that I might sound ridiculous and no one talks like that (no one speaks English in my surroundings, so it's a kind of challenge), I still feel an urge to delete all of it. Or start to write in my native language at least, because personally for me it takes so much time to create something in English.

But the whole point of writing is that you should enjoy what you're doing. As long as you love writing in general, your texts and these characters, I think you should continue. Maybe write only for yourself, maybe for those five readers who would read everything that your mind would ever create, maybe for a big audience of your followers. Even if no one ever would appreciate it or comment it, I think you should write.

Take your time, rest some time, don't exhaust yourself, make something you're usually enjoying doing, whether it to listen to your favorite music, or reread your favorite book, or drink your favorite coffee/tea. And open a new page. Maybe you would write only one new line for a whole day or week, maybe you would write a chapter during one evening, who knows. But don't stop writing and don't give up on yourself so easily. Even a small step is progress, and even one kudos/like/comment means that someone somewhere spent their time reading your texts. Maybe you should quit it for some time, but please don't act too harshly and wipe everything out. Take days off, think about it, remind yourself why do you love this ship and why did you feel a desire to write about them, remember which positive emotions maiko or other ships/shows/stories etc. bring personally to you. Maybe you just need a break (I have a break right now, it's okay, it's refreshing).

Our maiko fandom is a tiny island between large oceans of other pairings (you know what I mean, since you're far longer in this fandom than me). We're small and unpopular, and underrated and even bashed sometimes. So I genuinely feel happy and grateful when I see new maiko content!! That's why I'm trying to support everyone who creates something new, or just appreciates it with kind words and positive vibes. What I'm trying to say, you are appreciated and welcomed, and it's great and wonderful that you decided to make a contribution into maiko family/nation/fandom or how you used to call it.

I know that perhaps I sound too motivational and supportive, but when I say it, I truly mean it - I'm ready to support every new maiko creator!! Because that's what some people here did and are doing for me, because that's what we're all supposed to do. Support and encourage each other. I wish I'd known who you are and seen your works, anon. Please feel free to write me here on in messages (don't be scared or embarrassed, I'm just like you!!!), and share your work. Write me, any of you, guys. I'm not a writer, I haven't written a masterpiece, I'm not a good advisor, but I'm ready to support you and help you to spread more maiko and your writings, and even share some of my experience if it might be helpful.

I hope I answered to your question. I feel so so honored and complimented that you've written me, so thank you!! Hope it helped, at least a little.

Send you, dear anon, and all the maiko shippers a lot of inspiration and positive thoughts. I bet you all are super talented and creative and deserve only the best things. Enjoy your writings and the process of creating, and don't be too hard on yourself because you're incredible <33

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (2/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings: Some language. More angst a la Steve.

Notes: I don’t do taglists so please don’t ask.

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Steve’s beginning to wonder if he should see Dr. Cho. Headaches have plagued him almost every day since he humiliated you in the gym. He knows that’s exactly what he did, and he almost felt compelled to commend you for keeping your cool in front of Bucky and the other agents. He also knows his treatment of you was more than a little unfair, but his ego wouldn’t allow him to rein it in. You had to learn, had to toughen up. If you couldn’t, you were useless to him and to SHIELD.

His uniform is tight across his chest as he straps in - a last minute mission mandated by Director Hill to scope out potential Hydra activity. He chose Bucky to accompany him, knowing the brunet has been itching to whoop some Hydra ass.

Now, Bucky stands in the jet, strapped to the nines in black leather and weapons, both visible and concealed. His dark arm glows under the blue lighting in the jet. He looks ready for a fight.

“You got this, right?” he asks. He knows he doesn’t need to, that Bucky wouldn’t have agreed if he didn’t think he could handle it. But he does anyways, just because.

“Yeah, piece a’ cake,” is Bucky’s reply as he cracks the knuckles of his flesh hand. “Let’s see how they feel about Frosty the Snowman exacting his revenge.”

Steve remembers when Bucky was afraid to joke about his time as the Winter Soldier. It hadn’t been too long ago, really, that he was shying away from anyone who dared utter the moniker or even Hydra. Now that he’s in recovery, he’s found dark humor in his experiences, can make a little light of what he’d gone through.

Steve aims a pointed look at his friend. “We’re not killing anybody, Buck. This is just intel.”

Bucky scoffs, waves dismissively. “We say that every time, and then every time, shit goes south. And if this was “just intel”, you would’ve brought one of the rookies to test them out - not me.”

“None of the rookies are ready for a mission yet,” he retorts, sliding his hands into his gloves. Bucky raises his eyebrows, feels a little wary about what he’s going to say next.

“Agent L/N seems to be able to handle herself.”

If Bucky wasn’t so in tune to both his best friend and in people’s body language, he would’ve missed the way Steve’s entire body goes rigid. Instead, he crosses his arms as Steve makes a show out of a long silence, purposely hesitating in responding.

“Agent L/N needs improvement,” is what he finally settles on. Then, because he’s not really sure why, he follows it up with, “She shouldn’t even be an agent.”

Bucky’s incredulous. “Why? Because of her knee? I’m missing an arm, as you so eloquently pointed out the other day. Should I not be an Avenger because of it?”

“It’s different, Buck,” Steve replies sharply, crystal blue eyes blazing when he finally lifts head to glare at the other man. Bucky’s hardly phased, simply crosses his arms over his chest patiently.

“How is it different? By your logic, no one with injuries or handicaps should be an Avenger, or an agent, or even military.” Steve’s silent. He knows Bucky’s right, but he won’t, can’t, admit it. His friend’s voice is soft as he asks, “Why are you so much harder on her than the others? What is it about her?”

“Leave it alone, Buck.”

The tone of his voice rings in finality - he won’t discuss this anymore, and Bucky is frustrated over it. He knows his friend is stubborn, pigheaded really, but he’ll get Steve to crack - eventually. For now, he lets it go, moves to the front of the jet where Clint is at the controls.

Meanwhile, Steve stews in irritation. The very topic of you is enough to have his face heating, fists clenching, and while he knows it isn’t really fair - he doesn’t really know you, after all - he can’t help it. Almost everything about you is enough to grate on his nerves. His therapist would tell him he’s projecting, but he can’t seem to stop.

The mission ends up being a bust. Absolutely no intel on Hydra activity whatsoever. Just a warehouse with a number of homeless people taking refuge inside it. So Steve and Bucky end up nearly buying out an entire grocery store out of nonperishables to keep them fed as the weather gets colder. Might as well turn the trip into something positive.

When the quinjet lands on the platform, Steve breaks away from Bucky. His post-mission routine, regardless of the outcome, is a solid two hours in the gym. Tony is on his ass for how many punching bags he goes through, but it’s the only way he knows how to level his head out again. He makes a quick stop at his room, changing into gym clothes, but when he gets to the gym door, he freezes.

It’s occupied. By you.

For a few moments, he just waits outside the door. Waits to see if you’re finishing up, and when you start on a new workout, he blows out a breath. He’s not sure if he should go in; you mere presence is enough to keep his concentration off his workout, but he feels the anxious energy in his veins.

He needs this workout, so he enters the gym.

You look up from your place on the bench press station, face hardening when you see Steve waltzing over to the squat rack like he owns the gym. White hot rage coils in your belly, an autonomous reaction to his presence. Since his public humiliation of you in front of other agents, you’ve been on the defensive around him, but you keep your head down and obey orders like a good little soldier.

You do it to appease him, but you aren’t happy about it. Not at all. It makes you feel subordinate - which, technically in rank, you are - but even worse, it makes you feel about two inches tall. He doesn’t act this way with other agents. He’s tough, yes, but never nasty in the way he is with you. It only leads you to believe it’s personal - for whatever reason, he just doesn’t like you.

Gritting your teeth, you turn back to lifting, grunting lowly with the effort. While you work out, your mind wanders.

Bucky’s salve has so far done wonders for your knee. When you push it, there’s only a dull ache beneath the surface. It’s there, but manageable. You’ll have to arrange to have Shuri send more, and you’ll get Bucky a gift basket maybe as thanks.

You’re still a little thrown by Bucky’s friendliness towards you - being best friends with Steve, you’d wrongly assumed he’d be just like him. After all, all the stories you’d heard of the two involved them getting into trouble in some way or another. You’re pleasantly surprised to learn it’s not the case at all - the two of them, while similar in some ways, you’ve noticed, are like hot and cold.

Where Bucky is extremely mild-mannered and gentle from what you’ve gathered, Steve seems the opposite - coarse, abrasive, quick to anger. It forces you to give him a wide berth whenever you’re around him.

Today is no different. The two of you dance around each other as you work out, and you can see the pinched lines in his face that tell you your presence bothers him just as his does you. When you step up to the fly machine beside him, he slams the weights down hard. Bristling, you find a different machine.

It goes like this for another twenty minutes - you find a machine, and he’s quick to push you off of it. You know you don’t necessarily have to leave, but being so close to him makes you angry all over again, voiding your work out completely. You’d come to work off your stress, and he’s only adding to it.  It’s as he swipes the treadmill you’re walking towards that you throw your hands up in defeat.

“Fine,” you growl, louder than intended as it echoes in the room. “I’m leaving.”

As you turn to go, his super hearing picks up, “Fucking asshole.”

When you slam the door behind you, Steve feels a little bit badly for cutting your workout short. He knows, maybe better than a lot of people, how good it feels to work off stress. He hadn’t missed the deep frown on your face each time he pushed you off a machine despite there being plenty of space for the two of you. Honestly, he’s surprised you went with it as long as you had, and even he can admit that last move was a pretty dickish one to make. You just make him so angry and flustered, and he knows he should address the why, but he isn’t ready to - not yet.

You’re cursing under your breath as you storm the hall up to your living quarters. They were optional when you signed on as an agent, but seeing as how you didn’t have much of a life to begin with, you didn’t see the point in having your own apartment.

Your quarters are basically an apartment anyways, though you share the space with your roommate, Julie. She’s a good agent, smart, though a little hot-tempered if you’re being honest. Can’t really take a joke, either. But she’s clean, quiet, doesn’t cause trouble.

In the middle of your muttering towards the elevator, you completely miss Bucky leaning against the wall beside it, smirking a little as his hearing picks up on you cursing Steve’s name. When you finally do see him, you startle, jumping backwards a little with a hand over your heart.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you gasp, and Bucky has to swallow thickly against the imperfect thoughts skittering across his brain. Instead, his smirk widens and he pushes off the wall.

“What’s Steve done now?”

You look confused, until it registers, and then you wave a hand around your ear. “Right, super hearing. He thwarted my workout.”

“Thwarted?” he snorts, eyes glittering in amusement. You scowl, but your mouth twitches a bit. Bucky is one hell of a mood-booster.

“Yes, thwarted. Basically forced me out of the gym with his planet-sized temper tantrum.” The vitriol is back in your voice, and Bucky sighs, shakes his head a little at the absurdity of his best friend.

“Since he won’t, I’ll apologize on his behalf. I really wish I knew what’s gotten into him,” he replies truthfully. You frown, both because the easiness is gone from his face and because you don’t mean to talk badly about his best friend, his Captain.

“Probably that shield of his shoved too far up his ass,” you grumble, brightening when Bucky laughs. Smiling softly, you add, “You don’t need to apologize for him, you know?”

Bucky likes the softness in your gaze, feels himself go mushy on the inside. Needing another reason to talk to you, he nods down at your knee.

“How’s it feeling?”

You kick your leg out a couple times, grinning happily. “Feels good. That salve really works, so thank you. I might have to get you a new bottle, though.”

He brushes it off. “Don’t worry about it. Shuri sends it every month or so. I can have her add a few bottles on for you, if you want?”

He preens when you flush, cheeks warming and eyelashes fluttering. You scratch your arm nervously, peek up at him under your lashes.

“You don’t have to do that for me, Buck.” It’s the softest, gentlest he’s ever heard you speak, and your eyes betray how much his offer really means to you. It makes your heart pound, makes you even more aware that it’s just the two of you in this hallway. It’s as intimate as when you were in his room that first time.

“It’d be my pleasure, doll.” The pet name comes too easily, he thinks, but he hasn’t a mind to care. Not when you flush so prettily. “Can I walk you up?”

“Sure.”

Chapter Three

[pennamesmith]

Romeo and Skeletor

Double Trouble needs dating advice. The Super Pal Trio is here to help. More Skeletor stories! 

*

“Remember,” Wrong Hordak recited, “recovery comes from connection!”

Several hands went up. Most belonged to clones. This was a common and welcome sight in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde Therapy Group.

“And no,” Wrong Hordak continued, anticipating everyone’s question, “that does not necessarily mean romantic connection, or even connection with another sentient being. It means that in order to heal our traumas, we must be a part of the world around us, and acknowledge the world as a part of us.”

Most of the hands went down. Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the crowd. It was the end of another day of helping and healing. With a few more words of wisdom Wrong Hordak closed the meeting, and the assembled members began to stand and make their way out of the room. Most seemed sanguine and cheerful, but one stayed seated and watched the others wearily.

Double Trouble was the group’s newest and most skeptical member. They were trying, they really were, but it wasn’t easy. A lifetime of artful deception did not exactly lend itself to sharing or emotional honesty.

They had their reasons for being there, though.

Wrong Hordak, effervescent as ever, looked over and winked. “Another successful session, my most exalted paramour!” he told Double Trouble proudly. “Now then, I must consult with Perfuma about the itinerary for next week’s field trip to Mystacor. But tonight, I hope you are prepared to be dazzled by my famous quiche!” He beamed brightly.

Double Trouble worked very hard to maintain a calm expression while their stomach did acrobatic flip-flops. “My breath is bated, darling,” they finally managed, before scurrying off to the other side of the room.

The thespian cursed, internally. It should not be this difficult for a shapeshifter to hide a blush.

Closer to the door, Hordak was showing Adora something on a data pad. Double Trouble wended a wide circle around them, even as Adora gasped in surprise and began babbling what certainly seemed like juicy gossip. They simply weren’t in the mood.

Outside, Catra, Scorpia, and Entrapta were strolling away together, while the scorpion princess spoke excitedly about something called ‘Super Pal Trio Game Night.’ Double Trouble pricked their ears — this, perhaps, was a more promising prospect for their problem.

They took a step forward, and were immediately interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

Besides Perfuma, Wrong Hordak’s other assistant for his therapy group was ‘Skeletor,’ one of Entrapta’s eccentric bots. Once, he had been a part of Horde Prime’s drone army. Now, he had a nasally voice, a talent for self improvement, and a puppy.

The puppy’s name was Relay.

“How’s this for a surprise?” Skeletor said, holding Relay and patting the robotic canine gently on the head. “I’m considering putting him on a leash!”

“That’s very nice dear, but you’ll have to excuse me,” Double Trouble deflected. “I’ve got issues right now.” They began to move past the skinny robot, before a thought occurred to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with something. Tell me, how do you feel about aiding and abetting identity fraud? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Mehehehehe! Just like the old days!” Skeletor cackled. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal! What’s your plan?”

*

Shadows Over Salineas was going swimmingly.

It wasn’t really a game night, more of a game afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped Scorpia from bringing a tower of boxes into Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab. An entire world of cardboard and plastic was spread out before the three women.

“I am going to finish this Sword of Protection quest!” Catra angrily declared as she moved her game piece back and forth. “No matter how long it takes!”

“Okay, but the Evil Horde already has a lot of points at the Princess Alliance table,” Entrapta cautioned, gesturing to another part of the board. “Plus they’ve got a lot of tanks in front of the castle.”

“Anyone want to help me battle the Laughing Dragon?” Scorpia spoke up from behind a clawful of cards. “I’m gonna —”

She was cut short as the laboratory door suddenly opened and Skeletor slouched inside, wearing a miserable expression.

“This is the worst day of my life!” Skeletor moaned, flopping bodily across the table. Game pieces flew in every direction and clattered on the floor. The other three exchanged nervous glances.

Catra tossed her cards aside. “Well, I guess this is what we’re doing now. What’s the matter, boneface?”

“You’ve got to help me!” Skeletor blubbered. “When are you goody-goody fools going to understand? I care for no-one and no-one cares for me!” He shook his fists and produced a rose tied to a card covered in cartoony hearts.

Scorpia tilted her head. “Is that a flower?”

“It is a flower!” Skeletor howled. “The bitter rose! From a secret admirer.” He clutched it to his chest lovingly.

“Seriously?” Catra floundered. “Does somebody actually have a crush on that goof?”

“I know it sounds strange,” Skeletor retorted. “Never mind that!”

Entrapta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So, to be clear. You’re happy about getting the rose?”

“Yes, I am!” Skeletor shouted.

“But it’s a problem because…?”

“I live to be bad!” Skeletor whined. “How else can I act when I’m surrounded by such fools?” The robot swooned again. “Nice? Doesn’t sound like much fun to me! Yuck! What a disgusting idea!”

“Oh, I get it!” Entrapta grinned. “Skeletor needs us to teach him about love!”

Scorpia’s eyes sparkled. “A Super Pal Trio rescue mission? For love? I accept without any further questions!”

“Wait, wait,” Catra protested. “Stop. No. None of this makes any sense. Entrapta, is this another one of your secret friendship experiments?”

“Nuh-uh,” the scientist shook her head. “But... it is unexpected. Skeletor, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Skeletor looked uncomfortable. “Certainly! Um… Tell me about the loneliness of good! Is it equal to the loneliness of evil?”

Entrapta seemed suspicious. “Hang on,” she said, peering more closely at Skeletor. “Something isn’t quite right here.”

At that moment, Skeletor walked into the room, again. This time he was holding Relay and a fresh armload of barbarian romance novels.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug, sheepishly handing back the books. “And, I do not look like you.”

“Oh phoo. I went too far, didn’t I?” the other Skeletor sighed, in a completely different voice. “I knew this wasn’t going to work.”

In a flash of dark light, Skeletor morphed into a decidedly more reptilian shape. Double Trouble huffed and tossed their hair back. “Well, that was different, at least. I’ve never done a robot before!” They paused. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Catra started out of her chair. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Just what I said.” Double Trouble sat back down on the table and nonchalantly studied their nails. “I need advice. Romantic advice. And since you three are all half of some of the oddest couples on the planet, I thought I might start here.”

“Okay,” Entrapta said, already beginning to take notes. “But you’ve come to me for that before. Why the disguise?”

Double Trouble looked away and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s because I was embarrassed, all right?” Double Trouble crossed their arms and pouted. “This is not something I usually need help with. I’m supposed to be the one who’s cool and in control. I’m Double Trouble! But now I keep feeling things! In my mind, and my body! Making my guts act all weird, and my brain stop working, and… gah!”

“Those are called emotions, Dee Tee,” Catra deadpanned.

“Plus, you and Wrong Hordak have been going steady for a while now,” Scorpia added. “What’s the matter? Oh no! Have you lost… the spark?” She gasped, claws to her face.

“Just the opposite. Wrongie is perfect! He’s always in a good mood, he always wants to spend time with me, he always knows the right thing to say, and he’s just so darn cute! All the time!” Double Trouble’s face sank. “And sooner or later he’s going to realize that I’m not perfect, and it’s all just an act.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Entrapta pointed out, looking up from her notes.

“This is just like what happens in Romeo and Julian!” Double Trouble wailed, ignoring her.

“What?” asked Skeletor.

Double Trouble sniffled. “It’s a play. Someone in the Bright Moon army wrote it and it’s been getting rave reviews in all the theatre magazines — oh, but that’s not important! We’re talking about me!” The lizard flailed their hands helplessly. “What I mean is, it’s like we’re from two different worlds!”

“What, Horde World and Etheria?” Scorpia guessed.

“I’m thinking more Innocent Baby World and Cynical Opportunist World,” Catra cut in.

“Hey!” Double Trouble snapped. “I am not a cynic! Anymore!”

They turned to Scorpia. “But I can still make it work! I just need more research. Your girlfriend is all about this self-care nonsense. How do you deal with that?”

Scorpia got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, Perfuma’s pretty great. She’s kind, and patient with me, and she knows all kinds of meditation stuff, which is good because hey, funny story, it turns out I’ve actually got a lot of pent-up anxiety from —”

“Ugh! Useless! Next!” Double Trouble pointed to Entrapta. ���You! Space bats. How do they even work?”

“Good question! I could share some of my research on Hordak with you,” Entrapta suggested. “It’s more of a hobby though, so I’ve only got a few terabytes of data. Did you know their species has an entire sub-language of ear movements? It’s fascinating!”

Double Trouble paled. “Um. Do you have an abridged version, or…?”

“Look,” Catra interrupted. “I think you’re coming at this the wrong way. First off, you can’t control what other people do or feel.”

Double Trouble narrowed their eyes. “That’s a bit rich coming from you, kitten.”

“I have been doing a lot of self-reflection the last few years, okay?” Catra growled back. “And trust me, trying to be the coolest, the strongest, the best? It doesn’t work.”

She looked across at Entrapta and Scorpia, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. “Sooner or later you have to show your real self. Even if that’s uncomfortable. You can’t connect with someone that way until you’re willing to be weak in front of them.”

Double Trouble regarded Catra for a long time while their face registered a range of unreadable emotions.

“Fine,” they finally groaned, defeated. “But can you at least help me think of something nice to do for our dinner tonight?”

Catra smiled. Entrapta and Scorpia squeaked in excitement.

“For that, you’ll need my help!” said Skeletor. “I’ve longed for this moment!”

*

Wrong Hordak looked up brightly from his cooking. “You are here! Come in, come in!” He swept Double Trouble up in an enormous hug.

The lizard blushed and did not try to hide it. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” With a flourish they revealed a rose and a box of distinctively tiny chocolates, which Wrong Hordak accepted gleefully.

“Now then, why don’t I stand back and let you impress me for a while?”

Wrong Hordak glowed with excitement.

“Impressive?” Skeletor said, somewhere far away. “You boob, it was spectacular!”

[glorious-kt]

The Case of the Cybernetic Arm

Joining up with the Bad Batch was either his stupidest idea or his best idea. Echo was still debating on it to be honest. Hunter treated him with respect, but... he also treated him differently than the others. Tech treated him normally, always asking him questions and trying to get his help with his new hacking gear. However, Tech... didn’t seem to trust him much. Crosshair treated him with disdain, full of sarcasm and blunt whit. Sometimes Echo could fire back with his own silver tongue, but... there were instances where Crosshair’s words hit a little too close to home. He was an outsider. A “reg”. To those three at least. Wrecker... Wrecker treated him with kindness, happy to have a new friend to nag and to challenge.

Echo wasn’t sure what he could do to earn the other three’s trust and clear respect. They never trusted him enough to let him go off on his own during missions, they hardly let him do anything on his own, they tended to just disregard any strategies he tries to offer. But... but they also let him have his own room, buy his own things, read whenever he wants to, they let him hoard as many droid parts that he can find. It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t perfect either. It’s why he was debating on if he had made the right choice. One out of four disliked him, two out of four tolerated him, and the last actually treated him correctly, like a person. He had wanted to join them mainly because they offered freedom. Freedom to figure out who he was now. That and they also reminded him of Fives. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Fives was dead. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

“Oi, Echo. You’re stuck in your own head again,” Wrecker’s voice cut through Echo’s thoughts, making the former ARC Trooper blink rapidly as he pulled himself back to reality.

“Sorry, Wrecker. Just thinking,” Echo smiled back at the larger trooper in front of him.

They were playing some sort of brawling game that the Bad Batch had installed into the ship’s main table. Echo had no idea how to play, but Wrecker had begged him to play, so he was.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout,” Wrecker asked, grinning as he pressed a button, forcing one of the holographic creatures to attack one of Echo’s own holographic creatures.

“It’s nothing. Just my mind rambling on,” Echo huffed in slight frustration as he glared down at the game, he was loosing.

“Oh! It’s doing that thing that Tech does when he talks about computers,” Wrecker grinned back at Echo, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Echo laughed lightly as he made his own move in the game, wincing internally when he had moved to try and use his right hand only to be met with the strange cybernetic attached to him instead.

He really needed to start working on that cybernetic hand. It was getting annoying, not being able to use his right hand anymore. Plus, having both hands would make him more useful on the battlefield right? Maybe that’d earn him some more trust.

“You and Tech ramble a lot, but you do it internally,” Wrecker nodded as he finished off Echo’s last remaining creature with a smirk, making Echo groan.

“Yeah. I don’t want to annoy anyone.”

——————

He was stuck with Crosshair this mission. Echo normally didn’t work with Crosshair on most missions, mainly because the sniper didn’t like him all that much, but this mission required him to be Crosshair’s second pair of eyes. That’s what he’d been told, but Echo had a sneaking suspicion that the real reason was because Hunter didn’t want him anywhere near the intelligence center they were infiltrating. He wasn’t stupid.

“Should we look for an alternate escape route for them should they run into trouble,” Echo asked quietly, glancing at the sniper beside him.

“No. They’ll be fine, reg. Just be my second pair of eyes and be quiet,” Crosshair scoffed quietly while he scanned the area with his scope.

Right. A second pair of eyes. What sort of use was a second pair of eyes for a sniper whose eye sight is perfect and his aim even better? Echo tried to hide his disappointment. His shoulders dropped anyways, and his left hand traced over the cybernetic piece on his arm. Useless. A second pair of eyes to a perfect sniper was useless. Why was he even invited to join them if they were never going to treat him like he was one of them?

He just needed to wait a little longer. He’d get that cybernetic hand fixed up by the end of next week, then he could be useful.

“Let’s move, reg.”

“Right.”

———————

Staying up till midnight wasn’t his best decision or his favorite decision, but he wanted to get that arm done so badly. He was halfway through though, so he couldn’t complain. Tech, however, apparently could.

“Look, I don’t know what you were doing last night, but please keep it down. Some of us like our beauty rest,” Tech scowled as he poked Echo in the chest.

“Sorry. I’ll try to be quieter. I was just fixing up my cybernetics,” Echo apologized quietly.

“What for? They’re in prestine shape. What damage could you have possibly done during the missions we’ve been on? Especially with where you have been placed in each mission,” Tech fired off two questions immedietly, crossing his arms over his chest in suspicion, or at least it looked like suspicion to Echo.

“I was just fine tuning some stuff. I get phantom pains, and tinkering helps me block it out,” Echo shrugged lightly, his voice going quiet under the scrutiny.

“Hmm. Just be quieter,” Tech huffed before heading back towards the kitchen in the ship.

“Right. Sorry.”

———————

Echo took Tech’s advice and was quieter the next night, tinkering away at the new cybernetic arm. He was 95% done with it when Hunter entered his room, making Echo jump. The Seargent studied him quietly, his face blank while he flicked his gaze from Echo, to the tools, and to the arm on the floor of his room. Echo swallowed heavily when the man took a few more steps towards him, closing the door behind him, and took a seat on the floor beside Echo.

“Is this what you were working on last night,” Hunter asked quietly, gesturing to the arm.

“Y-yes, sir. I just... I figured if I had both of my hands then... then you would trust me more. I wouldn’t be able to plug into anything anymore, and it would give me back my mobility. I’ve been useless so far. You won’t let me go off on my own, or do things by myself, and you don’t trust me enough to use any of my strategies. I’d be of more use this way. You could point and I’d shoot and—”

“Who said you were useless,” Hunter cut his rambling off, sitting up straight, alarm seeming to color voice.

“N-no one, but... I’m not stupid. I can tell when you’ve just put me with somone to keep me out of the way or to keep me away from computer terminals,” Echo replied quietly as he stared down at the unfinished cybernetic arm.

Hunter stared at Echo, studying the broken ARC in front of him. They treated Echo differently, because he was. Echo was the only brother that they had welcomed into their family that wasn’t a commanding officer like Cody or Rex.

“We’ve been treating you like glass and you took it the wrong way,” Hunter said softly, tilting his head away in slight shame.

“What?”

“C’mon, vod. Let’s put these tools away and get some sleep. You can finish this in the morning, that way Tech can make sure you hook it up correctly.”

“But, I—”

“No “buts”, reg. In the bed, even ARCs need sleep.”

“I- yes sir.”

———————

When Echo woke up that next morning he woke up to a steaming cup of caf beside his bed. That was... new. Not unwelcome of course just new. Echo sat up tiredly in his bunk and nursed the cup of caf for a good thirty minutes before he even got out of bed. It was then that he noticed the arm he had been working on was missing. Had Hunter taken it when he had taken the tools? Echo yawned lightly as he exited his room and went towards the kitchen to dispose of his cup.

“Hunter where did you put my stuff last night? I want to get it done by the time... we...,” Echo yawned as he stepped into the kitchen trailing off as he blinked at the picture in front of him.

Both Crosshair and Tech were curled over the cybernetic arm he had been working on last night, tools and paintbrushes in hand, slightly alarmed at Echo’s presence. Hunter looked smug almost as he sipped on his own cup of caf. Wrecker was- as usual- barely awake.

“What,” was all Echo’s tired brain came up with.

“Just fixing up the calibrating for it. We added a few things too. Crosshair kept bugging me about the design, so he helped too. We can attach it once we’re done,” Tech said, recovering first, voice as steady and logical as ever.

“It was made out of scraps of course I bugged about the design,” Crosshair scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What,” Echo squeaked again, not understanding what was happening.

“Hunter said that we have been making you feel useless by not letting you do things by yourself or join the harsher missions. We didn’t mean to cause that type of thinking. We wanted to give you time to adjust first. That and we need you to regain some of your weight back, but that plan seems to have backfired. So, we are changing up our plan. You still won’t be in some of the harsher mission until you’re body is back up to it’s healthy weight, but we will no longer treat you like glass,” Tech replied easily as he finished working on the cybernetic arm.

“Because the reg isn’t made of glass. He never was,” Crosshair rolled his eyes lightly.

“By the way, Crosshair calls you a reg out of affection. Not insult,” Tech spoke up again.

Echo blinked in shock at the information, he twitched lightly when Crosshair didn’t even deny the comment either. They were... they were giving him space... giving him time to get used to things. Oh. OH.

“I was an ARC trooper. Still am really. You realize that being in the 501st on top of that makes me the farthest thing from glass, right,” Echo said quietly.

“Yeah we sort of figured that out,” Hunter laughed quietly.

“The boys in blue are crazy,” Wrecker nodded, starting to wake up.

Tech stood up from his seat and moved over to Echo, cybernetic arm in hand. The ARC trooper blinked in shock as Tech began to remove his old one and replace it with the new one. Echo twitched lightly when he felt it connect with his nerves.

“That should do it,” Tech nodded as he pulled back, the other Bad Batchers shifting slightly in anticipation.

Echo swallowed as he opened and closed his new cybernetic hand. He grinned sharply when he could feel it.

“Thanks. When can I test it in the field,” Echo smiled upon at them, the smile was sharp and near feral, all teeth and mischief.

“Next week, Echo,” Hunter laughed loudly.

[givemestories-givemelife]

Blueberries, Lavender & Hot Matcha Tea  (Part 2)

A SasuHina ficlet

PART 1| Part 2

AN: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THOSE WHO COMMENTED, OR RE-BLOGGED, OR LIKED THE FIRST PART TO THIS FIC. It truly means more than I can say. Helped a lot with motivation and it’s super cool to know that people are reading the things I write. I hope the follow up chapter doesn’t disappoint <3

Summary: Hinata has a run in with a familiar face.

Warnings: Brief mentions of grief and anxiety (because Hinata’s a nervous butterfly) but nothing remotely heavy. Also there’s alcohol consumption.

Word count: 6167

                                   __________________________

Lavender

Hinata knows that she needs to start putting herself out there. She can’t stay holed up comfortably in her room while years of her life pass on by, listening to cigarettes after sex under the safe warmth of her white fluffy blanket that still smells like her late mothers perfume, and sniffing essential oils like they’re some kind of soft-core drug to distract her spiralling thoughts from every embarrassingly mortifying predicament she’s ever found herself in.

She’s been trying really hard not to think about spilling her extra hot matcha latte all over this potentially handsome stranger a few days ago. She thinks - potentially - because she did not have the courage to look at the man's face after maiming him and probably ruining his expensive suit!

Hinata’s sure she must have ruined his entire morning, which must have ruined his whole day, and now he probably hates her. Oh goodness, Hinata strongly dislikes the thought of people out there in this world walking around hating her.  

Wow, these thoughts are entirely useless, she really needs to stop her brain from going down these awful paths.  

Today Hinata has decided to try really hard not to wallow in the comfort of all her numbing guilty pleasures.  

So, when Sakura Haruno, the loud and outgoing girl with pretty pink hair, who always smells like strawberries and vanilla from her photography course asked if she wanted to hangout and work on their portfolio’s after class; Hinata was thankful for the distraction.

They had spent that afternoon drinking green tea at the kitchen table in Sakura’s little homey apartment, showing each other their favourite pieces and sharing feedback.

“You have to include this one, it’s so cute” Sakura gushes, pointing at a print of children finger painting; a mischievous little boy is smearing bold red paint all over the face of a girl whose expression is twisted in pure terror.

“You have a real talent for capturing the essence of people.” She continues in a dreamy tone, “it’s like you’re able to capture the moment they’re most alive, even if it’s just the little moments, y’know?”  

Hinata blushes at the complement, “th-thank you Sakura.”

“It's kind of ironic that people are your main muse considering how afraid of them you are.” She teases.

“I’m not sca-AhyH!”

Of course, that’s the moment a woman with a giant blond ponytail barges through the door brandishing a bouquet of peonies making Hinata squeal. “Sakura I swear to god if you ate the last of the ice-cream again, I’m gonna- Oh! hello there.” The crazy flower lady stops mid-threat noticing a stranger in her apartment.

“Ino this is Hinata from class, Hinata this is my roommate Ino.” Sakura introduces, failing to constrain her laughter.

Ino’s demeanor does a 180 as she gently rests the flowers on her lacquered kitchen counter and approaches Hinata in a trance like state. “Your hair is so long and gorgeous, it totally reminds me of the violets we have at the flower shop -- you have to let me braid it.” She breathes and Hinata’s eyes are as wide as the sky outside.

“Ino, tone it down you’re going to scare her.” Sakura chides, rolling her eyes, not at all surprised by her roommate's antics. “Do you always have to act like such a spazz?”

“I am but a simple girl who is a slave to all things beautiful.” Ino proudly counters running her fingers through blue strands and Hinata mentally notes that she smells like a garden.

Sakura’s phone vibrates on the kitchen table, “it’s Naruto,” she says glancing at the screen. “Wondering when we’ll be coming over.”

“I don’t know, an hour or two? Tell him we’re bringing Hinata!” Ino adds excitedly and starts to braid blue hair without permission. “You should come out tonight with Sakura and I, meet the rest of the gang.”

“Oh.” In high school Hinata was never able to make friends with girls, and spent most of her time in the photography club’s black room developing pictures. Her introverted nature made it difficult to connect with people, but in this moment, the prospect of meeting Sakura’s friends, and the inclusive enthusiasm from these girls is making Hinata a little emotional. “I-I don’t know.”  

“Hinata, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I think it could be good for you,” Sakura encourages.

“Carpe diem bitch,” is Ino’s convincing addition.

Hinata giggles, absent mindedly sniffing her wrist searching for the comforting sweet scent of the fragrance she’s wearing today, “yeah, okay.”

Ino makes a pleased sound and saunters over to a kitchen drawer to snatch a pair of scissors and clips the head off of one the peonies, then ties it into the base of Hinata’s braid. “You really have no idea how cute you are Hinata,” she coos observing her work in admiration and Hinata feels warm all over.

Hinata likes the rapport between Ino and Sakura, there’s something about their friendship that she finds inspiring.  

When they split what’s left of the chocolate ice-cream and start getting ready for a night out, Hinata can’t help pulling out her camera and snapping shots of Ino with her shades of purple and Sakura’s vibes in red. Hinata feels outshined in her usual high waisted mom jean and oversized grey patterned sweater.  

But that’s okay, she still feels like one of the girls.

~~~

Ino had made a strong case for wanting to get her steps in for the day, (since her fitbit said she had only reached 8243 so far) convincing the girls to walk to Naruto’s apartment instead of taking the bus. On their stroll Sakura and Ino began giving Hinata character profiles of everyone she was going to meet and Hinata found them to be quite amusing.

Ino playfully starts with, “Shikamaru’s like, my best bro. I’ve known him forever, smartest guy I know but a total stoner and he doesn’t give a fuck about anything.

“Choji gives the best hugs and he loves giving them, so if he looks like he’s going in for one - just let it happen - you’ll hurt his feelings if you don’t.”

“Naruto and Kiba are basically the same person and are the biggest loudest dorks on the planet,” Sakura chimes in, “but they’re also super friendly and kinda funny if you can get over their lack of brain cells.”

“Then there’s Sasuke,” Ino says, and hearing that name strikes a familiar chord with Hinata, triggering flashes of fond memories. “He’s really hot, but kind of a dick,” Ino hugs herself smiling at a distant memory, “basically, we all know each other from going to the same high school -”

“Ino and I had the hugest rivalry back then because we both wanted him.”  

“What happened?” Hinata really wanted to ask if they were talking about Sasuke Uchiha, but didn’t want to interrupt the momentum of their story.

“We were so stupid causing all sorts of drama in our little social circle nearly tearing it apart, and Sasuke wasn’t having any of it, one day he told us to grow the fuck up and to leave him alone.” That did kind of sound like something Sasuke would say, but that would just be too big of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?

“We both cried.” Sakura snickers sheepishly.

“Eventually we finally realized that friendships should be forever-”

“And boyfriends are whatever.” Both girls enthusiastically finish the rehearsed line making silly faces at each other.

Hinata giggles at that, whishing she had taken a picture, “awe, that’s so cute.”

“And now he’s one of our good friends, but I just want to warn you that he can be cold and he can be mean and if he says something dickish, please don’t take it personally.”

Hinata hums, only half listening to Ino. Was it possible that when Hinata arrives at this apartment she was going to be face to face with the childhood friend she hasn’t seen in over a decade?  

Guess she’ll just have to wait and see.

~~~

When Hinata enters the apartment, her senses are immediately overstimulated; it smells salty like ramen and sour with beer which clashes with how clean and pristine the space actually is. It’s decorated with blacks, whites and a few splashes of colors, but overall has a very minimalist feel.

Hinata barely has time to kick her shoes off before she’s surrounded by strangers, and can’t stop the heat from suffusing her face from the disorienting barrage of unwanted attention.  

“Hey bitches!” Ino yells at the group, “we’re here! We know you missed us!”

“This is the beautiful Hinata,” Sakura adds, and Hinata really wants to hide under a rock somewhere. “Be nice okay, she’s really shy.”

“Hey I’m Naruto.” A blond man appears beaming at her, outstretching his hand. “I have never seen eyes that look like your eyes before!”

“Oh.” Hinata went to shake his hand but was interrupted by another hand grabbing hers and kissing it, which is so uncalled for.

“And I’m Kiba, don’t listen to that guy, he’s a complete moron.” He says with a wolfish grin and Hinata has no idea what’s going on anymore.

When she tries to turn away, she’s met with the kind face of a stout man in a green Zelda t-shirt with his arms wide open for an inviting hug. She decides to accept her fate by awkwardly stepping forward wearing a confused pout, and lets the arms of a stranger wrap around her in what is surprisingly one of the best hugs she has ever received. He smells nice, Hinata thinks. Savoury and warm like a thanksgiving dinner. For a moment she actually feels safe, like a veil has been thrown over the sudden wave of chaos, giving her a quiet moment for her heartbeat to settle, “I’m Choji, it’s really nice to meet you Hinata, try not to worry so much, everyone here is harmless, I promise.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on her back.

When Choji pulls away, he sends her one last reassuring smile before padding off towards the ponytailed man currently dying of laughter, and joining him on a leather couch. Choji grabs a handful of potato chips from a bowl on the marble coffee table and starts earnestly snacking.

Snacks! Snacks sound really nice right now! Tasting tasty things can sometimes be a good distraction when Hinata is overwhelmed. She self-consciously shuffles forward towards the provisions, drawn towards the colorful array of fresh fruits, grabbing a small handful of blueberries and popping one of them in her mouth. She tries to ignore the pair legs in her periphery... she needs a moment before making another introduction.

Hinata jumps feeling a presence directly behind her, she twirls around to see Naruto pulling back appearing extremely guilty.

What was he doing?  Was he pointing at her hair?

“Hehehe, sorry about that,” he says, smiling sheepishly, and scratches the back of his head, “I was just pointing out to my friend here, how beautiful your hair is, what a wonderful shade of blue,” he made a weird face directed at someone over her head, “are you enjoying those, blueberries?”

Okay.

Hinata hears more laughter coming from ponytail boy on the couch.

Weird.

Hinata turns to see who Naruto is looking at and-

Oh.

Sasuke?

Sasuke was here.  

It was her Sasuke!

She instantly looks away, eyes wide, staring down at the hardwood floors.

Well, not her Sasuke. But an older version of the one she knew as a child. The one she met that one summer years ago and spent nearly every day with him before her mother fell ill and her family moved away in the wake of tragedy.

And he was... Glaring at her? No, he was glaring at Naruto? He kind of looked like he recognized her, but why would he be glaring?

“This is fucking stupid,” Sasuke seethes and takes off towards the kitchen, where Kiba and Ino are talking and drinking.

Ouch.

Sakura approaches Hinata with a glass in hand, Hinata stares at the ice clinking as she offers it, “vodka soda, with lime?”

Well, one drink couldn’t hurt, Hinata thinks.

She glances over at a brooding Sasuke leaning on the kitchen island sipping his beer.

She might need it.

~~~

It’s nearly an hour later and Hinata feels the dread sinking deep into the pit of her stomach. She desperately wishes she could conjure up some courage, approach Sasuke, and see how he’s been after all these years, but he still hasn’t left from his spot in the kitchen.  

She’s starting to believe that maybe he doesn’t recognize her, which is a rather sad thought.

Hinata also appears to be at the butt end of some sort of mean inside joke that she doesn’t understand, ponytail bo- Shikamaru and Naruto joined Sasuke in the kitchen and kept making not-so-subtle glances her way -- but whatever -- she’s a big girl, she’s not going to cry about it even if she wants to.

Currently she’s sitting on the puffy leather couch between Choji and Sakura, Sakura is sharing the memes she’s saved onto her phone this month with Ino and Kiba while Hinata stares down at the melting ice in her drink and Choji attempts to calm her with platitudes.

Hinata doesn’t regret coming tonight despite feeling like the biggest fool in existence.

After all, tonight she actually has the opportunity to reconnect with someone she still thinks about, even after all these years.

She has always wondered what had happened to that bratty boy she met that one summer.

The sinking feeling grows deeper and Hinata feels her heart beating in the drums of her ears.

She takes one last tentative sip before downing the rest of her drink and summons every ounce of bravery she didn’t know she had to strengthen her resolve.

She stands from the couch with shaky determination ignoring Choji’s concerned inquiry, then forces one foot in front of the other strait towards the guiding bright lights of the kitchen.

The easy conversation awkwardly dies down when she arrives beside Naruto and Sasuke. She feels both their gazes land on her, and Hinata spots an ugly orange magnet on the stainless-steel fridge Sasuke is leaning on that has the phrase - believe it! - stamped on it and chooses to direct most of her focus on the positive affirmation.

“Uh, hey Hinata, you doing okay?” Naruto asks, slightly taken aback. Hinata nods still focusing on the magnet, face heating up as the beginning of a buzz tingles in the corners of her mind. “Can I get you another drink?”

She looks down at the empty glass she grips and nods again, muttering a quiet thank you, and handing it over. He takes it and moves further down the island to chat with Shikamaru and starts making her another.

“Hi Sasuke,” she forces passed her chapped lips.

“Hello Hinata.” Sasuke says, sounding about as uncomfortable as she feels and she looks up, hopeful, to meet his burning gaze and quickly looks back at that stupid orange magnet.

“So, you do remember me?” She asks, confused as to why he’s been ignoring her since her arrival.

“I remember how two days ago you ran into me quite rudely, burning me with tea.”

Hinata’s brain short-circuits.  

“Wait what!?-”

No! No no no no no. Impossible. No.

“-That- that was you? oh my god, oh no! I am so sorry about that, I really wasn’t looking where I was going, I-I can’t believe this, I swear you just came out of nowhere though, oh my goodness, I can’t believe that was-”  

“Please just stop before you give yourself an aneurysm.” Sasuke lifts his hands in a placating manner and Hinata snaps her mouth shut. “So that’s not how you seem to know me?” He asks, further rankling as the conversation drags on.

“So you don’t remember me.” She says mostly to herself, completely humiliated by this entire exchange, every time she opens her mouth it’s like falling down a flight of stairs -- Hinata seriously wishes she would reach the bottom already.

“Remember you from... where?”  

“I-I mean I guess it’s not that surprising, we were only nine or ten at the time and it-it was only one summer... over a decade ago... You-you never really did call me by my name either.” Hinata says focusing on her twiddling fingers, her voice barely above a whisper, a pensive smile framing her lips at the memory.

There’s a long drawn out silence before Sasuke slowly asks, “...Tomato face?”  

Hinata feels her face burn red at the old moniker, nodding. “Yeah...”

“Hyuuga, Hinata. Shit. Yeah. I do remember.”

The culminating tension finally releases from the moment and Hinata smiles at the black and white tiles breathing just a little bit easier.

He remembers.

“Wait... Did I hear you call her a tomato?” Naruto returns with a mildly amused Shikamaru in tow, handing Hinata her drink, and looks between the pair completely intrigued.

~~~

It didn’t take long for the word to spread that Hinata and Sasuke were childhood friends and everyone congregated into the small-ish kitchen asking curious questions.

It also didn’t take long for everyone to lose interest when Naruto nudged Hinata and started grilling her for embarrassing details of what a prepubescent Sasuke was like, earning him a surly glare. Hinata shyly shrugged saying, “I-I don’t really remember, it was a long time ago.”  

Safe to say -- Naruto didn’t buy it, but surprisingly didn’t press further, and the group dispersed, leaving them to reacquaint.

The conversation between them after that was unfortunately still quite awkward, thankfully, Hinata wasn’t entirely to blame.

They exchanged small talk, Hinata mentions that she actually works at Heaven’s Little Corner and was just coming off her shift early when she ran into him the other day, and Sasuke talks about going to school and getting a Bachelor's degree in Business and how he focused on E-commerce after graduation. Overall, their -- re-connecting -- consisted of the typical pleasantries involved in catching up, and Hinata couldn’t distinguish if she was disappointed or relieved when their conversation came to a lull and she couldn’t think of anymore pointless verbiage to drag it along.

What she really wanted was to reminisce over hot days on the beach, collecting tiny crabs to occupy the sandcastles they built, and how Hinata had found sand in her hair days after the event. She wanted to talk about ice-cream and food fights and sneaking out to gaze at the stars in the night sky way past their bedtime, and how they pondered if aliens exist.

“I think the universe is too big for there not to be something out there somewhere.”  

She remembers Sasuke saying, thoughtfully looking up.

“I-I think you’re an alien.”

She said back, earning her an indignant huff.  

“Whatever tomato face.”

She wanted to talk about how simple everything was when they were kids, how she misses that naivety and how scary the world had revealed itself to be over the years.

Hinata was never good at making friends, even as a child, but she could still look back and she knew that Sasuke was one. He had been the last mark on her childhood that had made it a good one, the last moments she had to truly be a kid before she lost her mother, the truest love she had ever felt, forcing her to grow up.

Instead silence overtakes the kitchen and they both stare at their drinks unsure of what to say.

Sasuke isn’t how she remembers him at all. Yeah, he has the same face, just matured, and the same haughtiness, but the spark for life that had once inspired her seemed to be gone.

Which is an unfair thought to have, she admits, but she can’t stop herself from thinking it.

“Well I think it’s time to go on an adventure,” Naruto awkwardly offers.  

“An adventure?”  Hinata repeats, eyes growing wide.

“Naruto’s idea of an adventure is leaving the house and walking around the block.” Sasuke says rolling his eyes.

“Hey anything can be an adventure if you let it!”

~~~

It smells like damp grass and Hinata nearly jumps out of her skin as Naruto’s roar of triumph echo's off the surrounding buildings, catching the glow in the dark frisbee Kiba threw him. Sakura and Ino had joined them in their late-night excursion and Hinata can’t suppress the giddy giggles from watching them stumble about attempting athleticism when they are clearly four or five drinks deep.

She snaps a few photos and decides that she likes Naruto’s philosophy of approaching even the mundane aspects of life as an adventure.

This whole day certainly has felt like one.

Hinata puts her camera away, feels the chill in the October air, and pulls her scarf tighter. She casts a glance over at the park bench where Shikamaru was smoking a joint to see that he’s now casually chatting about... string theory? -- to Choji, who continues to nod his head like he understands.  

Her trailing gaze then lands on Sasuke and-  

Hinata immediately looks back towards the glowing air bound frisbee.  

He was watching her - he looked suspicious - Hinata doesn’t know of what.

“Hey Sakura,” Hinata tries to call out, voice wavering, “it’s getting late, I think I-I should start heading home.”

That seems to put a halt on the physical activity for a moment, she’s then hugged by every frisbee player.

“It was nice meeting you Hinata.”

“Come back any time.”

“Yes please! We need more girls in our group, Sakura and I are severely outnumbered.”  

“Are you sure you don’t want us to walk you?” Sakura slurs slightly, pulling away from the tight embrace.

“I’ll be fine, thank you Sakura,” Hinata smiles at her newest friend and turns to leave but stops at the bench to wave goodbye at Choji and Shikamaru, earning her a warm smile and a lazy nod. She looks at Sasuke’s arms proudly crossed over his broad chest and says, “it was nice seeing you again Sasuke.” And makes her way down the busy street, casting one last glance behind her just in time to see Sakura jump on Ino piggyback style to catch the frisbee in an impressive display of drunken camaraderie.

She smiles wider to herself. Wow. Today was a good day. An Adventure! Even if seeing Sasuke again was really weird and awkward and not at all how she wished it could have gone, she still met a lot of new people – Sakura's friends are so nice! They made her feel right at home and didn’t make her feel too weird about being shy and -

“Hey, Hinata.”

Hinata startles, hearing the sound of her name accompanied by footsteps catching up and her breath hitches when she turns to see Sasuke slowing down next to her.

“S-Sasuke? What are you-”

“I’m going to walk you home,” he snorts like it’s obvious, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black jacket, “it’s late.”

“Oh,” Hinata hugs herself, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious and maybe even a little nauseous as they walk in silence, their steps in sync.  

She can feel the heat of his gaze on her and Hinata makes a point to stare at the crispy autumn leaves on the pavement – yeah – Hinata has no idea what to make of this.

“You know it finally makes sense now, why I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”  

Hinata trips over nothing, “you what?”  

Leaves. Look at the leaves. The beautiful burnt orange leaves. Just. Keep. Looking.

“At the coffee shop, there was something about you, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Guess I thought you were familiar somehow.” Sasuke shrugs, with an air of nonchalance as they cross the street.

“Oh,” Hinata’s starting to feel warm, she doesn’t know if it’s from their quickening pace, the two drinks she’s had or how Sasuke is close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“It’s kind of crazy that we’d run into each other like this, after all these years.”  

Hinata stops walking and Sasuke mirrors her. There’s something in his tone that catches Hinata off guard, something almost fond? Hinata looks back in the direction of his friends, they’re about five blocks away now.  

Sasuke seemed... different than how he’s been all night -- more open somehow. Maybe he feels weird about their earlier interactions too, but didn’t feel comfortable acting this way in front of his friends? Sasuke’s always been a very private person, even as a child.

“Yeah it is,” Hinata bites her lip and throws him a timid fleeting smile, silently wishing she knew what was going through his mind.

“So, why did you come back to Konoha.”  

“I-uh-” Hinata starts playing with the hem of her sweater and reminds herself it’s good to open up, “-wanted to figure out this life thing for myself – be independent - if my dad had his way, I’d never leave home or do anything that wasn’t part of his plan-” she tapers off, distracted by the approaching sound of music, a dumb smile spreads across her face when she sees an old skinny man on a sparkly bicycle riding past them on the road blaring ‘Dancing Queen’ from an oversized speaker he probably installed himself -- he seemed so – in the moment, like all that existed was him and the music filling the streets that he owned – Hinata silently mourns the missed opportunity of capturing that moment forever in a-

“You were saying,” Sasuke pokes her shoulder harder than necessary, bursting her from her reverie, and starts leading her down concrete stairs away from the bustling main road of the city, towards the waterfront.

“Right,” Hinata continues feeling energized from the random encounter and embarrassed from being caught drifting away in a daydream when they were in the middle of a conversation, “it was – uh - hard to leave my sister, but she encouraged me to go, that I should at least attempt to do the dream chasing thing.” Hinata pats her shoulder bag in reference to her camera. “I saved up some money and here I am, making it up as I go.”

“Hm, you always were snapping pictures everywhere you went.”  

Their steps slow to a stop once they reach the cold metal railing where tourists gather during the day overlooking the docks, but it’s mostly quiet at this time of night.

It smells cold from the breeze and salty from the ocean. The lampposts must need changing because the only light is from the half-moon in the cloudless sky, casting them in dark shades of blue.

Hinata takes a deep breath observing the skyline and the colorful lights reflecting in the undulating ocean waves, then asks the question that’s been bothering her since their seemingly kismet reunion. “What do you remember after all this time?”

“I remember...” He trails off, Hinata doesn’t miss the sly edge in his tone. “That I had told you I’d marry you one day,” his voice is deep, almost gravely when he takes a slow playful step closer and Hinata swears her heart skips several beats noticing their breaths mixing in the cold air between them. “And that... you were technically my first kiss.” He says with a sarcastic snort, stepping back, and gesticulates somewhere behind them. “You can’t tell them about it though. Especially Naruto, the idiot would never let me live it down.”

Hinata blushes at the memory and attempts to mask her frown with an indignant pout, trying not to take the jeer personally.

Sasuke always did like to mess with her.

“You were my only kiss.” Hinata then whispers without thinking and regrets it. She immediately hates the implications -- like she’s some inexperienced-love-sick-twenty-something, who’s never gotten over her childhood crush.

Hinata sighs, briefly drowning in her own self-deprecating thoughts, gripping at the railing, eyes a passing ship, and pretends she can’t feel him studying her, surprised by the admission.

“What do you remember?” He asks back, finally breaking the silence.

She bites her lip, thinking, a rush of memories flashing one by one, settling on their goodbye -- her sobbing because she had to move away to a new city thousands of miles away that had special doctors who could treat her mother, how Sasuke was speechless and could only squeeze her tight in the first and only hug they had ever shared.  

She remembers how he always told her she should stand up for herself, even against him, and she remembers how sometimes when she was around, he’d bite his tongue, holding back petulant sneers.

There’s a small quirk to her lips when she softly says, “Looking back, I-I always thought that we brought out the best in each other.”

There’s another long silence and Hinata once again feels the heavy weight of his gaze examining her, he reaches out and she stiffens when he gently grips the base of her braid touching the bright pink flower there.

“Did Ino do this?” He quietly asks, and there something hidden in his voice that shifts the mood of their conversation, and he’s close again, close enough for their visible breaths to once again mix, his fingers trail down towards the tail end of her braid.

“Uh huh.” Hinata breathes, watching his fingers play with the tip of her strands.

“Why can’t you…” he starts to ask, unsure, but curious, “never mind.” He let’s go of the braid, huffing lightly in frustration and leans on the railing, looking out towards the roaring waves.

Hinata’s stunned by his sudden apprehension. "Why can’t I what?”

“I said never mind.”

“But… I- I want to know.”

“Why can’t you look at me?”  

“Oh.”  

Sasuke sighs, “you don’t have to answer.”

Hinata bites her lip hard, internally wincing. “I-it’s not just you it’s most people really.” She starts, racking her brain for the right words “- It’s -it’s embarrassing… Well everything is embarrassing but, I get anxious about nothing all the time? And looking at people. I don’t know. I get paranoid that they can hear my thoughts or something? Not that I’m thinking about anything weird, well sometimes I am… it’s easier when they’re not looking back at me... Anyways... I guess it’s just become a bad habit now…” she sighs and smiles bitterly at the mess that just flew out of her mouth. “So, to summarize, looking at people kind of sometimes really freaks me out?”

“I see,” Sasuke says, Hinata glances at his mouth, he’s smiling a little, it’s almost warm in an amused sort of way, which completely disarms her.  

Hinata’s tongue feels dry, “uhm, do-do you ever feel anxious?”  

“Never. I get annoyed or frustrated with people very easily though, which can be problematic, not that I care”

“I guess some things never change then.” Hinata teases gently.

Sasuke smirks, he seems ready to retort with a quip but retreats and opts for something entirely different, “are there things that help you with your anxiety?”

There’s something about the question that makes Hinata feel warm all over, she never really gets to talk about these kinds of things without it feeling like it would dampen the mood, but there’s surprisingly no judgement in his tone, he seems genuinely curious, which encourages her to open up some more, "I find different scents to be calming, so I wear whatever my current favorite essential oil is on my wrist every day and whenever I feel too overwhelmed,” Hinata begins to explain in a rush pulling her sleeve up to demonstrate and presents Sasuke her wrist, “I close my eyes, count down from ten and-” Hinata’s breath catches in her throat and her eyes fly open when Sasuke gently pulls her forward by the wrist and she feels the softness of his lips brush over her pulse, then draws in a slow breath to scent the fragrance she chose to wear that day, “...and... sniff.”

Oh goodness, is it getting hot out here? Because Hinata’s face feels like it’s about to burst into flames. Hinata debates pulling her arm back but is currently enraptured by the softest look she’s seen on the Uchiha’s face this evening.  

This feels way too intimate, and Hinata thinks she likes it. Hinata thinks that maybe this is what’s been missing in her life. The feeling of being close to someone in more ways than just proximity. Is it possible she’s been physically and emotionally touch starved for years without realizing it?

That’s a thought that petrifies her. How sleeping on your basest human needs can become a habit, and you find yourself going through the trivial motions of existence, not bothering to search for more, for something that makes your heart sing, twist, and turn into itself the way that muscle pumping blood through her circulatory system at a quickening pace is doing right now.

“Lavender,” Sasuke murmurs against her wrist and his breath feels hot on her skin, Hinata struggles for breath when the sensation brings her back to the present moment and she realizes that she’s been staring directly into his darkened obsidian eyes, boring into hers and she finds herself unable to look away. A subtle look of achievement flashes through them when he softly asks, “you okay there?”

Is she dead? Is she imagining this? This whole situation with the soft touches coinciding with depressing epiphanies triggered by Sasuke smelling her suddenly seems completely absurd, and Hinata’s not sure she’ll be able to form a coherent sentence any time soon.

“I uh, uhm.” There’s definitely something wrong with Hinata’s voice when she attempts to speak.

“I think that...” Sasuke smoothly adjusts their hands to interlock their fingers and his hand feels so warm in hers, “you should go out with me.”

What is happening?

“No.”

Hinata kinda meant to say yes, but sure, no works too?

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Hinata winces slightly. Gosh what is she even saying? Is this some sort of weird defense mechanism because she’s afraid of getting hurt?  

Sasuke nods slowly, narrowing his eyes, “why not.”

Don’t you have to risk getting hurt to get anywhere in life that’s worth while?

“I-I don’t know.”

“Hn.” Sasuke breaks eye contact and lets their holding hands fall. Hinata reels at the loss of warmth. He turns away from her and crosses his arms over the railing and looks out towards the dark rhythmic waves of the ocean. Hinata worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she studies the man before her. The moonlight is hitting the sharp angles of his face just perfect, and Hinata’s in awe. He’s all grown up now, and by default that means Hinata is too. Yet, here they are, the oldest they’ve been, and still the youngest they will ever be.  

Nostalgia floods through Hinata’s system, deciding to grab the moment instead of letting it pass. She’s not sure when she pulled the camera out of her bag, but the flash went off before she understood that she was taking a picture.

Sasuke jumps slightly at the flash and is pulled from his brooding thoughts, shooting her a puzzled glare.

“Sorry, that was kind of weird of me. I just – I just thought you-you looked erm... nice in the moonlight?”  

A bewildered look flashes across Sasuke’s face before a small smile begins to form and he laughs! He actually, genuinely laughs while shaking his head in what appears to be disbelief.  

The only thing Hinata can do is smile sheepishly distracted by how handsome he looks when he lets go of his composure, the light in his eyes makes him look younger, like the Sasuke she knew all those years ago.  

Hinata wonders if any of his friends get to see him like this.

He looks down at the pavement, shoulders still shaking, smile still present and pinches the bridge of his nose while taking in a slow breath and on his exhale, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, unlocks it, hands it over and says, “give me your number.”

Hinata tentatively obliges, pulling open the add new contact page, filling in the blanks then handing it back. Sasuke starts typing something in his phone and asks. “Do you work Sunday?”  

“Uhm, yes?”  

Hinata’s phone buzzes, when retrieving it from her bag she sees a text from an unknown number.

>> I’m going to come by after your shift and I'm taking you out. Don’t even bother using your mouth to respond.

Hinata feels her fingers tingling and tries to open her mouth to speak, closes it, bites her lip to try and stifle her giggles and resists the urge to slap herself in the face for acting like a complete airhead.

She pushes her fears aside one more time tonight...

And takes the damn dive.

<< Okay <3

                __________________________

AN2:  Wow, okay. A month later and I have the second part to this little story. This is the first time that I’m posting something I didn’t just throw together in one sitting. I’ve also never posted anything that was longer than 1200 words and it’s unexpectedly a little nerve-wracking??? OKAY SO, I guess there’s going to be one last chapter and it’s going to be like 90% SasuHina interactions? And spoiler alert they’re finally going to make-out. I have this SasuHina headcannon where they’re both private people who generally keep to themselves -- so people think they’re a boring couple, but when they’re alone together it’s like they’re in their own little world, and that’s the dynamic I’m looking forward to exploring in the final part.  I’m not sure when it’s going to be up since I have a bunch of other stuff I need to work on so it depends on how the inspo hits me, but I do have plenty of fun ideas!

[lisinfleur]

Child

The request:

Author’s Notes | I don't really think a thing like this would be completely ok for both sides, so I decided to write it from Hvitserk's POV. Hope you don't mind but it came out a little more angst that I was planning haha.

Universe | Vikings

Pairing | Ivar x Reader, Hvitserk x OC.

Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW7

Words | 2053

⁑ Warnings: ANGST

One more cup and the jar was empty.

"Bring more mead," my voice sounded and the slave brought a new amphora with mead to my table.

At the Hall, they were celebrating - Ivar's wife was full with child and they were happy, feasting, partying.

"Won't you join them, Hvitserk?"

"No," I answered, cutting the familiar voice before Þyra could finish that sentence.

However, she sat beside me anyway, causing me to swallow the whole cup of mead at once, filling it again.

Or intending to, if her fingers weren't holding my amphora, preventing me from pouring more mead into my cup.

"Is it me, or are you sad for your brother's good news?" she asked.

And I wasn't able to look at her. To lie right on her eyes.

"I'm not sad. You're seeing things," I tried to slide out of her claws.

But she knew me better. Not better than Y/N, but I could say Þyra knew me as much as it was possible for a shieldmaiden who fought beside me so many times. Someone who saved my life so many times.

Þyra was the closest to a perfect woman for me I had ever found. Fierce, strong, delicate, gentle. But somehow, I had kept my interest to myself, treating her like a close friend. Despite not being my best.

"Leave me alone, Þyra. I just want to..."

"Drink yourself out. And whenever you want to do it, it's because you're sad, annoyed, or hurt. Which one this time, if not sad... Then maybe... hurt?"

"Stop," I warned, coming up from my chair and leaving the table with Þyra right behind me, leaving the room and crossing the way to the square outside where people wouldn't hear me speaking.

Where Ivar wouldn't hear me breaking the promises I made that were now tearing my heart in a million pieces.

"What's happening? Why are you fleeing from them? Hvitserk, come on! It's Y/N's dream becoming true! You were always so..."

"Close!" I interrupted Þyra once again, speaking harshly this time. "I know, Þyra! I know this better than anyone else, that is my best friend and my brother celebrating their first child inside. I know and I don't want to fucking be there. Isn't it clear?"

She crossed her arms and I knew she would stand there, petrified by my side, until she knew the reason why I'm being so aggressive.

The first drops of rain started falling from the grey sky and people started entering the hall and their houses, closing tents and leaving the square, almost as if the gods were providing me the perfect scenario to pour my heart out without breaking Y/N's trust in me.

Unlike them, I sat on the square's stair, sliding my hands through my hair, through my face. Sighing when Þyra sat beside me.

"You'll get wet," I warned.

"I'm not made of sugar," she answered.

And silent sat beside us like a third person.

I looked at her, sitting there like a statue. Getting wetter and wetter when the rain started to become too strong, embracing herself, forcing herself to stay despite the cold. She wouldn't leave my side. Not without her answers. I sighed again, covering her with my cloak.

We weren't made of sugar, but she didn't have to freeze there beside me.

"We're gonna catch a cold in this rain," I mumbled.

More to test if she would hear me in that lower tone.

"I don't freaking care, Hvitserk. Stop trying to give me reasons to leave without knowing what is making you..."

"Their child is my son," I spoke it out, silencing her voice in a surprised squeak.

Feeling as if I had thrown up the knot that was preventing me from breathing inside my throat.

"H-how? Hvitserk, you... Y/N... Oh, my gods, Ivar..." she covered her mouth and I shook my head negatively, rolling my eyes.

"I didn't fuck Y/N behind Ivar's back if this is what you're thinking, Þyra. That's not what happened. They came to me. They wanted a child and after a year of failed attempts, they thought we could try to see if it was Ivar's problem or hers. If she wasn't with child after a night with me, then... Then they would buy a slave for Ivar to produce a child. If she was with child, then it would be Ivar's blood without the chance of his disease and so he would raise the child as his own. Like we suspect father did to Björn."

That thing uncle Rollo told me and I told Ivar. I'm sure it was what made Ivar come out with this idea.

"Oh," Þyra's voice gained a comprehensive tone. "Then it comes that its Ivar's problem after all..." she commented.

"Maybe. Maybe they just were impatient to wait for the gods' will towards my brother. The fact is that Y/N is carrying a child of mine in her belly and..."

My heart clenched and I saw Þyra's expression changed when she noticed this was what was hurting me after all.

"And your firstborn won't know who you are. Gods, Hvitserk... Why didn't you tell them no?" she said, patting my shoulder when I held my face in both of my hands before looking at her.

"Don't you think I thought about denying it, Þyra? I did, but fuck... It was my best friend and my brother, at my door, asking me a favor to realize their dream to become parents... Y/N dreamed about having a child through her whole life! I couldn't just... I couldn't just say no."

She sighed when I lowered my face one more time.

It was eating me inside.

"Can't you talk to them about this?" she asked, and I giggled, bitter.

"And ruin their happiness? Come on, Þyra, you know me better than this! We shared a night, the three of us, not far from today, two moons, one moon ago. Y/N acted as if I wasn't there, Þyra. She kissed me, we had sex, but I wasn't really there for her. It was him all the time, they exchanged caresses all the time, she made sex to me, but it was love with him. Y/N loves Ivar with her soul and not even under another, she could pretend it wasn't true. I cannot go there now and tell them I gave up on my promises and I want to tell their child that I'm its father. I can't steal it from her."

"Wait," Þyra said, lifting my face to look at her. "You said you shared a night with them... And they made love to each other. So, Ivar was there, right?"

"Yes, he was," I said, sighing.

Remembering how he wasn't bothered by my hands touching Y/N's body or how I restrained my moans to sighs of pleasure as she clenched around me, moaning his name.

She was his. Undeniably his.

And it was never a problem for me. It wasn't about Y/N.

It was about that child.

"Then there is a chance that this child is not yours, Hvitserk."

Þyra's voice broke something inside of my brain and I looked at her completely taken aback.

She seemed to notice my reaction because she continued, looking at me with property in her voice.

"There is a chance that Ivar made that child with her when she was sharing their bed with you. Or even before this happened. Or after. The thing is that she spent a night with you, Hvitserk. But she has been spending a whole year of nights with your brother. And she kept making love to Ivar after that happened between the three of you. So, there is a higher chance that this child inside her belly is Ivar's. Pretty higher than the chance that, in a single night, you were able to do what your brother didn't in a whole year of marriage."

I looked away from her, to the doors of the hall. The light was flickering inside, the party was still going on, although the doors were now closed because of the rain outside.

Þyra's words came like a lightning bolt inside my head. What if she was right? What if that night was useless after all?

What if I just spent a night with her and she got pregnant from Ivar anyway?

I was there mourning my firstborn and, in the end, it was Ivar's.

It could be his.

It was pretty more possible that it was his.

"You didn't think about this, did you?" Þyra sounded again, with that smart-ass tone of hers. "You should find yourself a wife, Hvitserk. This thing of having children is starting to take your min-".

I didn't let her finish: I just pulled Þyra against my chest and mashed our lips together in the kiss I always wanted to take from her, feeling as she melted in my arms, answering shyly to the surprise of my actions, kissing me back slowly until the contact between our wet and cold bodies was finished.

"You're right. I should find myself a wife," I mumbled as she was looking at me surprised. "And put my firstborn inside her. Before I end up becoming nothing but an uncle..."

"Y-yes," she muttered, and I smiled.

Feeling light for the first time since that started.

The rain had gone for a moment, almost as if the gods had covered my secret with those grey clouds. Washed the weight in my chest with that water.

"There you are," Y/N's voice sounded followed by a giggle.

One of those happy giggles I liked so much to see in her voice.

"We were searching for you, Hvitserk! Oh..." She stood beside me with a heavy cloak around her body. "I didn't know you weren't alone," her smile became bigger and I got up, helping Þyra to get up as well. "Ivar and I were searching for you. I couldn't see you anywhere in the party."

"And I'm sure Ivar will be pissed off when he discovers you're outside trying to freeze his child in your belly, Y/N! You should get in, little oven. This bun won't be ready with the cold here outside. Come," I joked, causing her to smile when I touched her belly.

For the first time feeling light since it all began.

My fingers felt the small bump inside her dress and for a second, my heart clenched again.

What if it was really my child?

But Y/N's hand touched mine and she smiled at me so bright.

She was so happy.

So much more now that she saw me kissing Þyra...

"Bring your girlfriend with you, Hvitserk. It will be something more for us to celebrate tonight, after all, my brother is finally getting somebody to love, I suppose?" she said, getting Þyra fully clumsy.

My hand left her belly to embrace Þyra's waist and I smiled.

It wasn't my child.

It was their happiness.

And it was time to build mine.

"You're right. It's past the time for me to introduce someone into this family so... A brave shieldmaiden who saved my life twice seems good enough to be my wife, right, sister?" I joked as if I had never shown my interest on Þyra before.

And somehow, she got a way to become even redder when Y/N laughed at me, happier.

"Come in, silly one. Let us get you some dry clothes and good food, huh?" Y/N said, pulling Þyra by her hand, going back to the hall with a big smile in her face.

Þyra still looked back at me, confused. Taken by surprise by my sudden decision. But it was true I had looked at her to be my possible wife for a long time. And maybe it was a good time to start building my own life.

My eyes looked up to the sky. The sudden rain was starting to dissipate itself. A few rays of the afternoon sun starting to show itself.

I knew the gods had my secret taken. I knew they had that weight washed from my heart.

I mutely thanked them before starting to walk back home.

I had a party to celebrate.

A proposal to make.

And maybe a child to produce that night...

One that was really going to be mine.

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[90slevi]

Butterflies {Draco Malfoy x Reader} - Pt.1

Sitting at the front of the potions classroom was certainly nerve-wracking. Being watched at all times by none-other than Professor Snape was terrifying in itself, but being right under his nose as you tried your hardest not to mess up your potion created so much anxiety in your body that you thought you'd shrivel up and die. Maybe you'd even hex yourself just to get out of the lesson.

It wasn't the class you hated; in fact, Potions class was something you enjoyed quite a lot. It was just... Snape. Even though you were a Slytherin.

"Y/n," a voice from beside you hissed, almost making you jump. You turned your head to see Lucy Stoneward, your best friend since you were kids, stop your hand, and you looked down to see yourself almost put too much powdered unicorn horn into the cauldron. You were making a Draught of Peace, which could put the user into a deep sleep if too much of each ingredient was used. "You need to focus."

"Sorry," you muttered, trying your best to focus on what you were doing. This was an incredibly difficult potion to make, which was ironic since it was supposed to reduce anxiety, but there was too much on your mind to focus. Not only were your OWLs coming up and a horrific teacher had been put in charge of the school, but you'd heard rumours of a certain blonde-haired boy in your house having... feelings for you.

It wasn't that you didn't like Draco; in fact, you'd been friends since the first year and only gotten really close in the third year, leading him to ask you to the Yule Ball in your fourth. Despite a lot of people's opinions, you found him fun to be around, actually being quite a nice person when he wasn't... well, being a bully, and you couldn't deny he was very attractive.

It was just surprising that he fancied YOU, and not Pansy Parkinson or any of the other girls in Slytherin.

"Y/n, has your potion turned pink yet?" Lucy asked, a pout on her face as she watched her potion stay purple and not... pink, as it was supposed to. She was still adding powdered unicorn horn, but to no avail, whereas you'd only added a bit and it'd turned pink already. "Did I do it wrong?"

"I have no idea," you chuckled, beginning to stir your potion and watching it turn a deep red, as the instructions had said it would. "How much porcupine quill did you put in?"

Lucy was silent for a second before her eyes widened and she face-palmed. "Shit, I didn't see the turquoise bit. I started stirring at green!"

"And that's where you went wrong," you chuckled, hearing a loud groan from one of the Hufflepuff boys behind, indicating he'd done something wrong too. You couldn't blame them, though; the Draught of Peace was one difficult potion to concoct. "You gonna start again?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" Lucy grumbled, tipping out her entire potion and starting again. "You have any spare moonstone?"

"Not much, but you can use it," you answered, passing her your tray. She pouted, wondering if it'd be enough and if she could ask around without being caught, but from Professor Snape's expression, it appeared he'd seen her anyway. "Right, I can help you if you want. My potion just needs to simmer for a bit- hey!"

You exclaimed loudly when an enchanted piece of paper hit you in the shoulder, shaped like a small butterfly that floated in the air. You sighed, recognising the enchantment as one Draco used often to piss off people like Harry, and you glanced over at him. However, strangely enough, he wasn't looking in your direction. Instead, he was speaking to Goyle in frustration, the dumber of the two clearly having messed up his potion. And, from where you were sitting, it was obvious Goyle had messed up. Instead of his potion being ANY of the colours it should've been, it was a murky brown.

"What's that?" Lucy asked focusing on her new potion, and you shrugged.

"It doesn't matter for now," you said, tucking it into your pocket. "Concentrate on your potion! Lucy, look! You've almost put in too much moonstone!"

"Ah, my bad!" she exclaimed, grimacing when she noticed her potion turn a darker green than it was supposed to. "Erm... do I need to start over again?"

"Nah, it'll be fine," you said, not entirely sure yourself. However, when it turned blue after stirring it, you sighed with relief. It was fine. "Mine's purple now... oh you're kidding!"

"What?" Lucy asked, stirring it again. "What's up?"

"I need some more moonstone," you muttered, having just given her all you had. Thankfully, she hadn't used it all, and she'd probably have to go get some more from either Snape or another student. You took it, much to her protests, and watched as the potion turned purple to grey, just like it was supposed to. Another loud, angry exclamation was heard from across the room, and you turned to see Goyle getting increasingly frustrated at what he was doing. Draco rolled his eyes at what the other had done, which was drop his tray of powdered unicorn horn onto the floor.

Thankfully, it would take a while for the potion to turn from grey to orange, so it gave you a chance to read the note Draco had sent you without Lucy looking over your shoulder (she was too focused on her potion to care). Usually, it was just stupid stuff like him complaining about how useless a certain class was or just teasing you, so you weren't expecting much. However, you were surprised.

Meet me outside the Slytherin Common Room at lunch. I need to talk to you. Forget about dinner, I'll bring something if you need it. - Draco

That was... certainly odd.

It was against the rules to roam the corridors when not permitted, and at dinner especially, everyone was supposed to be in the Grand Hall to make sure everyone was safe. Although Draco was a rule-breaker and not too bothered about any of that, it was still strange for him to want to spend time with you alone outside the Common room. And with dinner, too!

You started writing your own note back, keeping your eye on the potion you were making to make sure it didn't simmer too long and glanced towards Snape to make sure he didn't notice. There wasn't anything incriminating on the note, though.

Why? Can't you tell me at dinner? Y'know, in the great hall, where we're supposed to be?

With that, you sent the note over in the form of a small bird, catching the attention of two Ravenclaws who were about to tell on you before being very intimidated by your glare. Draco caught it and read it, before looking at you with an expression of disgust, as if why it was secret was blatantly obvious. For a split second, you thought you'd got the wrong person, but was glad to see you hadn't when he began writing one back.

Turning back around, your eyes widened in surprise to see your potion turning from orange (what it should've been) to yellow, and you quickly stopped it from simmering before adding powdered porcupine quills, the last step before you'd finished. You crossed your fingers behind your back, praying it'd turn white soon and that you'd done it right, and thank your lucky stars, it did. You heard a familiar laugh from behind you, and you turned your head with a frown, ready for one of Draco's snarky comments.

"Messed up again, Y/l/n?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. It appeared that only in classes, he'd refer to you by your last name. In the Common Room or in private, he'd refer to you by your first, something you liked. "I thought someone like you would get this right."

"I don't know whether that's a compliment or not, Malfoy, but I'll have you know, it went fine," you replied, looking back at your cauldron to look for any flaws. Snape wandered over, his piercing eyes sending a chill through your spine as he looked inside. However, to your surprise and relief, he nodded at it, his eyebrows raised.

"See, Longbottom, if Y/l/n is able to make a potion like this, then you should be able to too," Snape said, a disgruntled expression on his face when he looked at Neville's. For starters, it was bubbling, which it shouldn't be doing at all, and it was a strange, yellowy-green colour after he'd put in the unicorn horn, which wasn't supposed to happen. "Ten points to Slytherin."

Lucy whispered a pleased 'yes' underneath her breath, giving you a high-five underneath the table. Neville grumbled something quietly about him being biased, only to throw his whole potion away and start from the beginning. Despite there only being five minutes left of class.

"No! I only have five steps left!" Lucy exclaimed, trying to rush through it. You shook your head, knowing that rushing the Draught of Peace was the worst thing to do, but you chose to say nothing. "Crap, do you have any-"

"Nope," you chuckled, looking at your desk. Snape had bottled up your potion and left it at the front as a good example of what it was supposed to look like, and you watched as other students tried to finish in time. Hermione Granger had finished hers just a few minutes after you, and so had Harry. The only others who'd completed it were Draco, Pansy, Seamus, about three Ravenclaw students, and a Hufflepuff. You were pretty pleased if you did say so yourself.

You'd also almost forgotten about the note you'd sent Draco about fifteen minutes ago until another hit you in the shoulder. Once again, it was an enchanted butterfly, which was odd since he usually sent a bird, but you didn't question his choice of origami animal.

Are you brain-dead? There's a reason I want to talk to you by the Common Room. Why the Hell would I tell you something secret in the Great Hall? - Draco

You couldn't help but laugh at your stupidity and face-palmed, quickly tucking the note into your pocket before anyone saw it. Lucy raised her eyebrow, and you just looked away, trying not to raise suspicion. You heard Draco also chuckle quietly from behind, and you turned your head to notice him walking down the classroom to put something away, his eyes meeting yours for a split second.

He acted completely differently when it was just you two or just you guys and some friends. He was kind (well, as kind as he could get, anyway) and, although insults were thrown towards each other, was an overall cool guy to hang around with.

"So, Y/l/n, I see your potion got put as an example," Draco said, leaning against the wall and raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Since when did you get so good?"

"Since I actually started studying," you chuckled, trying to forget the first three years of Hogwarts where you just messed around in classes and did pretty much nothing outside of class. "It's funny to beat the Ravenclaws, so I thought I'd continue."

"Your priorities are so messed up," Lucy muttered with a chuckle, packing her things away before class finished. You laughed and nodded, Draco sighing with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, but at the same time, I don't fancy failing my OWLs," you sighed, stretching as you checked the clock that hung at the top of the room. "Retaking those must be a pain in the ass."

"God, from what Goyle was doing this lesson, I wouldn't be surprised if he has to retake them," Draco responded, shaking his head at the brown-haired boy struggling to finish his third potion this class in time. It still wasn't the right colour, turning a navy blue after letting it simmer. "Somehow he made it bubbly earlier."

"Yeah, quite a few people had that issue," you answered, finally tidying away as Lucy pouted at her grey potion, supposedly finished. "Why don't people know how to simmer things?!"

However, your conversation was interrupted by Snape calling an end to the lesson, humiliating both Neville and Harry in the process (which was unfair, but you couldn't be bothered to call him out) before letting you go. You wandered into the corridors, talking to Lucy and two other Slytherin girls named Anastasia-Rose Richards and, of course, Pansy Parkinson, who you'd known since your first year and shared a dorm with. To your surprise, Draco was nowhere to be seen, either teasing you or making fun of another student. You couldn't even hear his voice, and Crabbe and Goyle were just walking awkwardly behind, talking about how boring that lesson was. You ignored them.

"Where's Draco?" Pansy asked rather loudly, looking around. "He was just here a minute ago!"

It was no shock to anybody that Pansy had the biggest crush ever on the blonde-haired boy. It was clear as day ever since she'd cried over his injury in the third year, and just to confirm it was when she had a huge, heated argument with you over the fact he'd asked you to the Yule Ball and not her, as he'd supposedly promised. You hadn't fully forgiven her for embarrassing you in front of the whole Slytherin House by using the body-binding hex, but at the same time, you weren't really one to hold grudges for years.

"Dunno," you shrugged, looking around for the familiar blonde. It was like Draco to just wander off, but he never did it without telling at least someone where he was going, whether it be you, Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe or Goyle. "Bathroom, maybe?"

"But what if he's late to Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Pansy asked, her eyes wide. You sighed, shaking your head.

"It's Draco, as if he cares," you answered, stuffing your hands into your pockets and cursing at a Hufflepuff second-year who decided to barge past you. "Oi, watch where you're going!"

"But-"

"Pansy, seriously?" you scoffed, looking at her with a dead-pan expression. "Stop worrying so much. He'll be fine."

Lucy tried to hide back her snickers; despite Pansy being one of the most popular girls in Slytherin, she wasn't particularly liked much, especially because of her whiny attitude and desperation to get Draco to like her. Plus, when she had the fight with you, a lot of people's respect for her vanished, comparing her to a baby who wasn't allowed to get what it wanted.

"In all honesty, where has he gone?" Anastasia asked you quietly, and you shrugged. You were tempted to tell her and Lucy about the notes Draco had passed you in class, but then changed your mind when you remembered it was supposed to be secret. "Damn, even Y/n doesn't know."

"Pfft, he doesn't tell me everything, you know," you chuckled, shaking your head. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was skipping class. I don't want another lesson with that old hag."

"The bitch," Lucy mumbled, her nose wrinkling even at the thought of Professor Umbridge.

Although the teacher was already hated amongst school students, there was nobody who hated her more than you and Lucy. After speaking out in class multiple times about how 'shitty and useless' her lessons were, you'd both recieved such a harsh detention that you'd left with a scar on your hand. Being forced to write lines of 'I must not swear' in your own blood would leave anybody with a burning hatred of the lady in pink.

"To be honest, I might skip that damned class too," you replied, and Lucy raised her eyebrows. Despite being a Slytherin, you'd never ever skipped a lesson in your life, not wanting to get into trouble with Snape and not wanting to make your grades worse than they already were. Plus, Umbridge taught you nothing anyway and you'd rather teach yourself. "Honestly, Lucy, there is no way in hell I want to see that woman again."

"Yeah, me neither," Lucy grumbled, cracking her knuckles as if she wanted to punch the living daylights out of Umbridge. "But my parents would kill me if I skipped class."

"Same, but I'm pretty sure they value my life over skipping one lesson," you answered, believing this a good time to look for Draco. Maybe if you found him, you could start talking about what he'd been meaning to speak to you about at dinner, and you wouldn't have to chance missing a meal.

"Whatever, I'll see you at dinner then," Lucy grinned, stuffing her hands into her pockets as her and Anastasia continued down the hall to their next class. You dove into an empty corridor, hearing the sound of footsteps disappearing, and sighed into the silence.

Now, where the hell was Draco?

[i-cant-believe-i-wrote-this]

eww anxiety

I've been kinda anxious lately, so I'll just take this opportunity to talk about the stress I've been facing and how that's been connected to my writing. 

First, I should tell you that I'm studying the IBDP, and that's been a giant slap in the face since August. I've been trying to shove all the knowledge I've learnt into my brain while preparing for tests and projects, and my anxiety has been building up ever since. 

Of course, IB isn't the only one to blame. It's also my perfectionist success-or-die mindset that's been tripping me this whole time. I'm trying to get rid of it, but it's been kinda difficult. 

Then, I've got my fanfiction that I've been writing since August too. As time went on, I started to see it as a responsibility - a mission - instead of a hobby or a way to relax. That's been dragging me down too. Sometimes I get so frustrated that the thought of it makes me want to puke. 

Writing this blog also takes quite some time - the hardest bit is to come up with things to write about. I've been trying to make my posts as engaging and attractive as possible, and it's also taking its toll. 

I've been coming up with ways to deal with my stress and anxiety when it hits. You know what? I'll just list some of them here to share with y'all. But a heads-up - this is my way of doing it, and another method might work for you instead. 

Most of the time anxiety comes to me in the form of panicking. That I haven't finished all my work; that I might not do well in the upcoming test; that my previous piece of graded homework was substandard. 

My stomach tightens and my heartbeat races.

As a person that values efficiency and despises any waste of time, I've come to ask myself - is what I'm doing now - standing here frozen, staring into the void - an efficient use of time? Is panicking helping me at all? Now that I'm panicking, has anything changed? 

The answer is no every single time. 

Well if not, why the hell should I continue panicking? Doesn't this defeat the purpose of my panic in the first place? Why waste time sitting in this puddle of my emotions? 

It usually works for me since my anxiety comes from workload stress. Once I stab myself with the fact that panicking is disgustingly inefficient, I usually get over it. 

Another common thing is that I get embarrassed about mistakes I made or cringey things I did long ago. Like the time I gave someone a present and they didn't like it; like the time I taught someone a false piece of information; like the time I lost a game against someone way younger than me.

It's like that event is replaying again and again in my head. Feels bad, man.

I convince myself to stop focusing on it by asking - does anyone care about what I did? Does anyone remember? 

In most times the answer is no. Everyone's got loads of things happening in their lives, and they won't bother to remember a mistake I made months or years ago. And if they don't remember, that mistake might as well have never existed. (Wow, philosophy ~) 

But other times the answer is yes. They still remember what I did, because it was an extra-embarrassing dramatic mistake. In that case, I just gotta tell myself that my panic won't change that anyway. And I should just stop wasting time and do something productive. 

Someone once told me that panic was supposed to be for survival, when we were still cavemen battling the elements to get to the next meal. And now that we're safe in our precious homes, panic is now supposed to be a mild alertness to remind you something. 

But when it goes overboard - when it's gotten out of control - that panic is useless. So just know what the panic wants to tell you. Acknowledge it. Once you do, that panic can walk the hell out of that door and close it behind itself. 

Sometimes I panic because I realise I haven't been working at all the entire day. Maybe I've been watching reality TV, or been reading novels. When that realisation - that hint of panic - creeps up to me, the natural thing I can do is to get right into work. Late is better than never, right? 

And when I'm working, any subsequent panic is utterly meaningless. I'm already doing stuff, what else do you want me to do? That voice in my head can just shut up, sit there, and think about how annoying it's been to me. 

Other times I panic even when I've been working all day without rest. It's usually when I'm working on those big projects or when I'm revising, where I haven't got an immediate goal achieved even though I'm working on it. 

At those times I ask myself - how much time have I spent resting today? Have I been doing what I like, or have I been labouring restlessly the whole day?

If the answer is that I've had rest for 2 hours or less, I just finish off the task I'm doing and give myself a break. Because overworking will get me nowhere, and I better understand that rest is fulfilling too. 

Well! This started off as a rant and ended up as a post about the ways I'm trying to make myself feel better. It's a long process to learn how to take care of myself, and I'm sure I'll get through it one day.

Next time, maybe I'll talk a bit about how I organise my writing so it doesn't trigger my anxiety. 

Hope everything's been well for you, bye! 

[morgan-macguire]

In His Arms

Charles Smith x reader

Summary: Charles confronts the reader after noticing the effect of the camp tensions on her

Warnings: I don’t think any. Talk about stress/overworking, mentions of Dutch going crazy

A/n: takes place in Beaver Hollow 

masterlist

not my gif

Dutch was going crazy. Everyone knew it, but most of the camp just pretended not to see it.

Missions and tasks for the men were seemingly endless. They were barely able to sit down for a smoke before Dutch dragged them into another one of his grand plans that never seemed to work out. Money was tight, and there was never enough food to feed everyone, especially with Micah’s two goons hanging around camp. They were sure to get their bowls first, hogging as much food as they could. Pearson started making separate batches, so the girls could all eat before Micah and his boneheaded posse could take it. The camp morale had been rapidly declining, additionally. It seemed like ever since that job in Saint Denis went sour, everyone was on edge.

You barely slept a wink, working as much as you could for everyone. You weren’t able to safely leave camp for a while, so you decided to put your skills to work elsewhere. You wouldn’t allow yourself to slack off, not in times like this. The camp couldn’t afford to loose another pair of hands, Grimshaw made sure to remind you of that. ‘Dutch needs everyone to help if we ever want to get out of here’

She had too much faith in that man. You had started to see through Dutch’s facade. A few months ago, you would have followed him to the edge of the earth, but not anymore. He was leading you all into the ground.

Dutch had sent Javier and Bill out to do God knows what, and the two of them barely escaped with their lives. They were lucky to come back with only a few nasty scrapes and bruises, one wrong move and they’d both have been six feet under. Javier had torn his shirt in the process of escaping, and you found it in a heap of laundry. Naturally, you took it upon yourself to fix it for him.

The hole wasn’t too large, it was an easy fix. At least, it should have been. It shouldn’t have taken you as long as it did, but nothing ever really works out like it’s supposed to these days. You had no idea how late it was, most of the camp had already retired for the night. You brought yourself out to the small fire in the middle of the camp for some warm peace and quiet while you worked.

You had to go back and restitch the hole a few times due to improper stitching. You couldn’t seem to focus on patching the hole, resulting in frequent mistakes. Additionally, your fingers were littered with minor stab wounds from the sharp needle. Abigail had your thimble. Jack accidentally misplaced hers, and she needed to borrow yours for a short while, so you had no protection from the pointy needle. Exhaustion plagued your body, and your eyes seemed to take the hardest hit from it. They lost focus every so often, resulting in you poking yourself. Your head throbbed, and your fingers were sore, but you refused to stop. You kept telling yourself you’d take a short nap later to catch up on the many hours of sleep you’d lost, but you never got around to that. There was just too much to do around camp, there was no time to-

“Maybe you should take a break.”

You were ripped away from your thoughts by an abrupt presence behind you. You flinched, losing the needle, and spinning around accusingly to see who had startled you. With a glare fixed on your face and your fists clenched in anger, you were fixing to chew this person out. You were starting to think that you’d never get around to finishing patching the hole. Not with the constant interruptions and distracts that came at you. You planned to give whoever had disturbed you a piece of your mind, but you never got around to that either. Charles took a step back, carefully holding his hands up, “It’s just me.”

When your brain finally registered that it was Charles, you let yourself relax. You shoved a tired smile at him, moving to find the lost needle with a heavy sigh.

Charles reached to stop you by grabbing your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

You nodded silently, scanning the ground. Charles didn’t believe you, though. You unsuccessfully continued your search, doing your best to ignore his eyes boring into your head. After a few moments of watching you look, Charles bent down to grab the dirt covered needle and handed it to you. You muttered out a tired thanks and went to wipe it off.

“I haven’t seen you take a real break in weeks.”

“I’m fine, Charles.” You insisted. You tried to keep your focus on threading the needle.

“You were polishing guns earlier, and then doing laundry, now you’re sewing. It’s late.” He sighed as you struggled with the thread. The two items were taken from your hands in one swift movement. He threaded the needle for you, handing it back silently.

“Just trying to keep busy.” You forced a laugh, trying to escape his concerned gaze. He only shook his head disapprovingly, stepping closer to you.

“You need to rest, my love.” The fire beside you subsided, receding underneath the logs and dimming his face.

“I know. I just, can’t.”

He studied your features as you twirled the needle in your fingers. “Why not?”

It was a simple question. It should have been easy to answer. It shouldn’t have brought prickly tears to your eyes, but it did.

Charles immediately frowned, sitting you down. He waited patiently for you to be ready to speak.

“I feel so useless if I’m not working.”

“Why would you think that?” His hand came to rest on your thigh, silently bringing comfort to you.

“I can’t go out there and defend us like you do, Charles. I can’t hunt without Murfree’s trying to scalp me, or leave the camp without Dutch getting on my back questioning my loyalty. I can’t make any money, or do anything to really help. The only thing I can do is work here.” You dropped your head into your hands, nearly shaking in frustration and exhaustion as you got more and more worked up. “And the camp can’t seem to catch a break. We solve one problem and three more show up. We’ve got Pinkertons breathing down our necks and Dutch is scaring me.”

Charles’ heart ached. He hated to see you upset, and wished he would have confronted you sooner.

“Oh, my love,” Charles began, “we’ve gotten out of some rough patches before, we can do it again. You do more than enough for these people. You work hard every day, we all see it. You don’t have to work yourself to death for the camp.”

“But Dutch says-“

“To hell with what Dutch says!” Charles snapped, glaring at Van Der Linde’s tent, “He only cares about himself these days. He’s lost all the sense in him.”

You leaned into Charles, not knowing how to respond. He took note, and changed the topic.

“When was the last time you got any sleep?” He moved his hand to your lower back, rubbing circles into your skin.

Your silence was enough. He visibly frowned, gently taking your hand in his.

“Charles, I-“

He shushed you before you could start, pulling the both of you up from the tree trunk.

“You need rest.”

“But Javier-“

“It’ll be here in the morning. Until then, you need some sleep. It’s okay.”

Something about his voice settled your thoughts. His tone was just so.. convincing. Without further protest, you allowed him to lead you away from the dying campfire.

He brought you to your shared tent and instructed you to lay down. He pulled your boots off for you, before laying a blanket across your body.

Charles sat down at the foot of your cot, bringing one hand up to lovingly rub your leg.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, not wanting to leave you alone.

You went to shake your head no, but a slight pang in your heart halted you. You didn’t want to ask him, really. You didn’t want to stop him from getting what he wanted to do done, but you knew you couldn’t rest without him next to you. The worst thing he could say was no, right?

“Could you hold me?”

“Of course.” Charles didn’t even hesitate. He pulled his shoes off and crawled onto the cot behind you before you even had time to ask if he was sure it would be okay. As he settled into the cot on his back, you took the chance to throw an arm around him and to rest your head against his chest. His arms came to snake around your middle, pulling you close.

“Thank you, Charles.” You curled up against him, breathing into his chest.

“Of course, my love.”

The two of you laid there for a while in silence, neither of you able to fall asleep. Charles attempted to soothe your anxiety by rubbing small patterns into your skin with his thumb, but something pricked at the back of your mind, distracting you from the drowsiness.

“Charles?” You spoke, barely audible. For a moment, you hoped he didn’t hear you. You regret calling his name, disturbing his peace. If he didn’t hear you, it would have been fine. You could just pretend you didn’t say anything and never ask the one question that had plagued your mind for weeks.

But Charles was Charles, and of course, he heard.

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you really think we’re gonna be okay?”

Charles thought for a moment, before looking down at your head. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your hair, squeezing you ever so slightly. He was sure of his answer, he knew that. The gang be damned, he’d make sure you were okay. He’d fight until his last breath to make sure you were safe, wherever the two of you ended up.

“Yeah, we will be.”

The confidence in his answer brought you some comfort. If Charles wasn’t worried, then it would be okay.

With the direction the gang had been spiraling in, you knew that wasn’t necessarily true. The day was coming where everything would fall to pieces, and the Van Der Linde gang would be no more, but Charles was a good man. He spoke so confidently, so sure of his words, that you could believe him. Sleep no longer shied away from you after that. You felt safe in his arms. Nothing could touch you. Not Dutch, not the Pinkertons, no one. Charles kept you safe and sane. The fate of the gang would be revealed soon, but just for the moment, just for a little while, just in his arms, you could pretend it would be okay in the end.