#anyway i feel raw and DO expect this energy to continue into tomorrow for speak now tv <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[crimewrought]

yeah that was the best gig i’ve ever been to in my life

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter five: swallow the sun

a/n: Sorry about this one, just know I feel fairly guilty and also there will be some happiness somewhere down the line. Just not here. Warnings: substance use, abuse & violence, vomit, suicidal thoughts…no, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Too deep in it to turn back now. ~5.5k

The first thing Aaron noticed was how very dry his mouth was. He tried to swallow but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. With significant determination, he lifted his hand, heavy and prickling as if the blood had pooled, to scratch the tip of his nose. He sighed at the immediate relief it brought. On their own accord, his fingers moved to address another itch, this one on the side of his neck. He hummed at the sensation brought on by the feeling of his fingernails dragging against his skin. Never before had scratching an itch felt so good, he was sure of it. He heard a voice mutter beside him. Turning his head, he saw Cole stretched out on the bed next to him.

“Hmm?” He hadn’t understood the muffled syllables.

“I said stop that,” he said, waving his hand in Aaron’s direction, like he wanted to grab him but couldn’t quite reach.

Only half listening, his attention caught up elsewhere, Aaron wasn’t sure what he meant and didn’t much care either. He moved his hand down to scratch at his shoulder, drawn by the bit of skin exposed by his shirt collar. Cole finally managed to make contact, shoving Aaron’s shoulder, knocking his hand away.

“You’re just going to make it worse,” he explained, words slow and thick.

Grudgingly Aaron dropped his hand to his side, but his fingers continued to twitch. His mind felt cloudy and he tried to remember what he had been doing. How long had he been laying here? He pushed himself up into a sitting position. His head swam and a wave of nausea washed over him. He closed his eyes, leaning with palms pressed against his knees, trying to gather his thoughts. Inhaling slowly through his nose, all he could think about was the damp mildew smell of the garage, of how much he disliked it and the way it felt like mold was trying to colonize his airways.

“What time is it?”

“Fuck if I know,” Cole replied with a laugh.

Aaron rubbed his face, he needed to get home. Home seemed so far away but he needed to make it back before his father got up for work. He gritted his teeth and tried to push himself up off the mattress. Cole’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrist, holding him in place. He looked down at it, the edges of his skin whitening beneath the pressure. His heart beat faster.

“I have to go,” he tried to say, but his voice wasn’t cooperating. The words came out wispy and thin.

Cole smiled, eyes still closed. “Happy birthday, Aaron.”

Aaron blushed, opening his mouth, but failing to make any sound. Cole let go, stretching both arms above his head, humming with contentment. Aaron’s arm tingled where Cole had gripped it, his skin resuming its normal color as the blood rushed back into place.

“Now get out of here.”

Aaron nodded, still unable to speak. There was far too much happening around him, between the lights and the smell and the touch lingering on his arm, still confused about what had happened but clinging to the peace he had felt. He didn’t have time to process what he was feeling, his only focus was the need to get home. He managed to stand up, his legs unsteady as he stumbled to the door, pulling it up only enough to fit under. Before ducking down, he looked back at Cole, still sprawled out on the bed. Thank you, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if the words actually came out.

The walk home was difficult, stumbling into lamp posts and tripping over uneven sidewalk in the freezing midnight air. Eventually he made it, up the stairs and into his room without incident. He undressed, shedding his clothes directly onto the floor. A problem for tomorrow. With his last reserve of energy he climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin, teeth chattering as he shivered, sweat beading at his temples. He curled onto his side and wrapped his hand around his wrist, holding it where Cole had grabbed him, pulling it against his chest as he closed his eyes and tried to remember every detail of how it had felt. He rubbed his face against his pillow, squeezing his wrist tighter. He fell asleep like that, holding his own hand, pretending it was someone else.

~

The sun filtering in through his window forced Aaron awake. His head was throbbing and he felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. Groaning, he rolled over to block out the light. He could hear Sean’s little footsteps running down the hallway, nearing his door. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, hoping it would be enough to get Sean to leave him alone. The door creaked as it opened slightly.

“Aaron?” his brother stage whispered.

Aaron didn’t move though anxiety spiked through his chest.

“Mom says it’s time for you to get up.”

Aaron felt bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Aaron?” A little louder this time, his shrill child’s voice piercing through Aaron’s skull. “Mom says—” He was startled when Aaron suddenly jumped up, pushing past him as he raced for the bathroom.

He barely fumbled the lock into place behind him before falling on his knees and throwing up into the toilet. He felt a strange surge of contentment as it happened, relief as the limited contents of his stomach left his body. He leaned back against the cool porcelain of the tub, forehead flushed with sweat. It felt like he had a fever but also like his skin was buzzing pleasantly. Outside, Sean was banging on the bathroom door.

“Aaron?” he sounded on the verge of tears.

“I’m fine, Sean.” His ragged voice contradicted the assurance, throat raw from dehydration and sickness. He heard a sniffle and sighed. “I’m just going to take a shower, I’ll be down soon.” He felt out of breath, so many words taking a toll. He leaned his head between his knees, another wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. There were some unintelligible sounds from the other side of the door and then, further away, Sean calling for their mother as he ran downstairs.

Aaron reached behind himself, fumbling for the taps, knowing that he needed to get moving. There was no way his mother would let him stay home, he’d learned that well enough. Plus he didn’t want to answer any questions, didn’t feel up to enduring her accusatory looks. She knew enough about what her son was getting into to be suspicious of any sudden illness. She would never say anything to him directly, but she knew how to make him uncomfortable, how to let him know his behavior was unwelcome. Besides, if he went to school he could see Cole, the only person he really wanted to see anyway. He had questions, very important questions.

When the water was hot, he climbed in, his whole body shivering its confusion at the conflicting temperatures. His skin felt chilled while his insides burned, the headache had worked its way from the back to the front of his skull. He braced his hand against the tiled wall and turned his face into the spray. Eyes closed, he could almost feel the bliss of the night before, when everything around him faded away and he was left with a rush of warmth and the softness of oblivion holding him. He’d give anything to have that feeling again.

Aaron didn’t even make it through second period, by nine a.m. his anxiety had built to an intolerable degree. He needed to talk to Cole. His heart, its rhythm fluctuating wildly from racing to non-existence, felt like it was going to burst any moment. He lurched out of his seat and towards the door, a half formed excuse about needing the restroom barely leaving his lips. The teacher snorted, watching him leave, then returned to her lesson, not giving a second thought to it. He wasn’t her problem, let the truancy officers deal with that one.

He found Cole smoking behind the portables, just as he had the first time months ago. Cole didn’t look any worse for wear, certainly not sick in the way Aaron was. When he gave him that same infuriating smile, as if he knew something, some secret that he wasn’t sharing, Aaron felt a surge of resentment. It overwhelmed his usual hesitation, his deference to the older boy. He was always waiting on a signal from him, waiting for an invitation. This time he grabbed Cole’s arm and dragged him away from the group. Cole laughed, shaking him off but reaching a hand out to steady him at the same time. Aaron’s balance hadn’t quite returned.

“What’s up kid?” he asked, letting go once it seemed like he wouldn’t fall over.

Aaron gave him a dark look. “What did you give me last night? Was that…what was that?”

“What do you think?” Cole raised an eyebrow, daring him to say it.

Aaron grimaced. “Heroin?”

“Bingo.”

“Isn’t that—should we be doing that?”

Cole shrugged. “Well, did you like it?”

Hesitantly, Aaron nodded.

“Want to do it again?”

Aaron’s breath caught at the intense rush of desire, the absolute certainty that he wanted to do it again. Would do anything to make that to happen.

“Yes, please,” his voice cracked, hating the way it felt like he was begging.

~

They fell into an uneasy routine. Cole insisted he could only get high like that once a week, though he complained about being treated like a child. After seeing how sick it made him, he agreed it made the most sense to keep it to the weekends, when Aaron could disappear for a couple days without anyone calling to say he was missing school and his father was generally too inebriated to note whether he came home or not. He spent the whole week anxiously thinking about it, blowing through packs of cigarettes and joint after joint, trying to manage the rising anticipation of the high that was coming. The gnawing expectation of returning to that place, where no one and nothing mattered, where he didn’t exist.

He refused to admit to himself that the high was always a little bit disappointing. The rush was there, the relief after days of waiting, of unconsciously picking at scabs until they bled, of being too anxious to eat. He was losing weight but no one noticed, he was never that solid to begin with. But beyond that, he was always left craving more. Maybe if he just did a little more he could find what he was looking for. He started to bug Cole about adding another day, dipping into the supply twice a week. He didn’t know where Cole was buying the drugs so he couldn’t get them on his own, otherwise he would have. He might have been nervous about it at first but he was invested now. Nothing he’d tried before had given him that same sense of relief.

Cole snapped at him after he’d asked one time too many. He threatened to take it away entirely, telling Aaron he was too attached, that he needed to calm down. Aaron felt like he’d been stung, retreating into himself, refusing speak to Cole for several days. Not until Friday rolled around again at least, then he was back, as eager as ever, ready to say whatever he needed to convince Cole to share that way out with him again.

Alongside his increasingly frequent clashes with Cole, things were getting tenser at home. School had been calling relentlessly, asking why he was missing so much class. Every time he came home he was met with yelled accusations, with blows that did nothing to change his behavior. He started coming home later and later, hoping to avoid his father entirely. It worked for awhile, sneaking into the house well after dark, sleeping in his closet so it wasn’t obvious he’d come home. It worked so well in fact that he thought he’d solved the problem and he got careless with his precautions.

It was a night when he came back earlier than usual, having argued with Cole again about something trivial that was really an argument about drugs. He wasn’t thinking straight, still caught up in his irritation that Cole wouldn’t take him seriously, wouldn’t trust that he knew his own limits. He was climbing the stairs, too stoned and angry to be cautious. A large hand wrapped around his neck just as he reached the top of the stairs. He looked up startled, red eyes blearily taking in the form of his father. His nerves were too dulled to panic. In fact, this moment made a lot of sense to him. It was the obvious outcome if he had cared to look ahead at all. He coughed as the hand tightened, cutting into his airway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his father asked.

Aaron tried to shake his head, grabbing at the fingers holding him in place, trying to pry them off.

“Did you know the cops came looking for you today?” He sounded almost conversational, the faint scent of bourbon the only detail giving away his insobriety.

Aaron had a hard time understanding what he was talking about, too focused on getting air into his lungs.

“And do you know what they said to me, when I told them I didn’t know where my delinquent son was?” His grip tightened, rendering Aaron’s struggles useless as he tried and failed to twist away. “They said without a properly excused reason for absence, they would hold me, me, responsible if you didn’t start attending school regularly.”

He laughed and the sound was cold and terrifying. He leaned in close to Aaron’s face. “Let’s give you a reason to miss school, shall we?”

He released his grip, tossing Aaron backwards as he did so. His eyes were emotionless as he watched his son crash down the wooden staircase. Only a slight hint of disgust was visible as he brushed his hand off on his pant leg. The sound brought his mother flying out of her bedroom, looking over the railing, horrified at the unnatural shape Aaron’s body was now making.

He was dazed but not unconscious, staring at the ceiling once again. How many times had he been in this position? He couldn’t even feel his body, didn’t register any pain. When his mother came down the stairs, anxiously tapping his cheek to try to get him to focus on her, his eyes slid away from her face, looking at the ring on her finger, the thing that tied her to this monster pretending to be human. He felt his own fingers, no ring there, no reason to stay. Distantly he heard crying and wondered why anyone would cry over him.

Sean had also been woken up by the noise. The little boy tried to come to Aaron’s side, but his mother waved him back, still looking at Aaron with concern. He hadn’t moved but that was mostly because he didn’t want to, not because he couldn’t. She didn’t know that. He realized it was Sean crying. This stirred an emotion somewhere deep inside his chest. Perhaps that was why he kept coming home—he loved Sean. Or he had. He didn’t feel much anymore except a desire to get high and an annoyance when he wasn’t. It was better that way. Other emotions were painful, only reminded him what a failure he was, how much he lacked. Sean was far better off without him, it was best to let him realize these things now. Still, he could hear fear in Sean’s sobs and he didn’t need to be that cause of that. There were enough other reason for him to be afraid within these walls.

Feeling guilty he tried to move, tried to rearrange himself into a less horrifying position. His ribs screamed at him as he unfolded his legs, untwisted his body. He swore, the sudden pain almost whiting out his vision. Sean whimpered.

“‘m okay,” he tried to reassure the little boy but he looked far from it. His mother, still hovering nearby, tried to help him up but only made him cry out as her hand put pressure against his side. She nervously looked up at her husband, still watching this scene from the top of the stairs, dispassionate and unimpressed.

“We have to take him to the hospital,” she pleaded.

Aaron felt like he was going to be sick, the pain, once he became aware of it, was building. A pressure in his head made him certain he would throw up if the lights got any brighter so he squeezed his eyes closed.

“Do whatever you want, he’s not my problem.” His father turned away, slamming the door to the bedroom. The sound made everyone flinch.

“Can you get up?” his mother asked. Aaron inhaled deeply and instantly regretted it, the expansion of his lungs making his ribs creak. Instead of wasting air on an answer, he pushed off the bottom stair slowly, using the banister to pull himself upright. He was hunched over, unable to completely straighten out, panting in much shallower breaths.

“Okay, okay, let me just get my keys,” she brushed her fingers through his hair lightly. He only turned his face away from her, focusing all his energy on not falling down. He didn’t think he’d be able to get up a second time.

“Sean, go back to bed,” she directed. Sean whined, wanting to come along, to make sure his brother was going to be okay. But she wasn’t listening, she was already moving around the house, getting a coat and shoes, finding her purse. He came down the remaining steps to where Aaron was standing and leaned against his thigh.

Aaron gritted his teeth. “Don’t—just listen to mom, buddy. We’ll be back soon. Just go back to bed.”

Sean grabbed the fabric of his pants, shaking his head and rubbing his runny nose into Aaron’s leg in the process.

“Please, Sean,” Aaron whispered, trying to hold his temper but every movement was painful, was asking too much of ability to remain balanced on two feet. “I promise I’m ok, it was just an accident.”

Sean looked up at him, suspicious but also young enough to want to believe. He’d been told repeatedly since he could understand: always tell the truth. There was no reason to think adults played by different rules. Aaron tried to smile, unsure how successful he was.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, mostly for his own benefit.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” Sean asked.

Aaron rolled his eyes, wanting to say no but not wanting to extend the discussion further. “Sure, get it warm for me okay?”

Sean nodded reluctantly and turned, cautiously making his way up the stairs, never letting go of the railing, as if he too might find himself crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. As if it had really been an accident that they were all equally in danger of experiencing.

~

Once his mother had explained to the nurses how he had crashed his bike riding home in the dark, and he had numbly nodded along with the story, there was a flurry of activity around him. The doctor shined a sickeningly bright light into his pupils, palpated the sore places on his side, had him demonstrate that all his major joints were operational. They wrapped his broken ribs tightly and gave him an ice pack to hold against his throbbing temple. If anyone noticed the lack of abrasions consistent with road rash no one mentioned it. He was wearing long sleeves after all. The doctor talked to him sternly about the importance of wearing a helmet and told him how lucky he was to have only sustained such relatively minor injuries.

Aaron wasn’t listening, was just doing his best not to stare at the bottle in the doctor’s hand. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the label so he stared down at his hands instead, fingers twisting together nervously. He could only read half the words printed there, the other half obscured by the doctors age-spotted hand, but he was fairly certain he knew what it was. He tried to listen enough to nod when it was appropriate, mumbling an apology and promising to make better choices in the future.

“Now, you’re going to be in a bit of pain for the next couple weeks so I’m giving you a prescription for oxycodone. Have you ever taken that before?”

Aaron bit his lip and shook his head slightly, wincing as he felt his brain slosh from side to side. “No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s pretty strong stuff so make sure you follow the instructions. Don’t take more than it says or you’ll find yourself feeling pretty sick; okay, son?”

Aaron fought the urge to say something rude, annoyed by the way the doctor was addressing him. He needed that bottle of pills though, this was no time to start picking fights. “Yessir,” he mumbled.

“Good boy,” the doctor patted his knee and looked over at his mother who was anxiously watching from a chair by the door. “You’ve got a very polite kid here Mrs. Hotchner, you must be raising him right.”

Aaron’s eyes were fixed on the bottle still in the doctor’s hand. He thought it would probably be a mistake to reach out and grab it but he was growing impatient. He could only sustain the model son act for so long, especially after the last few hours. He dropped his eyes when the doctor turned back to him.

“Here why don’t you take one of these now, it’ll help with the trip home no doubt.” He popped the cap off and grabbed Aaron’s hand, shaking one out into his palm while calling to a nurse to bring a cup of water.

Aaron stared at the pill, feeling excitement racing through his veins, finally he’d have control over his high. His hand shook a little and the doctor misread what he was seeing.

“Don’t worry, it will probably just make you a little sleepy. Nothing to be concerned about.” He held out a cup of water. Aaron popped the pill into his mouth before accepting, washing it down and feeling smug satisfaction wash through him as well. The doctor traded the cup for the bottle of pills and patted his knee again before leaving, wishing his mother a pleasant evening. When he was gone, Aaron and his mother’s eyes met. He could see she was hesitant about the pills and he wrapped his hand around the bottle tighter. No one was going to take this from him, he’d earned it as far as he was concerned.

She sighed, unwilling to argue about it right then. “Let’s go home, Aaron.”

He slid off the table to follow her, his steps only slightly faltering, buoyed by the key he now held.  

~

It didn’t take long for Cole to find out about the pills. After Aaron didn’t show up at school for several days and, more alarmingly, didn’t turn up on Friday, he went to the Hotchner house looking for him. Though he knew where Aaron lived, he had never been there. No one was out front and he knew better than to ring the doorbell. Instead, he walked around the side and found him behind the house, stretched out on a bench, one arm dangling in the grass, the other covering his eyes.

“What the fuck?”

Aaron looked at him sleepily. “Huh?”

“Where have you been Hotchner?”

Aaron shrugged, sitting up warily. “I fell down.” He didn’t elaborate.

Cole snorted. “What are you even talking about?”

Aaron rubbed his nose, alleviating the ever-present itch on the tip of it.

“Do you know what day it is?”

All he got in response was a blank stare.

“Are you fucking high?” Cole sounded shocked, like he couldn’t believe Aaron would be capable of such a thing on his own. This needled Aaron’s pride, deeply annoyed by this persistent belief that he’d had no experience on his own, like he hadn’t figured things out for years without any help from Cole or anyone else. It was like Cole believed he was some innocent and, worse, he preferred Aaron in that role. Never questioning, always being led into things, as if he couldn’t make his own decisions. As if it wasn’t, in reality, Aaron seeking him out.

“What if I am?” he spat back. Cole had moved right in front of him so he stood up, disappointed that he was still several inches shorter.

“Are you stealing from me?” Cole’s voice was icy and sent an unwelcome flash of fear through Aaron. He tried to pretend it didn’t affect him, putting on a show of disinterest.

“Why would I? I don’t need your shit.”

“Liar,” Cole countered. “Where did you get it then?”

Aaron sank down on the bench again, he was too high to fight. He had been having a pleasant afternoon, everyone gone, just him and his pills and the sky. “The doctor,” he muttered, pulling the bottle from his pocket without thinking, “I cracked a couple ribs.”

Cole stared at him for a second, understanding passing between them, before snatching the bottle from Aaron.

“Hey!” He jumped up, furious. “Give that back.”

“What? I share with you all the time and you were just going to keep this to yourself? How’s that fair?”

Aaron faltered, caught by the logic of the argument, maybe he should have thought to share but the idea had never even crossed his mind. Still, they were his, he could do what he wanted, he was the one in pain after all. He tried a different tactic. “Please, I need them. It’s…it really does hurt.” He didn’t like to admit it, it made the high less enjoyable, tied it too closely to the nightmare in his home.

Cole’s eyes sparkled, he could tell he had the upper hand again, was back in the position he preferred. Irritated, Aaron tried to grab the bottle back but Cole was too fast, lifting his arm out of Aaron’s reach.

“Uh-uh, I think you need to learn a lesson about sharing.”

“Cole,” Aaron warned. This wasn’t a game to him. He could feel rage beginning to boil inside him.

Unaware, Cole laughed at him. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Furious and unthinking, Aaron shoved him hard with both hands, knocking him backwards. He tripped and landed on his back, the bottle slipping out of his hand as he tried to catch himself. Aaron breathed hard, the muscles in his side had pulled painfully at his broken ribs and the pain was making him see stars. Before he could recover, Cole was back on his feet and approaching him.

“They’re mine,” he said, as if that explained everything, as if that would fix the anger that had clouded Cole’s face. He took a couple steps back but he didn’t move fast enough. Cole swung his fist and it connected with Aaron’s jaw with a loud crack. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself before he took another hit. His cheekbone burned with the impact, his ears were full of the brittle sound of his struggling lungs. His knees folded under him and he found himself on all fours in the dirt. He wheezed, trying to breathe around the pain in his ribs. Just out of reach he saw the prescription bottle and moved just enough to grab it. As soon as it was in his hand he scrambled to his feet, half bent over, free hand wrapped around his ribs. Cole watched him, anger fading but still not pleased with what he was seeing. Aaron probed his face, exploring the way his lip was swelling, the trace of blood running down his chin. He looked at Cole, betrayed.

“Fuck you,” he whispered, before turning and walking away, praying he wouldn’t be followed.  

He didn’t know where he was going at first but found himself back at an old hiding place by the river. The tree with the tall roots that had cradled him so often when he would sneak away to make himself sick off his father’s alcohol. He sank down and, against his own wishes, cried. He hated himself more with every tear. He should never have trusted Cole in the first place. This situation was his own fault. How could he have believed someone cared about him? That someone wanted to spend time with him because they liked him as a person, not just a thing to get something from, a thing to be pushed around when he wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Now that thin illusion was broken and he had nothing left. He’d let this friendship, this experiment overtake everything else in his life. He’d pushed away what little he’d had to focus his energy on holding on to this, wrapping himself up in the high. The drug high, sure, but more than that, the high of attention and believing someone else understood him. But it had never been real and he should have known that.

He considered the bottle of painkillers, an idea floating up, whispering sweetly, promising a solution to the mistakes he’d let himself make. A way to erase the sting of realizing he was not and would never be anyone worth caring for. That would be the ultimate trick, one that no one would anticipate before it was too late. Carefully he poured out a handful. Took one. Took another. And another. He put a fourth one in his mouth but found he couldn’t make it go down. He held it there, tasting the bitterness as it began to dissolve. A wave of regret forced him to spit the pill out into his hand. Maybe today wasn’t the day, maybe he would just enjoy the high for now. He could always make that decision later, he had the means available. He leaned back and let the effect of the pills he’d swallowed pull him away from himself. Within moments he fell asleep, bottle clutched in one hand, the sticky pill, coated in dirt, in the other.

He was shaken awake roughly, someone calling his name. Trying to ignore it, he squeezed his eyes tightly, not wanting to wake up, to come up from the dark waters he’d been pleasantly floating in. Fingers snapped close to his ear and he flinched. Reluctantly he slit his eyes open. Cole was there.

“Leave me alone.” He tried to roll over, away from him. Cole pulled him back roughly.

“How many did you take Aaron?”

“What do you care?” His words were slurred, tongue lazy.

“Of course I fucking care,” Cole sounded exasperated and, though Aaron wasn’t sure he was interpreting the emotion correctly, worried. Finally he opened his eyes all the way to glare at the other boy, sullen. He licked his lips where he could still taste blood. Cole reached to touch his face and Aaron recoiled hard, hitting his head on the tree trunk. He yelped, the pain ricocheting through his skull. Cole’s hand still hung in the air between them. He looked disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low.

Surprised, Aaron looked at him again. This time he remained still, let Cole touch his face, touch the bruises, run his finger over the dried blood in the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to.”

They were very close now, so close Aaron could feel Cole’s exhale as he spoke travel across his cheeks. He held his breath and clenched his fists, crushing the partially dissolved pill still in his palm. Vaguely he noticed his other hand was empty. Just as he was about to look for the bottle, eyes darting to the ground, he felt Cole’s lips, pressed against his mouth. Shocked, he tried to make sense of everything, of how close he was, of the warmth, of the way the pressure caused the edges of his teeth to cut into his skin.

Cole pulled back, seeming to be as surprised as Aaron felt. They were frozen, tension holding them in place. Before he could form a complete thought about it, Aaron grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back, crashing against each other. The tension shattered into an angry, clumsy struggle, all teeth and crushed noses. Cole was pulled off balance and knelt, one hand braced on the tree above Aaron’s head, one hand around the back of his neck. Aaron’s hands, gritty with dirt, wrapped in his shirt, holding on desperately, afraid Cole would leave the moment he let go. The kissing was rough and it made the bruise on his jaw ache, his broken ribs burn, but he needed this. Far more than he wanted to admit, he needed someone else’s touch to prove he was wanted, that he belonged. And for that kind of reassurance, he’d accept any touch at all.

chapter six

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

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Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

[tsukuna]

Assistant to the Chancellor

Summary: “An outsider with no reason to be given the hefty task of dealing with the Gralean Empire’s flamboyant chancellor has ended up with just that. She’s willing to put up with all the antics, but is there ulterior motives for her obedience that none are privy to? And can they compete with the grim secrets of Chancellor Izunia himself?”

No True Rating Yet • Female Reader • Before the Events of XV • Under the Cut

A couple weeks had passed since you had begun working for Chancellor Izunia and you found yourself growing more comfortable with his flamboyant personality. If nothing else, you could tolerate it. There were even moments where you found yourself giggling at his little antics, to which he’d react with a self-satisfied smirk. You were grateful that these flirty gestures and comments were at least coming from an attractive man, not someone slimy and entirely not your type (which you weren’t quite sure what would even constitute as “your type”). You shuddered to imagine Besithia acting as Ardyn does.

It had taken a couple days and evenings, but you finally finished the paperwork--sifting through what you’d bring to his attention, throwing whatever out, putting official seals on anything that required it. All simple things, but it seemed far too much for someone who didn’t even appear to take the politics seriously. Though who were you to judge when you hardly took the work seriously yourself?

A sigh passed your lips, knowing that it would already be dark outside and thus you would need to go sleep soon after. You placed a soft knock on the Chancellor’s office door.

“Come in, love,” he invited with a sing-song voice.

“Ardyn,” you gave a short bow, “everything you need is ready for you.” You explained the gist of what you completed, hoping it’d make his busy work easier.

“Thank you. You continue to impress me everyday,” he said your name with a warm expression.

“That’s the goal, right?” You offered up the same energy. “I know it’s a bit late, and I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer, but is there anything else you’d like from me before I take my leave?”

Ardyn closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, obviously considering your request. “Dinner!”

“Eh?” There was no chance of you holding back the shock on your face.

“Your boss is requesting that you share dinner with him,” he chirped. All you could do was blink at him for a few moments.

“I actually had some leftovers I have to finish so they don’t, uh, go bad,” you made an excuse.

“Hm, quite a predicament we find ourselves in,” Ardyn stated, scratching his stubble. “How about this then!” He excitedly put a finger up as if having an ‘Aha!’ moment. “Tomorrow is our day off, yes?” You slowly nodded your head with a quirked eyebrow. “Then we will go out for dinner, a nice dinner tomorrow night!”

“I…” You had no excuses to deny the Chancellor this time, and his satisfied expression indicated he was well aware. “If you truly wish to share a meal with your humble assistant tomorrow night, I shall accept.”

A sly smile graced Ardyn’s lips, “Wonderful, I haven’t had anything to look forward to in quite some time. We can meet here in the evening.” He laughed before waving you away, “That’ll be all for today, my dear. See you tomorrow,” he winked.

You bowed before bidding him goodnight and rushing to your room. Non-work related conversations with the man always left your brain feeling drained as you tried to ascertain what motivations he had under that carefree facade. You crashed unceremoniously onto your bed, not bothering to eat anything, though you technically did have leftovers that were going to spoil.

What were you to wear tomorrow? What conversation points did you have to discuss? Where were you even going to eat? Such questions eventually lulled you into a sleep.

Though not a very satisfying one. You woke up in the late afternoon to a mess of rat’s nest of hair and dried drool caked to one side of your mouth. ‘Maybe I should show up like this,’ you snorted but your better judgement told you to clean up. It wouldn’t be any good to lose your current position, it’s already difficult to get the information you’re looking for as is. You slinked off to the showers, making sure the temperature was as hot as your skin could take before stepping in. The shower routine you had wasn’t too long, yet you still sat there in contemplation long after you were done.

Travels all around Eos led you to no further information on what you were seeking--information about the lost and long-forgotten Astral you heard stories of as a child; stories that were deeply rooted in your existence. Eventually, the only place you hadn’t checked was Niflheim. And so here you sat, in the last place you could hope to check.

Your skin was raw from the hot water by the time you finally exited, but hey, at least you were clean now; however the clock was ticking against you, you slept in far too late and showered far too long. “Ah shit,” scolding yourself, you quickly got to work on finishing up your appearance.

It was nothing special, frankly speaking. You didn’t want to look like you tried too hard for your kinda-but-not-really dinner date with your superior. Donned in a black, sleeved, and laced dress accented with gold, you accessorized only with your pendant. The only styling your hair received was a decent blow drying. Nodding as you checked the mirror last time, you headed towards the office, but not to work this time.

Truthfully, you expected the Chancellor to be late like he often is at work, so your heart skipped a beat to see him waiting. “Apologies for making you wait for me,” you bowed once you finally reached him.

Taking you by the chin, Ardyn lifted your head up and gave one of the signature smiles, “Not a problem. I would be happy to wait a thousand years for a beauty such as yourself,” he kissed the back of your hand with a wink. Though it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to say, there was something about it that felt chilling. “I see you’re as lovely as ever,” he offered as a compliment.

“I see you’re looking… the same as ever,” you quirked a brow. He wore his typical dark, layered outfit, though you were a bit relieved to see that he ditched the fedora for the night. ‘I quite prefer his wine-red hair uncovered,’ you admitted to yourself.

“Apologies,” he chuckled, “Believe it or not, I don’t own very many outfits.” Seeing how eccentric Ardyn was, you did believe him and nodded as confirmation. “Well then,” he said your name in a rather sultry way that made you blush, “shall we get going?” The chancellor offered his arm to you, which you timidly took.

The two of you shortly arrived at a low-lit, rather intimate restaurant. It was intimidating to an extent, you’d never bothered to go somewhere nice. Your life had been about eating quickly, eating cheap, and only eating when necessary. “I don’t know if I belong at a nice place like this,” you remarked with a laugh as the two of you were seated.

“Nonsense, it is my duty to treat my ever faithful assistant to something out of the norm,” Ardyn gestured around the room.

“Treating?” You opened your eyes wide. “That won’t be necessary. I can pay for it. Though I appreciate the thought,” you put on a smile.

“Absolutely not! I am the one who invited you after all.”

“Well then next time I have to pay!” You quickly smacked your hand over your mouth, realizing what you said and the implications of it.

“You are one of the most entertaining humans I have ever met,” Ardyn stifled a laugh. “But fine, if you are to ask me out, I will allow you to pay.”

“Ever the gentleman.”

The chatter the two of you kept over dinner was rather innocent and not professional, but not overly colloquial either. There were, however, multiple incidences of him reaching over the small table to get touches of your hand in. To be honest, you weren’t too shocked at the gesture, but it did garner a bit of surprise out of you when he instead clutched your pendant between his fingers.

“Such an interesting little thing,” the Chancellor pointed out. “Such an interesting little gem.” He examined the green crystal, the designs within, and the metal twining with fervor. “You wear it daily.”

You nodded. “It is very special to me, it is all I have of my parents,” a soft smile came to your face. “It was actually an anniversary gift to my mother, but after their death, it ended up in my hands.” You paused before continuing, “It is the only earthly possession I truly care for--my most precious treasure.”

“To care for something is quite a gift,” Ardyn spoke absentmindedly almost as if you weren’t there, but you hummed affirmatively anyways. The waiter brought the check, breaking the man out of what appeared to be deep thought. It was a fast transaction, and finally, the night was winding down to an end.

Ever the chivalrous man, Ardyn walked you to your living spaces. “Thank you for tonight,” you bowed deeply. “It was an honor to spend alone time with the Chancellor,”  the pleasantries slipped from your lips. It was a shock to find his fingers flicking your forehead, and you recoiled at the slight sensation.

“I thought I told you long ago not to act so, hmm, how to say… kiss-assy with me just cause you work for me,” the man rarely swore so you couldn’t fight the full smile and laugh that was drawn from you. He seemed pleased to have garnered such a reaction. “Sorry,” you managed to get out after another laugh.

“Well, dearest, it appears the night out is over. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.” You nodded in agreement. “I shall see you once the work week begins,” the ever cheeky Ardyn leaned down to give a kiss to your forehead where he had previously flicked it before quickly turning and waving goodbye.

As you tried to sleep, your face heated every time you thought of the peck. You were aware that the majority of his flatteries were empty, but it still gave you butterflies. You had never let anyone share contact like that with you after all. A deep sigh rose out of you, you had to brush off all the strange feelings before work began as usual; however, you didn’t know if Ardyn would ever let you do so. The man certainly knew how to press buttons you didn’t know existed.

‘What a pain.’

[kbandtrash]

Surrounded (Mafia Crossover AU)(Part 8)

~Megan~

Masterlist

Day6/N.Flying/The Rose/Like any other kband honestly x Reader

Warnings: Violence, self-harm

Word Count: 2.1k

Part 1

“Y/N! Y/N!”

Sungjin barged into your room. There you were, lying on the bed. You didn't seem to be conscious. He rushed up to you. 

“Y/N?”

You didn't wake. He shook you a little, careful not to hurt you. The result was your eyes opening slowly. When you saw Sungjin, you flinched. 

“Don't hurt me, please!” you begged. “I didn't mean to…”

“I know. Woosung has done things like this before.”

You covered your face with your hands and he saw your body start to shake. “And I've done just as bad things…”

“You don't… know that. You've got your own mind today. When you did those things, you were being controlled.”

You peeked at him from behind your fingers. “Sungjin… why did they hate you in the first place?”

“Well… you know how most Mafias are related, like family?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Day6 isn't related. We were created by JYP, our boss, to oppose some other Mafia causing chaos. Ever since then, we've mostly been here to get rid of rogue Mafias like The Rose.”

“Why are they rogue?”

Sungjin sighed. “Y/N, there are some things I can tell you. Other things, other people can.” He paused. “I'm giving you an assignment, alright?”

You bit your lip, scratching at your arms. Sungjin gripped your hands tightly, stopping you from furthering your self-harm. You took in a shaky breath. 

“It's not scary. I want you to interview the Mafia members you meet, any of them. Find out as much as you can about all this stupid Mafia stuff.”

You furrowed your brows, suddenly confused. “Oh… okay?”

He chuckled, helping you off the bed. “I propose you start with Day6. Since I'm here, why not begin here?”

You warily nodded. “Uh, then… Sungjin, why is it called Day6 if you only have five members?” You already knew half of this, of course, but you needed to know more. 

He cringed and looked down. Then he was saved from the question when his phone rang in his pocket. He scrunched his face apologetically and answered the call, going out into the hall. You didn't expect him to come back, so you headed to the bathroom. 

To your delight, a set of new clothes sat on a stool inside, next to a shower. You didn't realize how gross you felt until you smelled the fresh and clean flowery smell—almost like roses.

You happily leapt into the shower and scrubbed yourself raw, making sure to avoid worsening your injuries. The joy you got from simply washing your hair was unreal. You felt like singing, but unfortunately you didn't know any songs. 

You stepped out feeling refreshed. Pulling on your clothes left you in awe—you had on something you hadn't thought you would look so good in. You wore a white shirt with the thin golden outline of a 6, a black leather jacket just long enough to reach your waist, and black slightly-ripped jeans. 

“Wow,” you said to yourself, quietly admiring the sight in the mirror. You left your dress on the bathroom floor. When you opened the door to your bedroom, you spotted a dirty-blonde man you recognized from being part of NFlying. 

He smiled. “Hi, Y/N. I'm Hun.”

His smile seemed pretty genuine, but he looked as if he were afraid of you. You didn’t blame him, and wanted him to feel safe around you, so you returned a shy grin. Hopefully you didn’t look creepy, like Woosung. “Nice to meet you, I guess. What’re you doing here?”

He was by your bed, leaning against it. He shrugged. “Sungjin told me about your little ‘mission’ thing. I’m here to answer the questions I can.”

“Do you not know everything about N.Flying, or are you only supposed to talk about some things?”

“I’m only allowed to speak of a few things with you, and then I can take you to the other members. I think the next person on the agenda is Jaehyun. He can tell you more than I can, but he also can’t tell you everything.” Hun noticed that you had stayed by the bathroom door, so he gestured for you to come closer. 

You walked hesitantly over to him and took a seat on the edge of your bed. Hun twisted around from where he was standing so he could still see you. “I guess I’ll ask a question…”

“Yep.”

“Is Seunghyub the leader of N.Flying?”

“Yes. Actually, when we operated in Japan, I was the leader. When we came to Korea, that role switched to Seunghyub.”

“Why?”

“He was originally a very important person here, and I wasn’t confident enough to continue leading here, so I stepped down from my position to let him lead. He had more experience here.”

“What do you mean he was important?” you asked, shifting on the bed, trying to find a comfortable sitting position. You decided to stand, because you weren’t going to sit on the floor in front of Hun. He would most likely get angry at you for doing so.

“He is an actual descendant of the original Jopok boss,” he said simply, lacing his fingers together and fidgeting quietly. “He was raised to be the leader of his own family Mafia, but he was recruited into this team instead.”

“Oh. So, what does N.Flying do? I mean, now, since you have to stay at JYP.”

“Well,” he began, licking his lips, “N.Flying has a long history. If you want to know anything about what we did before, I think Jaehyun can tell you. But now… I guess our role is simply working with DAY6, mostly. We don’t have a lot of the things we used to have before, and we don’t own this place, so we aren’t authorized to do much activity. A lot of the time, we just do what we’re told.”

You nodded and scrunched your eyebrows. “So I know that Dowoon is an assassin for DAY6. Who is your assassin?”

Hun seemed a little surprised with the sudden topic change, but he went along with it. “Hweseung. Have you met him?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, thinking hard. “You should just tell me about all of your members, so I don’t have to ask a million times.”

Hun’s eyes lit up as he smiled. “Well, there’s our leader, Seunghyub.”

“I’ve met him.”

“Oh? What’d you think of him?”

You looked at Hun sideways, and then sat back on the bed because your legs were getting tired. “What do you want me to say? He was nice? That would be kind of weird, since this is the Mafia and all.”

Hun nodded sheepishly. “You’re right. But was he at least handsome? I heard that an important part of being a Mafia boss is looking good.”

That brought a grin to your face, and you giggled a little. “I guess he was. But, to be fair, all of the boys I’ve met so far have been really attractive. Anyway, please continue.”

“Jaehyun is apparently more attractive than Seunghyub, according to some recruits.” He returned the smile and nudged you softly. “But… does ‘the boys’ include me?”

“I suppose you’re kinda cute.”

His smile dropped into a frown. “I am not cute. Tell that to Jaehyun. So!” He cleared his throat to change the topic. “After Seunghyub, by order of importance, there’s Hweseung, who I already told you is our assassin and spy. He’s outstanding at his job, by the way. Next comes Jaehyun, the trainer. He can also go on missions, but he isn’t the go-to assassin. You’ve probably met him before.”

“I have.”

“Then there is Dongsung. He’s a guard, and is also a mission-worthy person, because of his fighting skills. But because he’s kind of new, he has a lower role than he might have. He operates in the dungeons most of the time. Jaehyun likes to make fun of him for being down there.”

“I’ve never met Dongsung, either, even though I’ve spent five years in the dungeon.”

“Be glad he never had a post outside of your cell. He’s really talkative and would annoy the heck out of you.” He let a laugh come out, and then coughed awkwardly. “Um, then there’s K- uh, me. The doctor. Don’t underestimate me, because I can still fight. I just prefer to pick up after the fight.”

“Hm. Okay.”

“Yeah. That’s N.Flying, for the most part. Anything else you want to ask me before we should probably sleep?”

“Sleep?”

“Yeah, it’s almost…” he paused to look at the blue and white watch on his wrist, “eleven at night. You need your rest, and you should start getting used to an actual bed.”

“You heard?”

He nodded. “Young K tells me a lot. We aren’t super close, but he likes to keep me updated on everything.” He sighed. “I’m a little forgotten. He’s the only one who says much to me other than Jaehyun.”

“You seem to talk about Jaehyun a lot.”

Hun nodded. “He’s my best friend!”

You suddenly felt sad -- a pit in your stomach grew. “I bet it’s great, having friends.”

Hun felt the energy in you disappear and he cocked his head, looking at you sadly. “You can’t expect to have best friends on your first day out of a dungeon. Especially after your multiple relapses.”

“I wish I didn’t have such an awful past. It’s unfair that I can’t be trusted just because of this stupid relapse business.”

Hun sighed and began to step toward the door. “I can’t trust you, but I hope you’ll trust me. I’ll be your friend.”

You perked up. “Really?”

“Yep. Now get some sleep, and don’t be on the floor.”

You sighed, already dreading going to sleep. You didn’t think you could sleep in that bed at all. “Okay…”

He exited, closing the door quietly behind him. You sat quietly in silence, not wanting to lay down. After a minute or two, a knock came at the door.

You jumped up, running to answer the door. There you saw two short women, one around your age, and the other a few years older. You were surprised to see people here other than the many men you had been surrounded by since being brought out of your cell.

“Hello!” the younger one said, smiling.

You blinked, still taking it in. “Hi.”

“I’m Eun-mi,” she continued, pushing her way past you to enter your room. “And this is my older sister, Eun-chae. We’re maids here at the DAY6 mansion.”

“Um, nice to meet you, then.”

Eun-mi twirled her long brown hair and smiled. Eun-chae pushed a set of clothes into your arms. She had short black hair that was slightly wavy. Her nervous smile flashed for a moment.

“Well, those are your pajamas, miss. We’ll come by tomorrow to get you set up in here, and we’ll give you more things,” Eun-mi said politely.

You didn’t really want them to speak so politely, because you hoped to become more acquainted with them; after all, they were the first girls you had seen. “How old are you, Eun-mi?”

“Huh? Me?” She looked shy suddenly and bowed her head. “Don’t ask me not to use honorifics, miss. I am your maid.”

You crossed your arms, suddenly more sure of yourself because of her submittance. “You two are the only girls I’ve met, and I don’t wish to have maids. I would much rather have friends. So please, don’t bother with being polite.”

She blinked, and then smiled. “Alright, I’d gladly be your friend. Right, unni?” she checked, turning to Eun-chae.

“Alright,” the older girl said quietly.

“Now,” Eun-mi started, “Put on the night clothes and go to bed. Good night!”

The two nodded and exited, smiles on their faces now. You felt better knowing that you had two new acquaintances that seemed easier to get along with than the boys. The men were part of the Mafia, so they wouldn’t be the best to simply hang out with. 

You walked to the bathroom to change and did so, finding things to brush your teeth and hair with along the way. You were ready to sleep, now, but you weren’t ready at all to climb into bed. Sighing, you pulled back the covers and tucked yourself in, thinking hard about anything other than how uncomfortable you were. 

Somehow, you fell asleep.

Part 9

[deoxygenated]

had a dream that it was like a family holiday

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we were setting up the night before in this huge fucked up house

like it was a modern building but it had like royal apartments where a whole family could live. i specifically remember the huge but fluffy dark wood bed in the grandparents room and the colorful small ones in the kids room. the ceiling covered in colorful draped fabrics. i pointed up stating i wanted that.

despite the people i meet later these apartments were empty but given to the musician who was touring them to me.

theres a disjointed dream continuance and i steal a bun meant for tomorrow. i dash through the living area with the bag and then through the apartment when i toured then downstairs into annother living area. tucked the bag against the wall. my uncle looked on trying to spot the thief and i hid while plotting how to move around him bc he was standing sentinel near my favourite area.

i figure out some way to go around him. It turns to night and my buns are safe. The rest of my family has been preparing food for tomorrow and we are gathering to sleep. two rooms, people have brought their own sleeping things like pillows. i even had my mattress. so we'd all lay across the floor.

something happened and i went outside for a bit to find everything fine but my mattress has been swapped with a shorter one. i am incandesently furious about this bit try to sit on it anyways. not only is it too short its too fluffy and i slide right over. i storm past my cousins and head outside.

summer afternoon sunlight beams over the pool in my childhood backyard. the its bedtime inside and this afternoon time make sense in dream logic. i test the waters expecting it to be chilly but its perfectly mildly warm. i can get a little hit of real warmth if i swim in a sunbeam.

i swim until like 5am when i complain its noon. my cousin tells me everybody didnt wake up at the same time.

it transistions into another dream.

we are taking some sort of class and my sibling is there. the teacher is like grade is 90% the research and 90% the powerpoint. i get singled out to do the powerpoint and i agree but only if we work with a good team. we spend a bit discussing this and then end up at some sort of competition?

its in a large metal area and theres been many rounds so far but the last one is driving a racecar in a very specific way through many traps. we were arguing earlier about (practicing for this?? maybe??) a remote control car being able to do stunts?

anyways my sibling chose to drive and gets in the racecar. some indescribable zooming bullshit happens and at one point theyre outta the car ansld abt to hit water. i somehow float over and take their two prized possessions so they can continue w/o them being damaged- their cellphone and a rock with raw emerald and sapphire inside.

we complete the car arena battle?

another dream.

groups of people traveling. trying to break into a park. i but not i watch as some dude drop his bike to the road, messes with a black cable keeping a gate inside the park shut. he ends up breaking the metal cable, rolls up the thing into a cartoonish ball, picks up his bike with a sense of victory and goes inside.

my thoughts are like good for him. that metal cable will be very useful.

i but not i continue past this. at some point i encounter 2 girls with luggage. i befriend them and convince them to let me help carry things. they give me 2 identical wheeled suitcases and i cheerfully follow them.

we get to a bus stop. the area is deserty and abandonded but the bus stop seems to be established in a freeway underpass? theres a road between the two halves of the stop with water running across the crosswalk like its normal. i lose the two here and dont see what bus they take.

i almost take the right bus to my home but i come across people i somehow know are going in the same direction of those girls.

i convince them to let me follow as i have to return the suitcases before i can go home. i use the straps to put one on my back, but the chest strap gets stuck by my chin and i feel very very short. i pout about this.

we walk away from the buses and toward a road going further in the desert. theres a nerdy kid obsessed with peaches(i just know) telling facts to us and pointing out fossils. the fossils in particular are like flagstones but with rounded shapes on them.

its explained theyre ancient and lived in the sea here but waking/dream logic tells me theyre the squid kids from splatoon in squid form fossils. but i but not i doesnt know this, only i the observer does.

the people in front of the group are talking about an issue with evil energies. the one concerned is dressed in whites and greys and has spiked back white hair. he wears a sword and shield on the back of his coat and has the sleeves rolled up to show his buff arms.

the girl speaking to him is wearing tones of black and berry, cheerfully saying shes excellent at controlling evil energies so there is no worry!

we are hiking through the desert alongside a road. the area is vast and dusty. cliffs are in the distance. we all know its a long road but arent worried.

my baby sibling opens my door and i am knocked out of the dream cycle.

[scriptura-adrepticius]

Energetic - Justin Huang

ksjdhgjksdg i really like songfics but i’m bad at writing them i hope this was okay???

Pairing: Justin Huang x OC/reader

Series: Types of People

sunrise boy and blazer girl

credits to @wildeflower and @schrodingersjellicle

Genre: fluff, songfic, party!au i guess??? idk

Triggers: mentions of drinking, nothing underage or really bad tho

Word Count: 3.6k

Justin is your energy, and you are his.

Masterlist | Types of People

justin is a b a b y whAT IS THIS

Your lips and my lips

I can feel it more and more, the hot air in this place

Shivers travel all over my body

Now we’re gonna start our story.

 The lights are dim, it smells like alcohol, and the sounds of drunk laughter and loud music blare in his ears.

Justin smiles.

This is when he feels alive.

The music pumps through his veins as he laughs and shouts with his friends, not touching the alcohol but watching other people get drunk. It’s mean, perhaps, but it’s a source of entertainment.

And Justin loves entertainment.

He’s looking around, laughing at something Zeren just said, when he sees you.

Your hair floats around your face, your head thrown back in a loud laugh that reaches Justin’s ears even across the noisy room. Your eyes are closed, a smile on your face, and though your movements are wild, they are controlled.

You don’t seem drunk, which makes Justin curious. He doesn’t drink- he mostly comes to parties to hang out and dance. But it’s rare that he sees someone who seems to be the same way.

Justin watches, eyes fixed on you, ignoring his friends. It feels like the world is in slow motion when you open your eyes, looking around, and finally rest your gaze on him.

The smile you toss isn’t flirty or suggestive. Rather, it’s fun and confident with just a touch of shyness, and before Justin knows it, he’s walking over to you.

Up close, you’re even more beautiful than he thought. His gaze strays to your lips, and a shiver runs up his spine.

“Hey,” he says, smirking slightly. “I’m Justin.”

Undaunted, you return the smirk, eyes flashing. “I’m Yanghui.”

“Yanghui,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Justin expects you to turn away, to cringe, to glare like everyone else does, but instead, you toss your head back and laugh, a loud and cheerful sound that has his heart pounding.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Justin,” you reply, eyes teasing. “I know a few people who could give you a run for your money.”

“Is that a challenge?” Justin raises an eyebrow.

You raise your own. “Only if you want it to be.”

The party is still going on, the music shaking the floor, drunken shouts filling the room, but even with all the noise, Justin can only focus on you.

“And if I do?” he asks, wetting his lips slightly. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flit over the slight movement. 

A slow, amused smile spreads across your face and you tap on your phone, pulling up your contacts app. You hold the device out to him.

“Then,” you laugh, “let’s see where the world takes us.”

 I don’t know why, without knowing

I’m falling for you

Breathtakingly, baby

I don’t know why

This moment right now

I can’t stop this feeling no no no no

 You’re not quite sure what possessed you to hand this new boy, Justin, your phone. You’re not quite sure what possessed you to get his number. You’re not quite sure where this is going to take you.

But what you are sure of is that Justin is breathtaking, that he is interesting, and that he leaves you wanting more, more, more.

More.

He taps in his number, the bright light illuminating his handsome features. And then he hands the phone back, smiling, before tossing you his.

You raise an eyebrow, holding it up. “You sure?” you ask one more time.

Justin smirks. “Yup.”

You laugh, tapping in your number. “I hope so.”

You save your contact, snapping a quick photo for your profile picture, before handing the phone back to Justin. And though you try to avoid touching him, your fingers brush his ever so slightly as he takes the device, and a tingle travels up your arm.

Heat snakes up your cheeks, and you will yourself to hold down the blush. “See you around, Justin,” you say, patting his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

 Make me feel so high

I’m going crazy, I can’t stop

You make me feel so high

I’m so crazy, the moment you look at me

I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control yeah

I’m feelin’ so energetic

 It’s one in the morning. Any reasonable minor wouldn’t be out right now, which is why, despite his whining, Justin is being dragged home by Zhengting. He shuts up after a few minutes, though, walking briskly next to his elder friend.

Zhengting looks at Justin, confused as to why the boy isn’t pestering him like no tomorrow right now. He notes the faraway look in Justin’s eyes, the slight smile that plays at his lips.

Zhengting doesn’t know it, but Justin’s thinking about you.

He’s thinking about how your eyes flash with confidence, how your body moves with the beat of the music, how you throw your head back to laugh loudly. He’s thinking about how your fingers touched when you handed back his phone, how he gets lost in your gaze, how his heart jumped when you patted his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Justin is enamored by the way you move, the way you speak, the way you just have this raw energy that gets everyone around you fired up in excitement.

You made Justin feel alive. You’re crazy, you’re wild, and yet you’re restrained just enough that you aren’t indecent.

Your voice rings through his ears.

“Then let’s see where the world takes us.”

Justin’s heart pounds, thinking of those words, thinking of the glint in your eyes when you spoke them. Any other person might have called you a flirt, but somehow, Justin doesn’t think so.

You’re not a flirt, you’re just… you. Friendly. Outgoing. Teasing. Energetic.

At least that’s as much as Justin gathered in the short time he spoke with you.

Zhengting raises an eyebrow when Justin doesn’t respond to his questioning looks.

“He’s gone crazy,” he mutters.

And honestly, Justin agrees.

 Until the moment my heart stops

I’ll protect you, I won’t go away

This isn’t just a momentary promise

Now tell me baby

You tell me how to feel

 You’re at another party, sitting at the bar. The bartender prepares a mixture of water in its solid and liquid forms for you with a relieved smile, stating that he’s glad someone’s taking care of themselves.

You shrug, taking a sip. “First off, I’m underage. I’m just the designated driver.” The bartender - Ruibin - looks at the large X on your hand before nodding. “Ah.”

“Also, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like the headache that came with being drunk,” you add. “I’d rather just have fun, then go home alert.”

“You seem sensible,” Ruibin says, smiling. “Keep your wits about you.”

Drunk customers come up to the bar and Ruibin hurries away to serve them, leaving you to sip at your water in peace. The atmosphere is energetic, and you nod your head with the beat as the music travels through your veins.

If only Justin were here, but he said he couldn’t make it today. You’d have someone to talk to. But no matter.

A smile spreads across your face. You feel good.

That is, you feel good until someone stumbles onto the stool next to you.

You glance over, disinterested, faced with a really, really drunk-looking guy who’s staring at you with a bit too much enthusiasm for your liking.

Immediately, warning bells go off in your head and you lean away, hands curling protectively around your cup.

“Hey,” he says drunkenly.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously.

“You’re pretty.”

“… Thanks?”

He just stares at you for a few long seconds, making you very uncomfortable. You kind of want to toss your water into his face.

“Want to go home with me?”

If there was a facial expression that equated to absolute disgust, that would accurately describe your face currently. You shake your head vehemently. “No!”

“Why not?” He leans closer and you nearly fall off the bar stool trying to get away. “You’d have a good time.”

“Didn’t she say she’s not interested?”

Surprise hits you, then relief, and you hop off the stool to stand next to Justin. His hand encircles your wrist protectively, glaring at the guy. “Leave her alone.”

Said guy scoffs. “You’d choose this scrawny rat over me?”

“Scrawny rat?!” Justin looks ready to fight.

You shoot him a warning look. “Yeah, I would,” you say to the guy before dragging Justin out of the bar.

“I thought you said you couldn’t make it today?” you ask once you’re outside, the fresh night air hitting your cheeks.

“My appointment got cancelled, so I figured I’d come.” Justin shrugs.

You smile. “Thank god you did, or I don’t know how that -” you jerk your head to the bar - “would have escalated.”

Justin just kind looks down, embarrassed. Your smile grows wider, and your heart thumps.

It’s cute seeing the flirty boy getting embarrassed.

“Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit,” you say impulsively, tugging on his arm.

“Aren’t you the designated driver for your friends though?” Justin asks, looking down at your hand.

“We can just walk around,” you say. “They won’t be out for another hour at least.”

With that, Justin agrees, and you walk with him in the cool night air.

 Uh 1 2 3 and 4, don’t like those other guys next to you

Who am I? A killer who only protects you

Just like that, I kill it, yeah

 “You should be more careful,” Justin admonishes. “Who knows what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there?”

“I would’ve disappeared - I’m good at that -” you retort, “or I would’ve called the bartender over. He was a nice guy.”

Justin’s eye twitches.

Nice guy.

“And anyway,” you continue, unaware of Justin’s jealousy, “you’re starting to sound like Zhengting.” You make a face.

Despite his prior feelings, Justin can’t help but laugh. “He’s finally rubbing off on you,” you say in mock disgust. “My god.”

You look over at Justin, who’s still not completely adept at hiding his feelings. “Jealous?” you tease, smirking.

Justin chokes on air. “Jealous? What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “As if.”

Yeah, he’s jealous. But he’d rather die than admit it.

Your raised eyebrow tells him you see through his weak deceptions, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Okay, so what if I was?” he asks childishly. “I’d rather keep you to myself.”

You throw your head back and laugh, the sound echoing in the dark streets. Justin loves it. “There’s no need to be jealous, Justin,” you say. “I wouldn’t go with any other guy except you.”

“Not even Zhengting? Or Chengcheng?” he teases.

“Zhengting? Are you crazy?” You snort in disbelief. “He’d probably make me wear ten jackets if we went out together. He’d nag me the whole way there, wherever we were going. And Chengcheng would eat all my food.”

“I eat all your food,” Justin points out.

“No need to remind me,” you grumble. “But you eat less than Chengcheng, so it’s a little more okay.”

See, it’s moments like this where Justin looks at you in your natural, confident glory and wonders just why you ended up being friends with him. He’s blessed, truly, though he’d probably never actually say that to your face.

“Something on my face?” Your voice brings Justin out of his daze, reminding him that he’s been staring at you for at least a minute straight.

Great, Yanjun’s rubbing off on me.

“Just your beauty,” he teases.

Justin wants to believe that’s a blush on your face when you laugh and hit him, but it’s too dark for him to actually tell.

Still, he can hope.

 I’ll hold you in my arms and be on alert

But throw your worries to the basement

Whatever we do, we are one now

That word will linger around our ears

 You hug yourself, trying to replicate the feeling of Justin’s arms wrapped snugly around you.

You fail.

A sigh escapes your lips and you fall backwards onto your bed. “Why?” you whisper.

Why do you feel this way when Justin isn’t around?

Why do you feel so happy when Justin is around?

Oh, right, it’s because you like him so much you want to spend your every waking moment with him.

“Fuck,” you complain to the dark room. You have no worries about anyone hearing you, because your parents aren’t home and won’t be until next week.

Workaholics.

You roll over, wrapping the blankets around you until you’re huddled into a tight burrito. “I wish he was here,” you murmur.

When Justin’s around, you feel free. Your worries seem to fade from existence. You can laugh, you can cry, you can be you.

But when you’re in this house…

You sigh again. Perhaps it’s bad of you to say this, but you really, really dislike your parents. You could probably say you hate them.

“Always making me shut up in their presence because they’re so tired…” you mutter. “But why are they tired? Always fucking working.”

They never have time for you. And it’s not even that you’re poor. You’re rather well off.

They’re just married to their fucking jobs.

You snort. “A polyamorous relationship between my parents and their jobs.”

Your phone buzzes with a text.

From: Huang Minghao

You up?

You smile, sitting up.

To: Huang Minghao

Yeah. Anything wrong?

From: Huang Minghao

No. Just figured you couldn’t sleep again.

“Boyfriend material,” you laugh.

What, are you supposed to be ashamed to admit it? You definitely wish Justin was your boyfriend. Despite only having known him for half a year, you can confidently say you are head over heels for this boy.

But though you’re not afraid to admit it to yourself… well, admitting it to Justin is something completely different.

You’re confident. Or at least you act like it. But like everyone else, you’ve got a lot of hidden insecurities that aren’t letting you confess just yet.

Honestly, you’d probably end up being one of those girls who confesses their love when they’re drunk. Or when their tongue is loose from lack of sleep or something. You snort.

Then something hits your window. You whip your head around, squinting in the darkness before flipping on a lamp. Another clack sounds, and you look outside.

Your jaw drops.

 Make me feel so high

I’m going crazy, I can’t stop

You make me feel so high

I’m so crazy, the moment you look at me

I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control yeah

I’m feelin’ so energetic

 Within minutes, you’re dressed and outside the house, berating the boy for being so conspicuous while he just grins and holds you close. Eventually you run out of breath, choosing to simply lean into his side.

“Why did you come?” you ask.

“I was attracted to you,” he replies cheekily. “We’re like opposite poles. I couldn’t stay away.”

You snicker, slapping his arm. There’s a little silence.

“So what do we do now?” Justin finally asks.

You scowl. “Shouldn’t you answer that question? You’re the one that came here.”

“I didn’t really think this part through,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. You roll your eyes and shake your head, half-laughing. “We could go up to the rooftop?”

“Sounds good.” Justin grins, his smile brighter than the moonlight. “Lead the way.”

 I’m feelin’ good

I wanna touch

This unstoppable feeling is like freedom

I’m feelin’ good

I wanna touch baby

Hurry and come to me tonight yeah

 It’s a clear night, with few clouds obscuring the moon and the stars. You spread a blanket and sit down, patting the area next to you.

Justin slides an arm around your waist and leans his head on your shoulder as he sits. “Are your parents still not home?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, a cynical smirk twisting your lips. “Won’t be until next week.”

Justin’s heart feels for you. He’s not too good with words, so his grip on your waist just tightens a little to remind you he’s there. You smile a little more genuinely, and he feels a little more at ease.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “I don’t care about them.”

“That’s a good mindset to have.” Justin nods approvingly.

“Not caring about my parents?” You raise your eyebrows. “A lot of people would disagree.”

“Well, I’m not a lot of people,” he shoots back, pushing your head. “And you know what I mean. It’s a good mindset to not care about those who don’t care about you.”

You nod. Then there’s a short silence.

“Enough deep shit,” Justin finally says, tugging out his phone. “Let’s dance.”

“On a rooftop?”

Justin nods.

“At night?”

“It’s technically morning.”

“Fine. In the dark?”

He nods again.

A smirk spreads across your face. “I like the way you think, Justin.”

 Alright

Uh huh, work your body

Come it’s time to have fun, let’s dance

Even if your nice shoes get dirty

Move it, quickly, hurry up

 Justin’s phone isn’t the loudest source of music, but you don’t mind. In contrast to all those parties you’ve been to where the music is so loud you can feel the ground trembling, this is much more intimate. You like it.

You and Justin move your bodies weirdly, slipping over the roof tiles in the dark, falling into the blanket, laughing with abandon as the hours pass. It’s so stupid, the way you two are ‘dancing,’ but that just makes everything better. Sweat sticks your hair to your face and your shoes get dirty from the grime of the dirty roof, but it’s all okay. You’re having fun. Despite it being late at night when you should be sleeping, Justin energizes you, makes you able to laugh, able to dance to just one more song.

Too soon, the sky is gray and the first light of dawn is peeking over the horizon. A slower ballad is playing on Justin’s phone, and you sway around with him, your hands on his shoulders, his hands on your waist.

You’re in a sort of sleepy stupor due to the slow music and the fact that you haven’t slept all night. Your tongue is loose, so you don’t realize the magnitude of your words (at first) when you ask, “Justin, do you care about me?”

Almost immediately you’re alert.

Fuck. 

You knew it. You are one of those girls who confess things when your tongue is loose. You kind of want to tip yourself off of the roof.

There’s a silence in which you feel waves of shock radiating off of Justin and waves of embarrassment radiating off of you. “Forget I said anything,” you mumble, trying to pull away. Justin doesn’t let you, though.

“W-why did you ask that?” Justin asks just a little too loudly.

Your mind goes into overdrive. Does his loud voice mean he’s not interested? Or is he just surprised? Fuck, you really shouldn’t have said anything.

“Just, uh…” You stumble on your words, unsure what to say. “I… um… you told me I shouldn’t care about people who don’t care about me.”

Justin nods slowly. You continue.

“But I care about you a little too much.” You swallow hard. “So… tell me now. Do you care for me in the way I care for you? So I don’t have to stay in the dark.”

Silence.

You bite your lip. “I get it if you don’t,” you whisper. “It’s okay-”

“Hey, let me talk first, okay?” Justin’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “First, where did the confident Yanghui I knew go? Smile for me.”

You do your best to lift the corners of your mouth into a slight smile.

“That’s better.” Justin coughs, a tint of red covering his cheeks. “If the way you care for me is in the… romantic sense, then I care for you in the same way.”

You can hardly believe you’re hearing him say this. “Really?” you whisper. Your heart feels like it’s going to thud out of your chest.

“Really,” Justin confirms.

 (You make me feel so high)

Ask questions later

So other guys can’t look at you

(I can’t stop)

So anyone can see that we make it so cool

Let’s start now, you know I mean

 As the gray light of dawn turns into a rosy pink, Justin pulls you down on the blanket again, allowing you to snuggle into his side. You drift in and out of sleep, lulled by the way his thumb rubs circles at your waist, the way he plays softly with your hair.

He looks at you, blushing and smiling. Thank god you can’t see him right now, or you’d tease him forever.

How could he not care for you? With the way you pull him in, the way you energize him? It feels as though you’re his life source, and though he knows he’s young, he doesn’t think he’d mind being with you forever.

“Let’s go inside,” you whisper, eyes still closed.

Justin’s forehead creases. “Is anyone going to be upset that I’m there?”

You open your eyes slightly, looking up at him. “Hell no. My parents aren’t home, and the only other person home is our hired help who keeps telling me I need more friends. She’ll be ecstatic to see you.”

Justin laughs. Only you could still manage to be this snappy when you’re tired.

“Alright then,” he says, pulling you up. He wads the blanket under his arm, whirling you around to face him. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” you murmur, looking up. “Look.” You point at the pink sky. “It’s so pretty!”

Not as pretty as you. The pickup line runs through Justin’s mind, but he refrains from saying it so as not to ruin the scene in front of him.

And you look so beautiful, standing against the rose-streaked backdrop of the horizon, that Justin can’t help but pull you in for a kiss.

 I’m so attracted, pull me more, baby

I’m feelin’ so energetic

Tonight, just us two, out of control, yeah

[beyondconfessor]

Visceral

[5/20]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: Sara Lance/Alex Danvers

Summary: Alex feels like a blank slate, and then the anger begins to build.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Alex awoke, feeling like she was underwater. She could hear voices, but they were distorted, as if sounding from far away. It was the red light of the monitor she saw first as she uncrossed her arms, pulling her hand away from her head. The headache had returned, coming to a mild throb she could deal with.

“Agent Danvers?” J’onn said, and all the voices were loud and clear again, like her head had broken the surface.

Alex turned and faced him. Had she fallen asleep for a moment?

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. Alex flicked her fingers a quiet gesture meant to carry that everything was fine, even as the disembodied voice calling her name rang through her ears. It had known her by name. What the hell had that been?

“We can talk about the recruits later.”

The recruits. She blinked and shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she answered. “What did you want to say.”

“Just that your recruits showed well. I was particularly impressed by Felipe Ramiez.”

Alex nodded, she had been too. He’d always been quiet in training, joking with a few others –– especially Nilo –– but maybe there was something more that she had missed there. “His Aunt nominated him. She works with Lucy Lane.”

“Ah,” J’onn said, summing up his thoughts in that singular sound. It was neither good nor bad the way he said it. But there was a larger depth to it than indifference.

Alex hadn’t met Ramiez’s aunt, but considering that Lucy had personally mentioned Felipe on behalf of her, then she must be a good person. He certainly was. “The others did well. You should be proud,” J’onn said.

Alex couldn’t find the words to respond. She felt as though there was an absence of something in her. Everything felt muted all at once and she didn’t know if she had felt any pride, wasn’t even sure if there was a shred of anger to pick at. It was like that brief moment of falling asleep had rebooted her system, wiping all emotions clear.

“Thanks,” she responded, because it was necessary. And then, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow, then,” J’onn agreed.

Alex turned away from J’onn and watched as everyone began packing up. Ngo stood, his expression the same mixture of disappointment and pride that Alex felt should have reflected on her own face. It didn’t matter, she would find it soon.

“Danvers,” Ngo said, giving her a short nod. He had a silver pen in his hand a series of notes in shorthand from the small notebook he always carried. “Your team did well.”

“As did yours,” she responded out of respect. There was truth to her words. His team had done more than could have ever been expected of her in the same time in training. Perhaps the truth was that they both could only see their own failures.

There was still plenty of time to find out what type of people their recruits were going to be, but Alex knew that the both of them had hoped for better results. No one stood out in any astonishing way, but they had certainly found themselves disappointed.

She drew in a deep breath, feeling a wave of disappointment edge back into her system. It felt cold and sapped at the remainder energy she had for the day. Still, she had to speak to her recruits. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves now that it was done.

Alex made her way down to where her recruits were. The steps down the three floors seemed heavy and loud in her ears, continuing for what felt like two floors more than she remembered. She couldn’t muster up the anger any more for the boost of sudden energy, it was gone. All she felt was tired.

The metal door that lead out of the stairwell creaked, but her team didn’t even look her way, too distracted in their own victories. She’d have to unteach them that.

Once, someone had made a Harry Potter joke out in the hall about her. “You know Alex, Constant vigilance!” It had stung, but if she was been truthful, there was a lot about the character Moody she felt was under appreciated.

The recruits were underneath the spotlights, near where all the vans had been parked, and Alex could see them high-fiveing one another, as they re-told their exploits. Saunders stood apart, deep shame across her face as she watched them with a sense of envy.

Those of the group that had been injured were now fine after being patched by the medics, no worse for wear except maybe for Tahlia, whose eyes were reddened by the tear gas. Nonetheless, she was laughing with the others, a wide grin as she laughed as Kelly re-told a mocking visual tale of what happened to her.

She was going to crush their happiness, Alex realised. But it had to happen.

Alex walked over, boots heavy on the concrete until their heads swivelled around and her recruits shaped up, standing with their back straight, arms behind them in line; they were awaiting her appraisal, Alex realised. Their expression bright with happiness for the most part.

“You’re dismissed,” she told them.

The group looked surprised, and then concerned.

“But ––“ Kelly began.

“Just…” she felt the word spit from her mouth, frustrated at the touch of a raw nerve. The last thing she needed was someone speaking out of turn. “Just go home,” she said. “I’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

Before any of them could say another word, Alex turned away, as she walked back to the building, she heard the low shuffle of confused conversation, the murmuring became short and snappy with resentment or with misplaced optimism that it was all a joke. No doubt, her recruits would stew over it, thinking the worst.

What did it matter? She was their superior, not their friend. That was an easy enough box to close and end any sour feelings that might try to bubble out.

Alex made her way back into the building and upstairs to finish packing up. It was done fast and quick, the volunteers used to packing up gear in a short time. Boxes clicked shut, wires were wound up and everyone moved the cases either into the vans or back into place.

When everything was done, she took a ride with one of the volunteers, back to the DEO and helped them pack all the things into one of the storage rooms for the next training simulation or surveillance mission that required it, each one going into their designated spot, lest Winn got word that they hadn’t followed his precise stickers labelled L.2.3v to signal where each thing belonged.

Just as she was leaving, Winn ducked her head in, probably to ensure no one had messed up his boxes, and then flinched. “Didn’t go well?” he asked.

“It went fine,” Alex said. “They completed the mission in due time. Only four of them were removed by the medics. Would have been better if it’d been none, but a few them aren’t going to finish the program anyway.”

“Alex?”

“What?” she asked, all at once her anger return. Then, drawing in a breath, she pushed her mood back down. “I’m…I’m tired Winn. I’ve been doing this all day. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll go to someone else. It’s fine.”

Alex nodded. She knew she should prod at what Winn really wanted from her, but at this time, she really honestly did not care. She wanted a shower, she wanted a drink. She didn’t want to be at work for a moment longer.

On the way home, she felt the weight of her own failure in her team fall onto her shoulders. She hadn’t trained them enough, hadn’t worked with them enough to inspire team work, loyalty and responsibility. She’d only inspired Saunders to do something stupid. What kind of a trainer was she that she couldn’t get a small group of people to work past their differences and protect each other?

Dammit.

“Alex?”

God, did everyone need to talk to her today? She turned and looked at her neighbour, mustering enough to at least give a polite smile. “Mark, hi.”

“Hey, you’re out late.”

“Work,” she said shortly.

“Oh that…um, science job right?”

“Right,” she said, her teeth snapping over the word despite the smile. But despite the short answer, Mark seemed to linger, fiddling with the watch on his right hand before jiggling the keys he had in his other hand. It didn’t take more than Behavioural Science 101 to read anxious in his movements. “Was there something I could do?” she asked.

“So, the others have been noticing that your bike’s been taking up a car spot. As you know there’s a limit on car spots for residents at the moment…” Alex rolled her eyes as he kept speaking, unable to even be bothered with social etiquette at that point. “Do you mind…parking it somewhere else. It doesn’t really need to be taking up a whole space.”

God she wanted to punch his face. “Where should I park my bike, Mark?” she asked, her voice level and calm. “Because I’m pretty sure we’ve had this discussion before, and that an agreement was made,” her voice was getting louder. “That as part of the agreement for the lease included a fee for a car spot than I should be paying for a whole spot, not sharing some spot so Leon Maloney can park his boyfriend’s car!”

“Alexandra ––“

“The answer’s no,” she said cutting him off, levelling her voice back a normal range that didn’t echo around the concrete building. “You want me to move my bike from the car spot, then turn one of the park spots specifically into motorcycle parking and charge a quarter of the price.”

Motorcycle helmet in hand, Alex left the parking lot and went into the elevator. Her hand trembled as she pressed at the floor. Steading both it and the tightness in her chest, Alex dug at the anger and buried it back down. It wouldn’t do to allow her anger to win over her again, no matter how satisfying it might feel to go back down to the lot and punch Mark’s stupid face. Letting anger get the control over her would mean that the next time she interrogated someone, she might lose leverage for good. It wasn’t good enough.

The doors slid opened and Alex went to her apartment, heading inside as she dropped her bag down from work and took a moment to just stop and stretch at her aching muscles.

She needed to stop thinking about her recruits and yet somehow manage to get a full report done for them within the next week to hand over to J���onn. Just the thought of watching the surveillance cameras again had her skin itching to go and do something else, like a bar. Get into a fight, yell at somebody else.

Instead, she cleaned out her bag, and washed up the few cups she had lying around. Then, she went to the bathroom, stripping off to just bury herself underneath hot water as if she could burn the frustration from her skin. She felt tired, she felt like she could sleep as if there was something just under her skin and trying to get out.

She ate, and then drank a few beers. Only then did the anxiety begin to numb enough that she could sit down and drink a few more beers. East the leftover pizza in her fridge, drink some more and then fall asleep on the her couch, a knitted blanket over her lap as Netflix kept playing some random 90s sitcom before it eventually stopped to ask ‘Are you still there?’

She awoke to the sound of movement.

“Well,” Sara said. “You look worse for wear.” Alex opened her eyes, moving the arm she had thrown over her eyes to find herself staring at the silhouette of Sara, haloed by the cityscape behind her.

It was a strange feeling, as though she was waking up in a hotel room and nothing quite felt right. Tugging at the pyjamas shirt, she sat up and ran a hand through her hair. “What are you doing here?” she asked, groggy from sleep. Or maybe still a little tipsy. The world felt fuzzier than her usual dreams of Sara.

“Well, I don’t know. Usually you come and visit me, but it seems like I’m the one visiting you tonight.”

“Welcome,” she said, feeling the extent of her voice fall flat. “You can wake up if you want now.”

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Alex said, smiling bitterly. “Just…fine.”

“Ahh,” Sara said, nodding. “The famous Danvers ‘fine’. I’ve heard that one before. Last time it was the result of drinking but somehow I don’t get that this is the same situation.”

Alex turned and looked over at the beer bottles. She should feel embarrassed, she knew that, but the annoyance at her recruits rushed back instead and in all honesty, she couldn’t be bothered trying to find some corner of herself that would feel shame at the bottles of beer. After all, it was only four small bottles. And what looked to be a glass of half drunk scotch. Had she had scotch?

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” Sara said. “In fact, I would mind some myself.”

“Well go right ahead. Glasses are in the top cabinet.”

Sara went around the couch, to her kitchen while Alex tried to sit up and let the anger disperse. It didn’t make any sense that she felt so frustrated. Especially at Sara.  Sara had about as much choice in the matter of appearing here as Alex had of her being here. Alex tried to dig at the source of her anger, but fell short as Sara came to sit down beside her, setting two clean glasses on the table before she grabbed at the bottle of scotch.

“You know,” she began as she poured the drinks, “if it wasn’t for Ray cleaning up after us, the Waverider would be a constant mess of dirty dishes and empty bottles of beers. So don’t think I’m judging you on a bad day.”

“I’ve see your room,” Alex said, before taking the offered glass that had decent fill of whiskey. Taking a deeper sip than she should, she swallowed the hard liquor and saiid to her, “You’re spotless.”

“Your apartment is far from dirty. You have a small mess on a single coffee table."

“Sure,” Alex said as she drew another sip of the whiskey.

“Sure? Ouch. Last time I try to apologise jerk.” It was meant as a humours attempt, but it fell flat on Alex, only turning out to rub at her nerves even more.

“That wasn’t even an apology,” she said, “You just poured yourself some of my alcohol and made a comment to the effect that I probably cleaned.”

Sara paused, and then after taking a sip of her drink, gave a sardonic smile and said, “Sorry.” Despite the smile, Alex could see a change her expression, hurt and confusion probably, before it was taken up by the glass.

Alex downed her own drink, pouring another. The alcohol, amazingly, seemed to be having an affect on her so maybe she wasn’t asleep. Maybe this was just some drunken hallucination. Though if it was, it’d be a cause for worry.

“So…you going to talk about it?” Sara asked.

“About what?”

“What’s got you in a mood.”

Alex placed the glass onto the table harder than was needed. “Nothing has me in a mood. I just had a long day at work and I didn’t think I needed to explain that to you.”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“Make it somewhere else.” Alex shook her head. She was not in the mood for it. “Go and wake up, Sara. I’m too tired for this and whatever games you want to play in my head, today.” She caught a glimpse of Sara’s face, reacting as if Alex had punched her in the gut before the dream melted and Alex found herself slipping awake.

Are you still there? Appeared on her screen, waiting for a response. Fumbling for the remote, she shut it off and turned over on the couch, falling back to sleep as she dreamt of somewhere else that was far, far away from Sara Lance.

[regrettablewritings]

Pink (Rafael Barba x Reader)

@ohbelieveyoume This wasn’t the Barba fluff I initially intended on writing … But I thought of this this morning and had to write it! … Even though I wound up doing so in a tired stupor. I think it shows … Either way, I hope I did your favorite color justice! *crosses fingers* @xemopeachx Thanks for checking this out!

Pink: For centuries, it was presented as a rich, raw color, one suited best for boys in its relation to the lively red. At some point in the early to mid-1900s, however, the shift from pink boys and blue girls to blue boys and pink girls happened, and it was socially suggested that pink, now standing for femininity, was a weak, delicate color best reserved for the decidedly more docile sex. Any man who dared to wear pink was either a sissy, or had to be a real, robust and rugged man to be able to pull it off.

While his personality was more sleek than robust and his appearance classy rather than gritty, you had no doubts whatsoever that Rafael was as real of a man as they came. You didn’t need his pink attire and accessories to tell you this, but the way he wore them surely didn’t slow down your belief in this whatsoever.

If you liked pink before, dating and eventually marrying Rafael had made you adore it: It striped some of his shirts and dominated others; it was the color of one of his many suspenders; it speckled quite a few ties in intricate designs, muted in pastel form on his pocket square. A bright, electric hue as his yachting shirt, much to your amusement. It was the color your cheeks would assume every time he complimented you, the color his face would turn whenever you praised your beloved husband for how incredible you found his work ethic. It was the color of the tie you’d picked out for him that morning as he dressed himself up for work, and it was the color of the roses he’d had delivered to your workplace yesterday, which were now placed in a glass vase centered at the kitchen table.

It was also the color of the two lines on the stick you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes.

It was funny, how pink was now commonly associated as being a more gentle, weaker color. Had the result of the test been blue, you would have shrugged it off, carried on with your day. But pink? That was a whole other situation. Pink was a strong color, one with the power to knock you to the floor, where you had been sitting for what seemed like ages, saying absolutely nothing. It winded you.

“… Holy shit.” The whisper, crude as it was, barely registered as a sound, yet it broke the silence of your bathroom like a sledgehammer to glass. Needless to say, a lot of seemingly small things were causing big impacts of sorts today. Starting with the little, jelly bean-sized thing that the test stated was dwelling inside you.

You and Rafael had spoken about the idea of starting a family, of course. It was simply the proper thing to do when intending to stick together for the long run. And while neither party was against the prospect, it wasn’t necessarily something you were actively looking to accomplish: “Que sera sera,” Rafi stated. All you had to do was wait and see what would happen, when it happened.

Well, as signified by the pink of the pregnancy test, it happened. Soon, your cheeks, too, became rosy. Had the people from the apartment building across from yours looked at your dwelling space, they would have been able to observe you performing a rhythmless, aimless dance spanning from the bedroom to the living room.

But how to tell Rafi? you pondered. After your silly little joy dance had inevitably winded you, you decided to replenish your energy with a gracious helping of snacks. Particularly, the ones that Rafael would’ve scolded you for eating rather than a healthy lunch like any regular person would. You reasoned that it was fine for you to eat in such a way, being that you were now carrying for two.

Even more reason for you to eat healthily, Cariño, the Rafael part of your mind chided.

Leave me alone, Rafi, lemme eat my Frosted Flakes in peace, you fussed right back. It was between crunches that you remembered what kind of man you married: Rafael may have been reasonable, but he was also a rather fussy man and one that was a bit hard to impress. He barely cracked a smile even when his toughest cases had breakthroughs for God’s sake! You had no doubts that Rafael would be excited about your little announcement, but you still wanted something impressionable. Something that’d knock the color right into his cheeks the way it knocked you to the floor for nearly twenty whole minutes. You didn’t even want to tempt the subsequent fussing you’d receive if you handed him the pregnancy test – that would only result in 10% excitement and 90% “You-Peed-on-This!”-ment.

You inwardly cursed yourself for marrying such a sophisticated man. If only he weren’t so uppity or with high expectations, maybe –  

“… Wait …”

“They need me in court tomorrow morning,” Rafael sighed, collapsing onto the couch next to you. “But the case is basically open and shut at this point.”

“Mhmm,” you responded, eyes trained on your book. You hadn’t meant to come off as blasé, you really didn’t. Usually, you enjoyed offering an ear for Rafael to speak into. But you weren’t usually pregnant. The thrill and anxiousness of something new would always and forever cause an excitement within you that made everything else seem so … small. It was funny to think that your spouse’s work now seemed smaller compared to something that was only the size of a tiny piece of candy, but that was the truth. A very funny truth that threatened to be prematurely spilled if you didn’t try your darndest to keep your mouth shut long enough to suffocate the giggles that had been accumulating with every passing moment.

Unfortunately, Rafael’s legal eagle eyes caught your expression. He might be off the clock at the moment, but his lawyer mode was still very much active. Not that he needed much to notice that there was something … off about you this evening. You were reading, which wasn’t unusual at all, but he highly doubted that there was anything in A Clockwork Orange that would warrant the smile you were just barely able to bite back. But even beyond that, there was something else about you. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was almost as if what he was trying to place wasn’t even on the same wavelength as you and himself. Nevertheless, Rafael was never one to just let something of intrigue pass by.

“Cariño? You feeling alright?” His brows furrowed, concern seeping into his green eyes. You didn’t want to look into them to offer a reply, fearful that you’d snap and burst into laughter if you did. But if you wanted the plan to play out as you intended, you had to play the part.

You glanced at Rafael, skillfully morphing your potentially mischievous smile into an assuring one. “I’m fine, Rafi,” you gently insisted. “Why do you ask?”

You watched him press his mouth into a thin line of disbelief.

“Well, for starters, you’ve barely said anything in response to whatever I’ve been saying –”

“The case is in the bag – your bag. You know I’m proud of you without having to say anything.”

“And that’s what’s weird: Usually you practically smother me with praises in these situations,” Rafael pointed out. The small smirk that played along his lips coaxed an eye roll from you.

“So you think something’s up because I’m not feeding your ‘big brass ego’?” was your sarcasm-coated response. I’m already going to be dealing with someone big-headed, was what you really wanted to say.

With what you did say, however, Rafael gently huffed and continued his previous argument. “Anyway … What puzzles me most, mi amor, is that you seem a little … different.” The grin that threatened to practically break your face was presented as an intrigued smirk

“ ‘Different’? How so?” Now you’re getting it, you mentally cooed.

Rafael licked his lips in thought. “Dunno. Did you switch lotions or something?”

“No, still the same lotion,” you responded. You returned your attention back to your literature in the hopes that it would pose as a buffer.

“Shampoo?”

You shook your head, “I didn’t even wash my hair today, Rafi.”

“… Did something happen?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p.’

“Something you’re not telling me?”

You hummed a ‘no.’

“Mírame a los ojos y dilo,” he demanded, making you shudder. Dammit. He knew what speaking Spanish did to you. Especially when he used that demanding, lawyer tone of his.

You prayed that he mistook the shudder for one of your usual pleasure, rather than one born out of anxiousness that you had been cornered. In the meantime, all you could do for yourself was turn to him, look him in his suspecting eyes, and calmly insist, “Rafael: I am fine. I just enjoyed my day off is all.” Before he could respond with anything else, you returned back to A Clockwork Orange, signifying the end of that particular discussion.

Despite reading over the same sentence over and over for the last couple of minutes, you turned the page. You needed to land this façade just long enough. It was when you heard your husband sigh with exasperation that you knew your bid had been bought.

“Whatever,” he muttered. Getting himself up from the couch, he continued, “If you’re not going to tell me anything, then that’s your decision. I’m not going to humor this.”

You pouted, “Awwww. Don’t be grumpy, Rafaelito.” You glanced up from your book just long enough to see him try and fight off a somewhat amused grin.

“I’m not grumpy …” your better half said as he began to beeline for the bedroom. As soon as he was out of your sight and you his, you stopped trying to fight the smile that had been threatening to bloom all this time. Your brought your knees up to your chest so you could excitedly tap your feet against the couch cushions as if to perform the quietest dance imaginable.

Rafael was a creature of habit, something that especially applied when in the comfort of his own home. You knew his morning routine to his eating habits to his evening routine. This meant knowing how he preferred to plot out most of his outfits for the next day the night before, suits, suspenders, etc. He’d usually let you choose the tie, but your tie of choice almost always correlated with the colorful socks he’d chosen to wear when he laid out his outfit in the first place. Like clockwork, you heard him entering his closet, shuffling things around. You heard the screech of hangers sliding across the support bar, the click of his tongue as he contemplated suit jackets and dress shirts.

Normally, these sounds would fall on deaf ears. But right now, they were blaring. They were agonizing, a mere obstacle.

Then you heard the soft click of Rafael opening up his cufflink trunk, followed by the quiet tingling sound of fingers brushing over the tiny accessories. The clack of his selection being placed on the dresser told you that what you were waiting most on was set to occur.

It was the hushed, dragging noise of his sock drawer that caused your heart to skip more than just a single beat. By the time your heart returned back to beating at all, it was sputtering and sprinting with eagerness. You inhaled deeply and held your breath in, not wanting a single noise to distract from what you had been evening for. Straining your ears, you heard the expected sounds: The soft rearranging of socks as Rafael inspected pair after pair to search for the perfect ones to coordinate with tomorrow’s attire. Maybe the low knock of his knuckle hitting the tray’s wooden wall. It was a lenient, yet still purposeful pace. One that had been ritualized by its performer for eons to the point of being almost completely blasé about the action.

It was therefore quite telling when you heard the shuffling suddenly stop.

You inhaled sharply, causing your lungs to practically beg you to stop as they had long since reached capacity. Your heart and mind, on the other hand, screamed in giddy unison. The exhale that shuttered out of your body was the only noise that was made for what felt like longer than a minute. No noise came from you, otherwise. And certainly no noise came from the bedroom. Not even the sound of the sock drawer closing.

And then, footsteps. Not slow ones, and not running ones. But ones filled with drive. Ones that practically thundered down the small hallway, growing louder and louder until they stopped right where the threshold between the living room and the corridor met.

“Ca … Cariño,” you heard Rafael whisper. You didn’t dare turn around, but you also couldn’t pretend for much longer. You opted for hiding your face in your knees, gently biting your bottom lip to keep it from quivering into a smile.

“Cariño, I …” He stopped talking, taking a silent gulp. You took note in the tone with which he spoke: It was present, and yet on a different plane. If glazed eyes could be in a voice, that was the voice Rafael was speaking in. It was weird. It was uncharacteristic… . It was exactly what you wanted!

“Yes, Rafaelito?” you said quietly. It was then that you allowed yourself to finally smile. As you slowly turned to face your husband, it threatened to become a slightly wettened one.

There he stood, eyes directed unblinkingly at you, yet spacious all at once. It was an unusual look for Rafael, who usually looked so well-grounded and calm. Making the sight before you all the more peculiar was the pair of itty, bitty, pink-brown-and-cream argyle socks he held delicately in his hands.

Rafael continued to stare at you with glassy eyes, continued to gulp and open and shut his mouth in a constant struggle of finding the right words.

“I … I think my socks might’ve shrunk in … in the wash …” was the final result. And you couldn’t be happier with it.

You giggled and shook your head, “No, Rafael. I don’t think those socks are yours.” You watched and heard the sharp intake of breath that followed in heed of your response.

“… An … And these are real?” he pressed. His voice picked up an octave near the sentence’s end, accompanying a corner of his mouth turning up.

At this point, the toothy smile you had been bearing before closed itself tightly. If it didn’t, then the tears beginning to streak down your face would’ve gotten into it. You couldn’t speak, due to the lump in your throat. But based on the completion of Rafael’s smile, your high pitched hum of approval and the slow nod of your head was enough.

You were a little too preoccupied with wiping away your tears to notice when Rafael had gone to your side, tiny dress socks in hand. It only came to your acknowledgment once you felt his hands cup your face, the teensy socks still in their grasp. You didn’t mind having the soft, pastel cotton against your face, making you feel delicate and warm. The pleasant feeling was only enhanced as kisses began to speckle your cheeks, forehead, and lips in a fervent manner, leaving no part of your face untouched. Between every peck was an assortment of phrases going in and out of English, the excitement apparently flustering your husband into elated Spanish. You couldn’t understand much of what he said (mainly because it was said so rapidly that you didn’t have time to piece it together before the next kiss). But for now, it didn’t matter.

You just wanted to bask in this moment, where you were embraced in your wonderful husband’s arms, getting smothered by kisses, gazing lovingly at the tiny pair of socks you two held together, both of your faces glowing with jubilation.

Pink: In modern society, it was associated with being delicate and undesirable for deepened impact. But you knew better. Pink was the color of Rafael’s tie that day, the color of the roses that he’d sent to you the day before. It was the color his cheeks turned out of absolute joy and pride that evening as he continued to hold you in his adoring embrace, as well as your own with every kiss he continued to give you for the next few hours. It was the color of newborns, the color of a few diamonds on what would be your child’s first pair of socks (which prompted Rafael to insist that you would have the best dressed baby in New York). Pink meant fresh starts, love, and exhilaration.

Pink, you determined, was a very strong, beautiful color indeed.

[deansgirl215]

Hanging On to Happiness

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam Warnings: angst, semi-fluff A/N: So this is my very first oneshot. Much longer than I expected for my first attempt but hey, I couldn't stop writing. Not much else to say except that I hope you like it!! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!! Reader's P.O.V. You chased the werewolf into the night, struggling to not fall too far behind it in the deep snow in Wherever-The-Hell-You-Were, Montana. He wasn't moving too fast since you managed to cut him with your silver knife, but the damn thing was still going. Your lungs burned with the intake of frigid air around you and you just wanted to end this so you could get back to Sam and Dean, who hopefully had taken care of the other two werewolves by now, and get back to the motel to pass out. With any luck, you guys would be on your way back to the bunker tomorrow morning. You stopped running and aimed your gun at the werewolf, which was about 20 feet away from you, and fired two shots. The silver bullets hit him in the back. You kept walking forward as his body swayed a bit before finally hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Only about 10 feet away now, you breathed a sigh of relief that this hunt was finally over. But before you were even done exhaling, the ground gave way beneath your feet and everything around you went black. Dean's P.O.V. Sammy and I looked at each other from across the abandoned cabin and nodded in confirmation that we were both relatively ok. Getting tossed around by a freaking werewolf wasn't exactly what I'd call a good time, but we showed those bitches who's boss. "Let's go find Y/N and then get the hell out of here," I said to Sam. "Yeah, sounds good," he said. "They ran straight out the back door. Hopefully the damn thing didn't lead her too far away." We headed out into the snowy night, reminding me why I hate the snow so much when I could barely feel my face after a mere few minutes outside. I couldn't wait to get back to the bunker and pass out in my memory foam bed with my girlfriend by my side. Hell, I might even start the drive back tonight just to get there quicker. I was gonna sleep for days after this hunt. Two shots rang out in the distance. Sammy and I raised our guns and turned towards the sound. I could vaguely make out Y/N about 300 feet away with her gun pointed at the last werewolf. It swayed and fell down and I tucked my gun away as I watched Y/N approach it, probably to make absolutely sure it was dead. I started walking in their direction when my entire world suddenly stopped. Y/N dropped from view, a startled scream ripped from her throat. "Y/N!!" I shouted. I started running as fast as I could through the snow, my heart pounding in my chest the whole way. I was barely aware of Sam running along side me until he passed me by, his slightly longer legs carrying him faster than mine were. He ripped off his coat while running and jumped into the ice cold water beneath the frozen lake that must have cracked from the weight of that damn werewolf falling on it. I waited helplessly at the edge of the cracked ice for any sign of my brother or my girlfriend, but the water was still. Just as I was about to dive in after them, Sam's head broke the surface with a huge gasp and in his arms was Y/N. I grabbed onto both of them and managed to get them both out of the water. All I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears as I took in the lifeless, pale form of the woman I loved before me. Her lips were blue and she wasn't breathing. I quickly pressed my lips to hers and blew into her mouth, then placed my hands on her chest and started CPR. "Come on, baby, breathe. I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart." I breathed into her unresponsive mouth again, and continued chest compressions. "Come on, Y/N, don't do this to me! You gotta stay with me! Just breathe!" I begged her. Another puff of air, more chest compressions. "Come on, dammit! BREATHE!!" I screamed as tears poured down my face. I couldn't lose her, not after finally opening my heart up to somebody. Not after finally allowing myself to be happy for once in my life. Just as I leaned down to breathe into her mouth again, Y/N coughed and spit up a ton of water before rolling onto her side towards me, gasping for breath. Her breathing was ragged and she was shivering violently, but she was breathing. She was alive. I wrapped my arms around her shaking body and pressed a quick kiss to her head, whispering to her, "Shhh. You're ok. You're gonna be ok." I looked over at Sam for the first time since he pulled her out of the water and mouthed "thank you" to him. He swallowed thickly and nodded at me as he pulled his dry coat tighter around himself. I quickly let go of Y/N just long enough to remove her soaking wet coat and wrap her up in mine instead. I picked her up in my arms and said, "Let's get to the nearest hospital." Reader's P.O.V. You felt as if a thick fog had settled into your brain, making it difficult to think clearly. Your body felt heavy, like you couldn't figure out how to move your arms or legs. You somehow managed to move your fingers on your left hand the tiniest bit and that slight movement simply wiped you out. It was enough however to draw attention to your newfound awareness to whoever else was in the room with you. You instantly felt something tighten around your hand. Something warm and strong, another hand. Yes, that's it. Someone was holding your hand. Before you could even think about who it was, you heard a rough yet familiar voice right beside you. "Y/N? Sweetheart, can you hear me?" Dean. Just knowing he was here instantly calmed you. If Dean was here, then everything was ok. "Baby, if you can hear me, can you squeeze my hand? Please?" Dean pleaded with you. You tried to focus all your energy on making your hand move. After what felt like forever, you finally managed to tighten your hand around his. "That's my girl. Just take your time. I'm right here," Dean spoke softly to you. You tightened your grip on him as much as you could and you felt his other hand come up to touch your forehead. You very slowly leaned your head in the direction of his hand and let out a little sigh. "I've got you, Y/N. You're ok. Can you try to open your eyes for me, baby?" A small whimper escaped your throat as you tried and failed to get your eyes to cooperate. Dean squeezed your hand in encouragement and you tried again. You scrunched up your face and pried your eyes open just barely before they closed again. One more attempt and your eyes slowly blinked open drowsily. You blinked a few times to focus and that's when bright green eyes met yours. The corners of Dean's eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. "Hey there, beautiful." You opened your mouth to speak but your throat felt raw and there was a deep ache in your chest. "D-De-an..." you managed to rasp out. "Hold on," he said as he turned away from you for a second. When he turned back, he held a straw up to your lips and you took a sip of the water he offered you. "Is that better?" "A little. Thank you," you whispered. Your voice was still weak so you didn't try to talk any louder. "What happened?" Dean smiled sadly at you and said, "You decided to take a midnight swim in the dead of winter. Not your smartest idea." You tried to chuckle but ended up having a coughing fit which burned your lungs and chest. Dean's eyes went wide as he watched you struggle to calm your breaths. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Here, try to drink a little more." Once you were breathing easily again, you looked to Dean for a more detailed explanation. "You fell through some ice after you killed that werewolf. Sammy and I were looking for you and saw it happen. You were in the water for several minutes. Sam went in after you and by the time you were out, you weren't breathing," he explained. "I've never been so scared as I was during those moments, Y/N. I thought I'd lost you. I thought we were too late." You watched a tear fall down his face, another one quickly following it. You wiped them away and pulled your joined hands up to your lips to kiss the back of his before resting it against your cheek. "I'm right here, baby. I'm ok," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you too much." He gave you a watery smile and leaned in to press his lips to yours gently. You kissed him back, keeping it soft so as not to send you into another coughing fit, but pouring all your love into it just the same. "I love you too, sweetheart," he breathed against your mouth before pressing one more chaste kiss to your lips. Once you separated, you looked around the room and asked, "Where's Sam? Is he ok?" "He's fine. He wasn't in the water as long as you were so he just needed to get warmed up a bit. He went to get some coffee and something to eat." "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank him enough." Dean nodded his head. "You and me both. I owe him everything." He looked at you for a long second, trying to push away those thoughts of almost losing you. "Anyway, you were hypothermic with a touch of pneumonia so it's gonna take you a bit to recover." You pouted, "Can I at least recover in the comfort of our own bed with you?" Dean chuckled, "Why don't you just take it easy for a day or two here and then we can see about heading back? It's a 16 hour drive to the bunker from here, it's not around the corner." You whined, disliking the fact that you had to stay in the hospital for now. Shaking his head at your antics, Dean pecked your lips once more and told you to scoot over a bit. You obliged and he climbed onto the bed with you, wrapping his arms around your body as best as he could with the wires and stuff you had attached to you. "Better?" he asked. You nuzzled your head into his chest and sighed, "Yeah, this is perfect. How'd I get so lucky?" "You've got that backwards, sweetheart. I'm the lucky one in this relationship." "Agree to disagree, Winchester," you smiled into his flannel. Sam returned a few minutes later with coffee and burgers, only to find you and Dean asleep together on the tiny hospital bed. He smiled at the sight of you two wrapped around each other, depositing the food onto the tray beside the bed. As he sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, he sent up a silent thank you that you weren't taken away from them. Feeling something hard behind him, he pulled Dean's jacket off the back of the chair where it had been tossed earlier. He felt around until he found an interior zipper pocket and pulled out what was inside. The small velvet box felt heavy in his hand and as he opened it, he smiled as he took in the simple diamond ring inside. He glanced back over to his big brother and the woman who made him finally take a chance on love, sleeping peacefully just a few feet away from him. He closed the ring box and put it back inside Dean's jacket, smiling with the knowledge that his brother had finally found true happiness in this world. @bringmesomepie56 @chelsea072498 @iwantthedean @kas-not-cas @katymacsupernatural @supernatural-jackles @teamfreewill-imagine