#anyway i’ll find something to pin to replace that at least until i get through my backlog

[kohakhearts]

i have no fewer than 20 fic requests in my inbox that i havent gotten around to writing so i think that warrant a new pinned post because im not living up to that 95% statistic at all

as an aside though, i very much appreciate all requests - i just can’t always honour ones especially for things i’m not that into atm because i am SO much busier irl than i used to be. i’m HOPING this will change once i get into the groove of my new job but only time will tell!!! also people are still very much welcome to send me requests, it’s just occurred to me that this is the first summer in 5 years that i haven’t had time to sit down and write out a bunch of request fics…its only the second time thats happened since 2017 and that makes me kinda sad!! i enjoy writing request fics and i hope my not actually managing to complete them doesn’t come across as me not being happy to receive them :(

[witchersmistress]

The Basement part 1

Hello my lovies!! its is time for the long awaited basement scene!! this is part two of for rainstorms and hate sex, im know there will be a few unanswered questions.

as per my usual. i do not give permission to copy my work or use my work in anyway without permission. so help me if you do, i will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Trigger Warnings: Clausterphobia, small spaces, foul language, 18+ highly reccomended.

I park on the side of the road a block away even though it’s raining, and I walk to the office , not wanting August to see the car if he’s there. When I step into the parking lot, I have to dart back into the shadows of the trees to avoid being seen. A half dozen cars sit parked in the side lot where Colt got beaten that day, and two guys with umbrellas stand outside August’s car smoking pot, if the scent in the air is any indication.

I huddle next to a tree, praying the rain will drown out the sound of my footsteps. My heart is hammering so hard I can barely make out their voices over the thudding in my ears and the patter of water on asphalt. I hold my breath as a familiar little Tesla comes whipping into the lot and pulls up beside August’s car. Baron and Duke get out, slinging duffle bags over their shoulders. “Ready?” Duke calls. “Yeah,” August answers, stepping away from the Rover. I’m so excited I’m shaking. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s forty degrees and I don’t have an umbrella. But this is it. What I’ve been waiting for. My one chance to be free, to get the last information I’ll ever have to give my puppet master. I’m not leaving until I get something real fucking good, because I’m done being Mr. D’s puppet, his eyes, his snitch. Once I get this, I’m delivering it, and I’m walking away. Forever. Whatever it takes, I’m getting in there tonight. I know better than to go through the regular channels, though. I can’t go to the Midnight Swans meeting and ask to be a recruit, like a boy might. August will throw me out on my ass. I’ll have to be sneakier than that. I watch as August unlocks a side door and holds it open, gesturing for his flock to enter. He glances around and then steps into the darkness within, pulling the door closed after him.

 Only when they’re gone can I let out my breath. I wait a few minutes and then creep forward until I reach the cover of the cars. I’m pretty sure no one else is coming, but you can’t be too careful. After a stealth look around, I race through the rain to the door of the office . I’m not surprised to find it locked. A quick examination tells me this isn’t the kind of lock that can be picked with a bobby pin or credit card. No surprise there, either. I move to the window on the right side of the door, a big glass pane overlooking the lot. Inside, I can just make out a science lab from the scant light spilling in from the hall. Even those are turned low, just the security lights the office  leaves on all night. I push at the window pane moving along the wall, I check each window. Each one is locked. I’m not about to give up, though. 

I keep moving, checking each window of the next meeting room and the next, until at last, I find one that gives. Jackpot. I knew at least one of the cleaning crew  would be too busy and distracted to check every window before leaving each day. I pull the window open, then pry the screen out with my pocket knife. Then it’s smooth sailing. I scramble in the window and drop to the floor, making sure to land on my toes to keep quiet. Then I replace the screen, close the window, and tiptoe into the office . My wet shoes squeak on the tile, so I slip them off and make my way in my socks.

There’s something spooky about the darkened, silent halls of an office , as if the ghosts of our daytime selves somehow haunt the place. I’ve walked the streets of Faulkner on my side of town a hundred times, but I’ve never felt as jumpy as walking down the empty halls of office at night. I’m fully exposed as the only person in the hall, and all the doors are closed and probably locked. If one of the Swans comes out, I’m fucked. I hurry toward the library, my heart thudding in my ears. Even the soft scuff of my socks on the floor sounds magnified, echoing through the long hall and off the wooden lockers. When I reach the library, I find it locked, too. Well, fuck. I kneel in front of the door, shake my wet hair out of my eyes, and examine the lock, relieved to find it’s not as sturdy as the one on the outside door. I give a silent thanks to Lauren, my ex who taught me how to pick locks like a regular delinquent. At least I got one good thing out of that relationship. Five minutes with the metal pick in my pocket knife, and I’m inside. I wince at the squeak when the door swings open, but at least the floor is carpeted in here, so my footsteps are silent as I sneak across the room. I’m almost to the section of the bookshelf that pulls away when it groans, light spilling out a crack along the side. I dive under the circulation desk, my heart thundering in my ears, just as the door swings open.

Fuck fuck fuck. The light falls against the wall in the direction the door opens, but enough of it makes its way to the desk that I know I’ll be fucked if someone looks this way. I hear muttering and footsteps as someone crosses the library. Holding my breath, I slowly ease myself further under the desk, out of the path of the light and into the shadows. The door rattles, and then the footsteps cross back to the basement. “It’s locked,” calls a voice that I’m pretty sure belongs to DeShaun. Then he pulls the bookshelf back into place, plunging the library into darkness. Thank fuck. I close my eyes, melting back against the wood in relief. For once, I’m going to reign in my habit of bludgeoning my way through life and have patience. If I charge into the middle of the meeting, they’ll probably never let me in as a member. If I wait until they leave, I can sneak down there and get a good look around, maybe find some clues about what they’re up to. The one time August went down there with me and then freaked out, he left through another door. Which means there’s more to the basement than the one room I’ve seen. I curl into a comfortable position with my back braced against the underside of the desk, put in my earbuds, turn on Harlow and the Honey Badgers, and settle in to wait. It’s late, but I’m too wired to worry about falling asleep.

At least an hour passes before I hear the groan of the bookcase swinging open again. I fumble my phone out of my pocket, cursing myself for keeping it on. I barely manage to shut off the music and hide the screen before voices fill the library. “The founders would roll in their graves if we let a girl in,” DeShaun says. “Even if it’s not in the rules.” My heart flips. Are they talking about letting me join? “Not her, though,” August says. “She’s a Darling. She’s practically a legacy.” So, not me. Mabel? Did she complete the challenges? Maybe it’s time I paid Colt a visit. If he won’t tell me how to join, maybe he’ll at least tell me how to get in touch with Mabel. She’s a girl. She might be more inclined to help another girl get in. “If you really want to piss them off, pick someone they’d hate to see join,” says another voice that sounds familiar, but I’m not sure if it’s Cotton or Dawson or another one of their friends. I wait for August to say my name, to put me forward as someone the Swans’ founders would hate to join their exclusive, fancy boys club. If his goal is to piss off the old snobs, who better than a poor girl from a trailer park? I’m the furthest a person can get from being a Swan.

“Should I record the minutes and lock up?” Baron asks. “Mabel already completed the challenges,” Duke says. “She’s like an honorary Swan already.” So, I was right. Next task might be tracking down a Darling. “By accident,” Baron says, and I hear the bookshelf grind back into place. “She wasn’t completing them for us.” “Besides, she’d never take the oath,” August says. I’m ready to scream in frustration when they step out of the library, closing me off from the rest of the conversation. I’m tempted to follow them instead of going down in the musty old basement to root around and try to find clues. This is a live meeting, happening right now. But there’s no way I could trail them down the hall without them noticing. Damn it. I wait a minute to make sure everyone’s out, a sense of defeat already heavy inside me. I wanted to hear that conversation. Still, I’m here to get info for Mr. D, not to eavesdrop to see if anyone’s talking about me behind my back. I focus on the task ahead and creep to the bookshelf. The lock is an old fashioned one I’ve never encountered before, but when I tug on the shelf, it gives way.

About fucking time I caught a lucky break. Baron was too distracted by Mabel's talk and didn’t lock the door. I push my feet back into my damp boots and slip through, pulling the door closed behind me so no one will notice anything amiss. The light in the basement is still on, since apparently no one at this office  realizes electricity is something people have to pay for. I make my way down the stairs and glance around. Instead of just a couple chairs pulled off to the side, six chairs sit around a low table cluttered with beer bottles in the middle of the room, confirming my suspicion that there must be more rooms down here. Still, the extra furniture isn’t exactly something Mr. D can use. I cross the room, scan the bookshelf for anything noteworthy, and then try the door next to the shelves. That one’s locked, but it’s a newer lock, and it only takes me a few minutes to pick it. The lights are out in this room, so I switch on my phone’s flashlight and glance around. The room is even creepier than the first one, which has a cement floor and a bare bulb overhead. This one has a dirt floor and crude stone walls with cobwebs in the corners. In the middle of the room is a huge stone that might be a table or a slab where they sacrifice people. It’s hard to tell. On the far side of the room is an open door that leads to a dark, dirt tunnel. And that’s where my journey ends. Not about to voluntarily step into something that looks like a nightmare waiting to happen. 

I backtrack into the first room, thinking how ironic that this room feels safe in comparison to the other one, even though this is the room where the Walkers stripped me and forced me to suck August’s dick. I shake the thought away and circle the room, checking the bottom of the table and chairs for secret envelopes. Nothing. Fuck. Returning to the bookshelf, I scan through again, this time more thoroughly. My gaze stops on a fancy spine that’s at least two inches wide, with gold leaf printing but no title. I hook my finger on the top and pull it out, hearing a hollow thud inside. My pulse skips, and I flip it onto one side, feeling along the edge of the cover until I find a small clasp. I undo it and pull open the cover to reveal the hollow inside. Inside the box that’s cleverly disguised as a book lies another book, this one black leather, with bent corners and worn edges. I lift it out, my fingers shaking. The pages are thin and yellowed, with lines of handwritten text bleeding into the paper with age. I sit down at the table and flip to the beginning. On the first page in neat, old-fashioned cursive handwriting, are the words The Midnight Swans.

I can hardly believe my eyes. This is everything I’ve been looking for, everything I need.. It’s been here all along, right under the office  I’ve been attending for months. I flip through pages of names and dates, recognizing half the names on the first page—Darling, Rose, Montgomery, Delacroix. All old money families, founders of the town, with various things named after them, from roads, bridges, and creeks to hospital wings, elementary offices, and businesses. Beyond the member lists, I find the oath written out in faded ink, and then a section called “Recruits.” My heart hammers as I read the slanted lines of cursive.

 A Swan is STRONG

 A Swan is BRAVE

 A Swan is LOYAL Till the grave.

 Each pledge is put To these three tests: 

To weed the weak and keep the best. 

To show your STRENGTH To show your might 

You’ll face a Swan and win the fight.

A show of LOYALTY To move on

 Betray a friend For a Swan. 

The last virtue is test number three 

Face your fear To prove your BRAVERY.

 So, those are the three challenges the Silver Swan mentioned. When I asked to join, August really did give me the first task—fight a Swan and win. And in a way, I did. I showed more cunning than strength, but hey, I completed the challenge. Maybe he did bring it up, and that’s why they were talking about letting a girl join. The next page is all about brotherhood, including a line about “a bond forged by a shameful act” that no one else knows about. It kinda creeps me out, but as far as I can tell, that’s the only mention of the gauntlet, as the next page has a list of rules. I skim over them, as most are about secrecy, and then read the code of conduct, which makes it sound like the Swans were once upstanding role models for the office  instead of thugs who rule by the power of intimidation.

After that, there are pages and pages of meeting minutes. At last, I go back to the beginning and pull out my phone. I curse myself for listening to music, as the battery is on red already, and considering the stamina of my ancient phone, I’m not sure it’s going to last through photographing every page. I start with the most important ones, which are the minutes from the meetings since the Walkers took over. Since I don’t have time to read them all to find exactly when the olds were kicked out, I find a date about two years ago and work my way forward. I’m halfway through when the light overhead blinks out. I jerk upright, my breath catching in my throat. Is someone in the room with me? No, that’s impossible. I would have heard them going for the light switch. Wouldn’t I? I swallow hard, trying not to panic. This isn’t a small space. It’s underground, and yes, nightmares of being buried alive or the roof caving in are already flying through my head, but I force myself to breathe. My phone hasn’t died. I can find my way up the stairs and get the fuck out. Forcing myself to stay calm, I close the book and grope around, knocking a beer bottle off the table before I find the book box to hide the real book. Whatever. Who’s going to notice a broken bottle?

I secure the Midnight Swans book and use the light from my phone’s screen to find my way to the shelf and replace it. Just as I set it back where it belongs, a shrill whistle echoes from overhead, muffled by the ceiling. It drones on in repeat, the familiar sound of a tornado siren. What the fuck is going on? Did the rain outside turn into a crazy storm? Or did someone set off that alarm on purpose? My mind flashes to that slab of stone in the other room. Maybe my offhand thought about it being for human sacrifices isn’t so far off, because if they somehow know what I’ve been doing, they’ll fucking kill me. I didn’t even look for hidden cameras. One thing’s for fucking sure. It’s time to bail. I ran for the stairs, hoping they only tripped some alarm and didn’t decide to have a little fun burning down the office  for their latest shenanigan. Racing up the stairs, I grip my dying phone in one hand, determination keeping me going. When I reach the top of the stairs, I throw my shoulder against the door like I’m escaping a bunch of psychos who just made me blow their leader on my knees. It’s like hitting a brick. Instead of flying open, the door holds fast. Right. I closed it. I take a breath, trying to calm my irrational fears, and grab the door handle. It doesn’t give.

Fuck fuck fuck! I rattle it frantically, as if I’ve somehow forgotten how a door works, as if I’ll find it magically unlocked. Modern locks are one thing, but I’ve never picked something like this, and any second now, I’m going to be doing it in the dark. I shut off my phone’s screen and take a few deep breaths. Panicking is not going to fix anything. I take out my pocket knife and find the pick by touch. Picking a lock doesn’t require seeing what you’re doing, anyway. It’s all about feeling what you’re doing, and I’m perfectly capable of that. I slide it into the lock and stark poking around, trying to find the locking mechanism. That’s when I hear a scuffling noise somewhere below me. I freeze, my blood running cold. “Did you hear that?” asks a familiar, Britished-accented voice. “There must be a mouse down here.” “Or maybe a rat,” answers another, similar voice. A second later, a flashlight beam falls on me. I cringe instinctually, too caught up in my fear to play it cool and act tough. “See?” Baron says. “A rat.” “Whatcha doing there, Jailbird?” Duke asks, a taunt in his voice. “Leaving so soon?”

It takes me a few seconds to get my wits back and put on my game face. Then I straighten on my knees and pull the pick from the lock. “Whatever you think you’re going to do to me, don’t even,” I say. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.” “Are you, though?” Baron asks. “You have the key,” I say. “Unlock the door.” “Yeah, except I don’t have the key.” “Bullshit,” I say, making my way down the stairs despite the blinding glare of his cellphone’s flashlight in my eyes. “You told August you’d lock up.” No point in pretending I wasn’t hiding and spying on them. I’m already caught. He shrugs. “I gave it to August.” “Why would August lock us in here?” Our eyes meet, and Baron’s are alight with curiosity.

“That’s a good question,” Duke says. “He knew we were down here. Why would he lock us in?” “Maybe he also knew she was down here,” Baron says. “And he wants us to have our fun with her,” Duke says, a smile breaking over his face. I can barely make out his bleary gaze in the dark, but his voice gives away how drunk he is. Great. I’m locked in a basement with my least favorite version of Duke, the obnoxious drunk one, and Baron, who’s still a mystery to me, and not the fun kind. Duke steps toward me, but I raise my fists. “Touch me, and I’ll rip your dick off with my bare hands.” “Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say to the guy you’re trying to seduce.” “Let me out,” I say, pointing to the door at the top of the stairs. “There’s another door,” Baron says, not moving from where he stands. There’s a calculated stillness about him, like a snake that might strike at any moment. “You have to crawl a bit, but you’ll get there.” “And be stuck in a tunnel when you attack me?” I ask with a scoff. “No thanks.” “My brother tells me you want to be a Swan,” Baron says, cocking his head. “How badly do you want it?”

“What?” I ask, my heart beating hard. I sense a trap, and I have zero interest in falling into it. “Face your fears,” he says. “That’s one of the challenges.” I roll my eyes. “You think you’re what I fear most?” “Are we?” he asks. “No.” These boys could hurt me physically, but I’ve been hurt plenty of times at the Slaughter Pen. August is the only one of them who could truly hurt me, the only one I fear. August could make me do the one thing I fear most in the world—lose myself. But I’m not going to tell these boys that. We stare at each other for a long moment. Then Duke slings his bag off his shoulder and opens it, pulling out a bottle of beer. “Well, looks like we’re having a sleepover,” he says. “Drink up, baby. You’ll need something to take the edge off. We’ll be taking turns with your ass all night.” “Don’t count on it.” “You know, it doesn’t matter what you say,” Duke says. “We can tell August we fucked you, and he’ll believe us. He won’t even question it. You’re done with our boy. You might as well have some fun with us now.” I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why?”

.“Why what?” Baron asks. “Why don’t you want me with August?” “You’re not good for him,” Baron says. “You need to go. August may have many fine qualities, but forgiveness isn’t one of them.” “So you’re going to tell him I fucked you, and make him dump me?” “Now she gets it,” Duke says. “It doesn’t matter if you do it or not. As long as he believes it, it might as well be true.” He takes a swig of beer and stumbles, dropping his phone with a clatter on the concrete floor. He swears and swipes at it twice before snagging it. Straightening, he sways on his feet. I can take his drunk ass in a second. His reflexes are shit right now. Baron’s the one I’m worried about. “The tunnel leads out of here?” I ask. “Yeah,” Baron says. “If the door at the other end is unlocked.” “You just came from that way,” I say. “Is it locked?” He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Duke?” Duke lets out a drunken giggle. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I know I want some action, though. Harper, get over here and ride me. I’ve been waiting to bust in that juicy pussy for months.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I say. “That’s the only action you’ll be getting tonight.” He laughs and downs half the beer in one long gulp, then belches loudly. “I’d rather fuck your face,” he says. “Baron, you want her ass? I bet August hasn’t loosened it up too much yet.” “I think I’ll brave the tunnel collapsing after all,” I say, heading for the other door. “Can’t be worse than suffering in the company of this drunk asshole.” “Hey, you know what’s a fun game for everyone?” Duke asks, his eyes lighting up behind their glassy shine. “We’ll turn off the lights and take turns licking your pussy, and whoever does it better gets to fuck you first.” “Do you ever think about anything besides your dick?” “Sometimes I think about your pussy,” he says, swaying forward and back. “Especially when I’m jerking off in the shower. That’s when I picture my balls slapping that wet, pink pussy and my cum filling it up, giving you a nice juicy creampie.” “Yeah, my disgust for you outweighs my fear of tight spaces,” I say. “I’m going to check out the tunnel. If the door’s locked, I might just dig my way out.” “Have fun,” Baron says, pulling a sucker from his pocket. “Hope your flashlight doesn’t die.”

[sortasirius]

what makes you think the writers want deancas? not trying to be an asshole, i'm just genuinely curious as to why you think that. i know berens' episodes are pretty heavy with subtext so i can see why you'd say that he wants it, but i'm not so sure about the rest of the writers/dabb. it seems like meghan isn't a huge fan either, given her "they twisted it so fast" tweet :/ of course she's a very new writer (think she's only writing one ep this season?) but still

OKAY this is a great question, welcome to my dissertation.

I’m going to address the end of your question first. Meghan is actually DeanCas positive, she has been for quite a long time. She actually, a few years back, posted a picture of her reading a literal book about Destiel and captioned it “writing reading” or something like that.

This whole thing just comes out of a boiling over of tensions because of how nasty fandom twitter can be. Like I said here, I think this has just gotten blown out of proportion, they shouldn’t have posted all this randomly disparaging stuff, but also like...can you blame them? The fandom is a lot, we always have been, and they’re probably also under a gag order not to talk about the finale, and are annoyed that people keep asking.

So nah, Meg is not anti Destiel.

To the first part!! So let’s take a look at the show runners since Cas has been around.

Seasons 4 and 5: Kripke

Seasons 6 and 7: Gamble

Seasons 8-11ish: Carver

Seasons 11ish-15: Dabb

So starting with Kripke. Okay, yes, I will be the first to admit that we have some pretty incredible Destiel moments in these seasons, but it’s less directly written into the plot and much more from Misha and Jensen’s uhhhh ~chemistry~. The only times it was directly written into the script was when the episode was handled by someone like Edlund (“On The Head Of A Pin,” “The End,” “My Bloody Valentine”). And you have to remember, if in season 5, there are moments here and there where you’re like huh that’s suspiciously romantic dialogue, remember that Cas took Anna’s place. Anna was supposed to be endgame for Dean, but due to a myriad of issues and Misha’s general greatness, Anna was replaced with Cas.

Onto 6 and 7. Hmmm. Gamble. 6 and 7 are my two least favorite seasons and that’s no secret, and that’s not only due to the plain old weird shit in the overall storyline, but also that homegirl killed off Cas in s7 and then Bobby like four episodes later. (Also it ALWAYS rubbed me the wrong way they couldn’t have Baby in that season lol). We still had some great DeanCas moments, but again, it wasn’t really written into the overall arc (until they had to change the end of season 7 because of tanking ratings and bring Misha back lol, anyone remember the fact that Dean kept Cas’ jacket and would randomly dream of him? Yeah.). But we still had those moments, those distinctly romantic moments, probably the best example in these two seasons is from Edlund again, specifically “The Man Who Would be King,” I wrote a little about that here.

We move onto Carver, who gave us, at this point, the most overt DeanCas season with season 8 (season gr8 is a better name imo), and this is the first time Dean and Cas’ relationship is directly written as an arc of the season.  I mean, you have everything in Purgatory, Dean “seeing” Cas everywhere, the fact that he felt so guilty that Cas stayed in Purgatory that he manipulated his own memories to think that he was the one that failed Cas, because he couldn’t comprehend that Cas would want to leave him, and let’s not forget Dean snapping Cas out of Naomi’s hold on him in “Goodbye Stranger.”  It was a very obvious shift, not enough to alert the general audience, but more than enough for most of us in fandom.

It’s also important to note that this is when Andrew stopped co writing with Loflin and started writing his own episodes (”Hunter Heroici” anyone?)  I like Loflin fine, but Dabb was able to stretch his legs a little bit more once he stopped co-writing, and we also began to see some DeanCas themes in his solo episodes.

In any case, them and their issues being a big part of the seasons continued with Carver, and Berens entered the scene, his first episode (”Heaven Can’t Wait”) is one of my favorites, with human Cas and the fanfiction gap and Dean and Cas just generally being awkward and funny and sweet.  This is Bobo’s FIRST episode, remember that.  He comes right out of the gate with it.

Also in Season 9, this is when Dean takes the Mark of Cain, and the Cas/Colette mirror is born, so obviously, Dean and Cas are the fabric of the season once again.  This is also the season where Metatron says Cas is “in love with humanity,” and then immediately refers to Dean as Humanity so uhhhh yeah.

Onto season 10, Dabb and Berens continue with their greatness (I could write pages on the DeanCas date in “The Things We Left Behind” alone).  And then we have one of the best scenes in the entire show in “The Prisoner” where the Cas/Colette mirror continues and Dean, driven by grief and pain and rage and the Mark, still doesn’t kill Cas.  He still can’t kill Cas.

Season 11 is important because it takes choice away from both Cas and Dean, and shows us, as the audience, how much losing each other takes out of them. We saw in season 10 how much losing Dean takes from Cas, but what about Cas losing Dean?  Dean loses his choice with his connection to Amara this season, and loses even more when Lucifer reveals he’s been possessing Cas, and plays on Dean’s connection to Cas like a mockery.  It’s also worth noting that, similarly to season 8, Dean breaks out of the connection with Amara when he’s worried about Cas, and that’s something that even SHE is surprised by.

But then season 12, the beginning to the Renaissance.  This is when we get the writer’s that become important for what Dean and Cas are today, and, truly, why I believe they want canon Destiel as much as we do.

This is the first season with Dabb’s writers: Davy Perez, Meredith Glynn, Steve Yockey, and of course Bobo all come in with their incredible talents and gave us episode after episode of good content.  “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets” is probably my favorite, probably the best example of what I’m saying.  An episode where Dean is called out by an enemy directly, told to “roll the dice” on Cas’ life.  And Dean won’t, it’s not even really a hesitation.  And this comes from a character that has known Dean for ten seconds.  I also wrote more in depth about this episode here.  There are also some.....distinctly domestic details we get this season, specifically in “The Future” (written by Berens and Glynn) with the mixtape.  The most tropey of tropes mixtape.  Yeah, I’ll just leave that one here.

And then season 12 ends with Cas’ death, but also with the parallel between Sam and Dean with Jess and Cas.  Sam literally has to drag Dean away from Cas, just like Dean had to drag Sam out of his burning apartment in the pilot.  The episode drives it home in every way that it can: Dean is the one left kneeling by Cas’ body, while Sam goes to find out what is upstairs.  Dean is the one who stares at the sky, finally broken.  This isn’t a random thing, this is Dean’s whole arc, it’s the entirety of the beginning of 13.  Dean’s pain, his anguish, his anger.

Season 13 starts with them burning Cas, with Dean, who has begged God to bring him back, who has split his knuckles punching a door, standing, staring at Cas’ pyre with brokenness on his face.

I mean.....

Anyway, season 13 is where it gets interesting (well, I think all of this is interesting but I’m a writer nerd so).  So Cas comes back from the Empty in “Advanced Thanatology” written by Steve Yockey, and then a wombo combo of “Tombstone” by Davy Perez next (”Brokebacknatural” as the PR said at the time).  Listen.  This is the part that SPN crossed a line that they couldn’t come back from.  With Cas being Dean’s “big win,” the fact that Dean and Cas watch movies together, “I told you, he’s an angry sleeper.  Like a bear.” Talked about it here.

This is where, in my opinion, the network stepped in, but the damage was already done.  They had already established that Cas was Dean’s big win, that Dean’s poor coping was not due to Mary’s disappearance, but solely due to Cas, and that Dean and Cas have more married energy than anyone else.  The network had nixed blatant canon at this point, and they writing room had been pushing the boundaries of what the network would allow. 

After these episodes, we see a marked drop off of DeanCas heavy scenes.  They’re still there, still a part of the fabric of the season, but not as...obvious as it had been in early season 13.

And this continued through season 14, we’re back to scraps of Destiel scenes here and there, but to me it always felt like there was something bubbling under the surface, something distinctly unsaid in the themes of the season, even after the walk back of obvious “Dean and Cas are in love” scenes.

And then we get to season 15, which, y’all know I talk about all the time.  What’s important here is that Bobo and Glynn are both executive producers, calling more of the shots than ever before.  Additionally, it’s important to note that, though they only co write occasionally, Glynn and Berens refer to each other as “work husband” and “work wife.”  Each episode has just turned up the volume, and, not for the first time, but certainly the most obvious, Dean and Cas ARE the season.  Sure, they’re trying to beat God, they’re trying to finally find peace, defeat the final big bad, but really?  This season has been about Dean, and Dean’s relationship to Cas.

And not only do we have obvious and clear Destiel in nearly every episode, but we have episodes like “Last Call” which canonize bi!Dean (wrote about that here).

And, maybe most importantly so far, we have “The Rupture,” the breakup, and “The Trap,” Dean’s confession (both written by Berens).  And here’s the thing.  These episodes feel connected, but also feel like they’re missing something.  Beren’s last episode is 15x18, “The Truth.”  We’ve all spec’ed about what could happen in this episode, and I think *I* know what it’s leading to.  But for it to be leading to that, it means that the network has to have approved what we’ve all been waiting for years for.

Who got this change to happen?  Who got the network to change their minds?  It wasn’t us.  It was them.  I am fully convinced that Dabb and Berens quite literally put their careers on the line for Dean and Cas.  They believe in them, they’ve shown that from the beginning, but the only thing standing in the way was the network, never allowing them to take the final step. 

So, to answer your question: I think the writers want canon DeanCas because they’ve already shown us that they do.  Take a look at their episodes, at Dabb’s, at Beren’s, at Glynn’s, at Perez’s, at Yockey’s.  They’ve been telling us what’s going on with Dean and Cas for years.

Sure, I’m not in their heads, I guess I don’t know for *sure* that this has been their thought process, but if we put it all together, from the marked shift when Dabb fully took over in s12, to the change right after “Tombstone,” to the new shift, the blatantly romantic shift in season 15, what else is there?

I’ve said for a long time that we, the SPN fandom, are beyond lucky to have the writer’s that we do.  They’re all going to go on to have prolific careers and we were lucky to get them at the end of our little show.  I give them a lot of credit for what we have in the show today.

Just remember, they’ve been telling us in all of s15 who Chuck is.  He says he’s the writer, right?  But a writer who doesn’t have control of his characters?  A writer who wants to do the same ending over and over because it “works”?  That doesn’t sound like a writer, it sounds like a network exec.

They’ve been showing us what they want for years, and the way s15 is going?  I think they may have convinced the network to let us have it.

[mxvladdy]

Unrepentant: Chapter One

Yoz! Finally, I sat down and edited this! (Yaay I'm slow as fuck)

I loved writing Diavolo's True Form piece (Located Here) so I wanted more and really to write this headcanon I've had since he was introduced! It is suggested to read his true form before this but you do you and live your best life.

Anyway idk how long this will be but all the true form stuff will be in this fanfiction :)

Hope ya like!

Word Count: 4k

Rating: General

The Devildom moons glint high above you outside your bedroom window. Their perpetual radiance casting dancing shadows across the walls. The solace of your empty room envelops you like a warm hug. It pulls the stress of the day away off your shoulders leaving you sleepy. Dropping your book-laden bag to the floor you flop face-first into the freshly washed sheets of your bed.

Exam season was rolling in fast and all of the academy was gearing up for the students' and teachers' inevitable breakdowns. From personal experience, you saw firsthand what happens when a demon gets stressed out. Even the lesser demons you know can cause some major damage when they reach their boiling point, though it pales in comparison to the havoc the big seven cause. Just yesterday Beel lost control in the middle of cram school after the teacher refused to let them out on time for dinner. Poor Lucifer was still scrambling to pay for the damages and trying to find a replacement in time for next week's lessons. Then, on the same day at the other end of the campus, Satan all but totaled a classroom in a fit of rage after another student dared to try and correct him. Bless the Old Gods themselves that at least Levi and Belphie were easy to deal with during these times. They were both book smart and beyond capable with their studies, they just lacked the wherewithal to put the effort in. Well, Belphie was more guilty than Levi when it came down to it. Most of the time Lucifer could be seen dragging Belphie to class by the ankle, face stormy with rage. It was humorous to watch-just from a distance.

As for you, you figure it was best to just be out of the direct line of fire. One too many brushes with death in the Devildom for your comfort. During this time of year, it became almost a sport. You got really good at dodging large pieces of furniture and spells during exam week when the brothers finally start coming to blows. Not that you fault them, they were just letting their aggression out as any good primordial being would. But, the lack of sleep and constant fear of annihilation by bookshelf is murder on your grades. After a few meetings with Lucifer and Diavolo, you all decide you should stay in the palace till after exams.

The palace.

You smile softly to yourself tracing a thumb over your clavicle. Your finger ghosts over the healing black marks running down your skin. It was rocky at first, rebuilding your relationship and trust, with Diavolo after your "run in". He acts like you were made of spun glass and eggshells, physically trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. All the while you had to butt head with seven of the strongest and most bull-headed men you had ever met. Their protectiveness towards you tried your patience in ways you never expected. It took what you are pretty sure was your guardian angel to finally get the brothers to relent. With Simeon acting as your chaperone you start to live again. It was nice to finally feel comfortable around the demon again. Seeing him return to his normal candor and temperament again was a breath of fresh air. Thinking of him makes you flush, the cool air of your room burning your cheeks as you recall all the stolen evenings in his and Barbatos's company. All the hours spent laughing at their outlandish assumptions of modern human social norms while they tried to guess if they were correct or not, and then there were the nights where it was just you and the prince. He was nothing but cordial and proper, just conversations between two friends.

A nice glass of port and dinner...maybe an errant brush of fingers when there was no need to touch a time or two. Perhaps a gaze held too long to be considered appropriate.

You groan into your pillows, feeling your heart flutter. You couldn't deny he was fascinating, and yes, perhaps you were a little infatuated with him. Who wasn't? You say it on the daily how other demons fawn over him. He is one of the strongest of their kin after all. Power is a huge part of the Devildom hierarchy, and he exudes it in spades. To a demon, he is the peak of their ideal. Yet, to you, from a human perspective, you enjoyed his personality and jovial nature. It was a side very few got to see of him and you cherish each moment you got to enjoy in the privacy of his quarters.

Of course, watching him crush an unruly usurper without a second thought was kinda hot. Hmmm-

A sharp rap at your door startles you. Was it time already? "Door's open Simeon!" You yell over your shoulder grabbing your robe and go behind your room divider to undress.

"Good evening!" The angel chirps entering your darkroom. With a wave of his hand, he lights your fireplace. The bright flames dancing to life to chase away the cold of the perpetual night.

"Show off." You come back around your divider to face him. He shrugs with a bashful smile offering you the tray he brought with him. His lithe fingers grab the few bottles he needed, leaving the rest for you. You unscrew the lid on one of the jars of salves specially crafted for you. You inhale, humming in delight, and the fresh scent of honeydew and lavender wafting up at you. "This one is new!" You beam dipping a finger in your eye the soft green goop. It was warm to the touch and made your finger go numb.

Simeon nods, twirling his hand in the air to make you turn around. "You mentioned stiff joints last night so I made something to help." His hand strokes over your back while he mutters to himself. "This is healing up nicely, though the color is becoming more opaque." You nod in acceptance. The curse- taint- whatever it was when Diavolo injured you hadn't stopped at just mental damage when it struck you. It took root on your body, burying itself deep and spreading through you like an uncontrollable flame. It wraps and twists itself around your arms, shoulders, and sides joining and merging with itself to rest around the tender skin of your neck. You found it beautiful in its own right. Like those ornate chokers in Levi's animes or the ones Mammon wore in some of his high-end modeling shoots. Yours was just as gorgeous but very permanent.

"These are coming along nicely," Simeon remarks looking over your back. He rubs some of his sweet-smelling ointment into your sides. He traces over some of the more intricate lines, they radiate power heating his celestial skin in a way you could not sense. The marks pulse in warning, threatened by his celestial power. Simeon frowns, taking his hand away. "It looks like Lucifer marks have been consumed completely now too."

"Really?" You crane your neck trying to see Lucifer's mark at the base of your neck. It figures Lucifer's was the last to be consumed. Solomon had hypothesized that since he was the eldest and thus the strongest it would make sense that it would take longer for Diavolo's blight to consume it. So far he has been correct.

Over time you watch as all the brothers' marks were taken over. Their bright colors bleed out to be replaced with an iridescent black. It was a little unfortunate since you loved the colors of their marks, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Simeon hands you a jar over your shoulder while he inspects the growing marks on your back. "I increased the dosage in this, your arms were still itchy, correct?"

You nod, taking the jar. You grimace as your nails scratch the delicate glass. Your skin wasn't the only thing that physically changed after Diavolo's magic took root. Your nail plates gleam black now, no longer clear and flimsy like human nails normally are. They are sharp now with lethal tips. They could gouge stone like it was tissue paper and even pierce the hard shell of a demon's skin. Beel had been impressed by the nick you gave him during P.E. It healed quickly so no harm was done, but it frightened you still.

Tutting, you shoot your fingers a scathing glance. As a defense mechanism, this new addition was great, but daily life was a pain. Your hands tore through everything if you weren't careful. Delicate pillows and sheets were kept far away from you lest they turn into ribbons. It was beginning to look like the brothers had adopted an unruly cat let loose in the halls.

Asmo fussed over you for days trying to figure out the best way to care for them. He wasted some nice clippers on you until he landed on a heavy-duty nail file. Your manicure only lasts a few days at best, but it was better than turning your pillows into pin cushions. Aside from your skin and nails, you could see better in the perpetual night of the Devildom. The blue haze of the twin moons is cleaner now. Every surface their light lands on shines like a beacon illuminating farther than you could see before. Gave Mammon a good scare walking the halls in complete darkness, you didn’t need a light anymore just the moons.

It was utterly fascinating to you, and Solomon. The mage takes every opportunity he could to poke and prod at your changes and charts them down with feverish excitement. So far, much to his displeasure, you show no more magical prowess than when you first arrived in the Devildom but he was certain you should. For now, no one knew what to expect so you were to just monitor yourself and check-in with Solomon and Simeon daily till they deemed this settled.

"There," Simeon finishes examining your back and neck, making sure he covered the entirety of each mark. "Looks like everything is in order. I'll leave you to rest for the evening." He wipes his hands helping you back into your robe before tidying up the small mess he made.

"You sure?" You ask following him to the door. "I feel like we haven't hung out for ages! I could fetch us some tea." You smile up at his soft face. You miss just hanging out with him. As of late all he has been to you is an on-call nurse. It would be nice to talk with him and Luke about something other than you for an evening.

Simeon smiles but shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Madame Scream has a few new cakes out this month. Luke has been talking my ear off about them and I'm sure he would love your company too." He eyes the door knowingly. "But for now someone else wishes to steal you away." He bids you goodnight then, leaving you clasping the doorknob and looking about into the pitch-black hallway.

It's in the moment you lock your door and turn to crawl into bed that someone knocks on your door. Your heart leaps in with an indiscernible emotion before beating fast with excitement, your brain following along slowly after it. You couldn't stop the smile crossing your face as you made your way back to the door. Something deep within you knew who it was. "Dia!" You swing the heavy door open and hug him tight. The moment your body makes contact with him you feel amazing. The grind of the day is gone, chased away by his warm arms encircling you. "I thought you were busy all evening?"

He chuckles swaying from side to side. "I was! But, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't throw my weight around every so often?" He leans down and nuzzles his face in your crown. He smiles into your hair. You were smelling more and more like him each day, it was titillating.

Dia breathes deeply taking in your sweet clean scent and savoring how his smokey amber smell was mingling with it. It was faint now, perhaps only strong enough for him, Barbatos and Lucifer can discern. Soon though lesser daemons will take notice of his scent mingling with yours. He makes a quick note to tell Simeon to look into a stronger ointment, it will be needed soon. Diavolo pulls away, clicking his tongue. He glances down at where your nails punched through the thick fabric of his waistcoat to graze his skin. "Do you have time for a drink? Barbatos went topside today and purchased a bottle of whiskey barrel age wine. It smells simply divine ." His gold eyes glance up to the large grandfather clock in the corner of your room. It was far past polite visiting hours, but he couldn't give less of a damn, despite the warning of his closest circles.

The nobles were beginning to notice how much he favored you and thus the court was beginning to talk. They were beginning to question his loyalty to the goal of the program, his fascination with one mere human raised concerns throughout his family members. "Why are you spending so much more time with that one?" They ask claws and fangs clinging as they nash and hiss at him, so many of his bloodline still refuse to use glamour believing it was an insult to their heritage. "They are of no importance, playing favorites could lead to a disaster for your crown." He knows many of them would love that.

For him to lose his neck and the crown so the old ones could rule again was a dream for many of them. Diavolo grimaces inwardly, they weren't wrong either. He was infatuated with you. Even Lucifer was beginning to express concern. While having you and the program was raising his ratings and the morale of the general populace, those of royal blood were beginning to create factions again. So far many were loyal, but the ones starting to make waves were the oldest in the circle.

He had plans in place of course, pieces on the board ready to move at a moment's notice. It would be messy when it happens and with you still in his kingdom...such actions were best to be avoided. No, for now, the brothers were enough protection from potential defectors and nay-sayers. He will do as he pleases, especially when it revolves around you.

"That does sound good," You agree tapping your chin in thought. It's been ages since you last drank a human liquor. All Diavolo's ports and sherries, while delicious, did not affect you. You missed the warmth that settled in your stomach after a good drink. "A good drink could calm my nerves. Give me a minute to change?" You step back into your room to scurry back behind your room partition leaving the massive demon to stand at your doorway.

"Nerves? Do you need more time for your finals?" He lumbers in coming to stand by your bed. He licks his lips staring at your rumpled bedding. It was still warm from you sitting there with Simeon. Deep down in his stomachs turns detecting the cherry sweet scent of the angel covering your sheets. He wanted to rub his body on the bedding, erasing that weakling's scent from what was his- He pulls himself back forcing his fangs back down. He trusted Simeon, no one was better suited for healing demonic wounds than an angel.

The prince observes your shadow scurrying about behind the paper screen. "There!" You jump from behind the screen in an oversized shirt. The fabric drapes down to rest just past your knees, the sleeves long and folded several times. "Ready to go?" You come back to his side slipping on your slippers.

"But of course!" He offers you his arm. "Though I am perhaps a little overdressed for the occasion, no?" He ribs, teeth flashing in jest. You accept his arm squeezing it tight and look him over dramatically.

"Yes, very much so...What good is a nightcap if you are still dressed in your day clothes?" You tug at his pressed white tie. For the first time that day, Diavolo laughed freely.

The walk from your room to his was a long one but filled with idle safe conversation. You jump from talks of the upcoming garden parties to what this week's lunch menu will be. Neither of you was blind to the prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the corridors. You were unfazed by them now after months of coming to visit Diavolo and Barbatos during the evening. You became accustomed to their judgmental gazes and gossip over time. You nod politely to one of the visiting earl's and his entourage. They pass, many eyes looking you over curiously. "Earl Jan and his entourage have taken a liking to you." Diavolo rumbles watching the demons wander off to one of his many smoking parlors. "He finds your many human idioms and stories refreshing."

"Really? I have classes with a few of them they-"

"Young Prince." Diavolo stiffens by your side lurching to a halt. His hackles rise.

"Pleasant evening Lady Marquess?" The prince calls out not bothering to even turn around to acknowledge the baroness. You turn though curious as to who drew such vitriol from the normally genial demon.

The baroness scuttles out from where she had been standing, the shadows around her falling off like an elegant cloak. Her pale mandibles click in distaste when your eyes meet hers. Her hundreds of spider-like eyes latching onto you unblinkingly before flicking to Diavolo's tense back. "You missed our meeting on the upcoming festivities. I have some more requests on the dress requirements for the ball." She pauses head listing down to look at you again. Even without lips, you could feel her scowl of disgust. "It would be good for your little pet. Their dress attire at the last one was... lackluster."

Bull. Asmo and Levi had designed your outfit for the last ball. It had been amazing, the crowds looking on with jealousy and lust as you clung to Dia's arm. You don't have to look at Diavolo to feel his displeasure. "Such asinine topics like that can wait till tomorrow." He sniffs pulling you closer. His free hand comes up to grasp your hand around his bicep. “Good night Madame.”

You keep your eyes forward letting Dia escort you. The Marquess hisses quietly under her breath, something dark and biting in their native tongue. Diavolo goes rigid in head-snapping about inhumanly fast. The temperature in the hallway drops.

"Dia." You call in warning, breath wafting up in great puffs from the chilled air. He ignores you, turning his full attention to the interloper. He replies in turn voice simmering with rage. She wilts, head tilting down into a mockery of the usually appropriate bow when speaking to him. Beneath the fringes of her bangs, you could see a smirk playing on her lips. She struck the exact nerve she was looking for. "Dia," You pull on him more adamantly. "Come please?" His shoulders loosen at your words. His gold eyes drifting down to look at you.

"We will speak of this later matrona." He leaves the matter at that leaving with you in haste. The rest of the walk is tense, his eyes now darting to each shadowy corner in case another guest jumps from them.

"I apologize for that." Diavolo sighs the moment the doors to his private quarters close. He loosens his tie and tosses it to his smoking chair by the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a moment." He smiles at you before disappearing into his bathroom.

You take a seat kicking off your slippers to dig your toes into the plush hide of some animal you didn't know the name of and pour out two drinks for you and Diavolo. Waiting for him to reappear you eye the treats laid out on the table next to you. They looked too good to ignore. Popping a few tarts into your mouth you groan at the sweet citrus and mint creme that coated your tongue. Your ears twitch at the creak of the bathroom door.

Burly arms drape over your shoulders as Diavolo bends to nuzzle your neck. "Too good to wait?" He chuckles. You flush hyper-aware of the sugar cookie crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

"You said help myself." You reply after swallowing.

The prince hums. "That I did." He raises a thick finger up to collect the crumbs around your lips. "Ah- Barb outdoes himself again." He licks his finger coming around to take the seat next to you. Diavolo busies himself for a moment propping his feet up on his footrest and taking the drink you prepared from the table along with a good handful of sweets. Despite his casual demeanor you still could feel his agitation thrumming through your markings.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out. He looks up at you with a frown. "That confrontation in the hall, what the Marquess said was about me wasn't it?" You didn't know what her heated words meant, but the context of the exchange was quite clear.

A glint of pain flashes through his golden gaze. Diavolo goes for his drink, downing half of it in one large gulp. "You have nothing to apologize for. " He licks his teeth deep in thought before dropping his head back with a grunt. "What are politics like in your realm? Are they all-" He waves his glass vaguely.

You sit for a moment thinking hard on what you remember of human politics. "Most countries are no longer run by royal families. Though they still have a lot of sway with laws and the like." You take a sip. "But, back when royal families were more prevalent I would say they were like this." You mimic his little hand wave with a little smile.

"Homicidal and power-hungry?"

"Quite so." You chuckle looking into the fire. "Perhaps I can take you on a mini trip to go visit some old palaces?" Diavolo perks up intrigued.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Maybe Italy?"

His eyes grow dark. "And why there?" He bites out. You shrug feeling as though you just crossed an unspoken line.

"Just-well. Your name, at least in human culture, is Italian, and you slip into it so casually. I thought you would like it..."

"I am not looking for you to humor me." He cuts you off. His glass thunking heavily on his oak side table, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "I get enough of that from the court. I only wish to spend time with you." You acknowledge him with a faint nod curling into your seat. "Ah-no, no mi giglio." Diavolo reaches for you, scooping you up to sit in his lap. "Forgive my agitation. If it is somewhere you wish to go then I would be happy to take us... The south is beautiful this time of year I hear." A shuttered look crosses over his eyes before he blinks it away. "Shall I get started with preparations?"

He pulls you in closer, your heat seeping through the thin layers of clothes separating the two of you. He feels you melt into the soft planes of his body. His closeness soothing the itching of your bandaged and oiled skin. Dia falls silent listening to you nod off on his lap but does nothing to stop you. Closing his eyes he instead enjoys the feel of his pseudo mark upon your body vibrating in harmony with his magic. Stroking your neck and spine he is unable to control the flood of unwanted memories bubbling to the surface of his mind. As you sleep peacefully unaware of your wishes he spends the rest of the evening watching the flames die down, lost in a waking nightmare.

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

Reality Check - Chapter 2

Oh my Odin!  I can not thank you all enough for the love you gave Reality Check’s first chapter.  Each and every comment has brought a smile to my face.  Thank you so much.  Seriously.  And I can’t wait for you all to see where this goes.  We’re only going up from here on out, so buckle up. 

Summary: Y/N and Wanda were very close after returning in 2023.  The two bonded over the loss of their partners.  It wasn’t enough to keep Wanda grounded after she found Vision’s body though, and Wanda wants the best for her friend.  Unfortunately for Y/N, this means she’s going to be thrown into a reality she wasn’t expecting.

Taglist (Let me know if you want to be a part of it!): @dpaccione

Missed the first part?  Read it here! 

Running through the eternal palace halls to hide from the God of Mischief seemed like an impossible task.  You had to find a hiding spot soon.  Unfortunately, the halls were open wide.  The golden pillars were large, and wider than three men, so maybe you had a chance behind them.  You could give it a try since you had nothing to lose.  

With the book gripped tightly in your hands you ran behind the pillar, leaning your back against it.  It wouldn’t be much longer until you could hear his footsteps approaching.  As long as you run around the pillar at the right time you should be able to escape him.  

His footsteps came rushing towards you and then stopped suddenly.  You held in a breath, fearful that he could hear even the slightest noise right now.  If there’s one thing you could remember at the palace halls, it’s that a pin dropping could echo through them.  You tried it once.  

You started to look to the left, taking a glance around the pillar.  You didn’t even hear him approaching you from behind.  His hands quickly stole the book from your hands as you jumped, turning around faster than lightning to look at him.  He was smirking at you.  “If you’re going to steal my book, at least don’t get caught walking out the door.” 

“Well maybe I wanted to get caught.  If I hadn’t, perhaps you would never come out of that library.”  You huffed, causing him to laugh.  

“Oh come now, I’ve only been in there for a few days.  It hasn’t been that long at all.” 

“Only a few days?  Loki, you’ve been in there for a week.  There are three hundred thousand books in that library and I guarantee if anyone has read every single one, it’s you.  What are you doing in there?” 

“Reading, isn’t it obvious?” You rolled your eyes at the response.  

“Why are you shutting everyone out and simply reading all day every day?” 

He hesitated before answering you.  You knew him well enough by now, after several decades together being each other’s confidant.  “It’s nothing.” 

“If it were nothing you wouldn’t seem so determined to return to that library as soon as possible.  Is it about the coronation?”

“In a way, yes.” He couldn’t lie about the situation to you.  If anyone deserved to know the truth it would have been you.  “Don’t worry about it, love.  There’s nothing that can be done about it now anyway.”  He said it almost as if he was trying to convince himself that it had no effect either.  

“Do you promise there’s nothing on your mind?” 

“I promise.” 

______

“Are you sure you’re alright, Loki?  I’m worried you’re going to make your fingers bleed at this rate,” You said, watching him practice a song on the guitar for the hundredth time in a row.  

“I’m 100% sure that I will be fine once I’m able to perfect this song.” You raised an eyebrow at his statement as he tried to restart the song again, this time ending up with a broken string.  The canned laughter you heard in the back of your head was (for once) hidden by your own stifled laughter.  Loki glared playfully at you. 

“This is just a talent show, you know.  You don’t have to be incredible.  The fact that you’re willing to do this at all is admirable.” You smiled.  

“If I’m going to do it I may as well be the best one in it, darling.” 

“It’s just a talent show for the children!” You exclaimed, laughing at his ability to make anything a competition.  

“And the children deserve only the best.” 

“Yes, well I doubt the children will care if you mess up a single note.  Your wife, however, will care if you manage to hurt yourself by the end of this.” You walked up to him, slowly taking the guitar out of his hands.  “How about this?  I’ll go down to the store to pick up some new guitar strings for you while you focus on… Anything else.” 

He pretended to contemplate it momentarily while you grew impatient.  “Well considering I can’t exactly play with a missing string I suppose this will have to do.” 

“Alright, Hank Williams, go work on the car or something.  I’ll be back before you know it.” You kissed his cheek and walked out of the house.  You spun around quickly to see Loki smiling softly at you as you closed the door.  Despite the fluttery feeling you had in your chest by his reaction, a sense of dread was quickly replacing it.  

You began to walk across your lawn, taking a glance at the neighborhood.  It seemed slightly different than yesterday.  Newer cars?  New designs for your homes?  You couldn’t tell exactly, but it was just enough for you to wonder.  Maybe you weren’t the most observant person in the world, but you assumed you would be able to take note of someone getting an upgrade on their house.  

As you started making your way down the street and to the store, you spotted Agnes across the street with Wanda.  It looked like the two were politely chit chatting about something before you saw Dottie walking closer to them.  You internally groaned at the idea of having to talk to Dottie.  She always seemed pompous and uptight to you.  You’ve never had to deal with her face-to-face thankfully, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hear about her from neighbors who knew her.  

You decided to walk past them, waving to both Wanda and Agnes.  Agnes smiled brightly towards you and it almost froze you in place.  Agnes out of everyone here frightened you the most.  She was too nice, too neighborly.  It seemed like all she ever did was try to butt in to everyone’s lives.  There was something off about the look in her eyes.  She looked at Wanda with an almost kind of sadness when she said something.  Wanda seemed to be amused by whatever she had said, so why did Agnes seem so disheartened? 

Perhaps it wasn’t your place to ask.  You had to get to the store.  Talking to Wanda and Agnes could wait.  

--

You walked into the store and were greeted by no one.  At least the world was working in your favor for that one, you didn’t have to dodge people left and right just to grab a few things.  

As you walked down the seemingly endless aisles of the store you could find a couple people every once in a while.  They seemed to be stuck though.  They would just stare at a single item as if it was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.  It sent chills down your spine as you passed by them, not a single word being spoken.  You don’t even know who these people were.  None of them looked like they wanted to be there. 

Fortunately, there was no one in the music section of the store.  The section had countless musical instruments including guitars, flutes, and drums.  Each one was uniquely designed, with price tags on every single one of them.  When you tried to read them, you couldn’t figure out what they were saying.  The numbers were blurred and blended in with one another.  

Maybe they were removing the tags because there was a sale going on?  You looked around for any indication of that and found nothing.  Maybe water got on to the tags and the ink leaked, but there was no damage or any sign of a leak anywhere around the store.  

That’s when you noticed the bright red guitar pick on a shelf.  It was an electric red, far brighter than anything else in the room.  You walked towards it, confused by the color.  When you picked it up, it slowly lost its color.  The red that seemed to radiate off the pick faded until it was a dull grey.  

“Excuse me, miss-” 

You jumped at the sound of someone’s voice.  You turned towards the man, noticing that he was the one you bumped into only yesterday.  Once again his green eyes were what caught your attention.  He was dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry, you startled me.” You laughed breathlessly.  

He smiled politely.  “No, I apologize.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.  I was just wondering if I could ask you a question or two.” 

“Of course you can!  Although I believe a proper introduction may be needed beforehand, especially after I ran into you.  I’m Y/N,” You held your hand out and smiled. 

“I’m-” He stopped himself for a moment before shaking your hand, “I’m Scott.” 

“A pleasure to meet you Scott!” You smiled.  “It’s nice to know more people around here.  Are you new here?” 

“Well, it seems like it.  I don’t really know if you could call me new to the town though.  I just know that I feel out of place here.  They all seem to cast me out before I can even have a chance to introduce myself,” He chuckled.  

“Yeah, I understand that feeling.  Right now it seems like something’s changing around here.  I can hardly keep up with it!” 

“It’s nice to know I’m not alone then,” He smiled.  

“Agreed.”  A brief moment of silence was shared before you remembered he wanted to ask something.  “So, you said you had a couple questions?” 

“Oh yes, but I would prefer if we talked about it outside.  The walls have ears around here, you know.” He said it with such a serious tone that you were almost afraid to question him.  His eyes held a level of somber that you hadn’t seen in anyone in years.  Whatever he wanted to discuss, it had to be something that you wouldn’t forget.  

“Who’s going to want to listen to our conversations?” You laughed, attempting to lighten the mood a little. 

“You may not want to know.” 

[aubreyprc]

favourite crime

part six of my sour series 

for @florenceremingtonthethird who asked for hotchniss + favourite crime, hope you like it bestie💘💕💓💞 (also big shout out to @ssa-m-187 for editing this lol love u my bestie bff) 

-hotchniss affair, which is something me and lili (@eprcntiss ) spoke about for .. two months at 4am because we have mental problems, (love u king) but yes. this does have cheating in it so .. this is ur warning don't come for me i bite :)

ao3

It's bittersweet to think about the damage that we'd do

'Cause I was goin' down, but I was doin' it with you

Yeah, everything we broke and all the trouble that we made

But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

Oh, look what we became

-

The first time it happens, she’s been on the team barely two months. A bad case in Missouri that lands the team in a tough spot with no good outcome, the loss of three young girls inevitable and it leaves them all drained, hurt, and in need of something that doesn’t leave them drenched in their guilt, in their failure.

They end up in the hotel bar, of course. Everywhere else feeling too far out, no one having the energy or the desire to travel somewhere that would take them further away from their beds for the night. The horrifically pitched screams of the mothers who had lost their children ringing in their ears, a sound that not even the soft but overly loud music playing in the surprisingly busy bar could drown out.

Reid leaves first, followed by Morgan, a soft hand on the younger man’s back as the two leave the bar; the genius taking the unfortunate deaths of the victims harder than the rest of them, him being the one to be in the room when the shots had gone off. Him, and Emily. Emily, who was staring at the drink in front of her, tracing her fingers around the rim of the glass as her mind replays the moment the bullets went off over and over again. Emily, who was unable to even look up to say goodnight to Reid and Morgan, not even realising they had left the table until Hotch gently nudges his knee into hers, sitting across from her and sending her a soft but, layered-with-questions smile, a little tilt of his head as she lifts her lips into a sad smile when she looks up for a moment before dropping her eyes back to her glass. Emily, not even hearing JJ announce she was calling it a night, a soft hand on the brunette's shoulder causing her to jump before turning, a quiet goodnight leaving her mouth as she smiles sadly and avoids eye contact, fearing the barrage of questions behind one look.

Rossi looks at Emily, then at Hotch, whose eyes haven’t left her since they sat down over an hour ago, and decides to make his leave as well, knowing full well that if anyone was going to get Emily to talk, it would be him. Although, looking at her, he can’t help but wonder if she even would talk, knowing first hand the damage that watching three young girls get shot can have on a person, especially a person like Emily. A person who holds so much in, but feels so intensely it could easily become her downfall. He taps Hotch on the shoulder, a whisper of talk to her leaving his lips, and closing the tab on his way to his room; he walks out, looking back one last time to find Emily looking at Hotch, watching as his lips move and Emily responding with a small smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks softly once Rossi is out of ear shot. Her eyes slowly lift to meet his, the pain behind them almost knocking the air out of his lungs.

“No,” she says in a voice he barely even recognises. “You really don’t want to hear it,” she tells him, shaking her head.

“I’ll have to read the report anyway…” he offers, tilting his head as she looks down again, before gently reaching out and grabbing her hand that rests on the table, stopping the nervous tap of her fingers. As their skin touches, her eyes snap up to his, a look in them he doesn’t think he’s seen before; but the burning in his hand as it rests in hers, and the way the feel of her hand in his has his breath catching in his throat, he assumes he’s probably looking at her the same way.

“Talk to me.” he says to her gently, trying to conceal the way these feelings are making it harder for him to catch his breath properly by speaking in an almost-whisper.

She stares at him for a long moment before she sighs, slowly pulling her hand out from his, but missing the way it felt rested on hers the moment it leaves his grasp. She clears her throat, leaning back into the chair as she tucks her hair behind her ear, looking down at her lap.

“I don’t have anything to say," she says quietly. “You know what happened.”

“I wasn’t in the room.” He tells her, watching as she tenses, starting to pick at her fingers while her hands rest together on her knee.

“No,” she tells him in a small yet stern voice, taking a deep breath before looking at him. "You don’t want to know, Hotch.” When they make eye contact, her eyes bore into his as though she could change his mind with just her gaze.

“I have to know," he says, pausing briefly. “It’s my job to know, Emily. We can talk about it now or, I can read it in the report later in the week. But either way… I’ll know. And I’d rather hear it directly from you.”

Emily looks at him, before sighing, grabbing the drink she hadn’t touched in over an hour and finishing it in one go.

“We’re going to need some more...” she starts, voice trailing off as she watches him grab the bottle of whiskey Rossi had bought for the team before they’d all taken off, and pours them both another drink. She takes it with shaky hands, downing the whole glass before even starting to speak. She then shares everything with him. She tells him how the young girls died, how they were so close to saving them before something even she can’t figure out went wrong, how shots rang out and all she could hear were the cries of the now-dead girls, and how those cries are a sound she'll likely never forget. She tells him how the sight of those three now-dead girls were the only things she could see, how the unsubs almost shot both her and Reid before they were shot by Morgan, how he then pulled them out of the room after saving their lives. She tells him how the rest is a blur, and how the last thing she remembers after leaving was him, standing in front of her asking if she was okay.

“You did everything you could.” He tells her, a unexpected pain blooming in his chest as he watches her wipe her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, unable to move past how small she looked sat there, working through her most recent trauma brought on by the job. He pours her another drink, pushing the glass towards her as she laughs sadly, grabbing the glass and looking at him. He takes her hand again, his eyes on hers and smiles.

“You did everything you could.” He tells her again, and after a few moments, she nods.

Even as they spend another hour draining what's left of the bottle, sharing laughs and sharing stories, the harrowing sound of the girls screams and the sound of the heavy silence that followed, coupled with the sound of mothers' anguish learning of their daughters' deaths is something that remains a constant, similar to a ringing in the ear that lingers even after the event. Sounds they both needed to replace.

It’s the need for the replacement sound that leads them into spending the night together (at least, that’s what they tell themselves the next day). Neither have an explanation of how exactly they ended up in his hotel room, his hands in her hair as she clawed at the buttons of his shirt, his lips on her jaw as he has her pinned on the door, teeth scraping her neck as she tilted her head. No idea how she ended up with her back meshed against the mattress as he pressed above her, entwining their hands at the side of her head as he kissed her, the sound of the cries and the silence and the screams of the mothers effectively drowned out by their soft whispers and sighs, the two hidden in the dark, not thinking of the consequences, the outcome, thinking of nothing but themselves.

It’s after, as the moonlight that pokes through the window catches his wedding ring, the silver band glistening in the room as his arm rests over her, and it grabs both their attention, the room all of a sudden engulfed in a different sort of silence. A silence that only lingers in the presence of two people who stumble over a line that can not be uncrossed, hanging them in the middle of something that feels almost like a crime.

She leaves a few hours later, dressing in the dark while she feels his eyes glancing over her.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow.” She says almost awkwardly. As she grabs her jacket from the middle of the floor, she hears him sit up and the sound causes her to tense.

“Emily—”He starts but she knows what he’s going to say and she doesn’t need to hear it.

“This was a mistake. It was a tough case, we— we had too much to drink and—”

“Em—”

“You’re married, Hotch.” She says, cutting him off, turning to face him. Even in the dark of the room she can see his face pale at the mention of it.

“I know.”

“Let’s just forget about it, okay? Pretend it never happened.”

“Okay," he affirms, and she nods before dipping out of the room, tiptoeing towards her own; and as soon as she’s behind close doors she closes her eyes, leans her head the wall, and curses herself for ending up in a position like this again.

He showers, trying to rub the evidence of her from his body, the hot water burning his skin. As he lays in bed that night his mind runs wild, thoughts of Emily racing through his mind before he’s reminded of his wife, his child, who are at home waiting for him. It's then that the guilt sets like a stone in his stomach, unable to truly understand just what it was about Emily that caused him to break the vows he said to Haley surrounded by their family and friends all those years ago.

Both Emily and Aaron try to move on from it, but something lingers between them.

She remembers the way his lips felt on her body, the way his hands spanned her entire abdomen when flattened against her, the way his fingers laced so gently into hers, the way his teeth left marks on her neck. She remembers how she had briefly registered that his hands might leave bruises but thinking nothing of it at the time, but now she's sat regretting that whisper of a thought because those bruises he left meant he was on her constantly, a stark reminder of what had gone down, branded on her pale skin for days afterwards. The fact that he’s her boss, her married boss no less, has her walking on pins, automatically tensing when he’s around her and actively avoiding being alone with him, overcome with the fear that what they did was unable to remain a one time thing.

He remembers how she sounds whispering (sighing, he tells himself sometimes, before shaking the mere memory of it from the forefront of his thoughts) his name. The way his given name slipped easily from her mouth, the way her body felt under his, the way her lips fit so perfectly against his he's now left with the fear that they might be part of the same puzzle. But more than anything, he remembers the way she looks when she’s at peace, when she’s staring at nothing and thinking about nothing, an easy smile splitting her face when he traced patterns across her arms and asked her pointless questions in the dark and he knows it's a sight he wants to see again. More than the wanting it itself, it's the knowing he shouldn’t want it that leads himself craving it. He wants to feel her lips on his, to feel her hands entwined in his own, to hear her say his first name in a way he doesn’t think anyone has ever said it before, so full of husk yet so soft and delicate, it’s a craving, it’s a crime and it’s one he wants (needs) to commit again, but it’s the knowing he shouldn’t want it that makes it all the more dangerous, and ultimately all the more appealing.

The two spend far too much time catching the other in a deep stare for either one of them to be able to act as though there isn’t a want, a need for a repeat, (for several, repeats) all while knowing the damage they’d do, how much betrayal would follow them around, knowing what they would destroy for just a few moments of whatever it was that they had created in that one hotel room that one time. So when he shows up at her door nine days later, the look in his eyes one she remembers all too well, she isn’t the least bit surprised, and she isn’t even hesitant as she lets him in, closing the door behind her with a bite to her bottom lip.

It’s three weeks later when their fun slowly turns into something neither expected, and it's then that the surprise shows up. It's then that he finds himself wanting to stay the night, to wrap her in his arms and feel the rise and fall of her chest slow as she falls into her slumber, to kiss her softly in the mornings when she’s groggy and content.

Then it's four weeks. When their secret nights in hotel rooms are no longer just sex but comfort, when it's resting in each others arms discussing cases, when it's acting as an emotional beacon for each other, gentle whispering and soft hands running through hair, delicate wipes of tears and tender kisses shared... it’s four weeks in when they finally realise that whatever this started as, it isn’t that anymore. It's four weeks in when they realise this goes far deeper than whatever they had originally been telling themselves it was.

Their affair truly begins four weeks and two days after that first night in Missouri, a betrayal of his vows to the woman who is raising their son alone as he travels for work and chooses to share a bed with another woman, another woman he now has feelings for. Any chance for good this "other woman" may have had, ruined; by choosing trouble, by choosing to catch feelings for her married boss, by choosing to let herself fall so far into something she knows she can never have. Again.

The two fall even deeper into their mess when the feelings expand into love; eight letters, three words neither would ever mutter aloud, keeping the confession unspoken, even if they were both painfully aware of it.

He’s a married man, he shouldn’t be involved with— he shouldn’t be falling for —another woman, let alone his subordinate. She, she’d told herself that when she got out of Interpol, out of the CIA, and into a normal life, that she would avoid trouble, avoid anything even under the umbrella of it, yet three months into being in the BAU, is sleeping and falling for her married boss. They share a bed almost every night in different hotel rooms across the country, and when they're not across the country he’s in her bed, he’s walking around her apartment; it almost looks domestic, almost normal, as long as they both ignore the shiny metal band sitting on his left hand, one that reminds them he isn’t hers, couldn’t be hers and they're brought right back into reality. They are having an affair, and even if they continue to tell themselves it won’t fall apart, that they’ll figure something out, their joint happiness is always shot down by his need to leave, to go home to his wife and pretend as though his heart isn't lingering in her hallway, pretend that he doesn’t crave to be in her bed, wrapped up with her in his arms as they whisper words of no importance. She watches him go and acts like he doesn’t take half of her heart with him, acts as though the thought of him and his wife together doesn’t make her feel slightly nauseous, as though how much she misses him has her wanting to smash every glass in her apartment, as though she isn't overwhelmed with just how deep he rested in her, and how quickly whatever this is had escalated from something that really, should never have happened to begin with.

She's standing in the middle of his hotel room, flattening her shirt and pants as she listens to him speak to JJ on the phone, humming in agreement with whatever the other agent was saying; Throwing her hair over her shoulder she catches him heading towards her, feeling his eyes rake down her exposed neck and cleavage, her stomach fluttering when she catches him smirking at her eyebrow raised in question, continuing on his venture towards her; as soon as he says goodbye to JJ and throws his phone onto the bed, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into his chest, catching her lips with his own as she places her hands on him softly. Smiling as he slowly pulls away, she starts running her hands up his chest to hook her arms around the back of his neck, clasping her hands together as they rest there, gently scratching at his hair as he wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer, as if he could join them as one.

"We have to be at the station in ten," he whispers, looking down at her. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Hm," she teases, shrugging her shoulders as she holds back a smirk. "I suppose so."

Aaron laughs, kissing the smile on her face as she chuckles happily.

"Go," he says softly, reluctantly letting go of her. "I'll meet you guys down there."

She nods, grabbing her jacket from the chair; she's turning go to when he gently grabs her wrist, turning her around and kissing her quickly, before she chases his lips, connecting them yet again.

"I'll see you later," she says quietly, smiling as she turns, ducking out of his room and into hers across the hall, leaving a cleaning tip and ruffling the sheets before grabbing her go bag and walking out, bumping into Morgan on her way out the door. The two of them walking towards the elevator when her eyes catch Aaron's as he leaves his room as they pass his door, a small bite to her lip before she looks away.

It's a look that follows him all day, one that means he has to grab her half way through the day, hiding them in a file room while he kisses her like his life depends on it. He thinks, maybe it does.

The case finishes quicker than they expect and they're on the way home that night. He walks up behind her in the back of the jet, touching her elbow to turn her towards him while everyone is preoccupied.

"About tonight..." he starts regretfully, and even though her heart falls out of her chest, she paints on an understanding smile, she has to. He's not even hers.

"It's okay." she says through a sad smile, trying to keep her voice neutral, forcing it not to give away that it hurts, that she'll never come first for him. He looks at her with a sadness she isn't sure she's seen before and it makes her tilt her head slightly, and gently grab his hand as it falls from her elbow.

"Is everything okay?" she asks gently, lacing a few of her fingers through his, their eyes flashing towards the team for a split second before he entwines their hands together; sighing before he looks at her, he just nods softly.

"Everything's fine," he tells her, "I'll try and see you tomorrow?"

"Aaron," she says, forcing him to look at her, "Spend the weekend with your son, it's okay." She smiles at him softly, actively avoiding the word wife or the name Haley. Avoiding his left hand, the cold, harsh metal feeling like a flame on her skin, a reminder of what they are doing, what they were destroying. And even with that knowledge at the forefront of their minds, even though they know this can't end well, that they're hurting people, that if (when) it got out they would lose everything...he would lose his wife and son, his job, his friends... she, her new family, one she'd searched years for and finally found, knowing if (when) they found out about her and Aaron they'd never be able to forgive her for destroying said family, then she'd have no choice but to go back to the life she wanted out of, back into the grasps of undercover operations and fake friends... even understanding all of this is not enough for them to stop, too caught up in each other, too tangled in a web of feelings that border on love and obsession, too fond of nights spent wrapped in each others arms, basking in the afterglow in hotel rooms across the city, across the country, as they laugh and share jokes and stories no one else has heard.

He listens to her, and then spends the weekend with his family and hates that as he watches Haley smile with their son, he's wondering what Emily is doing, the other woman a constant thought, the craving to be around her a pull just a little too strong, and he's at her door Sunday night, a smile on his face as she opens the door, stepping aside to let him through and for twelve hours it's just them. Behind her closed door they can pretend that this is normal, that they are fine. They can pretend that what they have is real.

(She notices the lack of a wedding ring somewhere between late Sunday night and early Monday morning, when he cups her cheek gently with his left hand and her body doesn't tense under the feeling of a cold ring on her skin. She doesn't comment on it.)

Haley wound up joining him and the team at the bar, his invitation more of a formality at that point, a small, we’re just going for a few, something to take our minds off work for a few while, leading to him mentioning that she should come, thinking she’d never accept because she almost never has but then she does. She accepts gladly, a small smile on her face as she mentions something about how she should get to know his friends better, and kisses him quickly before leaving the room, leaving him standing there, his mind running in circles about how the hell he’s going to cope with Haley and Emily in the same room, the same table.

He gives Emily the heads up, tells her the day before that Haley will be joining them, and she just nods, her body a string of tension even as she smiles, a small okay leaving her lips.

Now here he stands, watching as Emily stands at the bar with Morgan, a loose smile on her lips as he talks to her, handing her a drink with a wink and a smirk, and it causes him to clench his fists and look away, back at his wife as she speaks to Garcia, but he has no idea what about as his attention was completely stolen by Emily once again when she and Morgan laugh, a laugh he has only ever heard when it’s just the two of them, a laugh he wishes he could bottle up and keep for himself. He hates the jealousy that flares up in his chest as he reminds himself that he’s sat with his wife, he isn’t supposed to be jealous, he has no right to be jealous. Because, after all, Emily is a free woman to do as she pleases, their ‘relationship’ merely a string of stolen moments, secrets and lies, and he knows she deserves better and that he should let her go. She'll find someone who can— who will love her openly and freely, who will be able to show her off to their friends and kiss her in the streets and take her on dates and share ideas about the future, a future he’s well aware does not and cannot exist for them. But he can’t do that, he can't let her go, because as much as he’s fought his feelings and as much as he bites his tongue and ignores the flutter in his heart when she smiles at him, he loves her. He loves her selfishly and so completely that he won’t let her go, he can’t.

“Aaron?” Haley questions, her tone obvious that it’s not the first time she’s tried to grab his attention. He’s pulled from his thoughts, turning to face her with a small smile. “What are you staring at?” she asks with a laugh, turning to follow his gaze, frowning when it lands on Emily.

“Nothing,” he retorts, bringing the bottle of beer back to his lips; she turns to him with a confused frown.

“Emily and Morgan?” she asks sharply. “Why are you staring at Emily and Morgan?”

He’s silent, racking his brain for any excuse as her eyes stare daggers into his.

“There’s a fraternisation rule, no two members of the same team are allowed to…” he starts, the last words dying on his tongue, “Just making sure they’re behaving,” he says with a slight smile, a hint of a joke in his tone and even as she smiles, nodding her head at his explanation, he knows she doesn’t believe him, knows she’s been questioning his schedule more these last few weeks, wondering about his phone calls and just where he disappears to after them.

“Emily and Morgan?” Penelope laughs, “Please. Emily wouldn’t touch Morgan if he was the last guy on earth, trust me. They’re just friends.”

“Good.” he says, clenching his jaw as he takes one last look at them, his eyes lingering on Emily for a moment too long, he realises, when Haley turns to look at her as well.

Haley brings it up later that night, after Jessica leaves, after she’s checked on Jack.

“Emily seems nice,” she says casually, walking into the bathroom. “Are the two of you friends?”

“Sort of,” he replies, heart hammering in his chest.

“Sort of?” she questions, leaning on the door frame.

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking at her, “She’s a member of my team, we spend time together as a team…”

“But you get along? You like her?”

“I suppose,” he lies, as images of her underneath him, on top of him, lay next to him, smiling, laughing, winking, kissing him, all flash through his mind. Like doesn't begin to cover it, he thinks to himself.

“You seemed very interested in her tonight.”

“What?” He looks up just to see Haley shaking her head, dropping the subject.

“Nothing,” She says, “Never mind. It was nice getting to know them all tonight… It’s a shame I never got the chance to speak to her.” She continues as she walks into the bathroom.

“Yeah…” he says, running a hand over his face, trying to figure out whether the tightness in his gut is because she almost found out about him and Emily, or if it’s because she didn’t.

The sound of the gunshot coming from inside the building causes him, JJ and Reid to freeze, and the silence that rings in his ear piece, has his stomach rolling, his heart beating rapidly against his ribs and terror coursing through his veins. The minute of silence feels like hours, and he’s almost running into the building himself when a gasp of breath echoes through their ear piece, followed by Morgan’s gasping of we're okay, and the terror that had threatened to overtake him turns to relief, turning around to compose himself, the realisation that he could have just lost her making him feel sick.

He turns just as he hears people leaving the building, the two unsubs being taken out by officers, Morgan and Emily following closely behind, her holding her head as she laughs at Morgan and he smiles back at her. He knows he should wait, that he shouldn't have this need to run to her, to make sure she is okay, but before he can even think about it, he's rushing towards her.

"What happened?" he asks as he forces himself not to reach for her as she meets his eyes.

"This idiot thought he could shoot his way out, ended up shooting me right in the middle of my vest." Morgan sighs, rubbing the centre of his chest as he mumbles.

"You should get checked out by the medic," Hotch tells him and he grumbles, sending a nod to the two of them before wondering towards the medics.

"Are you okay?" he asks her once they're out of ear shot.

"Yeah," she says, rolling her eyes at his eyebrow raise. "Honestly, I'm fine."

He grabs her chin gently, forcing her to look at him as he examines the cut on her head, her eyes widening as he cups her face.

"What are you doing?" she whispers frantically, her eyes moving quickly towards the rest of the team who, thankfully, were completely preoccupied, He drops his hands instantly at her question.

"You might need some stitches." he tells her, looking at the cut on her head and she rolls her eyes once again.

"I'll be fine." she replies, but his eyes drop down to hers, a plea in them. "Well, fine." She smiles, laughing when he smirks at her and they walk to the medics, her eyes on the floor as she bites her lip and he gently runs his fingers across hers before heading towards Reid and JJ.

(He goes to her hotel room that night, helps her put cream on the stitches as she leans against the sink, a smile on her lips as he mutters to her about being more careful, before kissing her forehead and walking out of the bathroom. The normalcy of it causing her heart to flutter in her chest.)

He can't help but stare at her, when the team end up at Dave's for dinner one Friday night, and so when she dips away into the bathroom while everyone is distracted, he waits a few moments, drinking the last of his wine before he follows suite, looking behind him to find everyone enthralled in their own conversations before turning to head up the stairs.

Just as he reaches the bathroom door, it opens. She smirks at him as he stands there, before laughing when he grabs her hips and walks them backwards into the bathroom, silencing her laugh with a kiss as he closes the door with his foot, her smile breaking their kiss as she wraps her arms around his waist.

"Hi," she says softly with a smile, one he can't help but kiss again as his own grows on his face.

"Hi. You look beautiful," he whispers against her lips, smiling again as a blush form on her cheeks as she looks down, biting her lip before lifting her head to look at him.

"You don't look too bad yourself." She jokes, laughing once again as he backs her into the sink.

He kisses her, pulls her in by her hips and she goes effortlessly, fitting against him perfectly, slotting together like it was something they were always meant to do.

"Lets go out for dinner," he says as he pulls away. She stares at him, shock written all over her face.

"We— we can't... what if someone—" He stops her with a quick peck.

"Let's. Go out. For dinner." He says again with a smile, and it's one she can't help but reciprocate.

"Okay. Okay," She agrees, smiling as he laces one of his hands through hers. "Where?"

"That's a surprise." he teases quietly before kissing her jaw, then her neck, before she cups his face and pulls it gently to hers.

"We are not having sex in Dave's bathroom." she tells him with a slight laugh, running her thumb across his cheek gently as he pouts.

"Why not?" he smirks, leaning over to catch her lips in his once again, before placing a few more scattered across her jaw and neck.

"Because..." she begins, pushing him backwards playfully before grabbing his face with both hands. "Everyone is downstairs... They'll notice we're both gone soon."

"Fine." He pouts, pressing another kiss to her lips before stepping back from her; a strand of hair falls over her cheek and he reaches out, tucking it behind her ear before holding his hand there, but as he does, he notices her tense under his touch and pull away slightly.

"Are you okay?" he asks her. She just nods.

"I'm fine. I should head back down."

"Emily," He says quickly, grabbing her wrist to stop her from leaving, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and he follows her gaze as it quickly flits down, and then he realises.

His ring.

"Hey—" He says gently, but she just shakes her head.

"Its okay. I'll see you down stairs."

"Emily—" He repeats, but she's gone as soon as the door opens, and he can't help but curse at himself.

(The feel of his ring cold against her skin lingers all night, a harsh reminder that he isn't hers and it has the texture of his ring feeling like a weight, a burn that sticks to her cheek even hours later.)

He grabs her just before she leaves, the two of them the only ones stood in Dave's front lawn.

"Hey," He says to her and she turns to face him.

"Hey." She smiles, but it isn't her smile. "I was just leaving..."

"Emily." He says and she stops and finally looks at him.

"What?" She sighs, "I'm tired, Aaron. I'm going home."

"I'm sorry." He tells her and she laughs, shaking her head.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for." She tells him, "Everything is fine."

"Em—" He starts again but she grabs his hand, his right hand, he notes.

"We're fine." She smiles, "I just—"

"I know." He whispers.

"I'll see you on Monday." She tells him and he nods.

"I'll call you," he promises as she starts to walk off, before getting into the car. He watches it drive off before he turns around, choosing to ignore Dave's eyes on him in the doorway.

He takes her for dinner a week later, a feeling of complete normalcy falling over them as they sit at the table. It gives them a hint into what could be, had things been different. It takes them both by surprise how easy their conversation flows, how easy it was to forget just how complicated things truly were and for just one night they were able to pretend that it was just him and her and nothing else mattered. Emily is laughing at something he says while he laces their hands together on the table because he can. She smirks at him, lifting her glass to her lips.

They're both so caught up in each other that neither noticed Penelope entering the restaurant with a date of her own, didn't see the smile on her face drop the moment she spotted the two of them and didn't feel her sense of right and wrong shift completely as she watched her married boss and newfound close friend laugh together on the other side of the restaurant, with their hands clasped together and a look love in their eyes.

Neither Emily or Aaron see her as they leave the restaurant hand in hand, don't spot her as they share a kiss as they walk down the street, right past the table she was sat at and they don't feel her heart shatter, the two people she had come to understand as good, pure, innocent, in something that to her feels like a crime. Unable to understand how Hotch, the man she trusted with her life could be doing this while his wife stays at home and raises his son, she can't fathom how Emily, a woman who embodied good and protection, could be dating a man she knows is married, a man she knows has a son.

Emily and Aaron don't notice her.

Things would have been very, very different if they did.

It all falls apart one week later.

It's starts with an outburst of Penelope in the briefing room on a Monday morning.

"What did you get up to this weekend, princess?" Morgan asks Emily with a smirk, "It seems you still have that glow." He winks, which earn him a playful eye roll and a smile in return.

"Nothing." She smirks, "Why, are you jealous?" She teases.

"Is there something to be jealous of?" He jokes back, raising an eyebrow at her as they take their seats.

"No." She shrugs with a smile, watching as he squints at her.

"So you didn't do anything this weekend?" Garcia asks, and the room goes silent as Emily looks at her with confusion.

"I'm sorry?" She laughs, "I...?" She trails off, but her confusion has her stunned for words.

"Over the weekend? You had no plans? Didn't go anywhere?"

"What are you getting at?" Emily questions, as the normally overly sweet, nice, go-lucky tech analyst she's come to see as a friend interrogates her.

"Well, you're always asking other people what they do over the weekend yet whenever anybody asks you you seem to avoid the question... Is there a reason for that?"

"Pen?" Morgan mumbles to his best friend, raising an eyebrow, looking at her with the same confusion everyone else is.

"Does no one else find it strange that we seem to never get any information on what she does over the weekends... It's like she's sleeping with a— "

"Garcia." Hotch scolds as he stares at her intensely and the blonde woman goes silent.

"Of course you defend her." She mumbles under her breath just loud enough for him to catch and he stands.

"My office." He tells her, already walking out and Penelope freezes, regretting her outburst the minute she finds all eyes on her, and she walks out of the room.

"What the hell was that?" Morgan asks the rest of the team, who shake their heads with shock. Apart from Emily, of course, who feels a stone set in her gut as she watches her leave.

"Do you care to explain what that was about?" Hotch asks the moment they are sat down.

"How could you?" Penelope asks him sadly, looking at him.

"I'm sorry?" He asks her, a frown on his face.

"You... You have a wife at home, and a— a child. A family." She says, shaking her head.

"Garcia? What are you—"

"I saw you." She tells him, finally meeting his eyes and his heart drops to his stomach, "You and Emily, at the restaurant."

He remains silent, processing her words.

"I always saw you as... as good. You were a leader and you had the respect of everyone in the room and you always did the right thing and now? Now I don't know what you are." She pauses, shaking her head and looking down. "No— I— You're a man who cheats on his wife."

"Penelope—"

"I don't want to hear this. I'm not the one you owe an explanation to." She looks at him, "Either you tell Haley or I will. I refuse to be a part of this, to let you do this."

"There's more to it—"

"No," she sighs, "There isn't." She stands, "If that's all, sir."

"Garcia." Hotch says and the woman turns to face him, but no other words form.

"I'll give you a week to tell Haley." She says, and then she's out of his office, her ultimatum hanging in the air behind her.

He takes a breath, trying to calm down as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest and he stands, making his way back into the briefing room, avoiding eye contact with Garcia as she apologizes to everyone.

"Prentiss," he calls at the door, "A word, please." He says, already walking out of the room.

Emily stands, looking at Penelope as the woman refuses to look at her and she knows what's about to happen before she even leaves the room.

As she walks into his office, she finds him closing the blinds.

"She knows, right?" she asks and the defeated look on his face tells her before he does.

"Yes," he says, "She saw us at the restaurant."

Emily nods, taking a seat on his couch as a sick feeling washes over her.

"She said either I tell Haley or...or she will."

Emily remains silent, just nodding her head, taking everything in as best she can; Aaron takes a seat next to her, sighing as he sits down.

"You should tell her," Emily whispers, "It's better coming from you than from Penelope."

"I know," he whispers back, "I just—"

"I know," she says quietly, accepting his hand when he laces his fingers through hers.

"We'll talk about this tonight," he tells her, and Emily just smiles sadly before she stands, slowly pulling her hand from his.

She's stood in the middle of his office, neither sure what the next move is, neither sure what the next move should be.

"We should..."

"Is she going to tell the team?" Emily interrupts, the realisation that their...whatever this is...going public means people actually knowing about it hitting her a second time around.

"I don't know," He admits.

"Okay," she whispers, clearing her throat as she turns to leave. He grabs her hand, forcing her back to him before he kisses her, wrapping his hands in her hair as he kisses her like it will be the last chance he gets. (He realises it might be). She kisses back just as intensely, the potential finality of it overwhelming her as they pull away, his forehead resting on hers.

"We will talk. Tonight," He whispers into her mouth.

"Okay," she replies, before slowly backing away, before she turns and is out of the door.

The smell of her perfume lingers in his office, and he stands surrounded by it for a few more moments before there's a knock at his office door.

"No case," JJ tells him as she opens the door, "I'll let everyone know about last week's reports that need finishing."

He can only nod, shock still having him at a loss for words, and without any indication of there being something wrong, she smiles before leaving his office.

Hotch walks out an hour later, catching Emily's eyes as he heads for the elevator, his heart feeling like it could fall out of his chest as she just smiles sadly at him, already accepting that they were over, that they had to be.

Once he arrives home, he drops his brief case onto the floor and just looks at Haley with eyes of guilt and a hole being eaten into his stomach by nerves.

"I have to tell you something."

It takes four hours of screaming, crying, shouting, and one ultimatum before he leaves the house, a weight still on his shoulders as he drives to her apartment with a heavy heart, Haley's words ringing in his ears.

"You have to choose," she tells him, "Me or her. Her or your son."

"Haley—"

"Choose," she says, "Your family? Or Emily?"

He knocks, his heart feeling like a burden as it thumps in his chest, and as she answers the door, the simple question of his family or Emily doesn't seem so simple anymore.

She steps aside to let him in, closing the door behind her just like all those other times. Except, this time she isn't filled with excitement and happiness, rather with dread and heartache, knowing what he had come to say before even opening his mouth.

"I told you dinner was a bad idea," she jokes, he lets out a breathy laugh, wondering just how much longer he could have had with her had they just stayed in. "What happened?" she asks quietly, eyes trained at the ground next to his shoes.

"She was upset, angry. Rightfully so." He pauses before taking a deep breath and speaking quickly. "I have to choose," he says to her, his eyes landing on hers as they lift back up towards his face. "It—it has to be her," He admits sadly, "for Jack."

Emily nods, squashing down the pain with a deep inhale.

"I know," she tells him, "I get it."

"I wish—" He stops, shaking his head as he looks to the ground.

"Me too," she breathes.

"If things had been different... if—"

"But they're not," she tells him curtly, her voice thick with emotion and misplaced hurt. "You have to choose your family, Aaron. It's okay. I get it, honestly."

"None of this is okay," he says with the shake of his head. "This shouldn't be so hard."

She doesn't reply, just looks to the floor, heart breaking in her chest as she realises that this really is it for them, that whatever they had was over now and the aftermath of them had just begun. He takes the few steps to stand directly in front of her, their eyes locking as he stands inches from her and he takes her face in his hands.

"I don't regret this," he admits to her. "I should. I know I should. We caused so much damage and there are so many reasons as to why I should but I don't. I can't."

"Me neither," she whispers, leaning into him.

He catches her lips in his slowly, basking in the way she feels; the way her fingers clasp behind his neck, the way her hands press up against his chest, the way her body bends into his perfectly. As they part, she smiles.

"I hate you," she tells him, and he laughs, running his thumb over her cheek.

"I hate you too." He whispers back with a smile of his own, before kissing her one last time.

The irony of that one four letter word is not lost on either of them.

"I should go." He whispers after a few moments, before kissing her one last time. "I meant what I said. I don't regret this. Any of it."

"I don't regret it either," She assures him, lacing her fingers through his as they rest on his cheek before bringing their hands down, smiling sadly as she steps away from him. He clears his throat before he starts walking, holding down the door handle before he turns to face her.

"I— " He says.

"I know," she tells him, "Me too."

And just like that he turns away and walks out of her door for the last time, the sound of the click of the lock drowning out her sobs as she curls over, leaning against the couch as she tries to catch her breath, tears finally falling freely down her face.

Three hours later, she makes the phone call.

"I want back in," she says sternly. The man on the other line whistles.

"Five months..." Clyde says "I had you down for at least a year."

"Yeah, well.."

"Is everything okay?" he asks her.

"That depends, is that London job offer still open?"

"For you? Yes."

"Then everything is fine," she tells him.

"Emily—"

"I'll explain it all when I'm back. It doesn't matter right now."

"Can you get a flight out on Monday?"

"Yes."

"Then...welcome back, Agent Prentiss." Clyde smiles, and Emily closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, welcoming the feeling settling over her now. Some semblance of relief, maybe, from something that shouldn't be a solution to a problem that shouldn't have happened to begin with.

He lets his tears fall on the journey home, back to his family. He takes a few minutes in his car, sitting in front of his house, to compose himself before going inside.

He's rocking his son to sleep that night, his mind replaying his time with Emily as he stares out of the window when Haley comes up behind him, throwing her arm over his shoulder gently.

"We can work through this," she tells him, and he ignores the voice in the back of his head that makes him question if he really even wanted to. "There's a house in Boston just a few miles away from the major crimes unit, if you get the transfer we should look into it."

"Sounds good," he responds half heartedly, and she kisses his cheek before walking out of the room and he goes back to staring out the window, starting to actively wonder if choosing family was the right thing to do.

Emily hands in her resignation to Strauss four days later, words of apologies and a job offer in London that she couldn’t give up falling from her mouth as the older woman accepts it, wishing her the best of luck for the future and letting her know there will always be a job for her at the FBI should she choose to return one day.

She leaves a different letter on his desk, one that reaffirms that she doesn’t regret what they did or what they had, and that the last five months they spent together were the happiest she had ever been and that maybe, if things had been different they could have been something great. She tells him she understands his decision, and that she hopes he finds happiness with his family. She ends it with an I love you, something she’d debated for awhile before knowing that she had to tell him, that there couldn't be a single thing she regrets about their relationship. She heads out of his office, wondering whether she should say goodbye to the team she’d started to look at as family before deciding she couldn’t, not if they were going to be aware of her relationship with their boss; she'd rather live in denial, refusing herself proper goodbyes, than finding out how they may hate her after finding out about everything.

The team do find out, three days after learning about Emily’s sudden departure, their questions answered by Penelope when she explodes with the secret she wished she never found out. They never get the chance to confront either of them, Emily somewhere unknown and the announcement of Hotch’s transfer getting to them too late. The man already in a different building in a different state.

He finds the letter the day after she leaves, reads it more than three times over. His mind echoes with her final words, the I love you feeling like a stab to the chest, as snippets of a life that could have been if things were different flash before his eyes. It makes him furious. Furious that he fell in love with her and even more furious that he had to pick his wife. His son. His family. He transfers to Boston, he and Haley starting fresh in a new state, a new home and a new job.

But the ghost of Emily lingers. How could it not?

He and Haley divorce a year later, some things just unable to be fixed, and he thinks about calling her, telling her that he loves her too, even all these years later... but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because she could be happy in London, could have found someone who can love her the way he wishes he was able to from the start, and he won’t destroy that possibility for her.

She builds a life in London but she never fully moves on, a string of short term relationships left in his wake because no one was ever able to make her feel the way he did, and she doesn't think anyone ever will. She thinks about calling him, wonders if he and Haley were ever able to recover from his—their—betrayal, but a call from her could have repercussions, she knows that, and it stops her every time.

They never do find their way back to each other, and forever remain a bittersweet memory each can look back on with a smile, knowing that even after everything, they could never regret what they became, those five months of something better than never having anything at all.

  fin

[homeformyheart]

no feelings - mason x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: my original intention was to do a post-bakery, heartbreak moment for mason and I started this before the demo updated, but needed to change it since and hopefully it still works. I have no idea if I’ll do a part 2, my original plans don’t spark joy atm, and I was tired of seeing this in my WIPs xD. very minor book 3 spoilers (allusions but no specific mentions). enjoy! *thank you @silma-words for giving this a read-through all those months ago when i was stuck and to @narrativefoiltrope for the parentheses suggestion!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 16+; swearing, angst word count: 1.7k summary: ria wants to end things with mason before she catches feelings for someone who won’t return them. mason isn’t sure what he wants but knows he doesn’t want to give up what they have.

no feelings

mason just stared at the door to ria’s office, the shades obscuring the sight of her but he could still hear the sound of her heartbeat. solid and steady, like her.

he didn’t know why he said what he did. he just knew that she was hurt, even though she pretended not to be. and even though he wanted to talk to her, he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

it didn’t matter though, seeing as how she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to him anytime soon.

but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

he knocked, hesitantly. once. twice.

“come in,” a voice called out, loud to his senses, vibrating ever so slightly.

he opened the door and paused in the doorway, eyes searching hers for permission.

her head rose from where it had been resting on her arms, fists clenching once she noticed him. she lowered her hands to her lap, but mason had no doubt that her knuckles were white.

“what do you want?” she asked, her features stitching together a mask of indifference.

but he could see the truth in her light blue eyes. it was his special skill after all, being able to read people and get the truth from them.

a skill he tried to avoid using with ria as much as possible for some reason.

when did that happen?

even now, as he was holding her gaze, he knew he wasn’t trying to read her. but he could still sense that something was off. and he wanted, no needed, to figure out what it was.

the silence between them grew as ria’s gaze shifted. she looked expectantly at him. “well? if you don’t have anything new to report on the case, you should leave. i have a lot of work to do.”

he shook his head, a force of habit. he really didn’t know what to say.

she glanced away, eyes flitting across the posters and papers pinned to the wall next to her desk, but mason could see the gears turning in her mind. when she turned back to look at him, the pain from before was replaced by a newfound intensity that slammed into him and sent a prickly, but still pleasant, tingle across his chest and down his arms.

a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her eyes appraised him, and not unlike the first time they flirted, the motion sent something warm and soothing down south. as her eyes met his again, the warmth turned into a simmering heat and he took a step forward, her darkened irises drawing him in.

he raised an eyebrow at her. while he was no stranger to the constant attraction between them, which pushed and pulled like the tides but always met each other at dusk and dawn, it didn’t seem like the time.

for once, he wanted to talk.

“look, about what i said before,” he started, folding his arms across his chest.

ria made her way around her desk until she was standing in front of him. “you were right. you made it clear that you were only interested in fun, and i agreed,” she shrugged, tapping her fingers lightly on his chest.

his brow furrowed. while he did say something to that affect, it wasn’t what he wanted.

“that’s all this is and all it’s going to be, so i’ll see you later at my apartment?” ria asked pointedly, her lip curling into a smirk.

a frustrated rumble crouched low in the back of his throat. “i never said that this is all it’s going to be,” he snapped, flinching at the volume of his own voice.

ria didn’t move a muscle. her light blue eyes had darkened to a cloudy grey, only a few shades lighter than his own.

“you didn’t have to, sunshine. i’m saying it. so am i seeing you later or not?” she asked, the glare on her face reminding him of the daggers she had hidden under her jacket sleeves.

an uncomfortable itch started in his belly and he subconsciously scratched at the fabric of his shirt, blunt nails digging in harder before he realized the itch was under his skin.

and it was spreading. traveling up toward his chest and out before making its way down his arms. leaving behind a tiny, circular weight in his stomach that he didn’t care for.

he could recognize it for what it was, a form of conflict. swirling counter-clockwise as a hurricane does when it approaches shore. but he didn’t understand why it was there.

what he did understand is that if she wanted to see him, he wanted to see her.

he gave her a slow nod. “i’ll see you later,” he said, hesitating for a brief second with his hand on the doorknob.

he glanced back at her and said softly, “sweetheart.”

~ against her better judgment, ria met mason’s gaze before he left, the murmured pet name on his lips seeming to glide through the air and hit her in the chest. her body slumped back against the desk as he left, energy draining out of her and leaving behind the tempestuous grey look now seared in her mind. his words left an uncomfortable lump in her throat, and she hoped no one else came into her office.

she looked at the clock, a feeble attempt to fast-forward to the end of the day, only for her shoulders to sag at the realization that she basically still had eight hours to go. despite the tension in their earlier conversation and the uncomfortable moments they’ve had since breakfast, ria wasn’t mad at mason.

even though she had stormed out while trying to blink back tears and then he stormed away from her after finding out about bobby, she didn’t blame him.

no, the only person she was fucking pissed off at was herself.

it wasn’t supposed to get this far.

she wasn’t good with feelings. it was always easier to push away any uncomfortable thoughts or emotions by keeping her body physically distracted, preferably with either a partner in the gym or a partner in her bed.

learning how to box and working her way through all the various martial art forms gave her focus after quitting ballet.

(though it did little to quell the feelings of inadequacy caused by things completely out of her control.)

teaching herself how to use knives and rook’s family dagger was a welcome distraction after she was forced to abandon her aspirations to join the army.

(though digging through rook’s old stuff in the attic in desperate protest – to find anything that would tell her he would’ve supported her – only drowned her in the loss.)

flirting and sleeping with every person who showed interest in her and seemed even an inch better than bobby fucking marks.

(though every little fling, whether a one-night stand or a string of awkward first dates, only added supporting evidence to the story she told herself that no one would stick around for her.)

and it was supposed to be the same with mason.

no strings. no baggage. no goddamn feelings.

ria gripped the edge of her desk with her hands until her knuckles turned white. she already broke her first rule of dating: don’t catch feelings.

you can’t get hurt if there aren’t feelings involved, she reminded herself of the mantra that got her out of several attempts at relationships after breaking up with bobby.

but she could still implement her second rule.

~ instead of heading back to the warehouse right away, mason wandered toward the trees bordering the station that offered a shady respite from the scorching sun against his sensitive skin.

the heat was only going to get worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. even in the dark shade of the trees around him, the sun burned against his skin almost as if it were bare. he winced, not even wanting to think about how much worse it might feel if he wasn’t at least wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

they still needed to work together.

he pushed the seemingly random thought out of his mind as quickly as it had appeared, his body reacting viscerally in disagreement to the sentiment.

this wasn’t about maintaining a working relationship with ria.

this was bigger than that.

at least, he assumed, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

he lit a cigarette, trying to distract from how his shirt is quickly becoming an incubator for the heat. smoke curled upward as he leaned his head back against the trunk of a tree.

he was always in it for the fun. it made traveling around and the downtime between missions more bearable.

he didn’t really care for hobbies and interests the way nate and felix did. and he could only take a beating from adam every so often.

having fun, especially with humans – who were so easy to rile up and even easier to read – made the endless time pass in a way that felt normal. for him anyway.

learning all the different ways he could elicit sounds from them. figuring out how quickly he could make them peak. knowing exactly what to do to leave them wanting more.

he took a long drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes and wishing the burn in his lungs would linger a little longer. it numbed the burn on the outside of his body.

but no feelings. that always took the fun out of things.

that was the rule.

and ria was fun, there was no denying that. maybe even the most fun he’s had in a very long time.

she knew his rule. hell, it was her rule too.

it was the perfect situation for him.

maybe he didn’t want to lose out on such an ideal situation. or mess up the team dynamic.

he dumped the cigarette butt onto the floor and put out the embers with his shoe.

whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t ready for things with her to end.

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @babycracker; @writer-ish; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @pearlsandsteel; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @mevnraels;

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[hanoella]

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam's who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he's not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Read Part 2

---

After everything that happened with the Flag Smashers and the GRC, Bucky thought that laying low with Sam in Louisiana was a good idea. He had been looking for a fresh start anyway. Between losing Steve and making his last amends, New York as of late had only been full of sad memories and regrets. Louisiana was so different- slower paced and fresh, no negative feelings. No feelings at all, actually. Sam was more than understanding, letting him stay with them until he found a semi-permanent place here.

Currently, Bucky was staring out the window, watching the breeze make little waves in the grass as he ate his sandwich. Sarah and the kids had gone out to the boat, making the house feel virtually abandoned. There was too much space and not enough people. For just himself, it was only a reminder that he would continue to stay as he always had- alone.

Sam walked into the kitchen where Bucky was, effectively breaking his train of thought. He raised an eyebrow at Sam’s mischievous smile- or maybe it was a regular one. He always looked like he was up to something, at least to Bucky.

“Great news,” Sam started. “I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. She’s moving down here for some work and is looking for someone to live on the property with her.”

“She?” Bucky questioned.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking but before you say anything else, let me explain. So she already bought the house, it’s less than 10 minutes from here so you can still see us whenever you want. The property’s a couple acres so it’s got tons of space. It comes with an apartment over the shed, so you don’t have to share walls. She keeps to herself so she won’t bother you,” Sam said, counting the pros on his fingers as he talked.

“And the best part is: you don’t need to pay rent. I explained the situation, with you being a hero to the world and all, and she said as long as you can help her out with the heavy-duty stuff like taking care of the property and the occasional repair, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Bucky eyed the couch that had been his home for the past several weeks. Don’t get him wrong- being here with the boys was fun. Unfortunately though, he was still in a place in his life where he needed time to think, heal and meditate. The nightmares, although less frequent, were still occurring. Sam was always supportive, but Bucky didn’t want to keep putting him out. Sam noticed the hesitation and spoke.

“You don’t have to decide right now, but she’s moving here in a few days and could at least use some help. She said we could go look at the property now- no pressure though. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Bucky paused a moment before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go.”

---

Sam turned into a dirt driveway lined with low hanging trees on one side and a field on the other. Bucky wouldn’t have even noticed it if not for the mailbox on the street.

“See, well this is perfect for you, it’s back in the cut.” Sam said.

Bucky could understand from context clues that that meant secluded. Probably.

It took a few seconds down the driveway before the trees on the left cleared and the water was visible. On the other side, there was a light green house with white trim. With the typical Southern architecture and porch, it was the picture perfect place to live. No neighbors- just trees and water.

Sam whistled as they pulled up at the end of the driveway by the house. Now that they were closer, Bucky could see the large garage on the opposite side of the driveway. It almost looked like another house but much smaller, and with a small dock in the water. The bottom floor of the garage had two large doors that opened upwards, and one regular doorway. The top floor had several windows with curtains in them, shrouding the inside. Getting out of the car, Bucky walked around the car to where Sam was opening the door to the garage.

Going in to inspect the garage, Bucky blinked to adjust to the dim light. He looked around to find several yard tools, some cans of paint on shelves, and a riding mower. On the back wall was a door. Hearing a rustle, he turned to find Sam feeling up on the highest shelf.

“Found it!” He said triumphantly, holding the key to the apartment up.

Walking over to the door on the back wall, Sam unlocked it and pulled it open. Bucky poked his head through the doorway and looked up to the staircase at his left. He turned to meet Sam’s eye, who shrugged before gesturing to Bucky to take the lead. It led up to the top floor of the garage, which was fitted with an apartment that turned out to be nicer than he thought.

It was simple but in good condition. Dark hardwood floor, white trim, pale steel blue walls. Where they had walked up was the living room. Directly across from it was a kitchen area with a veranda to walk out on. The open space then shrunk to a hallway to the left. The bathroom being the first door and a bedroom at the end of the hall. Overall, plenty of space for one person.

“I don’t know about you Buck, but this place seems perfect.” Sam said as he opened the glass sliding door to the veranda. It overlooked the undisturbed landscape, hidden from the nearby town.

“It does.” Bucky responded simply.

He took a moment to walk out onto the veranda with Sam and view the birds wading through the water.

“Well good,” Sam said with a chuckle. “This way, you can stop hitting on my sister.”

Bucky laughed and punched him in the arm. Sam feigned physical and emotional injury.

“Haha, Very funny.”

Sarah was a nice gal, but focused on her life at the moment. Sure, there had been a few sparks, but ultimately she had made it clear that her priority at the moment was her boys and her business. Bucky had been a good sport about it. It just felt good to be back in the game without it feeling forced.

Sam watched as Bucky stared out at the water before switching to a serious note.

“So… You feel like you’re ready?”

Bucky slowly nodded.

“Yeah. This is it.”

Sam smiled wide as he handed the key over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Welcome home.”

---

Bucky had very few belongings from New York that came with him. A small wooden table with chairs. A few books. A bed, a couch, a TV. There wasn’t really a whole lot that couldn’t be replaced if needed. He had been able to take the trip to and from in a few days, already moving his belongings into the apartment. The only big thing he had done was bring Steve’s old Harley out of storage. He probably should get a car at some point since it wasn’t the city anymore but he’d figure it out.

After saying goodbye to Sarah and the kids, Bucky opened the door to Sam's truck.

“Promise you’ll visit?” shouted one of the boys before clinging to him.

Bucky smiled and patted the kid on the back.

“Of course, I will.” He said, looking at the other boy before gesturing for him to join the hug.

“Uncle Buck’s not going anywhere boys,” Sam promised across the center console from the driver’s side.

Both boys eventually peeled off of Bucky’s side. He got in the truck and rolled down the window.

“Be good for your mom okay?” He said to the boys as he waved and nodded at Sarah, who smiled back as the truck started.

“Okay, bye!” They shouted until Bucky could no longer see them in side view mirror.

He really would miss those kids.

They drove in comfortable silence until they pulled up to the house where a light blue sedan was parked next to a storage pod that had been delivered. After parking by it, they exited the truck as you were stepping out of your car.

“Sam!” You exclaimed cheerfully, as you went in for a hug. He lifted you slightly off the ground and you laughed, smiling wide. Bucky stood to the side and observed the interaction, giving you a once-over. You were dressed appropriately for the work you were about to do- light-wash high-water jeans, a white t-shirt with a chest pocket, canvas shoes, and hair up in a slightly messy bun with a few gold bobby pins thrown in to hold back any loose wisps of hair.

After Sam set you down, he turned to Bucky and introduced you.

“… and we met during a charity event that Tony hosted. She offered her services free of charge to help us raise money for the VA.”

You held a hand out to Bucky.

“It’s very nice to meet you! Thanks so much for helping me move in, I really appreciate it.”

Bucky smiled lightly and nodded as he shook your hand.

“Nice to meet you too.”

You smiled and took back your hand before looking at the house.

“Shall we?” You inquired, gesturing towards the storage pod.

“Of course,” Sam replied, opening the door to the pod. As Bucky looked inside, he noted that it was mostly just boxes. The noticeable items were the same as his: the bare minimum- besides a fancy electric piano.

“How’re you gonna fill up this house with a few pieces of furniture?” Sam joked.

“Hey, it’s better than having too much stuff! Besides, don’t guys always say that women have too much stuff?” You quip back as you reach for one of the larger boxes in the pod.

“Ah-ah-ah, no you don’t,” Sam said as he intercepted you and picked up the box.

“Oh, c’mon Sam. I’ll feel bad if I make you guys do all the heavy stuff.”

“You’re not making us do anything. Besides, I’ll be fine, and the old man could use some exercise,” he said, nodding towards Bucky.

You smiled timidly at Bucky.

“I have a bad shoulder.” You explained while gripping the top of your right arm.

“I get what that feels like,” he sympathized, nodding to his metal arm.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, it’s not nearly as bad-”

Bucky cut you off.

“Don’t be sorry. If it’s hurting you, don’t worry about it. We can handle it.” He said gently, pausing for a moment before continuing.

“Or at least I can.”

Sam tilted his head back and feigned hurt feelings while you picked up a lamp base and shook it lightly at him.

“Does this meet your approval, Mr. Wilson?” You asked teasingly.

“Why yes, yes it does. Now come on.”

He walked into the house, you right on his heels. Bucky eyed the two of you together for a moment before picking up a few boxes himself.

---

A few hours later, he was sitting on the worn leather couch next to Sam while you went to get them some drinks in the kitchen. You appeared under the white trimmed archway into the living area holding three glasses.

“One sweet tea for the guest, one lemonade for my new neighbor, and a half and half for the gracious host.” You said, holding up your glass after handing the others out.

You three clinked glasses and you sunk into a sage green armchair with dark wood.

“So… how does this work?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Mmm, yes.” You said, swallowing the sip you had taken.

“Uhm, basically whenever you’re not off saving the world with Captain America,” You started, smiling with pride at Sam. “If you could just make sure the grass doesn’t get too long and help me with some of the more physically demanding repairs and jobs around the house, that’d be great. Of course, that only applies if you’re here, and even then, as long as it’s not urgent, you can take your time getting around to it. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He remarked.

“Well, don’t say that yet,” you said while laughing. “The property is huge so it might be more of a challenge than you think. But like I said, there’s no need to rush to anything. Besides, I should be thanking you. You’ve done a lot for the world.”

Sam interjected before Bucky could respond, which was okay because he still wasn’t used to accepting thanks instead of apologizing.

“Where’s my thank you for saving the world?”

You rolled your eyes and sarcastically rattled off a thank you. Bucky cleared his throat after a moment.

“Anything you want me to start working on?”

“Oh, please get settled in first. I have some furniture getting delivered that I might need help assembling in a few days but otherwise, there’s nothing else. If you have any expenses like paint or tools, you can just use this card and let me know.” You said, handing over a credit card.

“We should also exchange phone numbers too. What’s yours?”

Bucky stalled a moment before rattling off the numbers. It was a foreign feeling- giving out his phone number. He was most definitely having PTSD from his therapist chucking his phone at him. He watched as you typed away on your phone. Feeling his phone ping, Bucky looked at it and saw a message from an unregistered number.

“Hi, It’s me :)”

“That’s my number. Obviously.”

Bucky nodded his head in thanks while registering your number. It had been a while since he had added anyone’s number. You and Sam started talking about something else while Bucky exited back to the main list of contacts. There, your name was italicized and highlighted at the top. What a strange feeling.

…

Later that night, Bucky was relaxing, enjoying the peace. It was warm for autumn, and the water was reflecting the moonlight. He couldn’t sleep. Not that that was surprising. He walked out of the apartment down to the small dock to sip on a beer and celebrate his newfound independence. Sitting on the edge where his feet barely touched the water, he leaned back onto his hands and took a deep breath in.

That’s when he heard it.

Just barely, with his enhanced hearing, he could hear your crying. It was like you were wailing in pain. Not a sharp new pain, but an intense never ending one. The kind that you hear from an animal that’s been maimed- the kind you put out of their misery. Whatever you were holding in, it had been building up for an impossibly long time and finally, exhausted, you found a chance to let it out. Being able to hear it felt like a dirty invasion of privacy.

Bucky swallowed and took another deep breath before trying to focus on the sound of the wildlife around him. But it was no use. Here you were. Here he was.

No longer the only runaway seeking refuge.

[alreadyblondenow]

I’ll never leave again

Yuta x reader // SMUT, ANGST, fluff? Summary: A Japanese transferee added color to your already colorful and perfect life and you both find true love as you help him with his battle against drugs.   Word Count: 7k Warnings: MAJOR DRUG USES, wearing, explicit mature themes, mentions of alcohol, blood, hospital, rehab, unprotected sex, mentions of other idols Note: IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE WHEN IT COMES TO DRUGS, PLEASE CLICK AWAY. THANK YOU. this fic is 100% came from my imagination, unlike my other works that are inspired from true events and personal experiences, this fic is 100% made up. 

Spaced out and really not in the mood to socialise, you were busy thinking how you’re going to break things off with your boyfriend Jaehyun. The perfect captain of the cheerleading squad and the handsome captain of the basketball team, together and being high school sweethearts is kind of getting old to you. And by getting old you mean you don’t love Jaehyun anymore. Not that he cheated on you or he treated you badly, no Jaehyun’s a great guy. It’s just that maybe he is not what your heart wants anymore.

It’s hard to explain something you cant even understand. You can’t actually pin point when did you start forcing yourself to see Jaehyun and why is this happening. “I can’t just stage a cheating scenario, that’s not me. I think Jaehyun deserves the truth” thats your response when Yeeun suggests to stage a cheating act where Jaehyun will see some random dude in your bed. “He will not buy it. Because he knew I can’t cheat” you added making Yeeun more frustrated.

To finish all your problems regarding breaking up with Jaehyun, you decided to just tell him the truth. He believed everything you said. “I felt it. Your kisses became different” Jaehyun said after you explained your part, you were glad that the breakup was mutual.

Now that you’re on your senior year, you wanted to focus on studying and trying new things. You gave up cheerleading and entrusting the squad to Yeeun. Giving up cheerleading was not a problem even though literally all of your friends are part of the squad, but they understand you. You’re just following your heart. Cheerleading is soon replaced by art, your second passion next to dancing and you couldn’t be more happier.

Everything was going smooth, having good grades, self love, and more art. Although, people in school still see you as this popular cheerleader who used to be with the school star player, you’re having a hard time making new friends. Until you met Nakamoto Yuta. A Japanese transferee who’s always quiet, private and scary because he had a lot of piercings. Not to you of course, you never see him that way. You met at the football field while you were having a quick sketch of the sunset with all your coloring materials just after a long day at school. “You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend” he said peaking from the back bleacher, you turned around to check who it is.

“I’m Yuta by the way, we have the same art class” he’s a little shy and awkward, but nice enough to introduce himself first. You knew you go to the same art class, actually he is quite an artist. He can be top of the class if only he submits his works.

“Hi, I’m y/n” you smiled at him offering a hand shake but you realised your hand is dirty because of the oil pastel. “We can fist bump instead” you suggest and he let out a small laugh. He looks beautiful under the perfect orange light from the sunset, his skin is unbelievably white and flawless, he looks unreal and you can’t stop staring.

“So...” he snapped out of you, “it’s nice to me you y/n. I hope you take my advice” you nod and waved goodbye as he leaves you alone with your drawing session. Your heart is beating so fast and you don’t know why but one things for sure, you find Yuta attractive. Really attractive.

The next day, you made sure to buy soft pastels and it did made your life easier. You wanted to thanked him but he didn’t come to school for two days. It really is useful to you, it made you work faster and easier, you couldn’t stop drawing and filling your sketchbook with colors.

After three days, he made his appearance again in school and he looked like shit. Maybe he got sick? That’s why he haven’t been showing up. Whatever the reason is, it made you shy to talk to him and tell him all about the things you already create with colors that he recommended. But destiny was being a little too friendly, he caught you again sketching your heart out at the bleachers.

“You work fast” he came out of nowhere again.

“Yes! Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you seem not well I couldn’t bother you” he smiled at you like there’s nothing wrong, “If you want, I could show you some of mine, a- at home if you want” you noticed he’s being friendly and who are you to refuse.

Yuta brought you to his house, just five streets from your home. Turns out Yuta is rich... and alone, he lives with his Japanese butler, Ruka. “My family is in Japan if you’re wondering” he tells more information about him while you two walk upstairs to his room. The house is simple but it was too spacious, it feels lonely and cold but you kept that thought to yourself. Good thing Yuta’s room is full of colors, different kind of masterpiece are put up on his wall, lots and lots of drawing and coloring materials neatly stacked on his working table, and a beautiful view of the town from his window.

“Uhm, if you need something from my stuff I’ll gladly give it to you” still amazed by what you’re seeing right now, all you want to do is look at all of his works. “Wow - that’s uhm, too much but I’m happy you can introduce me to a lot of art materials” you can’t hide your excitement, everything in his desks looks new to your eyes and you can’t help but ask questions about different materials. ‘What’s this for?’ ‘How do you use this?’

Not to mention you’ve been praising his works for almost half an hour already. He’s happy that you find him as a great artist and that you’re willing to be friends with him, seeing you in his room gives him hope. Ruka knocked at Yuta’s door and invited you to have dinner with them, you didn’t notice it’s already dark and you definitely need to go home already. But you didn’t want to leave Yuta yet, “Sure. I’d love to”

Even the smell of their freshly cooked dinner is new to you, since their both Japanese they only eat Japanese food everyday. “I hope you like Japanese food, I asked him to order takeout but Ruka insists. Told me you should try his cooking” he whispers beside you while Ruka is busy preparing the table. “It’s fine, I don’t get to eat Japanese food always so I don’t mind” you smiled to Yuta, taking away his worries.

The food was delicious, and the dinner table was full of laughter and stories from Ruka. They were both exchanging stories, telling you too much information you don’t need to know, but they tell you anyway. You found out that Yuta plays soccer and he’s a really good player, he’s an impulsive buyer when it comes to his art materials and your favorite information for the night, Yuta has seventeen piercings. The three of you laughed and laughed the whole dinner time while enjoying the delicious Udon and a lot of deep fried seafood.

Later that night Yuta walked you home and endlessly thanked you for spending time with him. “Everything that happened today is so random, but I could get used to this” you said, secretly hoping you could spend some more time with him. “This is my house. I would normally invite you to come in, but its pretty late - which reminds me” your voice and your hands were shaking, pretty sure you’re blushing too. “We have this thing every Friday. Me and my family- uhh, just meet me here at 7?” How brave of you to ask.

If Yuta could only shout and scream from happiness he would, instead he just gave you a nod and a sweet smile before he waved goodbye to you. “See you tomorrow” he shouts before you get inside.

There’s no way of hiding it, you have a crush on Yuta. And you cant ruin this wonderful friendship by being obvious, you told yourself. The next day you made an effort to look cute, “so much for not being obvious” you talk to yourself through the mirror. As you get on with your day, you can’t stop thinking how Yuta is a complete charmer and a really nice guy. Gentleman enough to walk you home in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly before he leaves.

Yuta on the other hand, has been asking about you to his friends. It’s either they tell him that you’re smart, pretty and popular or they tell him that you are the former captain of the squad. No one told him the things that he single handedly found out about you. In Yuta’s eyes you’re this simple girl that has her life all planned out already. He understood the whole popularity thing because whats not to love about you?

Hiding his excitement, he was pretty early but you told him it’s perfectly fine. Your family adored Yuta, they were all talking nonstop the whole night asking questions about Japan. Which made you worry actually, what if Yuta was hurting and he misses his family or miss Japan in general. Yuta seemed to enjoy everyone’s company, at least that’s what you think and you could only hope that he’s not faking it.

“Sorry, this is the least I can do. The dinner last night was so great, I wanted to invite you over” you brought him to your room so you could have some privacy. Which is not normal. The last guy you brought to your room was Jaehyun, and that happened two years ago.

He was busy looking around your room with an amused smile, looking at the pictures taken from crazy parties, cheerleading competitions, and basically every important event of your life. Yuta let out a small laugh when he saw your cheerleading uniform framed and hanged on your wall.

“What’s so funny about it?” you giggle while you both look at the framed uniform.

“I’ve never seen something like this before, I guess I’m amazed” to be honest he really is amazed that your uniform became something like a trophy that you display around your room. “I bet you look good wearing it” he was smiling while looking at you when he said that. Suddenly the room became hot.  

“You should smile more often, your smile is nice” to divert the attention, of course you praised him again.

“If you think my smile is beautiful, you should’ve seen yours” there’s no getting away with that so you just accepted it.

On the following days, you’ve been spending more time with Yuta talking, drawing and getting to know each other more. And the more you spend time with him, your feelings grow and grow. In a matter of weeks, you’re sure you’ve completely fallen in love with him.

He became your friend, in fact your only friend since you left cheerleading. Every friend of yours is either a cheerleader or jock, given that they’re all athletes, they don’t have time for you anymore. That’s why you think Yuta is a life saver.

Not long ago, you discovered about Yuta’s drug addiction. Weed, Meth, Heroin, all kinds. Maybe that’s why sometimes he’s so spaced out and he miss school a lot. “Yuta’s parents sent him here because of his drug addiction, only he can help himself” Ruka explained to you over coffee while Yuta is out doing whatever he’s doing. Even though he has problems, you still stick with him. He’s still a nice guy who loves his art, the same nice guy your family adored. With or without drugs.

One night, you were playing Jenga with him on his bedroom floor with a few bottle of beers and snacks on the side. “I’m going to win, I’m good at this” he totally loves teasing you whenever you two get competitive with each other. “You wish. Okay my turn” you said after drinking your beer in one down, but the Jenga tower fell off and Yuta laughed so hard he has tears on his eyes. He saw your face completely pissed off as you open another beer and building the tower again for another game.

“Who’s Jaehyun?” you were surprised at his question, something a student from your school wouldn’t dare ask because the whole school knows him.

“Oh right, you’re a transferee” he sat up and sat closer to you, legs crossed and both arms are supporting him on the floor “Uhm. He’s my ex. We’ve been together for two years? I think. And then I broke with him, over the summer because I don’t love him anymore - the breakup was mutual, if you’re wondering” He nods, and ready to ask you another question.

“Do you like someone now?” he reached for your hand which made you stop building the tower and intertwined it with his. You wonder why he’s suddenly so bold and confident. You nod, completely speechless.

“Is it me?” Yuta bravely asks, and you nod without hesitation.

He reached for your lips and kissed you gently, cupping your face as his thumb swipes on your cheeks admiring your beauty. Time stopped the moment you touch lips and you feel the happiness in your stomach balls up, ready to explode.

“This is probably wrong”

And suddenly that happiness you felt was replaced by confusion. He pull away from your touch leaving you so confused and still in shock. “What’s so wrong about this?” you asked him while getting him to look you in the eyes, tugging his arm so he wont’s get too far.

“I’m a drug addict y/n. You can’t be with someone like me. Cliché as it sounds but, I’m scared to ruin your life. You’re this perfect person who I happen to meet at football field and you’re just nice enough to welcome me in your life”

He looks frustrated and confused as you are but you knew damn well that meeting him is something you don’t regret. “You don’t get to push me away just because you decided to be honest with your feelings and somehow decided to be a coward afterwards” it wasn’t easy to stay calm but you tried so hard, your grip on his hand was becoming tighter and he noticed it. “I like you! And you make me happy. You’re the one who put color in my life, well literally and figuratively. But my point is, don’t throw us away” you decided to be brave and kissed him again. This time, hungrier and full of need. You sat on his lap and pushed him down slowly all the way to the floor. Hands all over each other, switching positions and rolling on the floor without stopping the kiss.

It was not a surprise for everyone when you went public, they already foresee what’s going on between you two. Your family still adored Yuta just like how they adored him from the first time they met him. The whole popularity problem in school completely changed in a good way because of Yuta. More people from school are talking to you now, they’re not scared or shy to be friends with you anymore because Yuta somehow changed everyone’s perspective. With Yuta you’re this normal person who’s happy to be with his boyfriend.

Happy days are nothing but pure laughter and great memories with Yuta. Movie night with Yuta and Ruka with a bunch of Japanese treats on the side is your new Friday night schedule. And inviting Yuta and Ruka for family dinner during special occasions has been a thing that made Yuta happy. He told you he’s a sucker for spending time with family but his family is in Japan and he can’t go home until he’s clean. That was the night you decided that you will never leave Yuta’s side.  

Yuta is this bright color that made your life even more colorful. He is this man, full of surprises and definitely no dull moment. You learned how to take care of him in your own ways without making him feel sorry for himself. Vulnerable, important and ordinary, that’s what he made you feel. And by ordinary, you mean no social pressure from the people around you. Just two normal people who fell in love in a normal way. Sometimes, situations can be a handful but it was never a problem for the both of you. Yes he has drug issues but for you, Yuta deserves to be loved. And no one can stop you from loving him.

Your love for each other grew and grew until you reach being intimate with each other.

It was raining hard and the wind was strong, you decided to stay over at Yuta’s house. Already washed up and fresh, you wait for your boyfriend in his bed as he turned off the lights in his room and replaced it with scented candles.

“You look comfortable there” he giggle as he crawls in bed and sat beside you leaning on his headboard. It’s chilly and cold in Yuta’s room, you cant help but be closer to him. Closer as possible.

“You like that?” You hum and nod with eyes closed to answer him. Surprisingly, he kissed you and your eyes opened only to see Yuta’s handsome face close to yours. The kiss was slow and you were both taking time savouring this quiet memory. It went on like that for some time, until the kiss became wet and needy. He hungrily kissed you bitting and licking your lips. Hands creeping just under your shirt, all the way to your clothed boobs and skilfully unclasps your bra. Gently kneading your right boob and doing a circular motion on your nipple.  

“We’ve never gone this far” you said as you catch your breath, and went back to kissing him a little bit slowly this time.

“Do you think its time?” He managed to ask you in between those soft kisses, giving you sweet pecks. You nod excitedly. “Sit between my legs” you followed what he told you, completely clueless on what he’s going to do next.

“Spread your legs wide” it suddenly became hotter as you spread your legs nervously. Your head is resting on his shoulder, back against his chest, heart beating so fast as you wait for his next move. “Yuta, can you kiss me?” your voice cracked but he just smiled, and shook his head. “Not until you remove your shorts and panties” and so you did. Hurriedly removing your thin shorts and laced panties, throwing them on the floor.

The moment his finger had contact with your wet slit you gasp and grabbed his shoulder gripping it tightly as you moan. You feel like this is new to you but it isn’t, of course you’re not a virgin anymore and Jaehyun did a fair share on that. “Yuta- Ah! Baby I’m almost there” with heavy breaths and sharp gasps, you warn him and at the same time stopping yourself from cumming too early.

“Wider” he said so calmly, you followed spreading your legs wider. Fingers drilling a little harder than before and you finally let go. Shivering and catching your breath, eyelids already heavy. He licks your parted mouth as you enjoy your high, filthy but fucking hot. His breath smells like mint.

“You seem so calm the whole time you were finger fucking me” with all the energy left in your body, you went back to laying on his side.

“Yeah well my cock isn’t” he kissed you on the forehead and tells you, “i love you, you sound beautiful the whole time. I was busy listening to you”

You have something on your mind right now that you’re somehow scared to ask because he might refuse, “I have a question” you sat up and sat on his lap. Your legs and pussy are still exposed, and you’re making Yuta’s cock even more hard. “Why did you not ever asked me to have sex with you?”

“Well will you have sex with me baby?” Just like that, straightforward and calm like the Yuta you know. You were both giggling like little kids for some time while waiting for your answer. It’s not that you don’t want to but you were just shy to say your answer out loud.

“You’re shy, aren’t you?” of course he knew you’re being shy. He’s your boyfriend who happens to know everything about you. “Well, I’m horny” he sat up to reach your lips, kissing you gently but enough to prove that he is horny. Slowly his kisses went to your neck, making you moan softly. But you pull away not telling him anything. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking right. Please don’t be mad-“

To his surprise, you removed your shirt and your unclasped bra. Now you’re fully naked on top of your boyfriend, “It’s not fair that I’m the only ones naked here, baby” you grab the end of his shirt and helped him to removed it. “You scared me” he managed to tell you in between hungry kisses, “you’re so in trouble” he added and pushed you on the mattress.

Laughing like a little girl, while Yuta is busy kissing your naked body beneath him. Your head is dangling on the edge of the bed seeing his room upside down. His cock is poking your thigh the moment he’s on top of you naked, and you’re positive that it made you nervous. “Baby, I think your cock wont fit me” your boyfriend was amused by what you just said, “It will” is the only response he said before licking your nipples and sucking them gently. He grabbed your right leg putting it on his shoulder and kneeled in between your legs, lining his cock in your entrance.

Slowly he pushed his cock inside you making you bite your hand and close your eyes to stop yourself from moaning too loud. “See? it fits” Yuta is doing the opposite, he’s groaning with every thrust he give you letting out sounds you didn’t know he can make. Whimpering like a little boy beside your neck, you can hear him clearly. As his pace goes faster you were losing your mind at how good he fucks you for the first time.

“Don’t fucking stop” with heavy breath and gasp, you reached for his neck and encircled your arms around him. Legs spreading wider for him, moans becoming a little bit louder. The bed is shaking you’re sure Ruka can hear you both.

“Y/n, if you don’t stop moaning like that- I swear” his thrust became quicker and sharper leaving you speechless. Your pussy clenched the whole time trying to fight the sensation and trying so hard not to be on edge yet. But it’s a battle you can’t win, Yuta is so good at making you let go. You didn’t say that you were cumming but he can tell because your legs were already shaking and you were grabbing everything you can on bed and gripping it a little too hard. He pulls out and pumped his cock in front of you making his cum land perfectly on your boobs. Just the sight of his cum on your beautiful body, makes him hard again.

You grabbed him with both hands through the neck, and pull him on your chest kissing him a little too harsh. Filthy as it looks but you don’t care. You spread your legs again and put a hand in between the two of you and grabbed his hard cock. Pushing it inside you again, he let you do what you want. In a matter of seconds, he’s inside you again.

“I was disappointed, you didn’t cum inside me” you pout and he thrust again without a single word making your head roll back again, smiling like a fool because you got want you want. Yuta fucked you again, but this time rougher and he get to cum inside you.  

“Sorry if I didn’t cum inside you earlier” he kissed your forehead while you calm down from your orgasm. You still can’t talk and you’re still catching your breath, all you can do is smile as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.

And that was the start of having sex with Yuta with every chance you get. Making out in your room that leads to sex before doing homework. Watching the sunset through his window still naked and all over each other. Sex was different with Yuta, it was damn wild and filthy but full of love. Something you never felt before.

Whenever you’re busy working on something in the art room and Yuta needed to fetch you there, you make out with him for some time because he missed you already. Even though anyone can just enter and catch you two, he never cared.

If you’re not allowed to go out on a Friday night, he will sneak up to your room through your open window while you were sleeping and kiss you quietly until you wake up. You love having quiet sex with Yuta in your room because its funny how you two try to stop moaning too loud. On top of that, he needed to stop himself from fucking you too hard and remind him to go slow from time to time.  

Your fear of giving him a blowjob because you’re not that confident with it completely changed when one day you were just so hungry for his cock and you went down on your knees and gave him a blowjob for the first time. That’s during lunch and you brought him to the locker room where you and Jaehyun used to make out before practice. To your surprise Yuta came three times in your mouth, for some reason he loved it. From there on he always ask you for a blowjob and you always gladly give him what he wants.

If there are days with him that are nothing but pure happiness, of course there are days that are almost impossible to bare. All you can do is be strong and keep your patience long, remind yourself that you love Yuta no matter what happens. You really don’t know where it all started, or what triggered him to go back on drugs but you noticed he’s been busy and he’s not telling you the whole truth whenever you ask him ‘what’s up?’

After spending six beautiful months together, suddenly Yuta is gone again for days. He’s been missing a lot again and that can only mean he’s out somewhere taking drugs or he’s taking drugs and he’s in trouble. When you came to his house, Ruka was stopping you from entering the house but you insist.

“What is it Ruka?” you know he’s hiding something from you and Yuta is inside. So you shout from the outside, forcing Yuta to come out. He did. Limping and face all beat up. You’re not mad or disappointed, you were simply worried about him. “He got home this morning, and he’s still high from drugs. I don’t think this is a great time y/n.”

You look at each other’s eyes from a far, both hurt but yours is not physical. Broken heart, that’s what pains you. It’s hard to step away from his house, looking in his eyes full of hurt. Deep down you know he wanted to hug your kiss but he can’t because he can’t fucking move and he’s too humiliated.

What you saw today was too much and you needed a breather. It’s good that its Friday, you can be with your friends and somehow divert your mind. “People can get beaten up with a lot of reasons specially when drugs is involved” Johnny says while drinking his beer and playing beer pong with the others. “Don’t think about it too much, he’s going to be okay” Yeeun shouts from another side of the table. All of your friends were supportive with the relationship you have with Yuta even though they know about his drug problems. You spent days being with your friends while Yuta is recovering and there’s not a day where you don’t check up on him.

A week passed already and theres still no sign of Yuta. You can’t just show up in front of his house again, you didn’t want to disturb his recovery. Besides, school works are pilling up you need to focus studying and finishing some of the requirements. Your mind is buried into Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and you didn’t notice you passed out. When you woke up, you found Yuta beside you all snuggled up and waiting for you to open your eyes.

“Am I dreaming?” you closed your eyes and opened them again, no you’re not dreaming. He smile a little, you figure he’s still in pain. “Are you alright now? How did you get in?” you sat up to check his face and his arm. “I’m alright, I just needed to see you. I can’t take it anymore. I missed you so much” he reached for your hands and kissed your knuckles. He pats the mattress telling you to come lay with him in bed, and you did. Fingers intertwined and bodies close to each other, just how you like it.

“Why do you stay with me? You’re this perfect girl that fell in love with an addict”

For some reason you were scared of how he asked you that question. It almost felt like he’s going to leave you. There was a minute of complete silence before you answer him, “Because thats what you do if u love someone. You don’t give up on them. And just so you know I love you, and Im in love with you”

He chuckled but still careful not to overdo it because of the bruises in his face, “I know. I know that all too well” he placed his hand just above your jaw, and left a kiss on your forehead. “I’m trying to be better for you so I wont have to leave you eventually and go to fucking rehab. I can do this right?” hearing Yuta say that made you realise you were wrong about him wanting to leave you. He doesn’t want to leave, he wanted to be better for you. You kissed him on the lips pouring everything from the past couple of weeks in it. The kiss was wet but it wasn’t because of spit, but because of tears.  

After what happened, he tried being clean but he just ends up taking drugs over and over again. There was a time that you caught him taking cocaine in his bathroom and he shut the door with a loud slam and told you to go home. Seeing him do things like that pains you to the core. He never wanted to hurt you like this, he never pushed you away because deep down he wanted to be better and if that happens he wants you to be on his side.

A week before prom, Yuta made sure he’s clean and he promised you he will never ruin prom night for you. As a way of celebrating for being fourteen days clean and spending time with each other, you had sex after a wonderful night spent with Yuta.

“Fuck I missed being inside you” he whispers behind your ear while his fucking you with a steady pace. As always, the way he fucks you can make you lose your mind and smile like a fool while moaning and gasping at the same time. You closed your eyes as you let go of the feeling and cum for the first time tonight, the moment you open your eyes you see Yuta’s eyes closed completely blown by the frenzy on being on edge. And bleeding.

His nose is bleeding uncontrollably.

“Baby- you need to stop” opening his eyes to ask if he hurt you, he saw the blood on your boobs, completely panicking. “Did I do this to you baby- where does it hurt?” you were crying already, not talking to him as you quickly wore your clothes and screamed for help, calling Ruka as loud as you can.

Yuta was completely clueless but his head was spinning and he feels so weak suddenly. “Baby! Don’t close your eyes, you can die-  please stay with me” you were practically slapping his face to keep him awake as you help him wear his pants.

Everything happened so fast the moment you see his nose bleeding nonstop. You and Ruka rushed him to the hospital as quickly as you can. You were alone at the waiting lounge as Ruka takes care of everything Yuta needs to stay in the hospital.

All of your friends weren’t picking up because maybe they’re sleeping and tired from practice. But one person picked up and made his way to the hospital and brought you some clothes as soon as he can.

“I’m sorry Jaehyun, I didn’t know anyone else to call. I cant just simply call my family” Jaehyun was holding you close and comforting you as you cry for a whole hour. After changing to clean clothes, Ruka called you in to talk to Yuta. While Jaehyun is hesitating to come with you,  “Jae, come on its okay. He’ll be happy to see you”  

You were happy to see Yuta completely awake and smiling once you opened the door and entered the room with Jaehyun. You sat beside Yuta and kissed him on the forehead, “the sex was so good, you made me bleed” he joked around making all three of you laugh and you tear up again. “What’s happening to you?” you weren’t sure you wanted to know but you do know it’s nothing good.

“I’m fine baby, no need to worry” of course he will not tell you what’s going on because he didn’t want to make you worry. “Thank you Jaehyun. For being with her” Jaehyun nods at him and pats Yuta’s arm.

Suddenly your excitement for prom is replaced with worries for Yuta’s health. He needs to stay in the hospital for a week, and that covers prom. “We’re still on for prom right?” you were laying with him on the hospital bed as he shower you with kisses. If there’s anything he hates more than anything, that is making you disappointed. “Of course” you kissed him back, making him blush. “Can’t wait to see you crowed, Prom Queen” even though that’s not important to you anymore, you just nod and rolled your eyes on him.

He did got out from the hospital a day before prom, leaving him with only a day to rest. Ruka got him a nice tux that fits him really well, and you on the other hand tried to forget things that happened last week that completely ruined your prom excitement.

After working so hard on your hair and makeup, you finished getting ready just in time for your friends to pick you up. But Yuta is not yet here, when he’s supposed to be here already an hour before your friends arrived. “I think you guys should go, I’ll wait for him a little longer. I’ll see you there, okay?” you wave goodbye to your friends as you wait for Yuta on your porch.

You called Ruka to ask about Yuta, hoping maybe he just got problems with his tux. “Hey, Ruka uhm, is Yuta still there?” his answer broke your heart. The excitement was replaced with worries again, you called Yuta’s phone a hundred times but he never picks up.

A car parked in front of your house, hoping it’s Yuta. But it’s not, it’s Jaehyun. He drove to your house because he was worried, “What’s happening?” he worriedly asked. You were still trying to call Yuta’s phone, still no answer.

“Come one y/n, I’ll take you to prom” Jaehyun offered, but as much as you wanted to accept his offer Yuta’s excitement from the other day, flashed in your mind and you know you can’t go.

“I can’t Jae, thank you and I know you mean nothing but kindness. I’ll wait for Yuta here, he will get hurt if I go without him” Jaehyun didn’t really want to leave you but you made your choice.

The moment Jaehyun left, your tears finally fall. You were crying when your mom gave you a blanket and invited you to go wait for him inside. “I’m fine, thanks for the blanket” you were so hurt to even move. And you’re not hurt because he ditched you to prom, you’re hurt because you can’t reach him and you’re worried for him. A lot of things may have happened to him and that’s what worries you.

A week later, Ruka met you after school and told you that Yuta is finishing high school through home study under your school’s supervision. “He’s still part of the school, I’ll convince him to attend graduation. But,” something bad is about to happen, you thought.  “he wanted me tell you that, he’s breaking up with you” and that’s it. You burst into tears after hearing the bad news. It was so hard to breath, hearing those words from Ruka and not directly from Yuta. But you trust Yuta’s decision and maybe it’s for the best. With a heavy heart, you hugged Ruka goodbye and left without another word.

You tried putting up a big smile during graduation and hugging everyone you knew all throughout high school, except for one important person. A week after graduation, you left for college. Still with a heavy heart but you wanted to move on and have a fresh start.  

Ten years later

It’s impossible to forget your first love specially if that someone made an impact to your life. You’re sitting on the very spot where you met Yuta remembering how you were charmed by his smile. Mouthing the exact same words he told you before introducing himself first, ‘You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend’ smiling after you realised you’re completely a fool for still dwelling from the past.

You shrug it of and decided to go back to your high school reunion, maybe people are already looking for you. You stood up from the bleacher, “hi” and you almost fell from where you were standing and the person in front of you is to blame.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry” you told the man that it’s okay and you should get going, not even bothering to look who he might be. It’s weird that the man isn’t letting go of your hand, “Excuse me. I need my hand-“ your heart beats fast like the moment you first saw him. Nothings changed that’s for sure, except his hair color.

“Yuta” your eyes were full of tears but you were smiling the whole time. He pulled you in for a tight hug, holding you close like how he used to. It feels like a dream, you thought. A dream that you never want to end. Catching up with lost time, you spend the night with him forgetting about the high school reunion and watching over the same blue sky you used to look at years and years ago from his room.

He’s now an owner of a popular art gallery in Japan, which you happened to know about. “No way! You own that place, I went there just last year for work” he nods, and told you he knew. And he can’t believe you’re standing inside his art gallery. “I got scared. That’s why I didn’t talked to you” then you remember, on that day you were supposed to meet the owner of the gallery, “That’s why we talked to your secretary instead of the owner… which is you” he was nodding the whole time like a fool. It’s fun laughing the whole night not minding the time, he’s the same man you fell in love with.

“We missed prom because I was busy getting high” he suddenly blurted out when the both of you was silent.

“I went to your house I saw you waiting for me outside, crying because I ditched you” he’s wrong, you were crying that time because you were worried sick. But you saved your explanation for later, for now you just wanted him to explain his part.

“And I know I’m ten years late but, you look beautiful in that red lipstick. And oh! That dress on you, Mmm! I was admiring you from a far, and you were perfect” there he is again, making you laugh “and me I was high that time and I couldn’t ruin your night even more. I cant ruin your life even more” he reached for your hand and kissed it like he used to.

“That was my breaking point. After I finished the home study program, I begged my mom to put me in rehab, I want to be better for you. As always y/n. But as I got better I figured maybe you forgot about me already so I focused on getting better for myself. Went to college, had a job and now this. All better. Never want to go back” he left you speechless again, but he deserves to know the truth.

“Im sorry Yuta, I didn’t know. But for the record I was crying because I just wanted to see you that time. It doesn’t matter if you were high as a kite. I couldn’t care less about prom. I was waiting for you until the sun goes up and you never showed up. I was blaming myself maybe, I didn’t loved you enough thats why you left”

“No no, don’t say that. You were more than enough” tears never stopped falling from your eyes and Yuta hated seeing you cry. So he kissed you on the lips for the first time again for so many years. You rest your forehead on his, taking time to process everything that’s happening right now. Completely aware of what’s running in your mind right now he suggests to take things slow before coming back to each other’s lives again.

“Take all the time you need. I’m sorry. I swear I’ll never leave again”

................................................. Masterlist

Thank you for reading if you get up to this point hihi. Million thanks to every reader like you. 

I had a hard time finishing this fic because the word count is originally, 9k+ and I’m not sure if my readers are up for that long fic... because I usually post fics that are 6k max long. But I guess it is what it is. 

Hope someone enjoyed this fic huhu 

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Hello! I hope you're doing okay over there. Are your requests open? If so, could you do a Din x reader with the reader sketching him (the child and their special moments together) when she thinks he isn't looking, but one day he finds the sketchbook? If they're closed just ignore the request but hold on tight to the wishes of good furtune and health ♥ Stay safe!

I’m hanging in there sweet anon and I hope you’re doing okay too (okay but this is so cute omg).

Warnings: It’s really just two dorks and good ole fluff. Some of this is unedited as well

*Reminder that the forum for my taglist is still up and pinned!

__________________________________________ 

If he would turn slightly to the left, you’d be able to get the perfect angle you need to finish the sketch. 

The helmet reflects the glare of the stars, illuminating a bright shine around the top of the beskar and stinging your eyes just a little when you look up at it. You can’t help but do it anyway. The Child is asleep, a day of actually getting to use those little feet of his wore him out - you love the little one, but you and Din have exhausted yourselves keeping up with finding him his home and protecting him at the same time; this peace and quiet right now is highly overdue.

The pencil glides easily against the paper, connecting every line to another, creating another favorite of yours; the perfect piece of art that’s sitting in front of you, unaware of the stacks of sketches that you’ve drawn silently in the whatever corner you can lurk in. To be honest, with as attentive as he is, you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on to you yet. 

You’re so lost in finishing the shades that you don’t notice the Mandalorian turning slightly towards you in his seat. He watches your brows furrow in deep concentration, the light scratching in the air a comfort to him since the months of hearing it. He’s never actually seen any of your drawings, however, and he knows that one day the curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll ask... eventually. 

Truth is he’s not all the sure on why he hasn’t asked you yet, despite the growing and gnawing interest with teeth that grows sharper and longer as more time goes on. And it’s not like you’ve ever brought it up, either. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you - a dance that’s familiar in any language; of scared love and child-like curiosity that seeps into something deeper.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of. 

It’s in this moment of sensing a pair of eyes on you - the pair of eyes you can’t see, but imagine they must be green, or brown more than anything. For a moment, you’re almost afraid to find out.

With a small intake of air you will your head to tilt up. The visor spins away so quick that it’s almost comical, and you bite your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest. 

“Din,” you call his name teasingly. “Is there something you wanted?”

It’s almost too hard to hide the laughter when his helmet jolts towards you, like he’s surprised that you called him out on it. 

“I -” You think you hear a gulp through the statics of the vocoder. “- I was... I was just wondering what you were drawing. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity of his apology, and the fact that he was watching you, which has you wondering if this is a reoccurrence you’ve been blind to this entire time.

“It doesn’t,” you voice croaks. “It’s-it’s nothing really. Just the ship, whatever I see throughout the day.” You sit up, still clutching the book to your chest. “I’m going to check on the kid. Call for me if you need anything.”

When the hell did the air get so thick like this? You feel bad, so bad, and a part of you wants to desperately show him this simple thing that he just wants to look at, but... but he’ll know. One look and he’ll know.

“Okay,” the modulator cracks - you wonder what it’s masking right now, what you can’t hear through the robotic statics. “You can rest too while you’re at it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

You nod and awkwardly wave your departure, climbing down on wobbly legs to the hull and the cot the Child is asleep on; you’re relieved to see that he’s still bundled in his blanket, a peaceful expression gracing his features. 

It’s here you feel the fatigue settling on your shoulders. The dull beating You sigh and settle inside the small space, careful of your weight and making yourself as comfortable as you can get. With the book and pencil still in hand, you decide to finish the little details of his belt. 

***

Mando sighs as thoughts of you plague his mind once more. 

That, and the fact that he needs to sleep at least an hour before the landing at the next destination. 

He keens his ears for any sings of movements down in the hull, but when he hears nothing he climbs down to ladder in quiet, graceful strokes. 

The dim light does absolute injustice to your features in his opinion. It’s the first thing he notices, not the Child is gurgling over your open sketchbook that’s sprawled out on your lap as you sleep. 

“Kriff,” he curses under his breath and rushes as quietly as he can towards the bunk. He tries to keep his eyes averted of the drawings, but he can’t help it, especially when the Child pouts and slaps against the page when his hand clasps around it. 

It’s... well, it’s him. He’s leaning against the wall of what he can tell is the Razor Crest based off the small details you made sure to put in - he really admires that. Down at his feet is the little one, grinning up at him. Beneath the helmet that’s shielded him from the rest of the world for almost all his life, he smiles back; orange caresses the rough paper, imagining that he can actually feel it through the lead and gloves. 

The next page is of a planet he cannot name off the top of his head, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s of home. 

Each page is filled with memories; past and present etched and filled with the kind of skill and warmth that can never be replaced; promises of mystery tied in like a piece of string. Most of them towards the end are of him and the Child. Small moments, mostly, like when he fell asleep with the kid secured to his armored-less chest, and moments when it’s him, sitting in the pilot’s seat or his cape flowing behind him as he walks away to a new bounty or clue to the Child’s powers.

He recognizes them with a deep fondness that makes his head swirl with all types of emotions. Din knows what they mean, but it’s the fear. Yet each drawing - he’s on the one from hours ago - scolds each inch of doubt within him, and in this he finds a type of bravery he’s hasn’t faced much before; it makes it more terrifying to him. 

“I like to draw what makes me happy.”

Your voice startles him from his thoughts. He’s never frozen up like this before - at least long ago - but now it feels like your stare alone is the only thing keeping him grounded to this spot. The doe like expression on your face the guilt that started to creep within his chest dissipates. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he still feels that he needs to apologize. “The kid had it and I... he likes the one where he found that flower.”

You smile widely at that, looking down at the child in question as you sit up. Din silently watches you climb out from the bunk and takes a few steps back to let you lean against the cold interior. 

“That’s one of my favorites, too,” you say; proudly, Din thinks. “And the one where you fell asleep in the pilot’s chair... you were so tired that day and I kept trying to get you to rest and let me take over, but you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

His chuckle radiates the room, and fuck it, it could radiate the entire galaxy. Yours join in with ease, but it quickly dies down, though not awkwardly or uncomfortably; it feels natural among the countless other laughs you’ve shared over the years. 

“I um - “ you clear your throat nervously, battling with the endless fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the shakiness in your voice. “- I guess this is a good time to say that I really like you, Din. And I’ve been drawing these sketches of as many of these moments as I can because they’re so precious to me.” You take a deep breath. “Just like the Child is. Just like you are.”

You finish with a light scoff. It’s quiet, you have to pee, and you hope to the Maker above that this isn’t how your journey with Din ends; you should really open your eyes and at least do something if he’s just going to keep standing there. 

“I like you, too.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when those words reach your ears. It feels like your heart just stopped beating, your body frozen, and your thoughts bouncing wildly around like a blaster; that crackled laugh (that you know somehow is soft) brings you back to your body, back to the man standing closer to you know and slowly reaching his hand out. 

You glance at it before tracing your eyes over the worn out boots that’s seen better days, the scratched and scraped armor that you have shared more than enough time cleaning and polishing, the signet that the Mandalorian never fails to honor proudly, even in his own quiet ways; and now the helmet, the t-shaped visor that shields him.  

In this you find no fear. The weight of his hand in yours settles you and the soft link of his pinky with yours brings a stinging to your eyes. 

“I can’t do this alone,” he says. “And I want this to work. The Creed -”

“I know,” you interject quietly. “It’s not always going to be easy. But we got this, just like always, don’t we?”

“At least one of us has to.” 

His heart warms when the loudest snort he’s ever heard you make jolts the Child from his sleep, blinking those big eyes wearily as your muffled laugher continues against your fingers. “You should get some sleep now,” you tell him. “I got this one.”

It feels very natural to lean down and pick the Child up and smile at Din with assurance; he feels the air in his lungs draw out of him until he literally starts to feel breathless, and his lips stretch in a smile - it’s small and shy; hopeful. 

After he makes sure that the hull is closed off and lays his helmet by the plates of his armor (one of the rare times he actually can), settling onto the unforgiving but familiar cot, he imagines you’ll make a fuss about the scar on his nose with a pencil and book in your hands. 

Tags:  @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @garrshep, @paintmekala, @marian, @fit-fierce-gamer, @altersw, @hoodedbirdie

[blossom-hwa]

Danger: Ruby - JUYEON

Only one part in this chapter!

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.9k

Lesson 5: dreams can find their way into reality. And often, when they do, they mean something.

Previous: Obsidian >> Ruby >> Next: Onyx

TBZ Masterlist | Danger | Kingdom

[ Taglist will be in a reblog! Send a dm or an ask to be added! ]

Juyeon isn’t stupid. He knows there’ll be ivory soldiers patrolling the shrine when he gets there. Somin may be murderous, but she has a brain – a very big one at that – and thus knows how to be cautious. Of course she’d have people stationed to protect one of the most important pieces of her vicious plan.

But he didn’t expect this.

He ducks down with a curse. Kevin and Jacob follow suit. “Why are there so many?”

Neither Kevin nor Jacob replies, but the grim looks on their faces tell him they know the answer. Juyeon knows it, too. More soldiers here means either Somin’s been growing her army, or things are going better than expected at the front of the war so she has reserves to send back here.

Neither option bodes well for him.

“How are we supposed to get in?” Kevin mutters, peering around the hill at white pinpricks of guards on the otherwise green landscape. The scene reminds Juyeon of fluffy sheep on a pasture, just a lot more dangerous.

“I’ve been here once to see Changmin.” Jacob sits down. “If there’s a gap in the guards, I can create a door and shift us in.” A grimace slides across his face. “Kevin, you can’t come. Only royalty and those of magic blood can enter the shrine. Honestly, I’m already stretching it, since my magic rank is barely high enough to justify a visit.”

Kevin doesn’t look happy at all with that, but he nods. “I’ll stay as close as I can, then, in case anything goes wrong.”

“Right.” Jacob looks back at Juyeon. “I can’t perform magic inside this shrine. I’d have to create the door so that we shift right to the edge of the grounds, as close as I can get. If guards are around…”

“Well, they can’t follow us in.” Juyeon grimaces. “As long as they still respect the laws of the Board.”

Judging by the looks on his two friends’ faces, they have about as much hope for that as Juyeon does. The guards themselves might be good people, but soldiers are loyal to their kingdom, not necessarily to the Board’s balance (though usually, those two go hand in hand). If the queen gave them different orders, Juyeon and Jacob are screwed.

“Go at night,” Kevin decides. “It’ll be harder to see you then.”

Juyeon nods, looking up at the sky. It’s mid-afternoon, judging by the sun, which means they have a few hours before it’ll be safe enough to have a go. “We only have one shot,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing. “If one of us gets caught, even as we escape, they’ll just call reinforcements. And if there’s a mage, we’re in even bigger trouble.”

There shouldn’t be a mage. This shrine is traditionally the gray mage’s domain, and with Changmin dead without a designated successor, no one can take his place. Still, Juyeon wouldn’t put it past Somin to have put someone there anyway. After all, she killed him and a royal on the same soil. What’s a little more desecration of blessed land?

Jacob shakes his head. “I don’t sense any traces,” he says. “Granted, we’re a bit far away, but if there was a really powerful mage, I would’ve felt something, at least. There could still be one, but it isn’t likely they’d be a high mage or anything.”

“Why does Somin have some regard for certain rules but not others?” Kevin shakes his head. “She’ll kill people on the grounds, but she won’t send a mage to protect the place?”

Juyeon’s fists close around clumps of grass. He really doesn’t need to think about that now.

A snarl flashes across Jacob’s face before he frowns. “I don’t know. Anyway, our bigger problem is getting out. If we manage to get through the door and close it before anyone else can enter, they could ambush us when we try to leave.”

“So you need a diversion.” Kevin leans backward on his hands, staring at the sky. “What’s big enough to draw a chunk of guards away long enough for you to search the shrine?”

“If I knock out a few guards, do you think you have enough strength to pull them away?” Juyeon tries to joke.

Kevin gives him a look that’s enough to wither a tree.

“Understood, you definitely have the strength to do it. My deepest apologies.” Juyeon smirks, nudging Kevin with his shoulder. A grudging smile spreads across his friend’s face, but it quickly disappears, replaced with a thoughtful look.

“Hey, Jacob?”

The mage looks up. “Hm?”

“Is it considered desecration of the Board if I set fire to the grounds outside of the shrine?”

. . . . .

The plan is almost as bad as Sunwoo literally ripping the sapphire necklace off of Somin’s neck, but Kevin refuses to see it that way. In his words, “if Sunwoo could create a diversion by burning his hand, I can do it by burning some grass.”

Juyeon tries to remind him that Sunwoo didn’t actually burn his hand, whereas Kevin will actually be burning a hill. Kevin just waves him off. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Sadly, he doesn’t. Which is why he and Jacob are dressed in black and heading towards the shrine under the cover of night while Kevin brandishes a lighter somewhere far in the background. Hopefully far enough to not burn the shrine down.

Juyeon tries to console himself with the fact that Kevin knows more about fire than he does. He’s the one who makes their campfires and cooks if they have the means. He sometimes worked in the kitchens back home and handled the oven fires. He should know how to control flames. More or less.

(Juyeon isn’t very consoled.)

No Ivory heads turn as Juyeon steps quietly over the grass to one of the many trees surrounding the shrine and begins to hoist himself into the branches. After helping Jacob up, there’s nothing more either of them can do but wait for the signal.

Which is just the shouts of guards when they notice a hopefully large conflagration on a nearby hill.

It comes faster than Juyeon thought it would. The first yell is faint, but they slowly grow louder as more soldiers take note of the fire that even he can see in the hilltops. With bated breath, he waits as several ivory-clad guards peel off to investigate.

Jacob hisses softly. “Let’s go.”

It takes long, far too long in Juyeon’s mind, to jump down the tree and wait for Jacob to carve a door into the air. Heart beating wildly, he shifts from one foot to the other as the wooden slab finally shimmers into existence.

It looks familiar. Very familiar. Juyeon frowns, stepping through the door, then almost trips when it hits him.

“Juyeon?” Jacob raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

Breath shaky, Juyeon turns around to look at the back of the door. Pure white, a contrast to the dull brown wood of the front, wreathed in greenery.

Queens.

“This –” he swallows – “this is the same door I went through in my dream.”

“… Seriously?”

Juyeon nods. “Yeah.”

Jacob purses his lips, looking like he wants to ask more, but then he shakes his head. “Get over this fence. We need to hurry before Kevin’s fire dies.”

Risking a glance over his neck, Juyeon sees that the flames have gotten smaller since he last checked. One lighter can only do so much, even on green grass. Swearing, he hauls himself up the fence.

“Hey!”

Jacob curses for the first time in Juyeon’s life. It almost shocks him more than the soldier’s shout, but Jacob doesn’t give him time to process it before he hisses for Juyeon to hurry up and get inside. The bars dig into his hands but Juyeon finally flips himself over the top, landing on the shrine grounds with a thump. Jacob follows, albeit more gracefully.

“Pawns and kings,” Juyeon swears, getting up. One look over his shoulder through the slats of the fence tells him several Ivory soldiers are approaching. “Know any hiding places?”

“Follow me,” Jacob says before darting between two trees. They duck behind a few bushes, black clothes camouflaging them in the dark, waiting for the sounds of pursuers.

Nothing comes. The soldiers must be abiding by the laws, then.

Not that it matters. They just need to pick the right moment for an ambush, and when he and Jacob try to leave, they’ll be pinned.

Juyeon sighs. The things he’ll doing do for a stupid little red jewel. Like use a door from a dream to enter the shrine where one of his best friends was murdered in cold blood with his love.

Bile rises in Juyeon’s throat. He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out. The bile subsides.

Get in, find the jewel, get out. Juyeon breathes again, eyes still squeezed shut. He’s already done the first thing. Now he needs to find a ruby. The faster he finds it, the faster he can leave this place.

When he opens his eyes, Jacob is staring at him in concern. “Juyeon?”

“I’m fine,” Juyeon says, feeling not fine at all. “Any ideas where to look?”

Jacob looks unconvinced, but he stands anyway. “We need to pray first.”

“Pray?”

“Yes.” Jacob nods. “This is the most venerated shrine of the Board. You can’t just visit here and not pay your respects, especially as a royal of the Onyx Kingdom, not to mention its next king.”

For some reason, the thought of praying at the shrine that was supposed to be Changmin’s home, the same shrine where he was murdered with the former Ivory queen, makes Juyeon’s insides want to curdle.

It doesn’t make sense. He’s survived attacks by several mages, fought his way through multiple seemingly-impossible situations, watched one of his friends die and slit the throat of the man who killed him. Praying at a shrine is definitely not the hardest thing he’s done over the past few months.

Not physically, at least.

So he stands. Nods. His legs follow Jacob through the dark, weaving around bushes and trees and flowers that dot the shrine grounds until they reach the building of gray marble that gleams in the moonlight.

Jacob pushes through the door and walks inside. The stone slab stays open, waiting for Juyeon to take the next step.

He doesn’t. Instead, Juyeon’s feet glue themselves to the ground. Changmin’s insignia rests against his chest, stone cold and heavy as a lead weight.

For several moments, Juyeon stares into the dark depths of the shrine, the shadows of unlit torches just visible on the walls. Jacob’s silhouette shows too as he stops, realizing Juyeon isn’t right behind him. He turns back. “Juyeon?”

Juyeon shudders. The sound of his name echoes loudly, too loudly, unnaturally loudly between the marble walls. Vibrations race up his spine and more than ever, he wants to run. Just turn around and run.

But he can’t. As much as his brain screams for him to sprint away, away from this shrine and its cloud of death, he forces himself to breathe, just breathe.

You are fine. You will be fine. Find the jewel and leave.

You will be fine.

He steps into the shrine.

. . . . .

Juyeon almost wishes Jacob had left the shrine in darkness. Sure, the endless expanse of shadow was unnerving, but with the torches now flickering strange shadows across the gray floor, the urge to run is even greater than before.

But he forces himself to walk to the altar covered in dusty gray silk, to kneel on the cold marble floor. His hands fold mechanically in his lap as he bows his head in reverence. He closes his eyes.

Then he opens them again. What does he even pray for? His mind is such a mess, he knows there are so many things going wrong that he should pray to fix, but for some reason he can’t even fixate on a single one.

Next to him, Jacob’s eyes are already shut. His relaxed posture speaks of peace and calm, not the rigid fear and terror Juyeon feels just being in the same place where one of his best friends died.

Changmin was murdered here, murdered by an Ivory mage who decided her loyalty to the then-princess was more important than the higher orders. She was helped by a cowardly mage – maybe that isn’t fair, considering the queen was and still is holding his daughters over his head, but Juyeon doesn’t care right now – a high mage, a powerful mage who bound the former queen in promise with the gray mage and then didn’t hesitate to sever the physical ties of that promise by killing one half of the bond.

Anger boils in Juyeon’s stomach, and he latches onto it. Better anger than fear, anyway. At least anger brings warmth, fire, while fear only makes Juyeon feel colder than the stone floor.

One hand rises from his lap, clutches the gold king and queen resting against his chest. Why is this shrine so holy? Why is it so venerated that no one can practice magic here? What’s the point of that, when its last protector was murdered because of the stupid rule? Magic isn’t the only way to kill a person –Juyeon would know, considering he’s slit a throat before – and if Changmin had been able to use his magic, he might’ve fought off the two mages, might’ve resisted the magic-binding chains Bom forced onto his arms, might’ve survived. 

A tiny, choked sound rips from Juyeon’s throat. He glances at Jacob to see if the mage noticed, but his eyes are still shut in reverent calm, still the essence of serene tranquility.

Watching Jacob, watching the mage lower his head in quiet prayer, drains the fight out of Juyeon. He slumps over, face now in his hands, as he tries to stop the tears beginning to well at the corners of his eyes. The insignia bounces against his chest, slightly warmer from the heat of his fingers, but still too cold to feel comforting.

Changmin. Juyeon’s hands slide down his face, come to his lap and clench into fists as he fights to breathe. Changmin, I wish you were here.

Then it isn’t just Changmin. It’s Kevin, it’s Sunwoo, it’s his sister and mother and father whom he wishes were here. He wants Changmin’s doe eyes and Kevin’s boxy smile, Sunwoo’s sarcasm and his sister’s warmth. He wants his mother’s lips pressing gently to the top of his head as she whispers goodnight to her sweet prince, wants his father’s hands holding his shoulders proudly as he reiterates once more how proud he is of his son.

He wants it. He wants it so badly it hurts –

“Juyeon?”

Queens.

There’s no point in trying to wipe his tears when Jacob’s already seen him crying, but Juyeon tries anyway. “I’m fine,” he says, even though the voice crack gives everything away. “I’m –”

But Jacob isn’t listening, is unfolding from his perfect posture to drag Juyeon over into a hug. For a moment, he stiffens, but then he sinks into Jacob’s warm arms that can’t quite make up for the warmth of all those people he wishes were with him too, but they’re a decent substitute, nonetheless.

Jacob doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything as Juyeon silently cries into his shoulder. Juyeon thinks the mage probably knows what he’s feeling, if the few tears dripping onto his own clothes are anything to go by. For several minutes, they just stay there, pressed against each other in front of the altar.

“Sorry,” Juyeon sniffles when he finally feels stable enough to pull away. “I’m – I should’ve been praying, but –”

“I understand.” Jacob smiles, though sadly. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Knowing this was where… where he was killed?”

Juyeon doesn’t need to ask which “he” Jacob is talking about. Instead, he just nods. “I just – I don’t know what to pray about, there are so many things but I can’t think of even one because I just feel so – I want to pray for Changmin and Sunwoo to come back but that isn’t possible –”

A hand on Juyeon’s shoulder stops the rambling. Jacob’s gentle eyes stare into his. “Juyeon. Breathe.”

He takes a breath. Does it again. The second time, it isn’t so shaky.

“Okay. Now.” Jacob squeezes Juyeon’s shoulder slightly. “You may not be able to bring Changmin and Sunwoo back, but you can pray for their souls. Pray for their peace, pray for their well-being even in death. That a good place to start?”

With every word that comes out of Jacob’s mouth, Juyeon feels a tiny part of himself relaxing, bit by bit. He nods. “Okay.”

“Go from there.” Jacob smiles encouragingly. “Just breathe, Juyeon. You’re all right.”

You’re all right.

You’re all right.

Juyeon takes a deep breath, feeling calmer. “Thanks, Jacob. I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Sorrow flashes in Jacob’s eyes, lit by the flickering firelight. “I understand. Take your time. The Board… it’ll understand.”

With a shuddering sigh, Juyeon turns back to the altar, folds his hands on his knees. Closing his eyes, he lets the traditional words begin to float through his brain.

I revere the higher orders of the Board and beseech them to answer my prayer, loyal servant to the balance that I am. I pray for the departed souls of Ji Changmin, Kim Sunwoo, and my parents, that they find peace in the plane beyond my own. I pray for the souls of those still with me, my sister Lee Jisoo,  Kevin Moon, Jacob Bae.

Maybe Juyeon’s just imagining it, but Changmin’s insignia seems to grow warmer against his chest.

I pray that we will finish our mission with no more deaths. I pray that this war will end, that Jeon Somin will be defeated, that balance will be restored once more.

Definitely warmer. Juyeon takes comfort in the spot of heat on his skin, bowing his head further as he sends one last prayer to anyone listening above.

I pray that I have the strength to carry out your will.

. . . . .

There’s nothing in the shrine, nothing remotely red or gem-like. Juyeon’s almost grateful. At least he doesn’t need to spend another minute longer in the gray-walled building.

It would’ve been more helpful if he could’ve found the ruby, though.

Looking through the living quarters doesn’t reveal anything either, though to be completely honest, that could just be Juyeon’s fault for not looking carefully enough. These were the rooms where Changmin lived, where he was supposed to have been safe. Instead, he was forced to try and escape from his own home.

And, apparently, this was the place where the queen was killed. Not outside in the garden, like Changmin, but right here.

The blood is gone. Taemin probably had someone clean it, or he did it himself. Juyeon wouldn’t have been able to tell that someone was murdered here if the high mage hadn’t told him where he found the bodies. But the uncertainty makes things worse, really, because everywhere Juyeon steps, he doesn’t know if he’s walking on the stones where the former Ivory queen, one of his good friends, was killed by someone they both trusted.

No jewels. Nothing in the walls, nothing beneath the stone floors. Jacob can’t sense any magic, which doesn’t make sense – shouldn’t there be a strong magic trace coming from the ruby, even if he can’t pinpoint who created the trace?

Jacob shakes his head, his mouth thinned into a line. “They could have put a cloaking spell on it,” he says, looking around fruitlessly one more time. “These mages are more powerful than I am. They could’ve made it so that I’d have a much harder time sensing it than if I’d created the spell myself.”

They look through the living space again, then the prayer area. Still nothing. So they walk back outside into the gardens.

A soft breeze hits Juyeon’s skin the moment he steps onto the grass. Despite the fact that they still haven’t found the ruby, he finds himself relaxing in the presence of the cool air. Under the bright moonlight, surrounded by greenery, Juyeon feels a little bit more at peace.

Then he remembers that Changmin was killed in this very same garden and the tranquility disappears.

Stepping carefully, Juyeon walks through the grass, trying not to start at every random shadow that passes under the pale moonlight. His eyes carefully scan the overgrown flower bushes and trees, looking hopelessly for a glint of red under the stars.

A sense of déjà vu comes over him as he rounds a corner of the shrine. He’s seen some of this before, that particular tree, that stack of stones, that rosebush just next to the gray building. His feet slowly grind to a halt as he turns in a circle, eyes furrowed.

How does he know this place if he’s never been here before?

Lost in confusion, a rock on the ground knocks him off balance and Juyeon trips, falling to his knees. Scowling in embarrassment, he starts to stand.

Moonlight glints down from the sky in his periphery. And suddenly Juyeon knows.

Changmin saw that pile of stones when he was in this position with arms chained behind him, saw the trees lining the edge of the gardens as he knelt on soft grass, waiting for a blade to strike down and take his life. He saw the roses, saw a little ray of moonlight out of the corner of his eyes as gold burned and metal flashed and pain buried itself in the back of his neck.

This was where he died. 

Juyeon can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. Can’t –

Scrambling to stand, he glances to his left. Moonlight shines on a smear of something dried and black. Against his will, Juyeon looks closer. 

Pawns and kings.

That’s –

That’s blood –

Changmin’s blood –

Juyeon falls to his knees again and throws up on the grass.

For how long he sits there, gasping, not even trying to clean the sick off the corners of his mouth, Juyeon doesn’t know. At some point, though, he becomes aware of Jacob kneeling in front of him, wiping his lips with a piece of cloth torn from his shirt.

His cheeks are wet. Juyeon blinks, feeling dampness at the corner of his eyes. When did he start crying?

Jacob’s voice brings him out of his daze. He blinks again, trying hard to focus on the mage in front of him. “What?”

“I was just asking what happened.” Jacob finishes wiping his lips, letting the dirty piece of cloth flutter to the ground. “I was up ahead, and then I just heard you and… yeah.”

Bile rises again in Juyeon’s throat, but he forces the stinging sensation down. “I –” His voice cracks. “I remember here. Changmin died here. And –” he points to his side, refusing to look with his eyes – “I saw his… his blood.”

A soft gasp sounds. “Queens.”

Juyeon swallows with difficulty, nearly retching again between the disgusting taste in his mouth and the lump in his throat. He stares resolutely to his right, at the huge bush of red roses planted against the gray shrine. It’s probably about as tall as his chest, maybe even his neck.

Irrational anger rises in Juyeon’s chest. This was the last thing Changmin saw, these red roses in full bloom. Juyeon fights the urge to rip all the flowers off of their stems, to make the plant pay for Changmin’s pain –

A glint of shiny red sparkles between several green leaves as they blow in the breeze. 

Juyeon stills. “Jacob.”

The mage turns around, looking very pale. “Hm?”

“Tell me I’m not hallucinating something red in that rose bush right here.”

Jacob furrows his eyebrows. “Juyeon, they’re red roses.”

“No, something else.” Juyeon swallows. “Like a jewel.”

Looking unconvinced, Jacob gets up and walks closer to the bush. Carefully, he moves a few leaves to the side, then gasps. “It’s all the way in the middle,” he murmurs, turning around. “How…?”

Juyeon stands on shaky legs, steps over to where Jacob is. Shiny red sparkles in the pale moonlight, hidden partially by dark green stems and even darker petals. If it was any other flower bush, Juyeon would already be ripping through the branches, but the thorns prevent him from that easy course of action. Besides, this bush is gigantic. Standing up, Juyeon can now confirm the tallest branches reach the base of his throat.

A very, very bad idea springs into his mind, almost as bad as Kevin setting fire to a hill. “Jacob, give me your cloak.”

Confused, Jacob hesitates from handing over the heavy red cloth. “Why –”

Juyeon plucks the cloak from his hands and wraps it around his exposed neck. Then, before Jacob can say anything more, he draws the sword at his side and starts cutting through the bush.

Thorns rip through his flesh, tearing his clothing and scraping across his skin. Juyeon grits his teeth as Jacob cries out in the background, still hacking branches away. Leaves and red petals fall around him, thorns embedding themselves in his arms and legs, but Juyeon doesn’t stop until he’s cut through to the center of the bush.

There, nestled between the petals of several deep red roses, the ruby lies, glittering in the moonlight. Juyeon reaches out one blood-covered hand, the other holding thorny branches out of his eyes, and closes his fingers around the jewel.

Dragging himself out of the bush is almost more torturous than cutting through, but finally, Juyeon bursts into blessed open space, staggering into Jacob’s arms as he pulls free of the last thorns. Dimly, he hears Jacob cursing and unwrapping the cloak from Juyeon’s neck, trying to staunch the blood on his skin, but Juyeon waves him off. “We need to go. Now.”

Because if Juyeon stays in this cursed shrine for a single second longer, he’s going to do something much worse than vomit on the grass.

It takes long, too long for them to find a space along the fence with fewer soldiers than the rest. Skin still stinging from all of the thorn cuts, Juyeon ignores the shouts of surprise as he climbs up and leaps from the fence. Arms and legs moving on autopilot, he makes quick work of the two guards there as Jacob crashes down beside him, hands already moving to fashion the door. He drags Juyeon through just as several white figures begin to flash at the corners of his vision.

On a separate green hill, not the one blackened by fire, Kevin stares as Juyeon emerges from the door, blood dripping down his body. “What the –”

“No time.” Jacob quickly disappears the door before anyone unwanted makes it through. “Where are we going next?”

“Forest,” Juyeon wheezes. Queens, the pain just gets worse with every second. “Decide after that.”

Another door appears, thankfully dark wood this time and not plain or white like the one from his dream, and Kevin helps Juyeon through as shouts begin to sound around the group of hills. Jacob follows as Juyeon nearly collapses onto lush grass, red beginning to bleed over green.

“Pawns and kings,” Kevin swears, rolling Juyeon over. “Juyeon, what happened?”

Juyeon stays silent, letting Jacob explain everything as Kevin digs thorns out of his skin and cleans the scrapes. By the end of the story, Kevin has mostly bandaged Juyeon’s entire body up – somehow, a few thorns even got into his chest, what in the name of the Board and all that is holy – and he looks ready to commit murder.

Well, maybe not murder. But the angry exasperation in his expression doesn’t look very friendly when he turns to stare Juyeon in the eye.

“You, Lee Juyeon, Crown Prince of the Onyx Kingdom, are an idiot,” he pronounces. “The biggest idiot of our group.”

A small, sheepish smile flits across Juyeon’s face. “Sorry?”

“Queens, just shut up.” Kevin groans, turning away. “You try to stop me from burning a hill and then go and do this…” He shakes his head. “Go to sleep. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Jacob raises an eyebrow. “Since when did Kevin become our caretaker?”

“Since you couldn’t stop Juyeon from bloodying himself on a rose bush,” Kevin snaps. “Now go to sleep unless you plan on taking first watch.”

“Which watch do I take?” Juyeon asks.

The expressions he gets from Kevin and Jacob are one and the same. “You think you’re going to take a watch?” Kevin snorts. “Good luck with that. No, you’re out for the night.”

And there’s no arguing with that, not when Kevin has that face on. So Juyeon accepts the thin blanket Jacob throws over him, rolls over, and shuts his eyes against the stinging pain all over his body.

. . . . .

Juyeon opens his eyes to the same foggy pathway that’s become unwelcomingly familiar over the past few months. He wants to sigh when he sees his feet wreathed in smoky white on a stone floor, but his dream self doesn’t obey, only stares forward at the wooden door.

It’s definitely the same door Jacob conjured to enter the shrine. Bile would rise in his throat at the thought, but throwing up doesn’t happen in his dream. Instead, he begins walking forward, wincing as black silk brushes against the fresh cuts from his time at the shrine.

Wait.

Juyeon actually commands himself to stop, rolling up a sleeve to confirm the existence of the rose thorn scrapes. Sure enough, they’re there.

Weird. His injuries don’t usually come with him into dream world. Uneasiness pools in his stomach, but he begins to move forward anyway. Then he stops again, just as his hand reaches out to the door handle.

Changmin isn’t here. He hasn’t appeared, hasn’t passed Juyeon the insignia that forces him to relive the gray mage’s last moments over and over and over again.

Juyeon really wants to stop then, wants to sink to his knees and beg the higher orders for an explanation of this strange variation of an unfriendly dream. With all of the others, there was a script he would follow – Changmin, shrine, door, path, roses, you. It was nauseating, but at least it was predictable.

Now, as Juyeon turns the handle, he has no idea what will meet him behind the slab of wood.

The door opens. Juyeon steps through the frame onto a familiar stone path lined with rose bushes.

Castling queens. If there was one thing the dream took out, why couldn’t it be the flowers? Juyeon would choose to see his dead friend over a jewel-toned rose any day, especially in this dream.

But dream Juyeon doesn’t care about that, just starts walking forward. Each step stings his skin even more – there may not be cuts on his feet, but ever brush of his clothes against his arms and legs makes Juyeon want to cry – but he keeps going, keeps following the stone path.

There are no shades. No one offers him flowers. He doesn’t even pick them himself. The familiar sensation of dread that usually accompanies his inability to find a red rose doesn’t rise in his stomach, doesn’t force tears from his eyes at the unfairness of it all. Instead, once he reaches the silver tree, his legs buckle and he collapses to his knees.

Heart beating wildly, Juyeon bows his head as though he’s saying prayer at an altar, the way he did just hours ago in the gray mage’s shrine. Only this time, there’s no marble surface covered in dusty gray silk. Just a silver tree with silver leaves that glitter in the moonlight.

What is he waiting for? Why is he here? Juyeon tries to think but he can’t, not through the endless burning of slashes and scrapes all over his skin. In fact, the pain seems to have increased since he first opened the door, the stinging multiplying second by second as blood begins to trickle down his skin in rivulets, sticking to his clothes and marring the stone floor with drops of red –

Then a door opens behind the tree, a white door wrapped in green vines and leaves visible just between the silver branches. A familiar figure emerges, cloaked as always in darkness.

Through his eyelashes, Juyeon watches you step around the tree, coming to a rest in front of his kneeling body. Your feet step onto drops of his blood, but you don’t seem to care. In one hand, you carry a rose, a dark red one with petals that look like silk.

If Juyeon didn’t know better, he’d think it was one of the roses that housed the ruby back at the shrine.

A movement out of the corner of his eye jerks Juyeon out of his musings. Your hand comes into his line of vision. Touches his chin. Tilts it up.

Juyeon gasps as his head rises, expecting your fingers to be cold. They’re warm, though, inexplicably warm, sending a rush down his spine. His eyes flutter shut as he tries to lean into your touch, but your hand pulls away almost immediately.

Fighting the urge to whine like a child, Juyeon stays still, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. It stays wrapped in shadow, however, and despite the fact that from this position he should be able to see you, his dream prevents it.

Frustration rises in his chest, mixing with the pain of his rose thorn cuts, and Juyeon almost releases the cry of annoyance building in his throat before your warm palm presses against his forehead.

Pain.

Pain.

Absolute, blinding pain rips a scream from his throat as your palm stays firmly glued to his skin. It hurts so much, stings so much as blood courses down his skin in sticky red rivers, filling his nose with its iron tang and overwhelming every one of his senses with just how much there is, queens, he never knew his body held this much blood, never guessed that he could feel so much pain, never realized he could lose this much blood without dying –

And then it’s gone. Completely. The pain disappears as quickly as it came, your palm now pleasantly cool against his sweating skin.

Juyeon gasps as your fingers leaves his forehead, falling forward until he’s half-collapsed in a pool of his own blood. Disgusted, Juyeon goes to rip his himself away, but then the blood fades away without a trace.

Wide-eyed, Juyeon whirls around. All of the sticky red droplets have disappeared from the stone path. The only sign of his previous wounds lies in the blood crusted on his skin, but the cuts have disappeared. All of them.

Whipping back forward, Juyeon scrambles to his feet as you open the door behind the silver tree, presumably to make your exit. He reaches out an arm to hold you back, to see your face, to try and figure out who his mysterious savior is, but at the same time, he knows it’ll be useless. You’re already half-gone, stepping through the white door.

But at the last second, your head turns back. And Juyeon catches a glimpse of the side of your face, your cheek, your chin, one glittering eye –

Then he wakes up, gasping under green treetops just visible in the gray morning light.

It doesn’t take him long to realize all of his pain is gone.  

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for juyeon poor boy’s gone through a lot :/)

[emilyplaysotome]

Queen’s Choice: Part 3

This is the third chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys. If you haven’t read it, here’s part 1 and part 2.

I sit in a coffee shop trying to read while I wait for him, but can’t manage to concentrate. I’m nervous and excited to finally see him, but also angry and frustrated with how he always manages to keep me at arm’s length.

When we’re together he jokes about being my boyfriend, has supposedly made his phone’s home screen a picture of us, and pretends to be jealous whenever one of the guys texts and we’re together. 

What started as a lie, I think, turned into something real and at this point it’s fair to say that I’ve now seen all sides of him - the good and the not so good.

I’ve told him that I don’t believe he’s “bad” because even when he is, there’s still a gentleness in the way he interacts with me and a tenderness in his touch. I’ve asked him not to pull away from me, time and time again, but how often do I write only to have emptiness stretch out in response?

He returns on his time and it both aggravates and excited me.

Perhaps it was kismet that he wrote when he did, and lord knows I jumped on the opportunity to line this up.

With him, I might only get one chance before he disappears.

Maybe only one before Ares becomes more important than Lucien.

I’ve wondered if we’re star crossed lovers, trapped on opposite sides of an incoming war, or perhaps he’s just not that into me.

Maybe this is all a game to him.

These are the thoughts that plague me as I sit with my book, pretending to read so he won’t think I’m thinking about him incessantly, waiting for his arrival.

Even though I am.

—

He arrives a few minutes late but mostly on time, approaching me from behind and giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before taking a seat across from me. That’s when I *really* register that he’s actually here in front of me. 

“How long has it been?” he asks, full well knowing. 

“Two months and fifteen days,” I say. “Not that I’ve been counting...”

“Of course not. I didn’t miss you at all.”

“Me neither.”

I can’t tell what the tension is exactly but it’s there and it’s palpable. The waitress interrupts us to take his order and I take a breath, steadying myself to find out what this is instead of continuing to dance around it. 

I love the way he moves, how his slender fingers gently handle every thing he touches from a stupid drink menu to me. I feel pulled to him but I also know that the attraction is impossible. 

We could never really be together...

...right?

He turns to me when he’s finished ordering his americano and his eyes twinkle with what I interpret as affection. 

“So what has my silly girl been up to while she’s been away from me?” He asks and I feel the nervousness bubble up. 

I’m about to change everything and I’m scared I’ll miss him too much if I do this. I’m scared the pain will be unbearable if he leaves my life for good, all the while knowing that I can’t not escalate things. 

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

“But I thought you didn’t miss me?”

I pause for a moment and then ask what I’ve been wanting to ask but have been too afraid to get an answer to.

“Why didn’t you write? Why did you pull away?”

He shrugs and sighs. 

“Because...it was for the best.”

“So what changed?”

He meets my gaze again with that gentleness in his eyes and says, “Because I’m more selfish than I ever thought.”

“Selfish? But -“

The waitress interrupts us with his drink and my mind races trying to understand how he sees his selfishness. I see it every time he disappears without asking and makes decisions about whatever we are by himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says unprompted and I balk. “I know you can’t trust me but I want you to care for me at least.”

“I already do. You’re selfish for not wanting me to trust you, you know.”

“I can’t...”

“Yeah I know.”

I sigh. I’m just as much a fool. We shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. 

But the pull is just too strong. 

And it’s now or never. 

“I get to be selfish today then,” I say firmly and my tone isn’t lost on him. He raises an eyebrow, unable to reply mid sip to my retort. 

“And what does that mean?”

—

20 minutes later we are back at my place. All the subtext and flirtation and indirectness is gone and replaced with a desire to lose ourselves for the day. That’s the deal we made. There’s no talking about how this could work or what the future is like, there’s just today. 

The door begins to shut and he uses my body to close it - pinning my arms above my head as he kisses me, really kisses me, for what feels like the first time. There’s no light grazing of lips or pecks on the cheek and warmth that lingers. Instead his mouth is pressed into mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth, and my soft moans the only sounds in the room. It’s not rough, but it is firm and purposeful and I feel incredibly wanted in a way I’ve always questioned if he wanted me. 

We don’t speak.

Eventually my hands are released because he wants to touch me and I want to touch him. We don’t separate, we stumble over each other, still kissing and make our down my short hallway, past my couch, and onto my bed. I’m running my hands through his hair and over his arms and finally down to undo his belt. 

He’s done the same with me, taking his hands away from cupping the back of my head to unbuttoning my blouse and pulling down my bra to reveal my breasts. He breaks away from my mouth to suck on my neck and then my chest as his hands run under my skirt and up between my legs.

I moan because it feels so good and because I’ve wanted this for so long.

“Lucien please,” I beg at his teasing and he smiles at me.

“I don’t want to rush anything.”

“I get to be selfish, remember?”

He stares at me the way he did these past few years, despite being half naked and begging him to take me. Those slender fingers I find so elegant slide my underwear off before sliding into me.

It feels so good but it’s not what I want and he knows it. With his other hand he’s touching what I want, underneath his underwear and I feel impatient and desperate for him.

“You’re not playing fair!” I complain but he smiles at me.

“You seem to quite like what I’m doing...”

I can’t deny that I do. But it’s not enough.

“Please Lucien.”

I hear myself begging but I can’t stop myself.

“Please.”

--

He’s gentle when he climbs on top and enters me. I’m surprised if I’m being honest. I thought he’d want to tie me up or do all sorts of adventurous things to me. But instead he takes me gently and I find myself wrapping my arms around him.

My blouse is still on and my skirt pushed up and there’s something about the fact that we aren’t fully naked that turns me on.

It’s as if this was all so rushed that we couldn’t be bothered to shed our clothes and I feel a mix of his skin and fabric brushing against me. His movements and breath accelerate before he slows everything down, bringing me close to the edge and then teasing a full stop.

I didn’t expect to continue begging him once I’d gotten what I thought I wanted, but I am.

“Lucien, please!” I say again and I can feel him smiling even though I can’t see his face which is nestled in the crook of my neck.

He pushes himself up so he can look down at me.

“If you tell me you love me.”

He’s moving exactly how I want him to and he knows it. He supports his weight on one of his hands and the other creeps up my front and plays with my breast as he whispers, “Just for today...Say you love me just for today...”

“I love you just for today.”

“Silly girl.”

I can tell he’s disappointed by my answer, but he doesn’t hold back from there. My “Please Lucien” is replaced by cries of “Yes” until we both collapse, sweaty and tired but satisfied. I miss his warmth the moment he pulls out but am surprised by how he fixes my bra and shirt before pulling me into his arms.

We’re there for a moment and just as I’m about to ask about the “love” request he kisses my cheek and says, “I’ll make us some decaf.”

--

He doesn’t bother fixing himself as he normally would, and brings the coffee to me in bed with his shirt in a state of disarray and his pants unbuttoned but on.

“Thanks,” I say taking it from him, wondering if he’s going to disappear after today or if this meant something to him.

I’m realizing it meant something to me.

There’s a silence that stretches out as we sip our coffee, and I try to remember when was the last time he made it for me. He’d showed me how when he still lived next door but somehow I can never quite make it like he does.

His voice interrupts my thoughts and he says, “I get jealous, you know.”

He says it in a way that I realize he’s been thinking about this for some time and that the statement is sincere. When I cock my head in confusion he pulls something up to show me.

I think I understand what he’s saying and feel myself blush.

“You don’t play fair, you know? How do I see that and approach you?”

“That wasn’t about you! Anna had...”

He cuts me off, shaking his head.

“I want you to love just me, and I understand that you don’t. That you can’t. That I don’t let you.”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent for a moment and he breaks it by saying quietly, “That’s why I want you to love me. To say it. Even if it was just for today.”

“I...”

“But you love them too?”

I freeze for a moment, but I think about how much I hate the fact that one day I will have to pick just one. It feels like a knife through my heart thinking that they won’t be in my life and yet there’s no other way.

“It’s confusing,” I finally get out and to my surprise he gently pats my head.

“For me too. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

It’s evening now and the sky has grown dark and cloudy. There’s a clap of thunder in the distance and I hear the pitter patter of rain on my window. 

“I don’t want you to go,” I finally say.

“I can’t stay.”

“What if you could?”

We both want him to, I know it. He knows it.

He shakes his head anyway.

“It was just for today.”

--

When he leaves I watch him exit from my apartment and I can’t help but feel sad. The other encounters left me feeling empowered and satisfied, and yet this one has me feeling heartbroken.

I wonder if he feels the same and if I’ll see him again.

I wonder if he’d even let me pick him as the one.

The thought of losing him ignites something within me and before I know it I’m running after him. I catch up to him and throw my whole self onto him, stopping him before he can get to the sidewalk.

He lets out a shocked gasp, and turns to look back at me.

“I love you,” I say, meaning it. “I love you and not just for today.”

“I love you too,” he says and pulls me into his arms. “More than you know.”

We stand there for an awkward length of time in each other’s arms before he finally says, “But I know that you love them too.”

“How can I know if I love you most if you keep leaving?”

The question surprises him. I see his expression turn serious and he nods.

“But you still won’t be able to trust me.”

“I...”

I start to say something but my phone rings. Victor is calling me. I look down at the screen and when I look back up, Lucien is gone. 

Vanished. 

Disappeared.

It’s just as well. I don’t have the answers yet. I won’t until I finish what I started.

And so, I answer the call and head back inside.

Part 4

I hope you liked the third chapter of my steamy fic. As I’ve said before this is very out of my comfort zone! If you liked this, please comment, share, and like! I love seeing that :)

As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, or buying me a coffee! 

tagging @ho-lee-snow-balls @hifftn @redheadkitty11 @superllamaathleteshoe @mamafishfound @zoetjessweets​

Just lmk if you don’t want to be tagged and I’ll take you off. 

[vampish-glamour]

I know you're not a self help blog, but do you have any tips regarding how to deal with procrastination? Like a have a very important examen coming in a week and I had the whole year to study for it. And guess what I DIDN'T. And I still don't and I'm gonna fail.

I think I have a problem...

Hi! I’m probably not the best person to ask, because I have a huge problem with procrastination too. Even with stuff I want to do! If there’s a task, I’m almost guaranteed to procrastinate.

It’s really hard not to procrastinate with stuff like what you’re describing; where you have a bunch of time so it’s easy to put things off for later. Trust me, I do this all the time. I’ll go “oh, that’s not until then, I’ll do it later!!” And then I forget about it, often subconsciously on purpose, and the “later” becomes the week or even night before.

First and foremost, break the task apart into smaller tasks!

It’s much easier to get something done if it’s not this huge thing looming over you. So instead of “study for exam”, which is big and overwhelming, and also vague—which makes it easy to ignore or not know where to start, break it down into “read chapter 1 of textbook”, or “read pages 10-15”. Once you’re done that, make it “read chapter 2” or “read pages 16-20”. And just keep doing this until you’ve studied everything you need to study.

This helped me a lot, because now I’m not freaking out about this huge thing that needs to get done, and “holy shit where do I start”. Because I have a starting point, and a roadmap of how I’m going to finish.

I find writing things down helps, because then it’s on paper and not just tucked away in your mind for you to forget. Bullet journals can help with this…

…but if you’re like me, that bullet journal will become useless because you’ll never open it. (Mine has not been touched for months lmao. And since I’m a major perfectionist, setting up pages is very tedious since I turn it into an art project. I’ll try again, but make it as simplistic as possible)

Currently what I have, is a sticky note wall. It’s just the section of wall right next to my desk, and I have little labels to sort things by topic to organize it. So I can just write down tasks that need to get done, slap it underneath the topic it falls under (so for example, your “study for exam” would fall under “school”), and it’s there, staring me in the face. This makes it harder to forget what you have to do.

You could also do this with a bulletin board, but I have one of those and I use it much less than sticky notes. Since it’s just so easy to slap a sticky note up and take it off when you’re done with it, without having to worry about pins lol. My bulletin board is mostly for long term things. But it really comes down to personal preference.

Additionally, I’ve heard people recommend setting yourself deadlines and writing them all down together. Make yourself a planner that you can slap up along with the sticky notes, with set dates that you should have parts of whatever it is you’re doing done by.

With studying, the tasks needed to complete could be page numbers, chapters, topics, etc. So your planner could be pages you need to have read by a certain date, for example.

This isn’t something I have implemented for myself yet, and I mostly do it with the sticky notes. So I’ll break the task down, and write the first little task on the sticky note, then when I complete that task I take it down and replace it with the next one. I find this less overwhelming than having everything laid out in front of me, because it sort of tricks me into feeling like there’s not as much work to be done if I’m just focusing on the smaller tasks instead of the large one. But I do think it would be helpful to have a list of things I need to get done and their deadlines in one place.

And for deadlines, since I don’t have them written down all in one place, I mostly just use personal goals. So I’ll set the goal of “I want to have this done by Tuesday next week” for example, and having that goal can be a bit of motivation.

Tbh this is a bit of a flimsy system though, since it’s not as set in stone as it would be in writing. Which is why I do have the goal of finding a system that works for me where I can have everything in one place. Making lists in a bullet journal worked for me, the only downfalls were my perfectionism and forgetting to actually use the bullet journal. So I’ll work on ways to fix that.

A channel that I’ve found helps with these sorts of problems is HowToADHD. I’m not sure if I have ADHD or not, since I’m going through the diagnosis process, but the tips are helpful anyways. And I do know that people who don’t have it use the channel as a resource, since you can take the tips that apply to you and utilize them. Here’s a video she did on procrastination! She even starts the video off noting that the tips are helpful to both people with and without ADHD. So it really is a helpful tool for anybody.

On that note; if procrastination is a big problem for you to the point that it’s interfering with your daily life, I would recommend seeking out professional help. Because there could be something going on executive dysfunction wise.

Tl;dr/short version of tips;

BREAK THE TASK DOWN INTO SMALLER TASKS. I can’t stress how helpful this has been for me. It gives you a place to start, and makes everything seem much less overwhelming.

Write stuff down!! It’ll help you remember that it’s something you need to get done.

Leave this written form somewhere you can see it! Don’t tuck it away in a drawer, because then you’re going to forget about it and there was no point to writing it down in the first place.

Set yourself deadlines, and write them down so they feel more real and motivate you to get the job done.

Use sticky notes as reminders of what you need to do.

Other options are bulletin boards and bullet journals/planners. Depends on personal preference

Have a list of everything you need to do all in one place (like the bullet journal or planner)

I really hope this wasn’t too all over the place, and that at least some of the advice helps! 💖

I understand what you’re going through, so I hope you can find something that works for you, because procrastination is a bitch to deal with. But there’s ways to manage it, and if the things I’ve suggested don’t work for you, there’s lots of YouTube channels or other resources online (I’m sure there’s even books) that can offer other solutions! Best of luck!! 💕

[rosecolouredmind]

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Three:

The Broken Boy

Now there were two.

Or at least, the only sounds being made now were the quiet sobs still being let out from the poor figure now in front of you.

You’d sent Lucifer away with a banishment sigil, though with how powerful he was and your lack of familiarity with your domain, he should be back soon. You felt a lot more drained than you did when you first came in, the spell taking a lot out of you. You now realized that your visit came with a time limit, and would only last as long as the remaining energy in your core did. The flesh acheron had you currently separated from the stars, so it was only natural that your power was unable to replenish itself here.

But at least, now you were alone with the boy.

You exerted a bit more power to make the space a more welcoming, eliminating the eerie red scenery in exchange for something milder. An endless white replaced it in a flash; you weren’t exactly a living human for long and didn’t know much about what comforted them, you realized glumly.

It seemed as if they boy didn’t notice the change in scenery, failing to even flinch. Back and forth, back and forth. He endlessly rocked as mumbled jargon poured listlessly from his mouth. Though it isn’t your first time pitying humans, this was the first time that you were face to face with the cruelty Fate was capable of. The sentiment fed into your growing discomfort with the situation.

Cautiously, you drew closer. Once you stopped in front of him, you slowly lowered yourself until you were truly able to look him in the face.

Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, pale and leaking a cold sweat. Raised goosebumps clearly visible over taught muscles were felt under your fingertips, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

A sharp gasp and a quick hand nearly made you yelp out in shock yourself, your wrist now held in a tight grasp. Panicked eyes met your own, dark and deep and boding. You felt your very soul tremble as if it were crying, as if you were crying.

It wasn’t until you noticeably felt a liquid drop culminate at the tip of your nose before splattering did you realize that you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you cooed, attempting to make eye contact. 

Your gaze meets frantic mirrors of desperation, anguish and torture reflecting in the muddy pools that stared back at you. 

As if it was natural to you, your hands rise to caress his face. His skin feels warm beneath your fingers, and you hold back a shudder. Concentrating, you focused deep on the constant thrumming of your soul and willed your core to mimic these pulsations through your body and out your fingertips, your hands now glowing the color of moonlight.

You can’t undo what Lucifer has done and possibly will do to him, but you were confident that you could make your presence a beacon and relieve some of the burden for him.

The boy leaned into your hands, and for a long while you just watched entranced as his eyelids fluttered while he took the time he needed to calm down. Finally, he looked up at you. The panic had now been replaced with sheer exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Who are you?” he croaked, eyes flooding in tears. They flowed silently down his face, following familiar track marks of the rivers before them. His fingers tightened around yours, afraid of letting go. Afraid that if he let go, you would disappear. This was the first time he felt relief in what felt like an eternity, and all he could focus on was the figure in front him. You paid no mind to his tight grip, electing to settle yourself between his knees, getting as close as you possibly could.

“I’m here to help you, it’s okay,” you repeat softly.

“Wh-where did he go? The...the Dark Lord,” he quivered, muscles tensing up at the mere thought of the man. You felt your heart go out to him, your own eyes becoming misty as well.

“I sent him...away. He will return, but not for a while at least.”

Of course you couldn’t separate them completely, this was still in part Lucifer’s mind as well, and you had an inkling that although this wasn’t the actual place, the flesh acheron, this boy’s body, was somewhere in Hell. Your energies felt off, as if they didn’t belong. That would normally only happen in a territory outside of the scope of a stela’s domain, and Hell fit that description perfectly.

Your powers weren’t nearly as strong here, and you could only offer him temporary reprieve. But it is something, and that’s all that matters.

“What’s your name?” you question, intending on keeping him present and away from the dark, straying thoughts no doubt threatening to plague his mind. He stayed silent for a while, attempting to anchor himself while he focused on the near healing effect you radiated.

“...It’s Nick,” he eventually responded.

“Okay, Nick, tell me. What makes you happy?”

Nick thought for a long while, but couldn’t gather his thoughts. His mind had been ravaged so thoroughly by the Dark Lord that any notions of happiness had long since been replaced by terrors he could only have imagined before being tortured by Satan himself. He started to shake his head, then more and more vigorously. You reached for his face again, realizing your question set off another round of panic.

“That’s okay Nick, you don’t have to think about it. How about we go somewhere that makes me happy instead, hm?”

Your creativity and knowledge of the human mind was close to zero, but there was once place you’d always wanted to see.

You had Nick close his eyes as you closed your own, visualizing the sights and sounds you wanted to experience. Soon, the soothing crash of waves could be heard in the background, your eyes opening to an expanse of sand being gently eroded by the clear blue water of the ocean. You felt a bit weaker at the manifestation, but the boy in your arms was even more so, and your heart went out to him.

You shifted yourself so Nick’s forehead was now resting on your chest, giving him all the time he needed to settle before he opened his eyes again.

His breathing was deeper now, and less erratic. You waited for it to become completely even before you attempted to speak again, Nick lifting his head in order to study your features.

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” you sigh gently. “I wasn’t able to when I was human.”

“Why not?” he asked quizzically, resulting in a smile from you. You were glad he was speaking, and continued to talk before he got distracted again.

“I died very, very young. I hadn’t really even started my life before the Fates took me for their purpose,” you explained. “And after that, well, I never really thought I’d see Earth again so there wasn’t much of a point.”

You tried coaxing more out of him, like his name, likes, dislikes. His answers were simple, and he had to think about some a lot longer than others, but he put effort into answering each question. You continued to describe your ties to fate to him as he patiently listened. He nodded along thoughtfully, before going quiet again.

“Nick?” you question, worry laced in your tone.

“Is this really what Fate had planned for me?” he asked quietly, looking down at his knees. Tears instantly blurred your vision once again, but you didn’t acknowledge them.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” you grab his face once again. His watery eyes mirror yours, yet you refused to let the first one fall.

“Your fate is so much more than this. This is only temporary. You have to believe me on that.” you urge.

“But I’m tired,” the sheer amount of hopelessness emitted off him in waves. “I don’t think I can make it,” the break in his voice was enough to collapse the dam on your tears, and you clutched him to your chest.

“No, baby, no. You can. You’re strong. I’ll be here for you. I’ll come back.”

“You promise?” he cracked.

“I promise.”

You held him for a while longer, shushing him against the rumble of the waves as you stared out at the water. You’d never felt more determined to do something in your life, but you will save this boy. You meant it with your heart and soul.

A while later you felt your figure start to fade, and you knew your borrowed time in Hell had reached its end. Nick frantically began clutching at you, using one hand to caress your face like you had his, “Will you really come back?”

Begging eyes pinned your soul down and for the first time in your life, you cursed the fates. Cursed how they could allow this boy to suffer far more than he deserved, and put you in a position to witness it. No one deserved this. Not even the fickle humans. If they were meant to suffer like this...

Maybe this was what you were sent to Earth for.

Visiting the flesh acheron, and by extension, Hell, for as long as you have took not only your power, but the power of the fates as well. If you came here again, it wouldn’t be for nearly as long, and would exhaust a huge chunk of power every time you did so. But as you face the boy in front of you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him.

You’d figure it out, you’d make something up, you’d lie; Tell them Lucifer was being an uncooperative dickhead, which isn’t exactly wrong anyway — anything to be able to make your way here again.

You had to.

With a few more whispered promises and broken sobs, you eventually fade away. It wasn’t until you noticed the sandy shore beneath you had been replaced with slowly moving constellations did you allow yourself to look up again, the impatient eyes of the council piercing through you.

You’d already gotten rid of any trace of tears, your mind going a million miles a minute conjuring up a plan to save Nick. You knew you had bigger priorities than one human, a single soul; Earth and her millions of souls were on the brink of annihilation yet all you could think about was one boy.

But something in you, deep in your core screamed that this was important to you, he is important to you.

Maybe it's because you’re soft, maybe it’s because he’s your first lost soul, maybe it's because it’s Fate, but as you waved an intricate web of truth and lies while you built your case with the council -- of how freeing Lucifer from the flesh acheron was of the utmost importance, of how often you’d probably need to be sent there to attempt to do so;

Your heart was nearly pounding through your ribcage at the thought of seeing that boy and his pitiful soul once again.

And as Lucifer, upon his return, ranted and roared and raged something mighty, Nick desperately held on in anticipation of your next arrival.

*

Author’s Note: Next part is out as well! They’re both shorter chapters so I did a double update as well. They would have been out a lot sooner if tumblr didn’t delete my damn editing progress when I tried to insert a photo — I nearly cried. Creating those secondary headers is WERK but not as much as editing this shit? I should sue. I got mad and stopped for a while bc I’m a petty bitch, so if you see mistakes blame Tumblr for crashing. I will also insert links to chapters later, I don’t feel like it currently 🤡

Please ask to be tagged! I’d appreciate reblogs, comments and asks as well 🥺

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[dearjamesxo]

[drabble under cut]

They’re on their way to wish Bea luck when it happens.

Billy, Spike and Jessie trudge against the midafternoon crowd, Spike boasting a story from his childhood – no doubt exaggerated to the moon to impress Jessie. Billy listens with half an ear, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He doesn’t react when someone bumps into him.

“He’s in a mood,” Jessie teases to Spike when Spike tries, for the fourth time, to include Billy in the conversation.

Spike snorts, “I can see that. Which is why I’m trying to cheer ‘im up.” He sidles into Billy’s space, claps a friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder and asks, “Come on, mate, who shoved that monumental stick up your arse?”

Billy’s jaw twitches. He tucks his chin into his chest and hunches further into himself, hoping to relay how much he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is it the whole we’re not good enough tripe?” Spike questions, rolling a hand in the air to encompass the tripe he’s referring to. “Because the way I look at it, we got lucky. Who wants to go to a stuffy old ball anyway?” Spike’s tone suggests he does, but Billy refrains from pointing it out, “Let Bea and the good doctor go and deal with all that crap, while we—” He leans back and grins across the breadth of Billy’s shoulders, winks at Jessie, “—get to enjoy ourselves!”

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shrugs and keeps his pace, his shoulder colliding with another man’s. Again, Billy doesn’t even seem to register that the man told him to, watch where yer goin’!

Yes, Billy’s in a mood, definitely, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Bea or Watson or the ball Spike mentioned. In fact, it was Billy’s idea to go find Bea before Watson collects her at Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

As usual, Watson’s swanning Bea off to perform for another investigation, some undercover business that apparently, “Only Beatrice has the maturity and patience to pull off,” thanks for the confidence, “the rest of you will merely serve to attract unwanted attention.” As if Bea done up like a gateau de savoie won't attract attention. Although Bea has learned to carry herself less woodenly than she did, she isn't exactly graceful when laced into a gown. Jessie's the better candidate, equipped with supernatural powers to boot, but Watson's mind was made up. Besides, Billy's noticed that he and Bea have some sort of connection; they seem to get each other in a way that leaves everyone else behind.

Howbeit, Watson’s condescending remark isn’t what gets Billy’s dander up either. That honor goes to His Royal Highness, Prince I-Have-To-Escort-Helena. Not that Billy wants to go through the trouble of pampering and primping for a ball he’s sure he’ll hate every minute of. But Leo could’ve at least had the courtesy to pretend he was regretful, since he already has so much experience pretending to be something he isn’t.

Billy scowls at his shoes, kicks a pebble harder than he means to. He ducks his head and picks up his pace when he hears a strangled yelp and sees, from the corner of his eye, a man clasp his ankle and hop on one foot.

Oops.

It’s then that the short hairs at the back of his neck rise, his scalp tingles, the sensation of being watched shivering up Billy's spine. He lifts his chin and, immediately, his gaze is drawn to the end of the street.

“Isn’t that—?” Jessie starts, tugging Billy’s wrist to get his attention. Then, much quieter, under her breath, “Oh,” as if she's figured something out.

Billy yanks his wrist out of her light grasp and squares his shoulders, ignorant of the utterly baffled Spike sends Jessie behind his back. “Wait here,” he gruffs and stalks toward the end of the street. Or more precisely, toward who lingers there.

“We’ll meet you!” Spike calls after him and wraps an arm around Jessie. She tries to resist, head craning, but Spike guides her down the cross street in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

Like a wolf preparing to lunge, Billy stalks toward Leo, expression hard and fists clenched. Leo returns the sentiment with a rigid, neutral set to his features, stare unwavering. Billy inwardly chastises himself for the heat of desire that rushes through him upon seeing Leo. No matter how pissed he is with the prince, Billy can never deny how attractive Leo is like this, all lofty courage and attitude, golden against the smutty backdrop of the Marylebone rookery. God, Billy wants to strip Leo of his finery, fuck him until he remembers who he really belongs to. And it isn't, Billy thinks in a possessive growl, Helena.

Theirs will never be a public romance, a reality Billy understood from the start, only it didn't feel so impossibly cruel until the moment Leo casually mentioned he would be attending the very ball Bea and Watson would with Helena on his arm. As if he wasn't lounging between Billy's legs, his back to Billy's chest, his fingers laced with Billy's. It never ceases to amaze Billy how terrible Leo is at reading a room because Jessie's discomfited expression alone should've been a clue that something wasn't right. Even so, Billy kept his mouth shut because he's supposed to be fine with it, isn't he?

Easier said than done, Billy knows now.

As much as they - Billy and Leo and Leo and Helena - have an agreement, it still cuts deep when Billy has to step aside so Leo can appease his mother by flaunting the person society deems Leo's best match.

“What’re you doing here?” Billy demands to know the instant he’s within earshot.

Leo flinches slightly, then musters the confidence to say, “I’d like to have a word.”

“With your side piece?” Billy mocks disbelief, “I’ll bet.”

“Billy, please, if you would just listen—”

Billy’s in front of Leo now, standing at the closeness he’s grown accustomed to since he and Leo became he and Leo. He didn’t mean to narrow the distance so quickly, wants to hold on to the anger because it’s easier, except that to put himself anywhere else in Leo’s orbit feels intrinsically wrong.

“Better make it quick, your highness,” Billy sneers, “I’m sure your lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Leo erupts through gritted teeth, though his tone maintains a respectable volume as propriety demands, “I’m not going.”

This stops Billy's mounting rage in its tracks, all at once replaced with a confusion that shows itself on Billy's face. A simple “What?” tumbles out of his mouth as he frowns at Leo as if Leo told him the sky is actually green.

“I’m not going.” Leo repeats.

Billy grabs Leo by the upper arm and drags him out of the middle of the crowded street, into a narrow lane that separates the butcher’s and an Indian-owned tearoom. Leo doesn’t resist, allows Billy to manhandle him, and stops moving altogether when Billy pushes him against the brick wall just inside the lane. Suddenly, Billy’s flooded with concern.

“What happened?” Because it has to be something awful if Leo can shirk his responsibility for the evening. “Is Helena alright?”

Leo’s brows furrow, eyes flickering between Billy’s, down to hover on Billy’s mouth before they slip to the ground where they remain. He huffs a humorless laugh, “Helena’s fine, you massive boor.” and slumps against the wall Billy has him pinned to by the shoulders, defeat obvious in his posture.

“Then what—?”

“It’s you!”

Well, that can't be right. Leo's never missed an engagement his mother's insisted upon for Billy in the weeks they've been, well, them. Billy has to make sure, “Me?”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Leo explains, “How can I go and act as though I care about anything my mother’s contemporaries have to say when all I can think about is you, here, upset with me?” A tiny smile curls Billy’s mouth, “I love you, you idiot.” Leo says as though he's said it a thousand times - he hasn't, this is the first and Leo doesn't appear to notice he's shared such an important declaration in the middle of a rant. Billy wants to say it back all the more for it. “Helena made a fuss when I told her, practically pushed me out the window so I would come find you.”

Floating on a wave of giddiness, assuaged by Leo's words, Billy remembers how much he likes Helena. Helena who has her Henrik in Münster and swore not to intrude on Leo's relationship with Billy as long as Leo issues her the same respect.

Billy leans in and places his forehead against Leo’s, hands sliding from Leo’s shoulders to cradle Leo’s jaw, resting the pads of his thumbs gently at the corners of Leo’s mouth. A small chuckle escapes him, unable to contain it, and Billy shuffles forward to press their bodies flush from waist to hips to knees, fondly brushes the tips of their noses, then tilts his head and captures Leo’s lips in a sweet yet hot-hungry kiss.

When he pulls back, he wonders, “Or maybe it’s Helena I should be thanking?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling playfully, “Should I be kissing her instead?”

Eyes in grumpy, feline slits, Leo protests, “Don’t you dare.”

“Mm, you’re right, she’s really not my type.”

Abruptly, Billy untangles himself from Leo, bends enough to grab Leo by the back of the thighs and lifts. Leo cries out shrilly, startled, the action forcing his legs to wrap around Billy’s waist and his arms to lock around Billy’s neck. Cackling, Billy pins Leo with his body, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh just below Leo’s arse, eliciting a moan that he swallows greedily.

“Is this really the appropriate time?” Leo pants, throwing his head back when Billy grinds their hips together, making them both groan.

“Not even a little bit.”

As Billy leans in for another kiss, Leo interrupts by putting two fingers to Billy's lips. “Perhaps,” He says, voice pitched suggestively, “We should take this elsewhere,” Here, Leo kitten licks Billy’s parted lips, darts his tongue into Billy's mouth quickly, moves on to dot Billy’s jaw with a trail of dry kisses. He reaches Billy's ear and continues in a whisper, “Somewhere you can spread me open,” A nip to Billy’s earlobe, “And show me what happens when I upset you?”

Billy's cock twitches in interest. He takes in Leo’s pink cheeks and glassy, blown eyes, decides, “Sounds like a marvelous idea.”

In a swift sequence of motions, Billy drops Leo to his feet, carefully repositions him, crouches, and then hoists Leo over his shoulder. Spike was right, Billy grins, patting the swell of one of Leo's arse cheeks in victory, who wants to go to a stuffy old ball, anyway?