#anyway shout out to my husband & soulmate i am so grateful i have you

[tidal-chaos]

sometimes you gotta realize that if in your old relationship you were blamed and/or felt at fault for the problems there, but then the next relationship you have entirely lacks those problems . maybe you were not the common factor

[nanasparadise]

“Losing my senses for you” Yan!Joseph (Part 3) x female reader

Hiya everyone! Here’s a little Yan! Joseph (Part 3) x female reader for y’all because apparently, I like to see Suzi suffer lol

Summary: You and your soulmate Joseph share a pleasant dream, as always. Though suddenly, the elderly wants to take your friendship to the next level...

TW: age gap, implied cheating, implied kidnapping, toxic relationship, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI 

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 2022

Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. Sensible enough to fall in love with his current wife and have a child with her, disregarding the fact that Suzi Q wasn’t his soulmate. Why would he have denied himself love, a family? No, Joseph had been rational enough to not care about that ‘dreaming of your soulmate’ humbug. That had been the case until he’d met you.

The male would have never imagined seeing his soulmate in his dream, not after all these years being married and especially not as an elderly man. You were still so young, a blooming flower in your twenties, ready to conquer the world. How could Joseph be your soulmate? But there was no denying that the Brit was constantly dreaming of you. Nearly every morning he’d wake up, your face still lingering on his mind while his spouse slept peacefully next to him, knowing nothing about her husband’s dream invader. Sometimes, he’d even whisper your name. Joseph didn’t have the heart to tell her, after all, Suzi had been his love for most of his life. But apparently, not the one to spend the remainder of it with.

This night wasn’t an exception when it came to your nocturnal visits. This time, the two of you sat on the terrace of a café near Joseph’s flat in New York City. The crowding streets of the metropolis filled the air with a cacophony of sounds: honking taxi cars, chatting people, the occasional dog that barked loudly. Even though every tiny thing seemed to buzz with life, Joseph knew that none of this was real- all would cease to exist once he’d wake up, except for him and you. Politely, you smiled at the Brit. 

“Hello Mr. Joestar, how are you doing today?”, you greeted him, as you always did. Both of you had agreed that you wouldn’t refer to the elderly man with his first name, wanting to keep some distance between you. Just like Joseph, you had been more than surprised to notice that your soulmate wasn’t a person around your age. Though never having been openly said, you two knew you wouldn’t pursue any romantic advances towards each other. At some point, Joseph had even revealed to you that he was married and had a daughter and a grandson. But since you hadn’t found a way yet to end these dreams, you were behaving on an amicable basis. The male believed you’d probably see in him a grandfather figure. Though Joseph couldn’t tell anymore if he saw you as a granddaughter …

As per usual, the pair consisting of you chattered the whole time. You told him about your new job, how you were nervous to meet your colleagues, wondering if you’d get along well. While you were talking, you kept fiddling the napkin next to you, demonstrating your anxiety. During your countless encounters, Joseph had learnt to read your body language. Confidently, the man rested his real gloved hand on top of yours, stopping your tic. You stared into the male’s green eyes, astonishment written on your face. 

“Y/N,” Joseph said softly, “you don’t need to be nervous, dear. How could they not like such a ray of sunshine like you?” He flashed you a big grin at his final words. You averted his tender gaze. Oh, how Joseph loved this bashful expression on your face. You were so easy to tease. 

“Thank you, Mr. Joestar, though I think you’re exaggerating.” 

“Please, call me Joseph”, the elderly man blurted out. A big thumb idly drew circles on the back of your hand. He didn’t know what had driven him into saying this, into breaking the formal distance between you -  at least he didn’t know consciously. Deep inside, he was well aware that he loved you - more than just a friend, than a granddaughter, hell, even more than Suzi. In the end, you were his soulmate. Suddenly, all the previous talk about how any other kind of love paled compared to the love for your soulmate didn’t seem like humbug to Joseph anymore. No, the once reasonable man had been utterly struck by the arrow of a foolish love, a love he hadn’t experienced beforehand – not even with his wife. He had been struck by you. Your surprise only grew. 

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be awkward?”, you asked hesitantly, eyeing your hand. Joseph stayed persistent though. 

“Not at all, Y/N. It’s only natural to call me by my first name after all our dates, isn’t it?”, the man winked playfully at you. He really wanted to see how far he could go with his flirtatious banter until you’d retreat. Or maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d feel the same as him, wanting more out of these encounters. Maybe… Hope blossomed in Joseph’s chest, making the elderly man feel like a lovesick teenager all over again. Only you held that much power over him. Your following words crushed that spark of hope fairly quickly though. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Joestar…,” you retorted, obviously refusing to address him as Joseph, “Don’t you think it would enable unwanted feelings between us? This is quite a hard situation anyway for us – you with your family, me with my young age – I don’t think we need to complicate things further.” At this statement, the light in Joseph’s green eyes extinguished like a flame. Of course. He might have lost his mind, but you didn’t. No, you remained rational, cool-headed. 

“Ah, I see”, Joseph simply replied, barely hiding the disappointment in his raspy voice. “This is for the best, you old fool,” the tiny voice whispered in Joseph’s head, “How could you keep up with her?” Bitter at his own thoughts, the man made a crestfallen grimace. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t intend to hurt your feelings in any way. I do enjoy the time we spend together and I appreciate you, Mr. Joestar”, you added remorsefully. The Brit’s heart warmed at your words of consideration. You cared for him, you must, he was convinced. The effects of the soulmate bond couldn’t just be ignored by you. Maybe, there was still a chance for him. Maybe…

“Y/N”, Joseph murmured your name ever so gently. Surprised by the softness of his tone, you looked up to him. He briefly wetted his lips before he proceeded talking. “I appreciate you, too. A lot, actually. Every time I’m in your company, I’m the happiest man alive. You draw me in and I can’t help myself but wanting more.” You tried to interrupt him, but Joseph quickly stopped you by raising his hand and continuing his speech. “Ah ah, honey, please let me finish. I know what you want to say: ‘But Mr. Joestar, what about your family?’ Well, they’ll understand, they have to. We’re soulmates, I can’t just ignore that. I’ll leave my wife for you, then we can start a life together. Please, my love, consider my words. After all, even without knowing it, I’ve been waiting the whole time for you.” Joseph gazed intensely in your eyes, yearning painted across his face. He patiently watched you gulp heavily and waited for your answer while he put his hand back on yours. 

“Your words are sweet and I’m grateful for your sincerity, Mr. Joestar,” you eventually sputtered, “you’re dear to me, I’d be lying if I said you weren’t, but not in the way you intend it to be. I don’t think I could ever see you in a romantic way. And even if I could, I don’t want to be a homewrecker. I know you love your family, you shouldn’t toss them away for me.” Joseph sighed deeply. He’d learnt with experience to tame his quick temper, but still, impatience flared up inside him. 

“Why can’t you give me, give us, a try? I’m aware that our initial plan was to keep some distance between us, but if we both have feelings for each other, why deny them then? You said you couldn’t see me as a lover, but I don’t believe that. Give me a chance and I’ll prove you how much I love you.” Joseph slightly squeezed your hand while spilling out his passionate words. “You said I shouldn’t toss away my family, but you want me to throw you away. How could I do that? Every morning, it’s your name that escapes my lips, your body I want to feel next to mine, your scent I want to inhale.” The man grew desperate the more he talked. “Don’t worry about our age difference, I know a way for you to grow old with me.” Joseph perceived your puzzled face from the corner of his eyes as he fixated his gaze on your hand, but kept speaking. “I can give you so much Y/N, if only you’d let me. Please, let us try it.” He finally looked up to you, fearing and yet anticipating your reaction. Yes, only you could make him this nervous… Your brows were tightly furrowed, though a hint of sympathy seeped through your kind eyes. 

“Joseph…”, you whispered softly. The Brit’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird upon hearing you finally say his first name. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to reveal this to you, but it’s only fair for me to be honest to you as well. I’ve actually met this man a while ago.”

Joseph’s jaw dropped at your confession and his eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be true. He felt as if his whole world had shattered in this moment. Cruelly, you decided to hurt him more with your words. “And to be frank, things are going well. We’ve even talked about moving in together. I think he might be the one I want to spend my life with, Joseph.” Thud. Joseph’s prosthetic hand slammed harshly on the table. Instinctively, you winced at the loud noise. 

“Why would you say that to me?!”, the man in front of you shouted, desperation coating his voice, “Why would you break my heart like that? I can’t believe it! Here I am, thinking about leaving my wife for you while you’ve been having fun with some other guy!” Joseph’s grasps painfully tightened around your hand. His handsome features had transformed into a terrifyingly furious grimace. You gasped fearfully, trying to retrieve your hand from Joseph’s hold. “Why would you bother to be with him when I’m right here? He isn’t your soulmate, I am!” Hot anger flooded the male’s body. It’s been years since he felt this kind of raw emotion again. Joseph glared at you while you still tried unsuccessfully to escape his grasp. Eventually, he let go of your hand. Hastily, you pulled it away from the table. Taking a deep breath, you spoke up. 

“I think you forget that I’m still an independent woman, Mr. Joestar.” 

“So we’re back at the surname, huh?”, the Brit thought gloomily. 

“No matter if we’re soulmates, I’ve still got my own life, as you do. Which means I can choose with whom I’m in a relationship. I hope this incident here is non-recurring and that you’ve come back to your senses the next time we’ll see each other.”

With these final words, Joseph woke abruptly up. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from his intense outbreak. While laying down on his bed, he tried to calm his agitated breaths. “I should come back to my senses, huh?,” the male muttered quietly into the room as to not wake up Suzi, “What a bold thing coming out of your mouth, since you’re the source for my irrational behaviour.” Yes, Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. But times had changed. And drastic times called for drastic measures. Subconsciously, the Brit knew exactly what had to be done if he didn’t want to lose you to that pest you thought was your boyfriend. Slowly, he climbed out of his bed. Joseph glanced one more time at his spouse’s sleeping form. 

There was no turning back now.

Out of a drawer, the man grabbed a polaroid camera and called out his Stand.

[mickeyisak]

black and white

So, love is complicated. When you go through what Travis has, love is complicated. So when he realises Emmett is falling in love with him, he knows he should stop. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t love Emmett, but he continues sleeping with him anyway.

(Or, the one where I fix the end of 3x16.)

read on ao3

Love is complicated. Everyone knew that. Travis knew that. He'd been in love more than a few times, and he knew what being in love felt like. It was the calm in the middle of a storm, it was warm blankets while snow (or rain, in Seattle's case) fell outside, it was the late morning sun falling over tan skin in bed, it was sacrifice. Every love is different, Travis learned throughout his life, with every passing partner.

The first time Travis fell in love, he was 19, in his freshman year of college, the first time he felt safe enough to truly be himself. He met a guy in his Intro to Psychology class, second semester. They sat next to each other on the first day, the entire lecture hall packed, every chair full. Throughout the semester the class got emptier, and more seats cleared out, but Travis still sat next to Matt, every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Matt was cute, a senior in an entry level Psych class, getting his final Arts & Humanities credit out of the way. And he was terrible. He always told Travis how bad his exam scores were, how he never understood the things the professor was saying, or his own notes.

In mid February, a few weeks before midterms, Travis offered to help him study. Travis was surprisingly good at Psych, despite not really caring about the class itself. It was a Saturday night when Travis showed up outside Matt's apartment with his Psych book and notes in his backpack. They studied for a little while, Matt finding ways to scoot closer to Travis every few minutes. Eventually, they both ended up naked in Matt's bed. Travis thought he might've fallen in love when he woke up the next morning to muscular arms wrapped around him. They continued the same routine every few days, and surprisingly, somehow, Matt got a bit better at Psychology. Travis only told Matt his feelings when Matt was fast asleep, snoring and drooling into his pillow. They ended things when Matt graduated, and moved to Portland. Travis knew it was coming, and he moved on fairly easily, but it hurt.

Travis fell in love again the summer before his senior year of college, he studied all summer in Barcelona. He tried to perfect his Spanish, knowing it would help him when he became a firefighter. He met Alex at a gay bar in early June, not long after he arrived. They went home together that night, and almost every night after that. They both knew it would end when summer did, but Travis fell in love anyway. And he fell fast. By August, he was in love. He told Alex he loved him the last time they saw each other before Travis returned to the States. Alex said the same. They remained friends for a while, before losing touch. It was for the best, Travis isn’t good at remaining friends with people he’s loved. 

Travis met the love of his life at 23, fresh out of college, in the Fire Academy. Michael was, is, the best thing that ever happened to him. Travis doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but with Michael, he thinks that was the best way to describe it. He swore he was going to marry him, from the minute they met. Two years later, he was proved right. He and Michael were soulmates, he loved the men before, but his love with Michael was different. Gentle, soft, grounding. 

He and Michael weren’t perfect, technically. They fought, usually over stupid stuff. They weren’t perfect, but it was perfect. Travis was ready to spend the rest of his life cooking for his husband, because Michael was terrible, and couldn’t make anything other than Kraft Mac n’ Cheese and spaghetti with Prego sauce. Working with your spouse is supposedly forbidden, if you want the marriage to last. But Travis and Michael drove to work together every shift, slept side-by-side in the awful twin bunks at the station, ate breakfast at the beanery table, just as they would at home. Travis was the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

Until he wasn’t. 

Travis remembers every movement he made that day. Michael went out on his call, a fire in an apartment building. It was supposed to be easy, in and out, a grease fire. But the fire grew, and moved to the neighboring units. The building was built terribly, and the roof collapsed with Michael inside. The Captain knew the building wasn’t structurally sound, and he should’ve pulled the team out. 

Travis remembers the rig pulling back into the barn, and Michael not in it. He remembers the feeling of his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach. He remembers the Captain's voice telling him what happened, in the detached voice they were all trained to use when delivering bad news. He remembers the soft condolences at his line of duty funeral. He remembers sleeping in a empty, cold bed for the first time in six years. He remembers everything. Even if he wanted to forget. 

So, love is complicated. When you go through what Travis has, love is complicated. So when he realises Emmett is falling in love with him, he knows he should stop. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t love Emmett, but he continues sleeping with him anyway. To be fair, Emmett’s been saying he thinks he loves him since he was still with Alicia, but Travis knows he means it now.

Emmett tells him he thinks he’s in love for real the first time in bed. They finished having sex a while ago, then laid in bed together, their breaths slowing. Emmett must have thought Travis had fallen asleep, because he softly whispers the words into the dark. Travis knew he should of ended it right there, but he does genuinely like Emmett, and he’s selfish, so he doesn’t. 

It happens a second time in the showers of the station a few weeks later, after it’s announced that Emmett’s engaged to Alicia. Travis gets angry, or angrier, because he’s already angry that Emmett’s engaged to a woman he’s cheated on multiple times, and angry that he has feelings for someone that can do that to another person. So Travis tells him, he doesn’t love him or her, because you don’t do that to someone you love.

It’s brought up again when the team is partying on Dean’s houseboat. Emmett’s drunk, so is Travis, but Travis knows how to control his mouth when he’s intoxicated. They’re all having a good time, just partying and not worrying about work. They’re dancing together, Emmett is really cute like this; Bouncy, happy, drunk. It’s nice to see him being his true self. “I think I love you!” Emmett shouts over the pounding music, his eyes drooping with intoxication.

Travis just grabs his face and kisses him to shut him up. The way Emmett looks at him when they pull away tugs at his heart. “I can’t hear you!” he lies in return. 

The team decides to hang out again after the bomb call at Pac North. Emmett pulls Travis outside, and Travis knows what’s coming. Emmett takes a deep breath before speaking. “Look, I know I have a lot to learn about... pretty much everything.” he smiles. “But you got me here. And I owe you so much. I admire you so much. And... I’m so grateful for you, Travis.”

Travis speaks up. “No, you did this, Emmett.” He did, he was brave, Travis didn’t do anything, this was all Emmett.

“No, I couldn’t have done this without you.” Emmett interjects, and places a hand on Travis’ arm. “I love you.” he tells him. His blue eyes are shining, flicking in between Travis’ own. Emmett kisses him, and Travis lets him, kisses him back even, but he has to let him know, so he pulls away.

Emmett’s eyes are still looking at him with love, and it kills Travis that he’s about to ruin it. “I am really happy for you, you know. For how far you’ve come, for all this life that you have ahead of you. And I am really sorry...” he takes a deep breath. “That I don’t love you back. He watches Emmett’s face fall, watches his eyes go from shining with love to shining with tears. 

Emmett just nods and kisses him one last time, before walking away. “Yeah, me too.” 

Travis thinks for a split second, before speaking up. “Emmett.”

Emmett stops and turns. “What, Travis?” The way he looks at him hurts. He did that.

“I was married.” he starts, preparing himself for what he’s about to retell. Emmett’s brow furrows in confusion. Travis sits down in one of the chairs outside of the window. Emmett follows. “A while ago, I had a husband. Uh, his name was Michael. He... was... uh. Well, he was a terrible cook, a giant Seahawks fan... and he was a firefighter.” Emmett’s head snaps up and meets Travis’ eyes. “He was, is, the love of my life. And he... died, in the line of duty. About four years ago.”

“Travis, I- I didn’t know.”

“Saying ‘I love you’ isn’t that easy for me... because the last person I said it to, was... him. It’s been four years, and I’ve gotten used to the empty place in my bed where he used to be, and I took my ring off, but I don’t know if another person will ever compare to him. And... it takes time to recover from losing someone you love. A long time. And I’m not there yet. So, no, I don’t love you back.” Emmett drops his head. “But that doesn’t mean I never will. And it doesn’t mean I don’t still want to be with you.” He reaches over and grabs Emmett’s hands. “I like you, Emmett, a lot, actually. A lot more than I thought I would.” Emmett smiles a bit at that. “And just because I don’t love you now, doesn’t mean I want to end this. Okay?” Emmett nods. “So now it’s up to you, probie. Where do you want to go from here?” 

Emmett doesn’t say anything, just leans across the table in between their chairs and kisses him. Travis kisses him back, relieved. When they break apart, Emmett pulls Travis into a hug. Travis buries his face in Emmett’s neck, and they sit like that for awhile, Emmett running his fingers up and down Travis’ back, comforting him. Travis welcomes the serenity: Emmett’s cologne, or pheromones, or both, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat, the soft scratch of Emmett’s fingers tracing circles and shapes on his back.

And, yeah, he can fall in love with this.

[mollymarymarie]

Come On Back To Me

I know, I know. This isn’t Wolfstar (which is, like 99% of what my life is made of), but my PSM (@sparrowof-thedawn) commissioned me to write some smut about Sam Kiszka (bass player from Greta Van Fleet), and I WENT OFF on it. I have a soft spot for boys in bands.  

Obviously the smut means NSFW, so use caution, friends. Also, I go through a bit of set-up, so give it a minute. 

“I don’t have time to think about it, that’s all there is to it,” you say with the smile that you were accustomed to plastering on, a smile that was becoming increasingly more common. A smile that covered the tired ache constantly hiding behind your lips.  

“No,” your best friend, Casey replies with that sarcastic drip to her voice that assures you know she is about to side-step all your bullshit. “You’re not willing to make the time.”

You take a long sip of the Americano in your hand, rolling your eyes dramatically from across the table at Starbucks. The smile on your lips became a little more genuine. It had been weeks since the two of you had been able to spend any time together at all, both of you doing medical residencies in completely different cities. It was a stark and unwelcome contrast from your school days, when you spent nearly every waking hour together.

“Easy for you to say, you live with yours. He’s literally at arm’s length every time you turn around,” you say with a scoff in your tone. You would never undermine the struggle that Casey and her husband had gone through to be together, but she still couldn’t argue that point. She could sit there and tell you that you would find someone eventually, that you would settle down, that you would find happiness, but she had found hers relatively early. They had been together for so long, Casey didn’t even know what dating meant right now.

“I know,” she says, an irritated growl forming in the back of her throat. She knows she’s losing this argument, so she turns to sentiment to win. “You just can’t see what you have. You’re too focused on what you think other people think you lack.”

“Oh?” you laugh bitterly, throwing up a dark, high-arching brow in disbelief. Again, an easy point for her to make in defense. She wasn’t the one whose last relationship ended in flames because her boyfriend of two years decided the distance was too much and their history wasn’t enough. Granted, it had been over a year since they broke up, but the point remained.

“Yes,” she insists with an exaggerating hiss. “First of all, let’s ignore looks, shall we?”

“We’d have to,” you mutter into your paper cup.

“I heard that, shut the fuck up,” she quips immediately with a snap of her fingers, in some dangerous border between playful and murderous. “There is so much magic in you, fam. You graduated with a doctorate, so you’re hella smart. You give your best friend pep talks when she goes through her third nervous breakdown of the month. You continue to love with your whole life despite all the shit that people have given you,” she clears her throat and you hear the name of your ex not-so-subtly buried in the cough that followed. You roll your eyes again.

“Which doesn’t matter because all people see is this,” you say, gesturing down your torso with both hands. Across the table, Casey’s mouth snaps shut and her eyes narrow.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Everybody wants a skinny super model. And I am not.”

“Neither the fuck am I!” she shouts, gathering the attention of damn near everyone in the coffee shop with you. For an introvert, she tends to be rather vocal. “If you’re an eclectic taste, then so am I. Still a lot of people that have the tattoo stigma, you know.” Off-handedly, she brushes over the bursts of color inked across her shoulders.

“But that’s a choice you made. I didn’t make the choice to be my size.”

“Same, though?” she said, her features softening a bit. “Literally the only reason I’m sort of thin is because of the celiac with my total shit diet,” she says with a smirk. “But it also gives me really bad skin and this stupid belly pooch that I’ll never get rid of and super thin hair.”

“Which you can –”she interrupts your argument.

“You, on the other hand,” she leans in, placing her face into her hands, propped up on the tabletop. “Look at you. Curls for miles, dark and silky and defined. Hair that a guy could lose a hand in and would be grateful to.” With one hand, you subconsciously twirl your hair around it in a whirl before tossing it over your shoulder. “You skin is nearly flawless, dotted with freckles like the damn stars in the sky but twice as beautiful.” You could feel a blush creeping up from the base of your throat. Your platonic soulmate had always had a way with words. There’s a reason people mistake you for a couple, more often than not.

She continues. “Your lips are so much fuller than mine and when you put on that deep red color, Jesus H. Christ, if I was into girls.”

“You are into girls.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“You literally could’ve just said ‘if I was single’.” An expression crosses over her face, all pursed lips and puffed cheeks, like being single was so unrealistic of an option (she’s sickeningly in love with her spouse, it’s disgusting) that she hadn’t even considered that. In her defense, she had figured out the bisexual thing pretty late in the game, long after she was married.

“Shut up,” she laughs, high and bright. “The point is you are young and beautiful and you have time.” You open your mouth to argue, but she speaks first. “You will have time, after this residency. Literally the only time I see James right now is for dinner and sex.”

“Separately, I hope,” you laugh against the lip of your coffee cup.

“You’d be surprised and disgusted by how often they overlap,” she says, raising her left brow. It’s like a bizarre innuendo trademark. If she’s making a sex joke, that eyebrow goes up and it’s so sharply pointed that it just makes her expression look so much more scandalous.

“I don’t even want that. I’m not even interested in the sex. Just the company.”

“Bless your little grace soul. The company is the best part, anyway,” she says with a shrug, taking the last sip of her chai latte. “Speaking of company, you still talking to Sammy?”

You roll your eyes again, wondering if you could do permanent damage with how often you’ve used those muscles in the last ten minutes. “No, I don’t talk to Sam anymore.”

“Wait, wait, hold on. Since, uh, when?” she asks with a twirl of her finger.

“Do you know who Sam is now?” you say with a sarcastic huff. “He’s not Sammy Boy from undergrad anymore. He’s Sam Fucking Kiszka and he’s been on SNL and he’s touring with Greta and he’s probably with a different girl every night and those girls don’t look like me.”

“I swear to God, I’ll murder you in your sleep tonight if you keep this up.”

“You know what I mean.” Irritation seeps into your voice. You love your PSM, but she doesn’t get this. If anything, she was probably Sam’s type when you were all hanging out together in your little college town. Sure, there was that one night, but you were drunk, and Sam was drunk, and nothing happened. It certainly seemed that way the next morning, anyway, considering it was something that neither of you ever brought up again.

 ----------------- 

“I’m gonna give you my love!” Sam was yelling-slash-singing Led Zeppelin at the top of his lungs again and if it wasn’t so damn adorable, it would be annoying. Hell, if it was anyone else, it would be annoying, but it’s Sam and, unfortunately for you, you’re rather smitten with Sam.

“I’m taking this away from you,” Casey whispers with a syrupy smile as she slipped the square bottle out from Sam’s fingers. He barely even noticed.

“Oh, let him sing. It’s our last night together,” you say with a sigh, trying not to focus too much on that part. Tomorrow, you’d be moving to a new town, a bigger town, to start med school and Sam and his brothers (including Danny) would be setting out on their first tour.

It was a pretty fucking big deal, actually. GVF had been getting a lot of attention lately, so this first tour was sort of a long-play audition for some big-shot record executive and, if they did well, they were golden. And you knew they would do well because that’s what they always do.

“Hang on, stop right there,” Sam calls out, buried somewhere in a laugh, “You hate my singing.” With that look on his face that often showed up in your dreams, Sam saunters over to you, one of his dark eyebrows raised to its full capacity, his ever-lengthening brown hair, streaked with highlights given to him by the sun, falling down over the sharp edges of his cheeks.

“I don’t hate it,” you say under your breath as you take another sip from the tumbler in your hand. It was more like a gulp. This close, Sammy tends to make you nervous.

“You really are going to miss me, aren’t you?” From where you’re leaning against the kitchen counter, Sam encircles you with his arms, holding himself just far enough away that you could still smell the whiskey on his breath, the floral notes from the product in his hair.

“I’ll hardly notice you’re missing,” you lie, blatantly.

“That’s not what Casey tells me,” he says under a knowing smirk and you shoot a glare at your best friend, who gives you a brazen wink in return, lip curled up and everything, just before she vanishes into the living room to find her significant other.

“Casey is a damn liar,” you reply with a laugh and try to ignore what looks like adoration in Sammy’s expression at the sound of happiness in your voice. You read too far into him.

“Who else is going to give you shit for getting the only A on a test that everyone else failed? And don’t say Casey because she wasn’t in that class or she would’ve had an A, too.” As he speaks, his arms curl in until he’s nearly pressed against you. God, you wish he would let go.

“What about you?” you strike back, poking him in the chest and wishing you could spread your fingers out over his sharply defined collarbones pushing back from beneath his shirt. “Who will be there to make fun of you for dancing to Whitney Houston when no one is watching?”

He wrinkles his nose at you, and you melt a little inside. “Whitney is an icon, alright?”

“So I’ll miss you. A little.” You roll your eyes. You do that a lot in Sam’s direction. “Not like you. You won’t even remember my name a month from now.” The playful spark in Sam’s eyes goes out like a doused flame. In fact, he physically startles a little, pushing back from you.

“Won’t even remember your name?” he repeats with what sounds like hurt in his voice, but you know better than that. You feel like you’re always giving Sam feelings that he doesn’t have for you, hearing intonations in his voice that aren’t there, reading into little things he does that probably don’t have meaning to him. “Is that what you really think of me?”

You backtrack a little, concerned with this change in mood. “You’ll be too busy to miss me, Sam. A different city every night, a different party every night, a different girl.” That last part, you add under your breath, certain he’s too drunk to catch it, anyway.

“You realize that outside of the band, you and Casey and James are my best friends, right? We’ve been friends for the last four years. But you think I won’t even remember your name.” He pushes away from you, storming around the kitchen as he drags his hands through his thick, wavy hair, and you’re left to stand in stunned silence. Sam doesn’t get angry. Not like this.

“It was a joke, Sammy,” you say, even though it certainly hadn’t been a joke when you said it. It was actually the worst of your fears and it had been consuming you for weeks.

“No, I think you mean that,” Sam says, his voice escalating a bit as he circles the island of your kitchen, hands still buried in his hand, coming back to where you’re still standing.

“Alright, maybe a little bit, but I mean,” a blush bubbles up to encompass your face, knowing what you’re about to say to this boy you’ve had a crush on for four years, “Look at you.”

Sam stops in front of you. Stares at you. You squirm a bit under it. “I’m too busy looking at you,” he retorts, his eyes traveling across the features of your face. You see them settling over a patch of freckles underneath your eye, following them over the bridge of your nose to the mirrored opposite side. His eyelashes are so long, so dark that when he lowers his head to look at you through them, it darkens his gaze, hollowing his warm brown eyes until his pupils look blown wide. This is the way you always imagined him looking at you, but never thought possible.

“Not much to see,” you reply, a defense mechanism. With a snarl, his lip twitches up over his canines, they glint in the low light of the kitchen, the moonlight coming in from outside.

“How are you so goddamn stubborn?” he huffs out, slipping his hand along your neck, underneath the curtain of your dark curls, his thumb settling over your windpipe. He leans forward, unsettling your lips with his own, just slightly. The bittersweet of the whiskey is still on his lips and, you find out, on his tongue, as he deepens the kiss and pulls you close.

But he’s right. You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn, he’s too drunk, and you’re both leaving. Doing this now doesn’t mean a fucking thing. You pull away, cursing yourself. Cursing him for waiting this long. Cursing the universe for making him who he is and you who you are.

“Wow, you’ve had way too much to drink, Sammy,” you laugh off, playfully pushing him toward the living room, where you knew, by now, Casey and James had crashed on the couch. “I think you’d better sleep it off. I’ll see you in the morning.” Quickly, you escape to your bedroom, where you fully convince yourself that it could’ve been anyone. He would’ve kissed anyone.

You don’t cry, you don’t often give yourself that luxury, but you do let yourself take a mental catalogue of this taste in your mouth. Warm, sharp, aching. And so, so bitter.

 ---------------- 

The coffee date and the dinner and the shopping were over far too soon. Work started again the next morning, Casey was back in a town that was too fucking far away, and you were left in your one-bedroom apartment that felt too small and too big all at the same time.

Until your phone vibrated on the bedside table. In the dark, it lit up the whole room. Your cat scurried away from it in a panic from the unexpected noise it brought to the silence. For a moment, you considered just leaving it until morning. It most likely wasn’t work – this wasn’t your on-call weekend anyway. It could’ve been Casey, but she’d gotten home several hours before (which you knew because you always forced her to text when she made it).

Whoever it was could wait. For now, you just wanted to be alone. No, that wasn’t quite right. You wanted to be alone with someone, but there was nobody to be alone with. It was just you and you cat, Mickie, like it was every night, like it had been every night for almost a year.

Despite yourself, you glanced over. It was a Snap. That alone was enough to pique your interest. Casey hardly ever sent an unsolicited Snap (she only kept it because of you, and she only replied to keep up the streak), and there weren’t a lot of people who would send you a Snap at this hour (it was almost two in the morning) on a Sunday night.

Curiosity got the better of you. You unlock your phone and pull down the notifications bar. The Snap is from Sammy. Your thumb hovers over the notification for an embarrassingly long time. By then, it had been weeks since you last talked to Sam.

Against your better judgement, you open the Snap. Immediately, a soft smile rushes over your face, a blush trailing closely behind it. It’s Sam – a selfie of Sam on stage with the neck of his bass in one hand, the phone in the other, and a screaming crowd behind him.

 The tagline reads, “Missing you more than you think.”

 Goddammit. God fucking dammit. What the shit was he trying to do? You had already convinced yourself to forget about the kiss, to forget about your feelings, to forget about Sammy. He’d made it difficult – he kept in near constant contact with you since undergrad. It was going on five years later, and you still talked to him daily. Sometimes, it was only a text, sometimes it was only a picture, rarely there was a phone call (which were always very awkward because you’re good with words on a screen, but in person, not so much).

Every now and then, only a handful of times over the last five years, you and Sam got to see each other in person. Sometimes it was at a GVF show, sometimes it was with a group of friends. Once, he showed up at your apartment with no warning. That one was rough, but ultimately, nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. It had always never happened.

Finally, you had decided. It was enough. Nothing would ever happen with Sam. Maybe it would make you a bad friend for cutting off contact with him completely, but it was so fucking hard to talk to him every single day and not imagine what things could’ve been like if you hadn’t pushed him away that night. If he hadn’t left, if you hadn’t left. If you started something sooner.

The texts from Sam slowed to a stop, eventually. Until now. It was so frustrating, because you knew, absolutely, without a doubt, even if he remembered the kiss, it was just a kiss. No meaning, no feelings. Just a drunken kiss between two friends. That’s what it was to him.

You consider not replying. You consider removing him from your Snapchat. You even went so far as to consider blocking him. But you couldn’t do that. As hard as it was, you could never stop being in love with Sam. Oh, fuck. That’s what this is. You’re in love with him.

With a deep breath, you hold your phone out, the front-facing camera on, and you flick on the lamp next to your bed. In the low, yellow lamplight, you place your curls just right, tilt your head just right, open your mouth just enough, and snap. No filters, no fillers. Just you.

 In the caption, you write: “Sorry for the radio silence. I miss you, too.” Send.

 Even though his picture was from stage, you knew the show had long been over. You had an internal clock for what time of night he was usually on stage (most often so you would know when to expect a text or a call), and you faithfully followed the cities in the tour. Well, you used to. The tour he was on now was mostly a mystery ever since you’d cut him out of your life.

It’s mere seconds before you get a Snap back. This one is in real time. No stage, no lights, no fans. Just Sammy. His chocolate brown eyes look up, right into the lens of the camera, leaving you to draw in a sharp, unsteady breath. His hair is longer now, still kissed with sunlight, tossed in front of both broad shoulders. He’s wearing that same denim shirt from the night you kissed five years ago, but the top four buttons are open, showcasing the strong, sharp cords of muscle that run along his throat and meet in the center, just between his collarbones.

 It reads: “God, it’s good to see your face.”

 Fuck. This Snap was calculated. He sent this with purpose. He had to know what this would incite. Sure, that kiss hadn’t ended to anyone’s satisfaction five years ago, but he had to know, right? He had to know that you didn’t want to stop him that night, right?

Fuck it. Two could play at his game. With your heart beating in your throat, you crane your neck down into your pillow, arranging your curls to look artfully splayed around your temples, and you turn your head away from the camera, the collar of the T-shirt that you had fallen asleep in stretched out to give him a good view of the nape of your neck.

 “Yours is still as cute as ever.”

 This was a huge risk. In all the time that you’d known Sammy, you had never once admitted to anything. Never admitted that he was cute, never admitted to that kiss, never admitted to your crush. And you just had, accompanied by a slightly uninhibited photo.

His reply is immediate. The photo of him is hardly different, his eyes are a little wider, his brows are raised a little higher, his mouth is hanging slightly ajar. But it’s not the photo that catches your attention. It’s the message attached to it.

 “I’m in town. Are you home?”

 Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. You should have followed their touring schedule more closely, you would’ve been more prepared for this. Fuck. Your mind races through a thousand different scenarios. Is he reading into these Snaps the same way you are? Does he realize what a 2AM visit to a girl at her apartment alone implies? Sammy was always oblivious, but not that oblivious.

You Snap back a blank picture, a black screen of the inside of your palm. You’re losing your nerve a bit, but you still have the guts to reply, making every implication crystal clear.

 “Home alone. Want to come over?”

 Initially, your realization that you were gray-asexual was kind of a strange awakening, but it made absolute sense to you, once it was explained fully. And it fit. You don’t often experience a need for physical intimacy, not the way most people do. It comes and goes (sometimes at random), and you can usually take care of that rare need yourself and then get on with your life.

Except when it came to Sam. He was always the exception. Random men could express interest in you, in your body, and you remined neutral. There wasn’t that spark with them, with strangers. But that spark grew into a wildfire with Sammy. The more you knew about him, the more you fell in love with him, and the more you wanted from him. With him.

Your phone lights up the room again. You expected another Snap, but it’s a call. From Sammy. You answer without hesitating, anxious to hear what his voice sounds like, whether there’s an ache hiding in his throat, whether he sounds like he wants you like you want him.

“Hi, Sammy,” you say into the receiver. He breaths out.

“Hi,” he replies, all breath. “I’m three minutes away. I was going to wait until I got there, but I felt like I’d forget everything I wanted to say when I got there.”

“Everything you wanted to say?” you repeat carefully, hoping the things that he wanted to say aligned with the things you wanted to hear.

“I don’t know what I did, but I know I must’ve done something to make you stop talking to me. It’s a typical male cliché, I know, but I want you to tell me. I want to fix it.” There’s a whine in his voice that you’ve never heard before and, while you want to make it go away, you also really like the sound that it makes coming up from his throat.

“You didn’t do anything, Sammy,” you sigh into the phone, propping your head up in your head, your elbow buried deep in the pillow. “It was me. I had to stop.”

“If it was because of that kiss, I …” he trails off, as if unsure if he’s supposed to apologize for that night. “No, fuck that, I’m not sorry for that. I will say I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but I –” You try to interject, unsuccessfully.

“It wasn’t that, I just –”

“I won’t apologize for thinking about that kiss every night for the last 5 years.” You go quiet, listening to Sammy breathe raggedly on the other end. “But I need to know.” He pauses for such a long time that you would’ve thought the call disconnected, if not for the static in the silence and the breaths that filled the dead air. “Did I go too far that night?”

After barely a pause, you answer. “No.” But you can’t convince yourself to say more.

“Then why did you push me away?” That whine resurfaces in his voice and you want to say anything to make it go away, because right now, it sounds a lot like hurt.

“Because I didn’t think I could have you.” A deep breath passes through your lips as you close your eyes. This isn’t really the conversation you wanted to have with him just now.

“Was it because I was leaving? Because we were both leaving,” he tries to explain the frailty in that argument, and he was right. It hadn’t just been him that was leaving you back then.

“Yes, that, but …” Your voice trails off, not wanting to finish that thought. This is the part where everything gets awkward, because these aren’t things you ever wanted to admit to Sammy. You didn’t want to tell him that he was way out of your league, or that he deserved someone better than you, or that you weren’t sure you could always give him what he needed. Because, yes, Sam was your exception, and you wanted him in ways that you wanted nobody else, but it might not always be that way. Sammy deserved someone who wanted to give him everything, always, all of the time. No strings, no exceptions, no restrictions.

“But what?” he insists gently, and you realize you’re going to have to spell it out for him.

“Sammy,” you say, your voice quivering. “I’m not pretty enough for you.” An angry breath comes from Sammy’s end just before the line goes dead. You hold the phone out. Call ended.

An impatient knock at your front door sends panic into your chest and you try to ease your shaking hands, but it’s unsuccessful. As you make your way to the front door, you try to smooth out the curls of your hair, you tug at your T-shirt to cover more of your legs, even though you have a pair of shorts on underneath. Sammy hasn’t ever seen you like this and it’s terrifying.

The moment you unlock the door, Sam doesn’t hesitate. His hands are against your face and he’s pulling you against him, and you let him. God, you let him. His lips eagerly find their way to yours and his tongue follows quickly after, exploring and tasting and moaning.

Jesus, the sounds from his throat are indecent. Obscene. The sounds your mouths make together are explicit. As he crosses the threshold to your apartment, he kicks the door closed behind him and pulls you back with him, letting you press him against the door. At first, you stop yourself from putting all of your weight against him, you ease back, but he’s ten steps ahead of you, and he’s already considered everything that might hold you back.

His fingers bury themselves underneath the hem of your shirt, sliding up around your ribcage and he tightens his grip. Your feet unsteady underneath you and you fall into him. He doesn’t make a sound other than the satisfied hum escaping through your joined lips.

“God, your skin is so fucking soft,” he breaths into your mouth just before he violently pulls the shirt over your head, only to let his lips travel down the expanse of your neck. You tilt your head to let him at whatever skin he wants to put his mouth on.

It turns out, Sammy is keen to put his mouth on every possible inch of your skin. Without letting his mouth part from yours, he walks you back toward your bedroom, and the two of you trip on everything in the path there. With every stumble, Sammy laughs against your lips, both of you working on unfastening the buttons of his denim shirt. Eventually, he sheds it on your bedroom floor, and you let your hands explore the uncharted areas of his bare chest.

His eyes stay locked onto yours as he coaxes you onto the bed, where he kneels with one of your legs in between his. As he leans down to slip his tongue into your mouth again, you feel him pressed hard to your thigh, and he curves his hips up to get more friction.

When his lips move down, kissing along the edges of your black bra, he slips his hands underneath you, unclasping the hooks of that bra. As he starts to pull it away, you hold it to your chest, a bright pink blush blooming in your cheeks. His expression softens as he places his hand over yours, leaning down to place a delicate kiss to your nose.

“I don’t get it,” he says with a soft laugh. His hands, with yours inside it, move up, until he has them pinned above your head. “How do you not see what I see?”

“What do you see?” you ask, a hushed tone that doesn’t sound like your voice floats out.

A smile crosses Sammy’s lips as he pulls away the fabric concealing you, letting his eyes flutter down your bare chest. At the sight of your uncovered skin, he darts his tongue out to wet his lips before pulling his bottom lip into his teeth, his pupils dark and wide. His fingers follow the path that his eyes forge for them and you arch into his touch at your breast.

His eyes glance up to meet yours again. “I see skin that deserves to be kissed until it trembles underneath my lips. Skin that forms a beautiful shape with hills and valleys and stories and songs. Skin that holds the soul of the woman I have been in love with for longer than she would ever believe because she is so stubborn,” he smiles, peppering soft, tender kisses to the skin he so poetically described. “Christ, is she stubborn,” he laughs.

“No more than you,” you pout playfully as he works to remove the rest of your clothes and you’re much less reluctant to let him. When you are laid bare, he sheds his own clothes and you marvel at the sight of him, sun-kissed and naked and absolutely fucking magnificent.

“I meant what I said,” he croons, his voice dropping deep as he circles around to the foot of your bed, his eyes lit with a new fire. “That thing about trembling, you know.” As he climbs onto the bed, he pushes your legs apart, wider and wider, kissing up your inner thigh.

“Sammy,” you caution. In your last relationship, this had never been very successful for you. You were afraid that trend would continue, and Sammy would get frustrated over it.

“Please,” he breathed out, warm and wet against your skin, and just his breath against you made you shiver in anticipation. You nod in agreement, and he spreads you open even further. Almost timidly, he pushes the very tip of his tongue into the open space between your legs, soft and slow and careful, dragging the full breadth and width of his tongue behind.

“Oh,” you breath out indecently, a rattled breath from your lungs, as Sammy’s tongue reached the crux of his ascent. Just like he promised, you tremble underneath him.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, gripping your calf and you can feel him arching his hips into the mattress for a little extra friction. “God, make that sound for me again.” With his tongue widened, he drags it along the entire width of you, dipping inside, curling and uncurling within, fucking you with his tongue. He moves out, circling your entire entrance with his tongue, dripping and scorching, before lazily running over your crux, slowly, slowly, slowly.

You make the sound for him again. And again. And again. Those sounds get louder as his tongue increases in speed, feverishly, furiously lapping at your skin, back and forth, up and down, making tight, wet patterns with his tongue until you’re ready to come apart.

“Fuck,” he mumbles again, into your skin, sending the vibrations of his speech into your very core, and he pushes his tongue in with them, deep down until you can feel his lips pressed to yours. He purses his lips there, kissing you, his tongue still driving inside, and when he moans, it’s like an electric shock to your body.

“Don’t stop,” you call out, your voice feeling thin as your body finds the edge. Agonizingly slowly, he pulls his tongue up again, to the same throbbing, swollen skin, and he sucks at it, swirling his tongue within his lips. As you bury your first into his dark, wavy hair, he lays into a rhythm, daring to press two wet fingers into the depths of you. He pushes in and pulls out, matching the pace of his fingers to the rhythm of his tongue, fucking you hard and fast until your vision goes white, and every muscle tenses, and you call out Sammy’s name into the dark, waves of pleasure coursing through you until you’re throbbing around his fingers.

“Oh my God,” he moans, his breath still hot and sticky against you before he moves up, kissing every inch of skin in his path. “You come so fucking well. You look so good right now.”

When he gets to your mouth, you turn his head, pulling his earlobe into your teeth. “Fuck me, Sammy,” you whisper into his ear and every part of him goes limp against you, save one.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck, yes,” he mutters and moans, and you can feel him hard between your legs. He reaches down, swirling the head of his cock at your entrance for only a moment before pressing in, gently at first until his hips are flush to yours. His hips swell and break viciously, pressing into you with a zealous need over and over, his fingers kneading at the skin at your hip that you used to hate, but you can no longer hate it, for the way that Sammy caresses it.

He whispers into your ear, all the things you ever wanted to hear him say. You’re so beautiful. I’ve wanted you for so long. God, I love you. I love you. I love you. And it’s been five years, but it feels like five days, and you’ve never felt this good about anything in your life.

When Sammy comes, his dark brown eyes roll back with his head, his neck craned so tight that you can finger that cord of muscle that meets in the center of his collarbone. The moan pulling up from his throat is like the thrum of a bass string, deep and harmonious and reverberating, and it echoes in your chest until you feel filled up by it, too.

When he comes down, he drags his hand through his hair, hair that is longer than it’s ever been, and it looks so much darker under moonlight. His fingers pull through the tangled mess of his hair and he lets them trail down his chest, down his waist, along his hips. Those fingers find your skin again as he pulls out with an indelicate, satiated moan, and he wraps you up in his arms, kissing the back of your neck. You feel sleep pulling, but you fight vehemently.

His words continue, the words that he had been whispering in your ear when he’d been buried within you, and you try so hard to listen, but your eyelids are so heavy now.

His speech turns to song, singing sweetly and softly, his lips brushing along the shell of your ear until you’re sure you could fall asleep at any moment. “You’re the one I want. You’re the one I need. You’re the one I had. So come on back to me.”

You dream about holding his hand and staying a while.

[halfblood-fiend]

Fictober 2019 - Day 14

Fictober 2019 - Day 21

From The Fictober 2019 event <3

Prompt 14 : “I can’t come back.”

Fandom : Star Trek: Voyager (technically, but more focused on the Modern!OC)

Words : 957

Warnings : death and rape mention and cursing

Previous (Dragon Age: 2)    |    Next (Star Trek: Voyager)

Day 14- “I can’t come back.”

Everything was getting to be all too much. My surroundings swirled all around me making me dizzy and sick. I saw the familiar house. I heard the familiar voices. I knew these familiar people and yet—

Oh, please don't let it be true!

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?!" Amber demanded in a high-pitched voice. It grated on my eardrums and made my heart beat faster.

What did I have to say for myself? Good god, nothing she wanted to hear, I was sure.

But my thoughts tumbled out of my mouth anyway. "This can't be happening..."

"Excuse me?!" My sister jumped up from the leather couch in our father’s house in the year 2019. She was angry and violent, her dark eyes clouded by all the pain I knew I had caused. The pain I knew I was more than willing to cause again.

My other sister and my brother watched us both silently. I turned away from them all.

"This can't be happening," I said again. "I can't be here!"

"So, what?" Amber demanded, "You're just gonna leave again?"

Hours ago, I had been so far away. Seventy-Thousand lightyears across time and space, to be exact. And I couldn’t remember how I had come to be back in the past, not when I had been in the one place I had wanted to escape to for so long. All the times I’d dreamed of living out Star Trek. And then I had somehow. I had integrated myself there. I had friends, a husband... I may have missed my family for months and months and the ache of their absence still dragged the air from my lungs on some days, but I had moved on. I had found a purpose onboard the Voyager...

It can't just... be over. That was impossible. It was madness and I just couldn't bear to believe…

To never laugh with Harry or hang out with Megan and Jenny again. God. To never see Vorik again.

The possibility was too much. It was too painful. It almost immediately sent me into a panic. My heart squeezed at the mere thought. It couldn't be possible. It wouldn't be.

"I'M TALKING TO YOU!" Amber screamed, grabbing my arm. She dug her fingernails into my skin and spun me around to look at her.

"Yes!" I shouted back at her. "Yes, I'm leaving. I HAVE to!"

"’Have to?’ And what about your family, what about us??"

Her eyes welled up as I shook my head. I could feel my own hot tears streaming down my cheeks. It broke my heart, it did, but this was the lesser of two evils. It had to be. I couldn't even consider going on without Vorik. Just the hour I had spent with my mind so horribly blank, without his sure presence there... It was something of a nightmare. I had to find a way back.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Amber shook. She stared at me with hard disdain, the corner of her lips curling. Cecilia finally got up and tried to put a restraining hand on our littlest sister’s shoulder, but Amber shook her off.

"You're...’sorry’?" she echoed in a dangerously low voice. I wanted to shrink. I wanted to look away. But I owed it to her to be brave. It felt very important that I not look away. "’Sorry...’ When you disappeared... I was flown back out to California. I was told to look at corpses, Giana. CORPSES. Each time I was brought a new dead body I was praying it wasn't you. But after so many... I started wishing they were. I had to look for my big sister in the PIECES OF PEOPLE that each detective brought me, just so that they would stop! But I never did see you. And eventually, they did stop, just not because we ever found you. No, you were just another lost woman. Some cautionary tale to tell young girls. To teach us to be afraid. They told us to make peace with the idea that you were probably raped and murdered and never to be found. We buried an empty casket next to grandma and grandpa and had to call it good enough. And now you just show up on our doorstep, out of nowhere, and try to act like nothing happened, raving about a fucking tv show universe and some crazy shit, and now you’re just announcing that you're gonna leave again? You sound like you belong at a hospital but we're supposed to just LET YOU?"

"Yes! Because what I'm saying is true," I pleaded with her. "I don't know how it happened, and I don't know how I ended up here, but—POR DÍOS—I can't stay! I've lived in space. I've seen a starship and aliens and a better life! I have friends. I’m married. I can't just..." I trailed off. I couldn't possibly get enough air. I kept gulping like a dying fish, but none of it reached my lungs.

"I can't come back," I finally said in a quivering voice. "I have seen a better place and lived a better life. I have my soulmate. I've seen a world without money or suffering or pain. You expect me to just forget about all of that? You think I could ever just come back and live here again? What am I supposed to do, Amber? Just waltz back into my old fuckin’ job that I hate with bosses that grope me? Just go back to working my whole fucking life away in this capitalist HELLSCAPE after having seen the other side? I can never go back... never. Not..." I gulped and summoned all my courage. "Not even for you."

[la-moonlight-lily]

May I?

Summary: She'd been waiting for the one that would make her feel this way. That tenacious, profound, lingering emotion that no words can encompass. And now that she had, it had to be the one person she could not let into her heart. ItaSaku Soulmate A/U (or is it?). Non-Mass.

Rating: T. Subject to change.

1. Misconceptions | 2. Contemplations | 3. Decisions | 4. Resolutions

A/N: This whole thing is dedicated to Nadine25 on ff.net who is the main driving factor and inspiration for me writing again. You should check out her story Unholy Matrimony, it's brilliant, and also to littlebirdrobin on tumblr who has been very motivating and supporting, and her story Pretty Cherry Blossom is also a wonderful read.

"You're staring at her again."

Shisui looked at his cousin with something akin to exasperation, mentally letting out a frustrated groan.

Itachi did not even bother giving him a glance. He groaned out loud this time.

"Itachi," he snapped his fingers in front of his cousin's face, startling the younger male, who discreetly scrambled to regain his composure.

"Itachi," Shisui sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We talked about this."

He stared at his companion, who only lowered his eyes to his hands, both tightly gripping a glass of whiskey, still silent.

Shisui raised his eyes to Itachi's cause of fascination, watching as she rested her head on her blonde friend's shoulder – Yamanaka, was it? – warm, cheerful laughter bubbling from her mouth as they watched Naruto spit his drink in his other little cousin's face, Sasuke torn between cleaning up or pummelling his friend into the ground first.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Itachi raise his glass to his lips and down the rest of his whiskey, taking out his wallet to throw a couple of ryo on the table before standing up.

"Let's go."

The finality in his tone caused Shisui to immediately spring up, filled him with an air of relief. They quickly made their way through the number of shinobi filling the bar, passing by the youngsters' table on the way. There was no way they wouldn't notice them now.

"Shisui-san!" Sakura piped up when they neared the table, sitting up to greet him.

Itachi stiffened, Sasuke glared, and Shisui had to force himself to grin brightly at the girl as if his two cousins weren't just about to jump each other at the throat.

"Why hello there, Sakura-chan!" he leaned against table slightly, standing in front of Itachi. "It's been a while since I saw you around."

"Oh you were going to get a visit from me soon enough." The girl smirked at him, making him sigh inwardly.

"Oh?"

"Someone has to drag you to your monthly check-up, yes?" She was still smiling but her eyes narrowed at him slightly, "the one you're three months late for?"

He huffed out a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck.

"No need to get violent, Sakura-chan. I'll drag myself over to the hospital first thing in the morning."

She looked slightly placated, but shifted her eyes to his cousin, still standing stiff behind him. The dark-haired man rolled his eyes.

"I'll drag him along too," Shisui said with a small laugh, "now can you quit eyeing me with such murderous intent?"

Sakura's eyes brightened with mirth and she let out a small giggle, running his fingers through her soft, pink locks.

"Fine. Only because I'm in too good of a mood to torture you tonight. Would you join us for a dri-"

"No."

Their eyes snapped to the person sitting across from her.

"Sasuke, don't be rude!"

"We were all about to leave anyway."

Shisui watched his cousin and his teammate for a moment. Sasuke pinned the girl with a hard look. She returned it with a dirty one, looking more annoyed with him than Shisui thought she would be. The two blonds at the table shot each other a slightly alarmed look, seemingly understanding of the perhaps not-so-strange situation.

Well, he wasn't about to get between them. He already had one walking mess to deal with.

"It's alright Sakura-chan. Itachi and I were just leaving actually. We had a long day and we'll need our rest if we're getting those check-ups tomorrow." Shisui gave her a small smile and watched as she dragged her eyes back to him, a frown pinching her eyebrows together, giving him a little nod.

"Come on, I'll walk you home." Sasuke said softly, standing up and holding his hand out for her, looking slightly apologetic. Their two companions stood slowly after them.

"Well, I'll see you soon then. Good night, everyone." Shisui didn't wait for them to respond, only heard their murmured goodnights while he stalked to the door, Itachi hot on his heels.

It was a long, silent walk to the Uchiha compound, one Shisui was more than used to by now to feel uncomfortable anymore

She was upset with him, Sasuke could tell. He didn't even mean to be that aggressive. He just didn't want to put a damper on her good mood after they'd worked so damn hard to get her there.

He sighed. It seemed he couldn't get things right with her on this, no matter what he did.

"Sakura-"

"Shut it Sasuke."

Okay, she was definitely more than a little bit upset.

"Sakura, I'm just trying to look out for you-"

"I know, Sasuke," she interrupted again, softer this time. "I know."

She leaned into him slightly as they walked, and he was grateful for it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

"I know," she said again and put her head on his shoulder, felt him sigh again.

"I won't keep him away anymore if that's what you want-"

"I don't want to talk about it Sasuke," his teammate interrupted in a tone that clearly said there was no arguing with her. He didn't mind that much.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulders lightly. She appreciated the comfort it provided for a moment.

They kept on walking in awkward silence, until she decided to look up at him.

"How's Hanabi?"

If he was grateful for the diversion, he didn't show it. Instead, he gave her an awkward smile.

"She's alright. Still getting used to the whole situation."

"Is her father still raging about how she's being shackled down to an Uchiha?"

Sasuke chuckled. "He's… coming around, I think. She said he hasn't been shooting as many daggers at them lately as he usually does."

The female under his arm giggled and wrapped an arm around his waist. "The poor man. To have both his daughters become soulmates to someone who is not a Hyuuga must've been more of a shock than he could handle."

"He wasn't that bad with Hinata." Sasuke sighed and Sakura nodded a bit at his words. "He already knew since they were kids that they wouldn't end up with anyone in their clan, their marks never matched. And Naruto and Hinata knew they were soulmates since they were five or something so he'd already made peace with that by the time we discovered our bond." He ran a hand through his messy hair. Made it even messier, if that was possible.

"It's the fact that I'm an Uchiha more than anything that made him fly off his handle. Hanabi said he almost had a heart attack when she told him."

They laughed at the image, both able to clearly imagine Hyuuga Hiashi red-faced and short of breath after shouting for hours and hours about how his daughter couldn't possibly end up with a man in their primary rival clan. A man from its main branch at that.

"I'm sure Hyuuga-sama wasn't the only person who almost had a heart attack at the news," she teased and he grinned devilishly at her.

"My father wasn't too pleased, no. But you know how my mother could be when she decides to work her magic."

Sakura nodded. "Hai hai." She was more than familiar with the leverage Uchiha Mikoto has over her husband. Over her entire Uchiha household, actually. She didn't think any of the three other occupants of the main house dared defy their matriarch's wishes at any point.

"And it's not even like we chose this, you know?" Sasuke continued, "they both know that you end up with whoever has your mark and that's that. The fact that most of the clan members in our case happen to find their soulmates from within the clan is the exception, not the rule. We can't really decide that we'll both live miserably till the end of our days just because our clans can't stand each other."

"No you can't."

Sasuke realised his mistake a moment too late, and scrambled to apologise when he saw her face fall slightly. She pinched his side and smiled teasingly at him before he could, however.

"And how are you feeling about this? Still giving her a verbal beating every time you see her?"

Sasuke scowled, but there was no ill feeling behind it. "It was only the first two times! And it's not my fault that the first words my soulmate was supposed to say to me were an insult!"

"Yeah, she is quite the spitfire, isn't she? Goes well with her name." Sakura grinned up at him and he sighed, poking her side to make her squirm.

"Yes, she's very intense, and so am I, so we tend to clash a lot. But I'm getting used to it. It's only been a month since we knew, but we're making an effort to have calmer discussions whenever we disagree and all. We've been doing well, I think."

They rounded a corner and passed the familiar fruit stand at the beginning of Sakura's street, their pace unconsciously slowing down as they neared her house.

She was silent for a few moments before she spoke again, her tone subdued this time.

"Do you think you could be happy with her?"

Sasuke looked down at her and found her staring ahead, that familiar sadness back in her eyes. He squeezed her closer to him.

"It's too early to tell, but I think we're making progress. She's making an effort and we're opening up to each other a bit. Slowly, but… Yeah… Yeah, I think we could be happy, at some point."

She didn't speak again until they reached her building a minute or two later. She squirmed away from his hold and stood facing him, a warm smile on her face.

He could see her making an effort not to cry.

"I'm happy for you Sasuke," she almost whispered, taking a step towards him and wrapping her arms around his middle, "I really am."

He hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss against her temple. "Thank you. It means a lot."

She gave him one final squeeze and pulled back, walking backwards to the gate. "Good night, Sasuke-kun."

"Good night," he said and watched as she turned around and started climbing the steps to the door.

"Sakura."

She turned around, looked at him with curious eyes.

"He'll come. I promise."

Sakura smiled sadly at her best friend. Willed herself to hold it together.

"I hope so, Sasuke."

With that, she turned around again, taking the steps up to her apartment two at a time.

She managed to hold off the tears until she got to her bedroom.

Or, more accurately, until she started taking her clothes off.

She peeled off her shirt, a crisp black fabric that contrasted sharply against her vibrant pink hair. Throwing it on the bed, Sakura stood in front of her full length mirror and ran her fingers over the tattoo on her right hip bone.

It had been there since she was born, and she couldn't remember the burning feeling it made as it appeared on her skin. It remained too tiny to read on her small body, the letters squashed together in an unintelligible script until she turned nine. It was Ino who finally managed to read the words when they were splashing in the pool at the Yamanaka estate, squealing when she glimpsed the short, clear line visible on her hip.

"Sakura-chan, look! You can see it now!"

Young Sakura had forgotten all about checking her tattoo for a while, too busy trying to keep up with her lessons at the Academy and fending off bullies with Ino. The girls pulled themselves up to sit at the edge of the pool after that, staring at her soulmate mark, written in beautiful, neat handwriting.

May I kiss you?

The girls blushed and squealed childishly, their eyes excited and dreamy at the prospect of a prince charming asking for permission for a kiss. They kept screaming excitedly until Ino's mother came in and yelled at them to tone it down.

They stayed up late that night, curled in bed trying to figure out who Sakura's prince charming might be. They already knew that he must be older since Sakura was born with her soulmate's first words to her already branded on her skin, so he must've been born by the time she was. Excluding half of the boys in their year because they were at least a few months younger, and then half of those that remained because Sakura's already talked to them before and none of them asked to kiss her, the girls kept on throwing in the name of every handsome boy in Konoha, giggling and speculating over Sakura's mystery man.

They kept on guessing until they were well into their teenage years, half of their friends having already met their other halves by then.

"Maybe it's a girl," Naruto said once, promptly getting smacked on the back of his head by a laughing Sakura and Ino.

"What?!" he cried defensively, rubbing his offended head and looking at the girls with an affronted expression, "the handwriting's too pretty for it to be a guy!"

"Oh yeah? And how did you know it was pretty handwriting?!" Sakura mock-growled at him, making him blush and hide his red cheeks from her view. Sakura laughed at him and patted his shoulder.

"Not that I'm not okay with the concept, but I'm not really into girls at the moment."

He blushed even harder at the thought, while the rest of the group snickered at him.

"I personally think he's a man. A very polite and courteous gentleman," Tenten said, taking a sip of her milkshake.

Ino snorted. "Well that excludes half of Konoha."

They laughed again, until Sasuke nudged her lightly with his elbow.

"He could be from another village, you know," he murmured and Sakura nodded in agreement.

"Might not even be a shinobi," Naruto threw in, which made her eyes widen a little.

"Kami, I hope not!" She tucked her hair back behind her ear. "I would like him to at least be on the same page as I am when it comes to that path of life."

The rest of the group agreed, none of them fond of the idea of having to abandon their shinobi lifestyle, before moving on with the conversation to the upcoming jounin exams.

Her friends kept on coming across their lovers one by one, until all who remained were her and Sasuke.

And it was fine. Really. The thought of meeting her soulmate was nice, especially if he was as romantic as the script on her hip says. But she was too distracted by keeping up with the Godaime's lessons and catching up to her teammates to dwell on it much. It would happen when it was supposed to, she told herself.

It was fine until she started noticing the mysterious black eyes following her around. When she was training, when she was healing, even when she was walking through the market with Ino, catching up on the latest gossip.

She would feel the familiar prickle down her spine, and somehow manage to turn her head in the right direction to where his face was.

The first few times this happened, it left her shaken. As a kunoichi, being watched never sat well with her. The fact that it was Uchiha Itachi watching her made it even more unnerving.

He looked at her with an intensity that scared her, the darkness of his irises scanning every inch of her as if she were a puzzle, and he was trying to put her together, figure her out, just by training that fierce gaze on her. And every time she would turn her head and see him fixing her with that look, she would shiver and turn away as quickly as she could without showing signs of unease.

But then one time she caught his eye and he smiled at her. A shy, crooked thing, like he wasn't sure if he was doing it right or not. And Sakura melted.

It was like he was letting her in on a little secret, one that no one knows about him except for her. And instead of turning away from him like before, Sakura took to following him around with her eyes as well, eager to unravel him as he was slowly unravelling her, each secret slowly making itself known in the form of a beautiful expression on his face.

Sakura and Itachi played this game of cat and mouse for a while, each of them making their presence known to the other as frequently and discreetly as they could, their public interactions few and usually without words, preferring to speak through whoever was accompanying them, but then exchanging those warm looks and secret smiles from a distance with those around them being none the wiser.

It was almost as if they were too scared of facing the inevitable, excited but nervous of that wonderful confrontation they'd been aching for. She knew deep in her heart that soon, she would wait no more, that it would no longer just be distant smiles and hurried touches in passing, and she knew that Itachi knew that as well. And it only took a few more weeks before it happened.

The first time Itachi spoke his words to her, Sakura froze, unable to compose herself at the sound of his calm tenor near her ear. For some reason he chose to approach her while Sasuke was there, and her teammate was gaping at the both of them and she was blushing and scrambling for a response, before she stammered an excuse at them and ran off like the idiot that she was.

For the following few days, she could feel two sets of ebony on her at all times, not one. One anxious, the other confused.

It took some courage for Sakura to be able to look at Itachi again, finding him near the Hokage's office as she was heading inside to help her mentor with paperwork, him leaving the office with a mission scroll. They stared each other down for a long minute, her green hues mirroring his intertwined happiness and distress. It was a silent conversation, one they were too good at by now, and one that told them that their compulsion towards each other, while deliciously ferocious, was inevitably doomed. The circumstances were not in their favour.

Sakura could only give him a sad, watery smile and Itachi raised his fingers to her cheek hesitantly, running his knuckles over her smooth skin, then darting away before he could no longer control himself.

She wallowed in self-pity for the whole month Itachi was away, obviously miserable and subdued. Her friends tried unsuccessfully to pry the cause of her sadness out of her, Tsunade screamed at her to regain her focus during surgeries, only to soften and try and comfort her later when she saw the girl strangely on the verge of tears with each little comment she received.

The annoying insistence of her friends continued for two weeks then suddenly stopped, and Sakura could see them shoot her sympathetic, understanding looks and being extra nice to her whenever she would get lost in her own thoughts. She couldn't explain their sudden change of attitude, but then Sasuke knocked on her door one night, holding her favourite ice cream and a box of strawberries and Sakura instantly launched herself at him, soaking his shirt with tears she had been desperately trying to keep at bay since she last saw his brother.

He was weirdly tender with her, something she had rarely, if ever, seen from Sasuke. Held her for as long as she cried while running a comforting hand up and down her back and through her hair, and listened to her patiently as she dug into the tub of ice cream and told him what he had already known for a while, but he let her relieve her heartache anyway. She finally cried herself to sleep and he carried her to her bed, tucking her in snugly under the blankets, and took the long way home to get some air on the way.

He showed up the next morning too, bringing her some cheese croissants and chocolate pastries and making sure she showered and ate, before they set out to their usual team sparring session.

It was perhaps a blessing that Sakura had grown so close to Sasuke, even if it was under such unlucky circumstances and even if he seemed like the least likely person who could be so understanding and supportive and patient with her situation, but he was, and Sakura was grateful for it. Sasuke would always make sure to surprise her with some of her favourite treats, show up on the nights when she was feeling especially dreadful, and nudge her with a smile or give her a small one-armed hug whenever he saw her slip into the darkness of her mind. And it brought her comfort, to know that she was not alone in her heartache.

Itachi returned almost too soon for her to heal, though, and Sakura slipped into a foul mood again. But she couldn't help but respond to his looks and smiles again in due time. Only this time, it felt exciting because it felt forbidden, and they were more compelled to hide their actions not due to strange flirtation, but due to disapproval. And more misery if it goes on, but right then and there, they didn't care about anything except those quick stolen moments that they couldn't go beyond. A quick smile before someone would notice, a touch of their fingers as they passed each other in corridors, the occasional smouldering, intense look that only served to increase their desire to retreat to a dark abandoned corner and not leave until they were both thoroughly sated.

Sasuke knew, though. With him at Sakura's side at least half the day every day, and living with the other party of the problem, he was bound to notice. And he did not approve.

He would scowl at Itachi whenever he caught him trying to catch her attention, and would steer Sakura away from Itachi's way if he sensed him around. Soon, Shisui got involved as well, trying to control Itachi instead, and their scarcely existent moments became even less frequent. Sasuke even became quite standoffish with his brother when Itachi wouldn't abandon his attentions, the relationship between the two becoming more turbulent as Itachi's 'relationship' with Sakura continued.

"You need to stop, Itachi." Sakura heard Sasuke utter harshly after she and Naruto finished having dinner with his family. She was waiting for Sasuke to walk her home while Naruto helped with the dished in the kitchen, and went to check on Sasuke when she started getting impatient.

"Whatever you're doing, you just need to stop it."

"I fail to see how that concerns you, Sasuke."

"It concerns me because it concerns Sakura! You know that this can't happen! You know that you're just hurting her more by making this attachment grow!" She heard Sasuke take in what sounded like a deep, exasperated breath before he continued.

"I can't allow you to hurt her more than she's already hurting. I can't allow you to hurt yourself more than this. You can't encourage her. She already has to endure the fact the someday, she's going to see you with someone else. And you're going to accept her eventually finding someone else as well. And you can't both do that if whatever it is that you're both doing continues."

Sakura almost ran back down to the kitchen. She had to walk slower so they couldn't hear her. And also so she could have time to compose herself before going back to Naruto and Mikoto.

Sasuke couldn't have been more right, and she knew it. It didn't mean that hearing that out loud wasn't still like a kunai to the heart.

It almost ceased after that. She no longer sought Itachi out with her eyes whenever she went, no longer went out of her way to frequent the same places he would so they could spend some time in proximity. And she could tell that he didn't either. It hurt too much for any meeting of their eyes to be longer deliberate, and should they find themselves staring, they would quickly avert their gaze as soon as they realised it, except for a few slips near-misses, like tonight at the bar. The combined efforts of Itachi's brother and cousin helped too.

And here she was, almost a year after that first time she caught him perusing her, standing in front of her mirror and crying pathetically at her stupid tattoo, wondering for the millionth time how she could somehow be so deeply in love with someone who was not her soulmate.

A/N: Well that wasn't very happy... I'm not sure if it's meant to be, either. I'm almost done with the whole thing, so I should be able to update soon (here's to hoping). Next, we see more of Itachi.