#anyways could that ‘someone’ show their face and stop hiding like a fucking coward <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[gregmarriage]

do you suppose when my dad had three daughters, he’d guess that two of them would get married to men and give him a ton of grandkids, and the other one would sit in her room, dykely and autistically

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Continuation of an angsty dark fic request. 

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/attempt (I made myself real sad with this one so be warned if you’re vulnerable to negative thinking), NSFW, smut (gender-neutral), unhealthy relationship, depression, neurodivergent reader. Melancholy rambling. 

3,200 words

“Don’t worry about what Dr. Chilton thinks,” Nurse Clerval advised as soon as he was out of earshot. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but”—you tugged the hem of your scrubs—“He’s right. I keep messing up. I think he hates me.” You stopped there, too ashamed to admit you were the biggest fuck-up on the entire staff, new or not, or that you could tell Dr. Chilton regretted his decision to hire you.

“And the rest of us hate him. Just keep doing your job, learn the ropes—he’ll back off.”

You nodded silently and continued your rounds, delivering meds and checking in on patients. Amy had to be restrained again when she wouldn’t stop biting. Julianne seemed more confused lately, though you hadn’t known any of them long enough to tell what was normal.

Clerval’s words hung over you. It didn’t seem right that everyone hated Dr. Chilton. He was a little brusque, yes, but intelligent. Wickedly sarcastic. Posturing and puffing himself up whenever people he admired came to visit the hospital, and he wanted badly to impress them. Lonely.

Your cheeks heated at the thought of those intense bursts of green under his brow—the first thing you noticed when he conducted your interview. His eyes almost matched the light green scrubs you wore at the hospital you trained in, though the uniform here was white (as if leaning into the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest vibe.)

But what drew you in wasn’t that his eyes were beautiful—though they were—it was the way they made contact with yours. Staring you down with fake confidence, as if he were forcing it. That stare must have been off-putting to most people, but it made your spirit leap with that particular spark of connection one only feels when finding a kindred spirit.

“Hey! Still sulking? Hurry it up,” Clerval called, jolting you to attention. You trotted after.

It was nice having a mentor on the staff, but at the same time, it just felt like having another person to eventually disappoint.

“Here! What’s next?�� you beamed.

***

Dr. Chilton didn’t back off over the next few weeks as Nurse Clerval suggested. The more you thought you were getting the hang of routines at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the more mistakes you seemed to make, and the harder its administrator came down on you. And the more the handsome, scarred Dr. Chilton hated you, the more nervous mistakes you made.

In nursing school, you aced everything technical. Every written test. Every memorized statistic, sterilization procedure, medication instruction, and anatomy diagram. But when it came to interacting with patients and families—being compassionate yet professional—nothing came naturally. As a child, you learned how to fake eye contact by staring at the bridge of someone’s nose. How to smile bright and encourage others so they don’t reject you. So they don’t see you as cold or weird. But sometimes, you felt like an alien just parroting human behavior.

The guy you had been dating when you started working at the BSHCI said something similar to you when he broke it off. That you were “unavailable” and never understood what he needed.

There was a reason your first choice job was at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers.

Dr. Frederick Chilton was the same way. Just better at hiding it, or braver about not caring when his mannerisms rubbed people the wrong way. He didn’t fall apart like you did. He was… incredible. As soon as you met him, you knew you wanted the job. His smile was forced but friendly that first day, and you went home dreaming about getting to know him better.

But as soon as you were hired, the friendliness went out of his eyes. On your very first day, you passed him in the hall and smiled. He frowned and informed you that you were five minutes late clocking in. Everything—every forgotten ID card and typo on a patient file—was proof to Dr. Chilton that you were incompetent.

Worthless.

He even pointed it out when you couldn’t stand up for yourself and let Nurse Clerval defend you.

Pathetic.

Why did you ever think someone like him might like you?

He wasn’t an asshole. The constant reprimanding and disciplinary write-ups were no more than you deserved. It just hurt coming from someone you admired and wished things could be different with.

God, you wished just once he would smile at you again. Tell you that you did a good job.

Your fist hovered over the dark mahogany of the carved doors to Dr. Chilton’s office, poised to knock. To tender your resignation. You hadn’t seen the extravagant interior of his office since your interview, but you could imagine him in there: laying back on the leather couch sipping a Scotch, surrounded by tall shelves of medical books and sculpted wall molding. The air filled with the library smell of old paper.

In your imagination, his cold green eyes would soften, and he would ask why you were leaving. Apologize for being so hard on you. The Chilton in your mind clasped your hand, and you both blushed, wondering if the gesture was merely a show of professional support, or if it held a deeper meaning. He clasped tighter instead of dropping your hand, knowing— understanding—the heat behind your gaze.

A dull thud came from inside the office, followed by footsteps and a muttering voice, muffled through the door. The footsteps started heading your way, and you walked briskly down the hall toward the exit, not looking back when a moment later, the mahogany doors creaked open.

Coward.

There was no point quitting, anyway. You would never find another hospital job as slow-paced, where you rarely had to speak with outsiders—only the regular long-term patient-inmates, and a small staff of orderlies, guards, nurses, and psychiatrists.

Sometimes you thought you should quit nursing altogether, but then what would you do? Flip burgers? You’d be bad at that, too. There was nothing you wouldn’t be a failure at.

A fog hovered over you, creeping its tendrils into every thought, turning every tiny setback into the end of the world, and making every success unimportant. Leaving BSHCI wouldn’t make it better. Nothing would make it better. You were the fuck-up. Anywhere you went, the problem would always be you.

Every smile you gave was forced, but you kept smiling as if everything was normal. So long as nobody could see you drowning, it wasn’t real. There was still hope that you could get your shit together, and no one would be the wiser that you were actually a disgusting piece of human trash. So long as you could smile like you were fine, you weren’t a complete failure.

But the more you pretended to be upbeat—pretended to be someone likable—the more you were certain your coworkers didn’t like you. They must have been sick of covering for you by now.

A week later, the nurse you were replacing grunted, “Finally,” as you sprinted through the door three minutes after your shift started. That one unremarkable interaction was the final proof of a theory you had been nursing for a long time:

Everyone’s lives would be easier without you.

That was the final conclusion, the final, creeping thought the suffocating fog wormed into your head. The crescendo of a distorted symphony that had been subtly building to this from the beginning.

You couldn’t force yourself to smile anymore.

***

You didn’t have authorized access to the medication supply room, but you swiped a key from Dr. Tenley’s office. For a secure facility, the doctors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane were lax about locking their own offices. She would notice it was missing by Monday morning, and there would be serious repercussions for stealing it, but you weren’t concerned. You wouldn’t be around to face them.

With the high-potency drugs available in a hospital and a working knowledge of pharmacology, ending a life could be quick and relatively painless.

The key clicked in the door. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was coming. But the coast was clear.

A halfhearted breath puffed from your nose. Part of you wanted to find it funny how easy this was, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You stealthily opened the windowless metal door, stepped inside, and shut and locked it behind you without making a sound. Once inside the small room, you let out a silent sigh of relief (or despair). Only a handful of people had a key, so you were unlikely to be interrupted, especially at night with only a skeleton staff on duty.

There were three rows of tall storage shelves crammed into the walk-in closet with clean tile in the few places wall was exposed. The whir of a climate-control system drowned out the pulse in your ears as you scanned for the drugs you were looking for.

You found them faster than expected. They could have at least been hidden. The universe could have put a few more obstacles in your path, but instead, the universe was giving you a big fat sign it wanted you dead.

You picked up the packaging. Turned it over in your hand.

Just a handful of these, and all the problems you cause would be over. No more reprimands. No more disappointing everyone you meet. No more wrenching in your gut every time Dr. Chilton looks at you with contempt when you long to see a smile. No more trying so hard every minute of every day.

It wasn’t like too many people would be sad you were gone anyway. Most of them will be relieved.

Your eyes stung.

Wasn’t someone going to walk in and stop you?

Your lip trembled. Why would anyone want to stop you?

Tears rolled down your face as the reality of your plan set in. Survival instinct kicked and clawed at the cloying fog of twisted logic that promised you would be helping everyone if you stopped existing, but it was losing the battle.

And then you heard someone call your name.

You sniffed and looked up. No… not someone calling your name. Moaning it. You crept to the last row of shelves at the back and gasped—Dr. Chilton had his laptop tucked onto a shelf and was watching a clip of security feed on loop. His red, glistening erection thick in his hand as he masturbated, whimpering your name over and over.

You watched silently—he was so engrossed he didn’t notice your shadow falling over the aisle. It was only when the package of drugs slipped from your hand and clattered on the floor that he jumped with a shriek, covering himself, though his massive erection was still conspicuous in his pants. His eyes bugged out at you, face red with embarrassment—but then they quickly narrowed to anger.

“What are you doing in here? You are not authorized to be in this room,” he barked.

All you could think about was what you heard—the name gasping from his lips. It overpowered every other thought. “Were you… imagining me?”

His nostrils flared. He hastily shut the laptop which was looping security footage of you outside his office door.

Then he laughed—forced and cruel. “What I imagine is not your concern. Do not read into it. I have never shown you special treatment, have I? Do you think that I could have feelings for an incompetent nurse?”

“I know that!” Your lip trembled again now that the briefest spark of hope you had was shattered. Of course he didn’t like you. He was just a pervert who jacked off to all the nurses. “Don’t you think I know that I’m worthless? You’ve made it abundantly clear.”

Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chilton’s eyes softened, as if for the first time realizing that all his attempts to hurt you had succeeded. You were hurt. And he did not enjoy it as much as he thought.

“You are not worthless,” he said quietly. Then his eyes flicked down to the floor, at the medication you dropped. He picked it up, read what it was. His expression fell. “What were you doing in here, nurse?” he swallowed.

“Nothing. I just… needed something for a patient.”

“Lie,” he said.

You looked away. Everything was numb. It barely even occurred to you that someone stopped you after all. A handsome, awkward, cruel doctor you admired was in the same room with you and had said his first kind words since the day you met.

He took a slow step toward you. Then another. His hand—slender and surprisingly large—pressed your arm in an attempt at a comforting gesture. An alien parroting human behavior.

“You are not worthless. I assure you, none of your mistakes have been grievous. You are certainly not the least competent of my staff. Far from it. So don’t…” He swallowed. “…Do not do anything rash.”

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Then why am I the one you’re always reprimanding? The one always being called to your office?” You knew what he thought of you; he was just trying to talk you down.

“That…” he began in a broken voice, “That must be painfully obvious now.”

Your eyes peeled away from the floor and found his face, and the storm of emotions flashing over it. Shame. Trepidation. A faint light of hope.

“You like me?” Your voice sounded far away. The analytical part of your brain was whirring away above the swamp of depression bogging you down with lies that nobody could like you. But it made sense. As the words spilled from your mouth, it was like a veil lifted.

Pulling pigtails. He was pulling your pigtails because he liked you. A middle-aged psychiatrist ought to have more emotional maturity handling a crush than a third-grader, but there was a reason he worked at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers. There was a reason his staff hated him. Why he was lonely, and why you desperately wanted to be the one to fill the empty space by his side.

Frederick Chilton was a lot like you.

You could understand each other and be less alone in this world, together.

***

His eyes were closed and he was muttering something self-flagellating and vaguely apologetic when the kinetic sense of you moving closer caused Frederick Chilton to look up.

No longer out at arm’s distance, you were within each other’s breathing space. And now, he was genuinely terrified—terrified you were going to return his feelings. Of the joy it might bring crashing down on him like an airplane. He read something he never expected to see in your body language, and it shook him deeper than being walked in on with his cock in his hands.

You should have reported him for ethics violations.

If you made the case to the hospital board that he created a hostile work environment because he wanted you sexually, he would lose his job and do everybody a favor.

But this—the intention in your body—this was the farthest thing from what he deserved. You confirmed his fear when your soft, perfect lips melded against his. Yet, as always when he knew a thing was wrong, he did not push you away. Did nothing to stop you. He let you deepen the kiss slowly, and you were warm, the taste of you sweeter than he imagined in all his lonely nights of fantasizing.

His cock twitched, your closeness awakening his urges again. He moaned as your lips parted, his lips parting with them, and your tongue gently probed inside. You were tentative at first, investigating only the nearest reaches of his inner lips, and then his hand spasmed on your arm, and with a low growl, he pulled your closer—then you became ravenous. All the turbulent emotions churning within you broke free in that kiss. You sobbed into his mouth, your tongue, hot and fervent, explored and assaulted the depths of him, your hands weaving into the hair behind his neck, and he could taste your salt. It was all his tongue could do to keep up—to let himself be consumed.

Dear god, if only that passion would have ended him then and there. The moment your lips met his in an unexpected act of reciprocation was the fulfillment of every want, every tattered and twisted hope—the highest delight a man such as him could achieve. And he knew—rightly so—that all that could follow was suffering of his own design.

Dear god, let me die before I see this in ruins. Let me die with my happiness.

***

The sex wasn’t all that good. But then again, you had gone into that supply closet intending to never come out, so overall, being fucked by the man you had been pining for was a positive turn of events.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first time with Dr. Chilton, pressed against a cold tile wall. A hungry kiss led to his clothed erection pushing against your thigh, led to you unbuckling his belt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered hoarsely, nervous eyes darkened with lust—and you nodded, sliding down your scrub pants, which stuck on your sneakers, hobbling your ankles. He was in too much of a rush to let you take them off—he only opened up his slacks and pulled his cock out of the fly of his briefs. And then he was thrusting into you from behind—frantic, desperate. Your ankles being bound only added to the thrill of him being in control. Dr. Chilton wanted you after all—fantasized about you—and now he was taking you, and all you had to do was surrender to his desire.

His breathy moans rose with each snap of his hips, his hands traveling up your chest under your shirt, fingers curling around your neck, possessing you. Touching every inch of skin he could get his hands on. And that noise that saved your life, your name on his lips, he chanted in your ear.

He was fast—hips racing as if this were his only chance, and if he waited, you would disappear—and he finished fast. You didn’t spend long with your face pressed to the cold tile when his moans broke into a shattered scream, and his head slumped, sweaty, against your back.

Then he turned you around to face him and got on his knees. Heedless of his own mess that he’d left sticky and bitter inside you, he pumped his fingers into you and sucked like he was fulfilling a duty. Clinical about the task, and efficient. It didn’t take him long to bring your arousal to a climax in his mouth.

After, he was quiet. When you had cleaned up, he looked at you like you were a mistake… only you weren’t certain what kind of mistake. If you reached out to reassure him, would he jerk away and tell you to never speak of this again?

“Was it… all you expected?” you asked robotically. Your arm crossed your body, hugging yourself.

And then he kissed you again, softly. He ran his fingers over your hair and pulled back just far enough to study your face. His eyes were wet, clouded with a million thoughts and regrets you would only learn about later.

“You are perfect,” he whispered.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Since I went some places this chapter... Please don’t bottle up your feelings if they’re telling you horrible things about yourself. They aren’t true, I promise. You matter. ❤️

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

Help via Text: https://www.crisistextline.org/ (Text HOME to 741741)

List of additional resources: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/suicide-resource-guide 

Tags:

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @barbasimp / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq 

[yellowocaballero]

Hunt!Tim: Five Times He Murdered Someone And One Time He Loved them <3

Just kidding. This is a fic set in my Roleswap AU, acting as a character study over the course of the series into...whatever the fuck was going on with that guy. I spent so much time and energy actually figuring out his arc and character that when I finished Solitaire I hadn’t said everything I wanted to say, so that’s why this exists. It’s...not funny at all. Tim takes himself far too seriously. I’m very sorry, there are almost no jokes in this. It just doesn’t work. 

Content warning for story typical issues; but more explicit depiction of suicidal ideation, kidnapping and physical assault, just in general a very fucked up little dude, and gendered violence that is more explicitly discussed as a possible precursor to further violence. Rest under the cut.  

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

i

“I’m going to fucking kill them!”

“Well,” Sasha said, tapping away relentlessly on her phone as she sat primly on his couch. During work hours she was always doing something mysterious on her laptop, and after work it was on her phone. She had once alluded to being the moderator of an improbable number of forums. She liked the power. “We could probably make that happen. It’s the Magnus Institute, it’s suspicious if nobody's dying. But four people at once may not be prudent.”

“I don’t care!” Tim yelled. He paced his living room in tight lines, turning sharply on his heel at the end of the room. It felt like he was bursting with pent-up energy and rage, sending his heartbeat thumping in his ears like a war drum. “They’re obstructing justice, withholding evidence from an investigation, probably acting as an accomplice -”

Sasha’s head snapped up, eyes glinting at him behind the big glasses that she always hid behind. “So you do think they were involved in Gertrude’s death?”

“Who cares. They did something, they’re obviously guilty of whatever. Every one of them have rap sheets.” Everyone but that blonde woman, which seemed a little counter-intuitive. “We just have to find something.”

Sasha hesitated, just momentarily, and she carefully put her phone down. “You’re angry, Tim. It’s affecting your judgement. Remember when we talked about that? Deep breaths. Come on, in one and out two. ”

Tim grimaced, but Sasha was right. He stopped pacing, and at Sasha’s encouraging look he resentfully took a few deep breaths. It did make him feel better. His heart wasn’t thumping in his ears anymore. She was so good at calming him down. She was just so wonderful in every way.

Thinking about how great Sasha was effective in clearing his head, but it just highlighted how terrible those women were in comparison. No respect. It was disgusting. 

“Thanks,” Tim said gruffly, eliciting a beautiful smile. He collapsed on the couch next to her, disgusted and frustrated. “We’re never going to solve this Robinson case so long as those women are in the way. I won’t tolerate any obstacles in getting justice.”

“I know, and that’s what’s brave about you,” Sasha soothed, clasping his shoulder gently. Her thumb worked into his shoulder, gentle and soothing. “But we have to do it quietly. We don’t just need them out of the way, we need information. I’ll work on the technological side. You can dig up an entire life online, trust me. But if they know any of the secrets about the Institute and the Archives, we have to press them. That’s your strength, Tim. You can get anything out of anyone, because you never give up.”

Tim turned his head and smiled weakly at her. “And your strength is that you’re always there for me.” Her eyebrow ticked, but Tim hardly noticed. “I’ll keep pressing. They can’t stonewall me forever. I have their boss’ address, I’ll just show up there.”

“He’s going to ask for a warrant -”

“Oh, who gives a shit, nobody cares.” Tim snorted.  “He’s a pussy if he’s hiding behind those women, anyway.” At Sasha’s carefully arched eyebrow, Tim quickly added, “Coward, I meant coward.” 

“So you do remember our conversation about being PC,” Sasha said, making Tim snort. Please. Those sensitivity training the department was always forcing on them was a joke. Tim laughed with the other guys about it afterwards. He didn’t know why Sasha was complaining; she laughed just as mockingly as the rest of them. But she just readjusted her glasses now, a sign she was a little nervous. “Tim, about what you said just before we left -”

“What about it?” Tim said sharply.

Sasha was silent for a minute, before adjusting her glasses again. “Nothing. Just - be careful, okay? People who get too close to the Magnus Institute end up dead.”

If only they would. But Tim grinned at her, bright and sharp, and Sasha hesitantly smiled back too. Tim’s conviction, his bravery, always seemed to make her feel better. Sasha thought too much. She rarely second guessed herself - that was why Tim liked her - but sometimes she just thought herself into twists. She needed someone like him to cut that Gordian Knot. “Don’t worry, Sash. The good guys always prevail.”

Tim would kill them. All he needed was a reason. 

ii. 

Tim had nightmares, now. 

Not full ones. Strange, fragmented dreams that were quickly forgotten after he woke up. Most of the time. But not always. And they were so strangely vivid - as if he was really living that moment over and over again.

It was of that construction site. And of Danny, watching those murders and the corpses with a sick, fascinated smile. And of Tim, defenseless and powerless and trembling and weak, watching it all happen. 

Sometimes there would be a man. Just once or twice. The man, who would always be wearing really stupid pyjamas that contrasted wildly with how attractive he was, would frown at Tim. 

‘Hey’, Sims said, ‘aren’t you that prick?’. 

And Tim would wake up, heart beating fast, thumping in his ears, afraid in exactly that same poisonous metallic way that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. 

Tim was going to kill that monster. 

****

On a Monday afternoon, Tim sat in the driver’s seat of his car, checking his gun. 

Gun, check. Rope, check. Shovel, check. Lighter and gasoline, check. Axe with belt, check, just in case things went really south. Gag, check. Tim had no idea how many secret powers that thing had, he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Monday was the only night that they all went home alone. It took two frustrating weeks of stake-outs to realize that. Since he had cornered that bitch Melanie she even walked home with Daisy, who apparently lived close by. It was worth it, though. She was finally feeding him useful information, even though Tim knew that she thought she was giving irrelevant information about what they really wanted. He gave most of it straight to Sasha, who was salivating over all of the puzzle pieces Melanie was casually dumping on them as if they were meaningless. Whatever. That was Sasha’s job. 

She had been worried about him lately. Probably. Tim hadn’t really noticed. He was focused on the case. Tim was a perfectionist like that. 

Finally, at 5:20, Tim saw the monster - Jon, whatever, he wasn’t scared of him - round the corner. He was a little hard to distinguish in the darkness, but that was why Tim had left the headlights on.

His heart was thumping, roaring in his ears. Tim was giddy with excitement and anticipation and thirst. Catching them wasn’t the best part, but this would feel so good. He had been vividly imagining the look of fear on the thing’s face for the past month, ever since he assaulted Tim. He just couldn’t decide how he wanted to kill him - he brought his nightstick just in case he wanted to bash his face in, but fire was practical and incredibly painful. 

Showtime, Tim thought, as he opened his car door and stepped out. After Tim took care of this, he and Sasha would be safe. That was the important thing. He was protecting Sasha from that thing. That was why he did it, all of it. 

Jon startled a little when he saw him, but his face was backlit from the headlights and his features were probably obscured. It wasn’t until Tim stepped forward, easily and casually, that Jon began the slight speedwalk of a pedestrian encountering a persistent panhandler on the street. 

“Stop right there.”

Jon froze. Not as stupid as he looks, then. Still pretty stupid. 

Tim walked forward until he was standing at Jon’s back, already silently drawing out his handcuffs with one hand. 

“Detective Stoker,” Jon said, and Tim almost respected the way his voice didn’t shake. “I wish this was more of a surprise.”

Normally Tim appreciated a good intimidating monologue, but he could be more efficient right now. Besides, there was time for that later. Jon turned his head backwards slightly, trying to see his face - perfect - and Tim waited until he could see his expression before he jammed the barrel of his gun on Jon’s throat.

There it was. The expression that few people besides Tim had ever seen, that secret face of man that each person felt so few times in their lives if they felt it at all. The face of a man who knew he was about to die. 

It was Tim’s little secret. 

“Why -”

Tim bashed it over the head with the barrel of the gun, and it dropped on the gun like a lanky puppet with its strings cut. No use letting it finish a question. 

Handcuffs, rope, trunk. Carefully just under the speed limit, barrelling out of London into the cold and emotionless woods. Turning on the stereo - some mindless Amy Winehouse song. Tim found himself whistling along with it, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. 

It wasn’t that Tim liked killing people, or even things that looked and begged and cried like people. But it was just something you had to do. Tim shouldered that burden, so innocent people wouldn’t have to. As a police officer, he had sworn to be the wolf that protects the sheep. That was Tim - that loyal and heroic wolf. 

The thrill was overwhelming. That was why people had sex in public - that excited thrill over possibly getting caught. Not that he would, and even if he did Tim basically had carte blanche to handle his cases how he wanted, but he could. His skin was prickling, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Saliva was pooling in his mouth, which he wiped off with one hand. Adrenaline did weird things. When he looked at the rear mirror inside the car to check on Jo - the monster, he saw the light of the headlights glinting strangely against his eyes, but in another second it was gone. 

Tim didn’t have a ‘spot’ because that was fucking idiotic, but all of his dumping places had basically the same characteristics. You had to drive a while to get something really private. It took an hour, but they got to Chiltern hills eventually, and Tim was forced to squint at Google Maps to find the GPS coordinates he had planned out. It felt a little ridiculous to use Google Maps to find a burial spot for somebody but - well, life was weird. 

When he stopped, he carefully took out the gag, the axe, the shovel, his own hunting knife, and dumped them in the spot he had picked out. He held the gag and holstered the hunting knife before carefully popping open the trunk.

Jo - the monster was awake. Which was fortunate; there was no fight when they were unconscious. He stared up at Tim with big brown eyes, all innocent and pleading, and Tim rolled his eyes before bending down to securely jam the gag in his mouth before grabbing him by his tied hands and dragging him out. The thing made a bunch of sad noises, and from the sounds of it he had wrenched a shoulder, but that wouldn’t be an issue in a few minutes. 

The thing’s legs had clearly fallen asleep, and he stumbled onto the ground the minute Tim let go of him. He kept his eyes on Tim almost frantically, as if he could brainwash him by his eyes alone - could he? Could he? His eyes were fucking freaky.

Jesus. What if he could. Fuck, Tim barely knew anything about his freaky powers. But if he could brainwash via eye contact, couldn’t he - 

No. Tim shook himself. That was the fear talking. Which shouldn’t exist. The fear should be gone. He had the thing bound and gagged at his feet, terrified out of its life, he couldn’t possibly still be scared of it. Fucking stupid. He was just cautious. That was caution. Tim was a cautious person. 

Time for his favorite part, then.

Tim grinned lazily down at the thing, letting his white teeth flash in the lit headlights of the car. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, writing all of this out in his mind. “Not so great on the other side, huh?”

The monster’s eyes widened. 

Tim dragged him away from the car, not bothering to be gentle. He kicked and pushed on the ground, and although he was bony as hell the guy was tall and desperate, and Tim was forced to kick him down on the ground and draw his gun. He hadn’t wanted to draw the gun - they never fought and kicked and snarled and bit with the gun - but he wasn’t taking any chances here. 

“I want you to know,” Tim said, friendly and warm, “that I’m doing this because I made a promise. On my badge and on my life, I protect the innocent from predators. I defend society from threats. There’s a corruption in the world, a sick and rotting infection, and it’s my job to tear it out. But I get no joy from this, okay?” He didn’t know why it was important that the monster knew that. It wasn’t like he was going to hold a grudge. The monster tried to sit up, but Tim kicked him again until he hit the ground again. Tim hated how he was shorter than him when they both were standing. He wanted to look down on him for once. 

The monster was always looking down on him. With his little girl gang and his bestest buddies. With that - that moral superiority. He thought he was so smart and popular. Just because he could rip someone’s deepest secrets out of someone, he thought he was better. Just because he knew Tim’s worst fear, he thought that he had power over Tim.

Nobody did. Nobody had power over Tim. Not anymore. 

“But you,” Tim hissed, “you, out of everyone I’ve ever killed - I’m going to enjoy you. You’ve crept into the lives of all those humans. You even got fucking Sasha telling me you’re not all bad. Is that what you do? Convince everybody around you that you’re a good person, when you’re a piece of shit inside?” His hand was trembling on his gun - that wasn’t in the script. Why was that happening? “Well, guess what. No matter how great you think you are, you will always be a monster.”

The handle of Tim’s gun was coated in sweat, making his trembling hand slide. Why? The gasoline and lighter were standing by his feet, ready to burn the body. His heart was thumping in his chest, not from anticipation and thrill - why? Why? Why?

“Tim, no!”

Tim, so focused on what he was doing, jerked so hard he almost fired the gun. He whipped around to the source of the voice, and found to his shock a familiar car and a familiar woman standing by it, face set in a fierce determination. 

It was Sasha. Somehow, the sight of her was deeply wrong to Tim. She shouldn’t be here. Sasha should never see this. She knew, she had helped - always the finger pointing in the direction to unleash Tim - but she shouldn’t see it. He knew it wasn’t real to her, what he did. 

“Sash,” Tim said weakly, hand drooping. 

Jon screamed from behind his gag. He might have been calling for help.

“Put the gun down,” Sasha said coldly. She was just dressed in jeans and a messy t-shirt, as if she had come here in a great hurry. How had she kno - okay, Sasha knew everything, it was no surprise. 

“Why? Sasha, what are you doing here?” Tim cried, in genuine confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Jon is innocent of everything!” Sasha yelled, and Tim almost flinched back. “He didn’t kill Gertrude, he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on! Trust me, Jon and his team have nothing to do with any of this!”

“He’s a fucking demon, Sash,” Tim said incredulously. How could she take his side? How? “Don’t you remember what he did to me? How can you forgive that?”

“You’re not a saint either!” Sasha screamed - the first time Tim had ever heard her scream at him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. How had he lost control of the situation so badly? “If you kill him you will break his team.”

As if a single coworker nobody dying will upset anybody. “And how long until he attacks or kills his team?” Tim asked furiously. “They’re the biggest bitches I’ve ever met, but they’re human. Monsters hurt humans, Sasha. It’s in their nature. How long until he hurts someone else? How long until he hurts you?”

“If you kill him,” Sasha said, quiet and strangled and hurt, “I will never forgive you.”

Nobody had power over him - nobody, perhaps, save Sasha. She held his heart in his hands, ready at a moment’s cue to crush it or rip it out of him. He couldn’t bear her disapproving face, her quiet disappointment. If she didn’t love him, if she took that away - he wouldn’t have anything. Nothing would be left. He had to protect that love, protect her. 

“Sasha,” Tim said weakly, “out of everybody, I thought you would understand.”

“I do. I’m the only one who will ever understand. That’s why you have to trust me.”

Maye that was the problem. Tim did. She was the only person he had ever trusted.

Tim flicked the safety, and dropped the gun. 

 Just to make himself feel better, he bent his leg back to kick Jon, but - but, for some reason, he didn’t. It just seemed so tiresome. What was the point? What was the point of any of this?

The point had always been to protect humans from the monsters. To protect Sasha. But Sasha didn’t want his help. What did he have now?

“Take him back to his house,” Tim said dully. He glared fiercely at Jon, whose face was falling in relief. “If you tell the police about this, nobody will believe you and nobody will care. If you tell anybody else about this, I’ll find you again and beat you half to death. Got it?”

Jon nodded fervently. 

After that, it was all a blur. Sasha helped him up, took him to her car, and he saw her cut through his restraints once he was safely inside. Tim just gathered up his materials and dumped them in the trunk of his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and gunning the engine. 

He drove home in a depressed haze, feeling worthless, feeling powerless, feeling exactly like Jon always made him feel. 

His hands clenched on the steering wheel. If Jon didn’t know shit about what was going on - and Tim believed that, guy was fucking stupid - then who did? If Jon hadn’t turned into a monster on purpose, then who had turned him into a monster?

Elias Bouchard always gave Tim a bad feeling.

He’d collect some evidence. Give it a few weeks, then confront him. Bouchard would bend and crack. Then Tim would be free. Free of the Magnus Institute, free of how it made him feel. 

He roared towards home, unsatisfied and angry, still afraid. 

iii.

“Can you pass the rice?”

Tim silently passed Mom the bowl, staring intently at his own plate and silently shovelling potatoes in his mouth. Dad was doing his usual thing and just kind of squinting at his plate and chewing like a cow with cud. Danny was, from the outside, eating food like a normal person. Tim knew that he was vibrating with anticipation. 

“So,” Mom continued, faux-brightly, “it’s been a while since you boys came home. Too good for your old folks, huh?”

The passive aggressive route - deal with the criticism, but if you bit back then it was ‘just a joke’. Favored tactic of Ha-eun Stoker. 

“Sorry, Mom,” Danny said, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, utterly unrepentant, “work’s been hell lately. Big case came in, and if I want to be promoted to junior partner…”

Sure enough, Mom brightened right up. “Really! Tell us all about your case, Danny!”

Then they were off. Tim zoned out, blankly spooning gamja jorim into his mouth as Danny endlessly rattled off about his accomplishments and Mom cooed and aah’d relentlessly. Dad just chewed, occasionally grunting in satisfaction and approval. 

Wow, the coveted paternal approval. Way to make them all jump through hoops for it. Tim rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, he was caught. Mom turned her piercing gaze on him, smiling pleasantly with perfect teeth. Of course they were perfect; she had work done. All of the other women in the neighborhood do it, Tim, we should fit in. Oh, this necklace is just so in style, I saw Ms. Wallace down the street wearing it. Fucking lemming. 

“What about you, Tim?” Mom asked. “How’s work going? Normally you’d be telling us all about your big arrests.”

Ah. The reason why Tim had done everything possible to avoid family dinner. They had this once a month, the only time they could all be assed to talk to each other, and Tim had jumped through hoops to try and escape. 

Danny didn’t let him. This was way too entertaining to him. 

He knew. Tim didn’t know how, but that was irrelevant. Danny always knew. He couldn’t lie and make up some case. Tim took a careful sip of his dak gomtang, stalling. 

Finally, he said, “I took a new job, actually.”

Dad looked up from his plate. Mom’s jaw dropped. 

“But you loved your job,” Mom said, for all appearances broken-hearted. “What happened?”

Danny leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, grinning. “Yeah, brother. You loved that job, you’d never quit. What happened?”

“My work partner was caught and forced to sign an employment contract by a middle management stoner, blackmailing me into working with her so I wouldn’t get arrested by the police for my dozen murders.”

Everybody stared at him. Tim sipped some water. 

“That isn’t very funny, Timothy,” Mom said. 

God, these people were so serious. In the stupidest second of his entire stupid life, he missed the Archive team just a little bit. At least they had a sense of humor. He’d never known those bitches to take anything seriously. But even when they were literally engaging in cult-level shunning of him and Sasha, they were always together. What was with homos and that gay found family shit? 

“Kidding. I don’t know, Mom, I was just going stir-crazy. Being a copper just felt like such a dead-end job.”

“But you said you were on track for Lieutenant,” Mom gasped. “How could you throw that away?” 

“I don’t know, Mom,” Danny said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I don’t think Tim would quit his job voluntarily.”

Mom’s jaw dropped. “You were fired?”

Tim was too dead inside for this. “Sure. I’m a librarian now. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Mom positively screeched. “What am I supposed to tell Mrs. Walker now? That my son’s not on track to Lieutenant, that he was fired? I’ve never been so ashamed of you. You’re going to make me a laughingstock, Tim. In all my life, you’ve never once cared about how your actions affected me. Let me tell you right now that this is disgraceful. You’re a grown man, and you’re still acting like a child who blah blah blah. Tim’s a disappointment and we hate him blah blah. How could I have raised such a lazy yammer yammer yammer. I only pay attention to you when I’m yelling at you and I’m totally in the right because Rachel Granger said that yada yada -”

“Well, this was fun,” Tim said pleasantly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before balling it and tossing on the table. He put his chopsticks down and stood up, dusting off his hands. “Great to see all of you again, so much fun, but I have a cat to go iron.”

But Dad was staring at him, even when Mom was fuming in rage. In Korean, he said, “You’re disrespecting your mother, Ji-hoon.”

“For god’s sake, Richard, we speak English in this house. His name’s Timothy,” Mom snapped. Danny rolled his eyes. 

“Why not?” Tim asked in Korean, just to piss off Mom. Basira would have sneered at her respectability politics. Melanie would have lost her temper an hour - no, thirty years ago. Why were they stronger than Tim? “You don’t respect her.”

Almost silently, Danny whistled. 

“Timothy,” Mother started, scandalized, “listen to your -”

“Why? What can she say to me, besides the same shit I’ve been hearing my entire life? She’s not saying anything interesting.” Tim smiled brightly at his family, flashing all of his teeth. “You know what? In comparison with my life lately, you three are pretty fucking boring. Bye.”

That was when his mother burst into tears, and his father started yelling at him at the top of his voice and thumping the table until the dishes rattled, and when Danny started laughing. If they did anything else, if Dad was about to get out of his chair and smack him, if Mom was going to disown him, Tim didn’t wait around to see it. He grabbed his bomber jacket and stalked out the door, letting it fall behind him.

He breathed heavily on the pretty little sidewalk in front of their pretty little house. The pretty little roses in the pretty little garden bloomed perfectly, and their thorns were all cut off. Down the street pretty little houses made of ticky tacky loomed, and they were all within HOA compliance in their gated little community. Nobody in. Nobody out. 

When he was fifteen, Tim hated it because his parents were always trying to impose normalacy on him and he had never fucking measured up. When he was a young adult, he had hated it because he had fancied himself a gritty, street-wise cop who grappled with the dregs of society and always came out victorious. The perfect little families here thought that their gates could protect them from the cold and hard outside world - but the monsters in the world lived and breeded in their backyards, and they were too busy trimming their lawns to notice. 

He should go home. It was late, and he had his ridiculous, evil, gloriously imperfect job tomorrow. God, Melanie would hate this place. She would sneer at him for ever having lived here, chalking it up with his infinite list of sins. All you pigs are the same, she would nag, privileged and sheltered. Bitch. Why was she always right?

But Tim just couldn’t work up the energy to drive all the way home. His heart felt scooped out with a grapefruit spoon. Instead he stumbled into the little alley next to the house, where the garbage trucks and the alley cats roamed, and he collapsed into a little patch of scrubby grass. This had been his favorite place to sulk as a child. Or hide from Danny. Danny always found him, of course, but it was the principle of the matter -

“Man, I can’t believe I got that show for free. You should have charged, Ji-hoon.”

“Fuck off, Danny,” Tim said, tone dull with how rote the phrase was. 

When he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Danny was dappled in night. The only light was from the streetlights, and the lights of their porch. In the dim lighting, Danny was lit by a bright aura but his features were hidden in the dark. Like an angel, Danny shone, and like a devil, Tim hid in the shadows. Hidden in the corner, like a powerless child. 

“It’s a compliment! Normally you’re the most boring, predictable bitch alive. Wind your key and watch you go. But not even I could have predicted the shit you pulled today. Fantastic.” Danny grinned, a slash of the mouth. “You’re dead disowned, buddy. You crossed a line. They’ll never forgive you.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

“I’m looking forward to being an only child,” Danny mused. “Mom and Dad were always so obsessed with you, it’ll be nice to have them all to myself. When I make junior partner, do you think Dad will clap me on the back? Give me a hug?” He affected a sad look, pulling his face into a mockery of tragedy. “I’m really going to miss you. You always lowered the bar for me.”

“Fuck off, Danny.”

Apparently that was one ‘fuck off’ too many, because Danny kicked Tim in the ribs. He always knew exactly where to hit - right in an old scar in the ribs, a bullet wound that he had never told him about. Tim wheezed, but he didn’t move. No point. 

In a brief, strange flash of memory, Tim remembered bending his knee back to kick Jon in the stomach. Jon hadn’t flinched. Had there been no point?

“I know you spent your entire sad little childhood thinking I ruined your life. That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t need anyone else to ruin your life, Timbo. You’ve always been good enough at that yourself.” He pulled a faux-surprised face. Every expression Danny ever had was fake. Everything was a mask, plastic and fake. “Even your relationships, right? How’s that Mexican bird you got following you around? She still refusing to fuck you? I should pick her up, I bet she’s real easy -”

Tim saw red.

It was easy, in the end. Maybe too easy. He leapt up, in one easy and smooth motion, and tackled Danny to the ground. Tim had always been bigger but Danny had always been stronger, no matter how long Tim spent at the gym, but that didn’t matter now. Tim was faintly aware he was snarling as Danny hit the ground hard, head bouncing on the grass. 

There was no time for him to recover. Tim punched him in the face, keeping him down, before punching him again. He felt bone break under his fist. A nose. 

He didn’t remember anything after that. Everything fuzzed out a little, trapped in the swirling of his rage and the thump of his heartbeat. It wasn’t Martin’s anger, it wasn’t Sasha’s cold chase. It was just hatred. 

It wasn’t that - that thing inside Tim, the thing he had spent years denying. It was just Tim. Or maybe Tim was that thing, and that thing was Tim. 

He was faintly aware that somebody was grabbing him by the elbows, pulling him off. There was screaming. Wailing. He couldn’t really tell. Tim was dizzy, hands wet and sticky. Someone was crying - the nauseatingly familiar sound of his mother sobbing. 

Just boys roughhousing, Tim wanted to say. That was a good line, snappy and sarcastic. Just boys being boys, the same line he had heard time after time after time when Danny coated his entire torso in bruises. Monsters, acting like monsters. Men, doing what men always do. 

Tim left the scene. He wouldn’t be back. Never return to the scene of the crime, ha ha ha. He wouldn’t be welcome back. It should have felt crushing, isolating, terrifying.

But instead, Tim just felt free. As if a crushing weight had fallen off his shoulders, and he no longer felt suffocated by endless picking and prodding and pushing. It...he didn’t feel scared. 

Tim walked down the street, taking the long way home, whistling happily. He hated himself a little bit less than usual tonight. Things were looking up. 

iv.

Tim stared at Melanie as she slept. 

It wasn’t hard. They kept the lights on, although after a few days Melanie had started to use a sleeping mask. She had recovered from what happened fairly quickly. She still let him keep his arm on her. 

It tingled, just a little, where it touched her. She was warm and soft, breathing softly in a gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face was slack with sleep. No nightmares. Melanie only looked gentle when she was asleep: any other time, her face was screwed up in intent thought or a mean comment or an exaggerated face made behind someone’s back. 

It was the first time Tim had slept in the same bed as a woman without sleeping with her. At Sasha’s, he always slept on the couch. It was a little weird. It was really weird. He kept on telling himself to pull away, to rebuild that bridge that had been so effortless with Sasha, to act normal and stop being desperate and needy. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Every time he let go of her, he was alone. No matter how many people surrounded them, no matter how big the room or busy the sprawling London streets, when she was out of the room it felt as if she would never come back. 

He hated the way he felt. It was disgusting, crawling in his gut and heart like rot. He hated himself for feeling it, he hated the world for doing it to him, and he hated Melanie for making him feel this way. 

He didn’t know love could be this painful. 

***

Did he love her?

Tim was fairly sure he couldn’t love anybody. Whatever he felt for Sasha, it couldn’t be love. It could only be a selfish, disgusting poison. Or maybe he really did love her, and love really was poison - if it was the kind of love Tim felt for other people, if it was all he could give. 

But Tim knew Sasha, down to her soul. He knew her dark secrets, every skeleton in her closet. He knew what she was running from, why she had landed in England and never left, why she felt just as passionately for Tim’s crusade for justice as he did. 

Justice. What a joke. 

But Melanie wasn’t like that. She was rough and bitchy and meddling and willfully idiotic, but if you scratched that surface she was perfect. Kind, understanding, forgiving, patient, supportive - the kind of girl Tim had always wanted. Not that Sasha hadn’t been - but Sasha was somebody he should probably stay away from, for her own good. 

Melanie had saved him. Melanie was trying to fix him, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. She wouldn’t give up - she never gave up on anything or anyone. Even Tim. Maybe, if it was her, Tim could be fixed.

He squinted at her in the soft lights keeping away the dark lingering in the small windows. Did he want to kiss her? He should, right? Any emotion this strong, anything that made him feel so vulnerable and desperate and insane had to come with wanting to be with her. Not that she could ever like him that way back…

The idea was oddly nice. Men and women couldn’t be friends. But maybe Tim and Melanie could - Melanie, who would never love him in that way, freeing Tim of the obligation to reciprocate. 

He settled a little bit more, tucking her a little bit closer under him until he could no longer see her face. The idea was heady - that she was letting him do that, that she could be open and vulnerable in front of him too. That Tim had never really protected anybody, that Melanie was the first person to ever protect him, and that maybe he could pay that back. 

Maybe she could fix him. Give him love that was pure instead of corrupted; selfless instead of selfish. Tim needed her.

He tried not to hate it. 

***

That night, Tim had a dream that he was fucking Melanie in his old bed in his old flat. Danny was there, somehow, constantly mocking Tim on how badly he was doing, and every time Tim would yell at him to get out he would just laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh -

***

Melanie dragged him to work with her the next morning, as Tim chugged a shitton of coffee and considered braining himself with a hammer so he could forget the dream he had last night. He would literally prefer the construction site nightmares. He could barely meet her eyes, and lived in relentless paranoia that somehow she knew and was going to call him disgusting which would be fair and true and -

“Do you think the old man in Home Alone is a Jesus allegory?”

Tim blinked blearily at her, still chugging his coffee. They had gotten his car keys and car back from Sasha - she still had everything he ever owned, but he didn’t want to deal with that - but Melanie was driving, since Tim’s reaction time wasn’t that good anymore and he tended to zone out. They would take the tube and avoid London traffic except, well…

“I have no opinions on Home Alone,” Tim said blankly. He had been reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra on his phone. So far he had several points of disagreement,  his largest was the man’s weird obsession with atheism. Granted, it was hard to be a nihilist and be religious, but Tim had insider information on the nature of the universe and he was working on a thesis - anyway. Anyway. “Why?”

“It’s a good movie, right? We should watch it for movie night tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to watch T2 today.”

“Aw, fuck, right.” Melanie slightly slapped the steering wheel. They didn’t move - traffic was really hell. “I am a slut for fictionalized violence. Isn’t Sarah Connor the most badass action hero ever?”

“She’s awesome,” Tim agreed warmly. “But Schwarzenneger in that movie is just peak. Have you ever seen Predator? It was his best role.”

Melanie snorted. “Predator was so boring. Just a lot of oiled up men flexing at each other.”

Typical. Tim rolled his eyes, propping an elbow below the window, but he found himself smiling anyway. “What do you want me to watch instead, Blue is the Warmest Color?”

“Laugh all you want, idiot. You’re getting the whole rota of required watching for gay people. First on the list is the Birdcage, then right after that Paris is Burning -”

Tim groaned theatrically, drowning her out, but all that did was hit him with the musk of his small, battered car. The smell of Melanie hit him like a truck - her Melon shampoo, her 24 hour deodorant, the dust of the Archives, something unique to her that he just couldn’t place. 

To Tim’s horror, the scent pulled at that deep pit in his stomach. Don’t think about it. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let them know - except for Sasha, who always knew. It made him want to do - stuff that he didn’t want to do. Not really. Tim didn’t want that. Whoever Tim was.

Counterintuitively, the hunger made it easier to keep that fake smile and forced manic energy when they got to the office. He wasn’t really up to it today - some days were easier than others - but that didn’t really matter when he had to aggressively convince everybody that he was fine. The alternative was everybody giving him sad and pitying looks, which was a thousand times worse than any infernal hell torture. 

It wasn’t. But he still didn’t want to deal with it. 

So he kicked the door open, yelled something meaningless about how the bitch was back, and let Basira ignore him and Martin roll his eyes and Sasha very pointedly ignore him. He noted that Daisy wasn’t in this morning - ever since their planning session, she had been dropping by more frequently to flirt obnoxiously with Basira, but she obviously couldn’t spend all of her time here if she wanted to keep up the pretense with Peter Lukas. 

Which was...somewhat of a relief. 

Tim collapsed in what used to be Daisy’s chair at her desk, which was for far more important reasons than just because he didn’t want to sit next to Sasha. The upside is that Melanie sat diagonal from him, across from Basira, who didn’t give a shit what he did if she wasn’t using him as a meaningless sounding board for her constant venting. It wasn’t all bad, if he didn’t look too hard at whatever the fuck Martin was doing at any given time. 

So he swiveled in his chair as Melanie, Basira, and Sasha disappeared into the library. He stood up to go with her, but Melanie made a gesture that sent him sitting down again. Martin, who was writing something ornate in his journal, snickered. 

Six months ago Tim would have snapped at him, but instead he just leaned back in his chair and squeezed his grip trainer. The grind never stopped. “Writing love poetry, buddy? In the Romantic tradition or the...fuck, I don’t know any other poets.”

Martin silently held up his journal. The only thing written was ‘murder kill murder’, repeatedly, up and down two pages. 

Well. That was enough teasing Martin for one day. He really had no idea how Melanie was brave enough to get Martin to listen to listen to her - or, worse, why he did. 

After an hour or so, spent reading Plato and disagreeing with a great deal, Jon slunk out of his office and blinked owlishly at both Tim and Martin, who had been politely minding their own business. 

Tim realized - in the same way that, whenever he saw Jon, he was inescapably reminded that he knew what he looked like when he was about to die - that the room was filled with two guys who had tried repeatedly to kill him. Fuck, he was probably uncomfortable. Good job, Tim. Way to keep terrorizing people. But he really wasn’t capable of doing anything else, so it was hardly a surprise - 

“Hullo, Martin. I’m picking up some food from the vending machine, do you want anything?”

Oh. They were going for ‘disturbingly banal’ today. Martin smiled shyly at Jon, who blushed in response. “Surprise me. Thanks, Jon.”

“Want any razor blades in the apples?” 

“You know that’s a myth, Jon,” Martin said disapprovingly. Or maybe not.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever met,” Martin whispered. 

Then Jon flushed, and leaned casually in what he probably thought was a hot pose and unfortunately totally was against Martin’s desk, and Tim was subjected to their absolutely fucking atrocious flirting for the next ten minutes. At that point, Tim found his breaking point and left the Archives, the terror of being in semi-public outweighed by the terror of Jonmartin. That was what Basira and Melanie kept calling it. He really didn’t know what that meant, but whatever.

But after fifteen minutes of standing in front of the vending machine himself, quietly overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of choices and colors and flavors and sugar, he heard someone else approaching. He snapped his head to the left to see a gawky, hunched scarecrow slouch down the hall, raising a hand apologetically. That man put no effort into his appearance, how as he still that hot -

Maybe Jon and Martin were normal, Tim secretly wondered, and Tim just didn’t understand gay courting rituals. He had to find out, right? How do you flirt with guys? It wasn’t as if he could practice with the two guys in the office. Especially Martin. Tim had never really paid a lot of attention to him before he came back to life, writing him off as a beta male - which ended up being so hilariously incorrect it forced Tim to sit down and reconsider his entire framework of alpha and beta males. Melanie had given him a sticker. 

“Uh. Hey.”

Tim stared at him blankly. 

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “How...are you?”

Tim blinked at him. 

“Well. I would, er, enjoy using the vending machine.”

Oh. Obviously. Tim stepped aside, cheeks burning, and silently let Jon punch in the code for a Mars Bar (for Martin, probably) and a granola bar (because an alarm went off on his desk if he didn’t eat a snack at 3pm). 

It wasn’t their first time being alone together since he came back, but as Tim had been more or less catatonic at that period in time he was inclined not to count that. Jon hadn’t seemed scared, anyway. Probably. Tim hadn’t paid much attention. 

He should do this. He had to do it. It was all about making up for the shit he did, right? He had to face this. Then Jon would forgive him, not that he had to, and - and something vaguely good would happen. He would find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and the hunger would go away, and the intrusive thoughts would be all gone. Melanie would give him another sticker. Or something.

“You can go for it, you know.”

Jon whipped his head around, shocked at Tim addressing him directly for the first time in a very long time. “What?”

Idiot. If this guy had been in a single fight in his life, he’d eat his hat. From what Jon had seen of his childhood friend, Georgie’s girlfriend who he hated for absolutely no reason, she had probably defended him from every bully. It was almost cute. 

“You can get a good one in,” Tim repeated slowly. He turned his cheek. “Promise I won’t punch back or anything.”

“I - do you mean punch you?” The Mars Bar rattled down the machine, dropping heavily into the tray. “Why would I do that?”

Jesus, the guy was thick. “Do you remember when I kidnapped and tried to kill you, or is that just me?”

Jon blinked owlishly at him. “Lots of people try to kill me.”

“Don’t you want to?” Tim cried, a little bit higher and a little bit louder than he intended. “Come on, as if you’ve never wanted to do it? Wouldn’t it help? You got in a week of being a passive aggressive asshole, that isn’t enough. It doesn’t make up for anything. This would.”

 “How would that fix anything?”

Tim’s breath hitched. But Jon was just staring, as if he could see right through him. Maybe he could. “What?”

“How would hurting you make me feel better?” Jon repeated slowly. “It won’t change what happened. Punching you wouldn’t change what you did to me. All it would do is make you feel better, as if that fixes it. It doesn’t. Is that how you solve all of your problems? That explains a lot.”

His breath was coming faster, hitching again. He couldn’t control it. “I’m trying to do you a favor, asshole.”

“No, you’re trying to make yourself feel better.” Jon smiled politely and, before Tim could jerk away, clapped him on the shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago. Not because of you. But I just didn’t want it hanging over me. I gave myself closure and moved on. Sometimes bad things happen to us, and we have to get up the next day and go to work anyway. My friends helped. My family did too. I’m sorry you don’t have that, Tim. You’ll get closure one day.” Jon looked thoughtful for a second. “I mean, getting closure about being almost killed one time must be a lot easier than dealing with the fact that you killed fifteen people in your life? Twice that supernatural people, I think. You know you’re technically a serial killer? I won’t judge, this is a safe space, but I thought you ought to know.”

Somehow, inanely, all Tim could think of to say was, “It’s not serial killing if it’s part of your job.”

“Which is why I’m sure you took that job,” Jon said brightly. “Let’s get back to the office before Martin decides to amuse himself.”

For a second, just for a second - or two, or ten, or a minute - Tim vividly imagined himself ripping Jon’s throat out. Killing him properly this time, putting that look on his face again. It had felt so good, and - and it had made him feel so bad, but that felt good too, and he still didn’t know why, and he wanted to eat Jon so bad. Jon, who was innocent in everything, gentle and kind. Nothing like Tim. That was why everybody liked Jon and hated Tim. 

From what he had heard, while Tim was going insane hyperfixating on the chase a few years ago, the girls had spent ages talking Jon down from a breakdown and steering him away from the same path that Tim had barrelled down. Who had done that for him? Sasha made a big show of keeping his head level, but she had used him just as ruthlessly as he had used her. She never had an investment in keeping him sane; just functional. 

If somebody had done that for him, would he still be cruel?

 They went back to the office, and Tim pretending that the hunger swirling in his gut was just self-hatred. But, then again, they really were the same thing. 

When Melanie came out of the library with Basira and Sasha on her heels, talking quietly about some new scheme they were cooking up, Tim found himself reaching out to her. Melanie smiled and squeezed his hand, before gently heckling his choice in literature. 

Some stupid part of him - maybe even a large part - thought that once he was clasping Melanie’s hand again, the hunger would quiet down. It had protected him underground, it felt as if it should protect him in the world above.

But it didn’t, and it didn’t solve anything, and Tim tried not to think about the fact that he was slowly unwinding, and that he didn’t want to see what was inside him when everything that was Tim Stoker fell away. 

***

A short yet tumultuous time later, Tim was called into Jon’s office. 

He hadn’t wanted to come to work. But the alternative of stewing at home - Melanie’s flat - was much worse, and Basira had reported that too many skip days made them all way too sick. Might as well come in. Melanie had spent the night at Georgie’s - like she had the past two days, what a fucking coincidence - so he didn’t have to worry about that awkwardness.

After too long memorizing the face after too many sleepless nights, Tim could imagine it vividly. Soft, uncreased, innocent of how hard the world could be. Tim couldn’t bear it. He had to ruin it. He just couldn’t bear it. 

He was the first one in the office, so it was easy to see the poisonous death glare Basira shot him when she walked in. So Melanie had told them - of course she fucking told them, she hadn’t done anything wrong, she wasn’t obliged to lie. Daisy was hot on her heels, and she actually properly snarled at him before Basira pulled her back while somehow giving the full impression that she wanted to do the same thing. 

He should probably go hide in the library before Martin came in. He couldn’t decide whether or not this was worse than the shunning. The shunning had driven him absolutely crazy, but at least he hadn’t been legitimately afraid that Martin would stab him and that nobody would stop him. 

There was the faint sound of raised voices in the cowpen. Tim knew that they were arguing about him. He already knew what they would decide - wait for Melanie’s verdict. But are you sure she isn’t too close to this? No, she knows the fucker better than anybody else, she would judge if they needed to do anything. What are we going to tell Sasha? The truth, fucking obviously. 

Sasha. Tim wanted her to be surprised. He knew she wouldn’t be. That hurt more. 

After what felt like an infinite amount of time but he knew was only a few hours, pouring over Sasha’s collection of Vast and Spiral Statements, he heard the library door open. It was Jon, standing at the threshold, and all Tim could think was - oh, man, here we go. 

It was a regular walk of shame into Jon’s office, and he couldn’t miss the way everybody’s heads snapped to look at him. Sasha, just as he thought, looked resigned. Melanie was frowning. 

Jon’s office was the same as ever, not that Jon went in too frequently. The only strange thing about it was that Jon locked the door behind him. Tim didn’t know what that boded, but it wasn’t good.

Well, might as well take control of the situation. He collapsed on the chair in front of his desk and propped his boots on Jon’s desk, wishing he had a drink to obnoxiously sip. “Is this the part where you threaten me?” He affected a fake baritone, somehow still not even hitting Jon’s register. “ ‘Touch her again and you’ll answer to me’. ‘Stay away from her or you’ll face the consequences’. Come on, I’ve read a thousand creeps the same riot act. Get it over with.”

Jon sat down heavily in his office chair. The office had chipped in to buy him a new one as a birthday gift, much more comfortable than the old one. But he was leaning forward now, arms folded on the desk. 

“Would that make you feel better?”

Great, this again. “Yeah, it evokes the emotionally absent father I was raised with,” Tim snarked. “If you aren’t going to say it, what am I in here for?”

He was afraid to know what he was in here for. Melanie had told him that if he did it again, she’d sic Jon on him. And Tim knew what it looked like when Jon was sicced on someone. This wasn’t it. 

“Tim,” Jon said seriously, and he was somehow kind about it. “You know what this looks like, right?”

Something ugly and ashamed twisted in Tim’s gut. He fought the urge to sink in his seat. “Yeah.”

“You know why we’re worried now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim looked fixedly at the wall, unwilling to meet Jon’s eyes. “I - I’m not going to do it again. I swear. And - and it wasn’t like that. I promise. I’m not - I’m not a creep, okay? Ask Sasha. I’ve never - I’ve killed people, but that’s not nearly as bad as - I’m not going to do it again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tim’s head snapped back to Jon, and before he could think about it he found himself half-rising from the chair. Jon’s cold stare had him sitting back down again, but his heart was thumping a drum in his chest. “Then what do you want?” Tim just barely restrained himself from yelling, knowing that the girls were probably listening at the door anyway. “What can I do to convince you that’d rather chop off my own hand than hurt her?”

“You can give your permission to let me ask you some questions.”

Tim faltered. “What? Just questions?”

“Uh.” Jon waved his hand in a circle in the air, as if that meant anything. “You know. Questions. I haven’t really done it since - since I think I did it to you? But I think I can do it on command now. I don’t like to.” His eyes sharpened, and for a second Tim could have sworn that they glimmered. “But I can’t take a chance. Not on this.”

It was like he was falling again, through that infinite void that was the last taste of freedom he had thought he would ever have. It was like he was suffocating again, a mile of dirt piled on his chest, banging incessantly at the lid of the coffin. Nobody saved him, until she did. He was distantly aware that he was barely holding back hyperventilating, but all Tim could feel was dissociated horror. 

“You - you can’t. Jon, I - I won’t do it again, you can’t.”

Jon’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I won’t if you give me a flat no. I don’t like doing it.” That was a lie and they both fucking knew it. “But if you don’t, we can’t trust you again. We’d convince Melanie to let you stay with Martin. We wouldn’t leave you in the same room together. You’re not stable, Tim. It’s obvious. We thought it was harmless - or, at least, the only person you were hurting was yourself - but it’s not anymore. We’re all scared. I don’t want to hurt you just because we’re scared, but Melanie is the only one here who couldn’t really defend herself if you decided to do anything else to her.” He grimaced slightly. “Not that she admits it. She always puts herself between us and any enemy. But we have to pay that back. I know you understand.”

He did. 

Hate burned in his stomach. What a hypocrite. Giving all of that big talk about choice and options. He knew that there was no option, not if they were going to rip him apart from the one person who he felt safe with. 

The one person who wasn’t safe with him. 

Tim deserved this. Even if it had been his worst fear a year ago - well, Tim had experienced much worse than that since then. 

When you did shit to other people, you make up for it. You make sure that you can’t hurt anybody else again. Jon was right - gestures didn’t mean anything. He had to commit. He had to improve, be better. Otherwise he’d be sent straight back down to that place when he died, and there would be no saving him. 

“Yeah,” Tim said, mouth dry, “you can do it. But - but no personal questions this time, okay? Just stick to the subject.”

“They seem to always end up a bit personal,” Jon said apologetically, “but I’ll try.”

Deep within Jon, inside of the unassuming and kind and gentle man, the subject of Tim’s nightmares rose. His eyes flashed green, then shined with a bright and sickly radioactive green. His hair strained against its bun and fuzzed at the end, but it didn’t break free. 

“What’s your name, Tim?”

The worst part about the compelling, Tim had decided long ago, was that you didn’t feel brainwashed. 

You felt exactly as if you were talking normally, that there was nothing strange about Jon or you. His words didn’t ring with a mysterious power. If you had entered it thinking you were talking of your own volition, you probably wouldn’t notice. But if you knew what was happening, the curtain was lifted, and you were deathly aware of the way the words were ripped out of you with fishhooks. It left Tim gasping, straining for air. 

“Timothy Ji-hoon Stoker,” Tim said, and it was almost as if he wanted to. “My dad just calls me Ji-hoon though. So do my grandparents. My last name’s made up as fuck - I think Mom just saw a book at the airport and picked it out from the cover. Kind of ironic, considering everything.”

“Oh, really? Daisy says that she got Tonner because her English wasn’t great and she misheard someone at the airport asking her for a tenner - right, right.” Jon coughed. Wait, was the reason why Daisy barely talked when he first met her was because her English was bad? “On topic. Tim, do you want to attack Melanie again?”

“Of course not,” Tim burst out, and these words, at least, came easy. “I love her. I hate hurting her, I hate how I’m constantly fucking up and doing it anyway. I’m just violent and I don’t know how not to be violent. It’s the only way I deal with things, being violent, and I know it’s eating me up inside but I just can’t stop it. But if there’s one person who can help me stop, it’s Melanie. She’s going to fix me, I know it.”

The words were unbelievably humiliating, the kind of thing that Tim had never wanted to admit, but Jon’s expression didn’t change. Tim wanted to look away, to pretend that this was just an internal narration and that he wasn’t telling this his fucking coworker, but he found himself incapable. Their gazes locked, and Tim couldn’t pull away. 

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I was scared, and I hate being scared so much. It’s what I always do, ever since I was a kid - I would get scared, and I would try to hurt something or someone about it. I did it to you, I was so scared of you that I obsessed about killing you and covered it up with some bullshit about justice or Sasha. It was just about me, it’s always been selfish. But - but- but -” The words were sticking in his throat, coagulating on the wound ripped open by Jon and his fishhooks. “But I hate her. I hate that I care, and I hate that I need her, and - and I don’t think I did it just because I was scared. I think I did it because I was scared, and I love her, and I hate her, and I’m beginning to think I have some kind of weird complex about women because of my mother’s overly dependent narcissistic personality and my father’s emotional detachment -”

“You just now figured that out?” Jon asked incredulously. “Sorry, you just now started realizing that your toxic masculinity controls your entire justification for your actions?”

“I’ve known for a while but I’ve been repressing it,” Tim said hurriedly, forced to answer that one despite Jon probably intending it as a rhetorical question. 

Jon stared at him for a second silently, giving Tim time to catch his breath and try to control his breathing. He was one bad step away from a panic attack, and his hold was still clenched on this throat like a fist. Danny had done that to him one time, the son of a bitch, and he had never forgotten. Should he tell Jon that? Does he have to?

“Tim,” Jon said finally. He looked very uncomfortable, but also resolute. As if he didn’t want to ask, or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but he felt as if he had to. “Are you in love with Melanie?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer him, and found that he couldn’t.

The strange and evil magic didn’t like that. Whatever Tim wanted to say, if there was anything to say, it caught in his throat and made him gag. It choked him. He was well acquainted with the feeling, but it sent him into a panic anyway. His breath started shuddering and heaving, his vision swimming, and he kept on answering his mouth to answer because you have to answer but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, he didn’t know how -

“Forget it! Forget it, Tim, don’t worry about it! Tim, what’s your favorite color? Tim, your favorite color! Answer me!”

“Grey!” Tim cried out. “Grey, it’s grey!”

He didn’t so much stand up from his chair as fall out of it. He didn’t so much let himself sit on the ground as found himself incapable of moving. He just breathed, waiting and waiting to spit up dirt and grime and rocks, but nothing happened. It was just a panic attack, because his hell was within him, and there was no escape. 

No escape. There was no escape. Not from what he’d done in his past, not from how badly he’d hurt Melanie and Sasha, not from how he would inevitably hurt them in the future. 

You had to cut out the evil things in this world. One bad apple spoils the bunch. When criminals are left to run wild, they corrupt and destroy society. Evil had to be eliminated. Evil people shouldn’t exist. 

Evil people shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t a new thought for him. Neither was the thought after that. It was a thought he’d had for a very long time - before he even met Melanie, before he even admitted it. 

“Tim, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

After a few heart-wrenching seconds, Tim found himself calming down enough to answer. “You meant to. You just didn’t want to. I made you do this.” One bad apple spoils the bunch. “Is - is that enough? I can answer more -”

“No, that’s enough,” Jon said quickly. “It’s - it’s not my place to pass judgement on you, Tim. And your, uh, disturbed thinking. Melanie - anyway, we’ll work on it.” He smiled weakly, placatingly. “I’ve been there. The others helped. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be - I don’t know where I’d be, but I’d be a lot worse off. We can help you too. If you let us. I know it’s scary, but it’s worth it. I promise.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Can I go now?”

When he left Jon’s office, everybody was at their desks. He knew what the guilty expressions when they all pretended they hadn’t been eavesdropping, but they weren’t wearing them now. Maybe everybody had grown up a bit recently. 

Tim slunk into the library, and for good measure locked it behind him. He pulled out a thick stack of books, a teetering pile of Statements. He needed to research. There was a decision he had to make, and he needed as much proof as possible and a well-laid plan. It wasn’t quite a hunt, but it was close. It wasn’t quite the apocalypse, but it was his own.

But, of course, it was a lie. Tim had made his decision a few minutes ago. He had made it a long time ago. He kept making it, every time. Everything else was just justification. 

It wouldn’t fix anything - but it’d make him feel better. 

[barnesbabee]

Scum - Jung Wooyoung x Reader x Jeong Yunho

Summary: The boy’s trash and she’s gold. What will it take for her to realize it though?

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader x Jeong Yunho

Words: There are

Genre: Angst, some Fluff

A/N: Ayyy I’m not good at this but hopefully you like it <3

REQUESTS OPEN

REQUESTED BY @derisivedimples THANK YOU SO MUCH!

  He partied, he smoked and he fucked whoever he wanted to. Jung Wooyoung was everything no one wanted, yet you found yourself falling for him more and more as time passed by.

 You'd met when he entered your classroom by accident, and you were starstruck. Even though it was frowned upon in your school, he had his hair dyed grey and wore extravagant earrings like he didn't have a care in the world.

  You made a point to find out who he was. Once you'd found out, you were a little disappointed at the "fame" he had, but you put it aside, you found him eccentric and compelling, to a certain extent. Getting close to him was no easy task, but you tried your best, even going as far as joining the same dance club he was in.

  Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, maybe you should have just stayed in your corner and not done anything, and perhaps this little obsession of yours would have gone away, but you just couldn't.

  "Yunho, what am I supposed to do!?" You asked your best friend one day, after a month of watching Wooyoung from afar.

   It was becoming too much, and you were desperate. Seeing him eye up and down every girl that passed by and flirt with most of them was destroying you. Date him, or forget him, one of those had to be.

  "Go talk to him. Tell him what you feel Y/N, it will be much easier to make that decision based on his reaction..."

  You sighed at Yunho’s advice, you knew he was right, but you didn't want him to be. You didn't want to make that decision cause you were pretty sure the outcome wouldn't be the ideal one, but you took the shot anyway.

  One day, before dance practice (before you got all sweaty that is) you approached him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, and he had the same playboy expression as always on his face. You guessed, deep down, that it was a good thing, cause it didn't matter your size, color or gender, he'd just fuck whoever it was. At least he wasn’t judgemental. But you didn't want that. You didn't want a one night stand and certainly not with him because you knew you'd get addicted.

  The man looked at you, expectantly. You had to rip your words out of your throat before you cowered away.

  "I like you."

 Not even a 'hello', a 'how are you', nothing. You just blurted out your confession and bit your lip, looking up at him.

  His expression softened for a second and he placed a hand on your cheek.

  "That's cute." He replied.

  Wooyoung said nothing else, he just retrieved his hand and walked over to his friends who had just started practice.

   What?

   He said nothing else. Just, told you 'that's cute' and left... And so your decision became harder, because you had no fucking idea what that meant.

   After that day, he'd give you flirty looks, small winks, and tease you.  It was driving you crazy, and he knew it. He loved the effect he had on you, he loved having your eyes on him at all times and all the attention you gave him. He loved the compliments, he loved the praises and he loved to make you blush. He felt so, so good being worshipped like that. However, when you tried to get closer or ask him out, he just cut you off. It was killing you, and you didn't know how much longer you could take it.

  It became too much when Yunho caught you sat against a wall, knees up to your chest, crying your eyes out under one of the stairwells. You had no idea how he found you, but he certainly wasn't happy.

  "Y/N!? What's wrong!?" Yunho asked as he knelt beside you and rubbed your back.

  "W-Wooyoung..." Was all you could say between whimpers and sobs.

  Yunho wanted to stand up and punch a wall. God, Wooyoung pissed him off. He had such a pretty, smart, talented girl chasing after him yet he kept playing these little childish games.

  However, he knew that if he got mad he would only startle you more, so he took a couple of deep breaths and calmed down.

  "He sucks, okay? Wooyoung fucking sucks. I know you like him and I'm sorry to break it to you like this but he's a coward and he's no man for doing these things, it's not entertaining to play with people's feelings. You’re an amazing person and he doesn’t deserve someone like you."

  You looked up at him. Yunho reached for your face and wiped your tears with the sleeve of his blouse.

  "Thank you Yunho, but it's just... so hard. It's so stupid but I can't stop watching him and liking him. He's always my focus."

  "Well then focus on me."

   This caught you off guard, and seemingly so did Yunho. He couldn't believe he had just said that... He internally facepalmed as a rose blush started showing up on his cheeks. He just sighed and looked down at the ground for one second before focusing on your face again.

   "I don't know how you haven't noticed, probably because you've been too busy with the jackass, but I like you. I like you a lot, and it hurts to see you get stepped on. And you let him step on you! It makes me so angry, but most of all, worried... I can't ask you to like me, nor to go out on a date with me right now, that would be selfish considering your situation, but please, give me a chance... Allow me to help you forget him."

  Your heart was going to explode. You couldn't believe how much love and sincerity a couple of words could contain. Your expression softened and you grabbed his hand.

  "Of course I'll allow it." You told him, mocking the way he had said it.

  You both giggled and Yunho embraced you and left a soft kiss on your forehead.

   From then on everything seemed much better. Yunho never left your side, now that he had a goal in mind. He'd meet you in the school's front gate by the morning, have lunch with you, walk you to all of your classes, watch your dance practice, at the end of the day he'd walk you home, and above everything, he’d make sure you were happy.

  At first Wooyoung didn't even notice Yunho, all he noticed was the absence of your stare. Your attention was no longer fully on him, and he didn't like it. He wanted to make you blush once more, he wanted to see you try to seduce him while you dance, he wanted all of your attention. He didn't understand why he didn't have it though...

  That was until you pulled Yunho, who had been leaning against a wall of the room watching you from afar, so he could dance with you.

  "Yunho loves to dance! He's a great dancer!" You announced to everyone as you clung to his arm.

 Yunho blushed a little at the compliment and bowed to everyone in the room. You begged him to dance to 'Troublemaker' with you, but he didn't give in until he was promised some ice-cream afterward. You smiled widely once he agreed and ran over to the speakers to plug in your phone and start playing the song. Your cute reaction made him smile as he positioned himself to start the dance.

 The two of you danced like there was no one else in the room with you, and only then it hit Wooyoung why you had been more distant. Yunho had stolen you away. The way you smiled at him, the way you looked at each other, the way you giggled and hugged him after the dance was over, God he hated it all. He was jealous, he wanted you for himself only.

 Did he have feelings for you? Unlikely... You were never on his mind, but then again, no one had ever been. And maybe the problem was himself, maybe he needed to have someone to bring him down to earth. Whatever was the problem, whatever it was that he felt, he only knew that he needed to have you.

  When that Hell was over, Wooyoung approached you and tapped your shoulder (just like you had done to him the first time). You turned around to face whoever just touched you and you were surprised to see him.

  "Oh Wooyoung, hey!"

 As soon as Yunho saw you two, he walked over and stood behind you, watching the scene carefully. Wooyoung chose to ignore the man and smiled at you, for the first time. A smile that wasn't a smirk, a smile that wasn't suggestive, just a smile.

  "Hey Y/N I know that I've kinda cut you off before, and I know that I don't have the best reputation, but I'd like to take you out sometime if that's okay?"

 You and Yunho were very taken aback by the question. You opened your mouth to say something, but Yunho immediately pulled you back and stood in between the two of you.

 "You," Yunho stated, pointing his index finger at Wooyoung "you don't get to do that. Not now. You've been fucking around with her for months, you barely even acknowledged her and at the end of the day I had to wipe so many tears because you're a cunt! You don't get to come in now and steal her away from me. You don't!"

  By the end of his speech he was full-on yelling. He had stepped closer to the other male and they were now face to face.

  Wooyoung scoffed and pushed him away.

   "You don't get to tell what I can or can't have. Whatever happened is behind, what matters is right now and as of right now I want her, I miss having her around and you can't change that, and you certainly can't change what she feels."

  Both men looked at you. Neither knew what was going to come out of your mouth. Your eyes were watery and so were Yunho's. Your uncertainty was killing him... The fact that you were still indecisive hurt him a little, and every second of your silence was a knife to his heart, that was beating fast. The men just wanted you to... say something. Anything. But you didn't want to mess up.

  Finally, you stepped closer to Wooyoung and placed a hand on his cheek. Yunho's heart broke at the sight. He didn't even hide his hurt: tears were cascading down his cheeks and his lower lip trembled.

  You looked Wooyoung in the eyes.

  "Wooyoung, I... I'm sorry, but you've hurt me too much, and if there's anyone that deserves my love and appreciation is Yunho. It's not even up for debate at this point."

 Upon hearing this, Yunho's frown turned into a smile and he pulled you into a warm embrace. He showered your face with kisses, finalizing with one long kiss to your lips.

  Somehow Wooyoung's heart was aching, and he realized that he'd just lost what could've been the love of his life.

[the-cydonian-texts]

It had to be you (Count Orlo x Female Reader)

Chapter 1: Serendipity

Summary: your friend Marial gets you a job as her assistant. It’s your first day. You’re late and afraid you might have wasted your chance, but luck is just around the corner. 

Notes: well, this turned out longer than I thought, and, if I may be honest with you, I’m still not sure how is it going to end. But I’m having a lot of fun writing it so...

The title comes from a song by Ray Charles that I was casually listening to when I began writing this fic.

Anyway... I really hope you like it guys ;)

Warnings: Cursing.

Words: 2015

Read it on AO3

Gif by:  awesomethingsandsuch

-------------------------------- 

It's your first day of work and you’re already coming late. You should have paid more attention to Marial, when she showed you the way to the empress’ chambers the day before. But no, you were too busy daydreaming and admiring the beauty of the palace to even attempt to memorize all the corridors and doors. Now you’re rushing through its vastness, hoping you’d be right on time when needed and still have a job by tomorrow.

You walk as fast as you can, while successfully avoiding bumping into someone or something. People in the corridors look at you like watching a fly who has flown inside a room and now tries to find the way out. You hear murmuring and laughs behind you. You blush with embarrassment; nervousness makes you stumble, and almost fall down next to a group of not-very-friendly-looking nobles.

“Well done.” You thought to yourself. “You’ve already fucked it up, haven’t you?”

You hurry around the corner at the end of the hall, so distracted by your own thoughts that you don’t see the young man walking in your direction. You bump into him violently, the impact making both of you stumble back. The man gasps in shook drooping the book he was holding in his hand.

“I’m…I’m so s-sorry.” You pant while picking up an old dark brown volume from the floor.

“’Meditations and… Other Metaphysical… Writings.’” Between sharp deep breaths, you read the golden letters written on its spine, before handing it back to him.

Your gazes meet and you blush, unable to look away from his gentle brown eyes. Your own mind goes blank and you get a funny feeling in your stomach; breathing shallow and irregular.

The man’s eyes are wide open and his lips slightly parted in amazement. Once he realizes he’s been staring at you for too long, he breaks eye contact and shyly adjusts his glasses. If you weren’t too busy trying to gather your thoughts together, you could swear he is blushing too.

“No, I-I-I am sorry. I should have paid more attention.” He finally replies, looking down with regret. “A-a-are you, alright?” His voice raspy and insecure, his big brown eyes examining you with concern.

“I am. Thank you.” You say. The man’s expression relaxes at your words.

“W-well. In that case. I-I must go. If you excuse me.” He awkwardly bobs his head to you and begins walking away.

“W-wait. Please. I have to be at the empress’ quarters, but I think I’m lost. Could you please show me the way?” You beg him, don’t even trying to hide the desperation in your voice. Besides, he seems like the only person around who would agree to help you, so you don’t waste your chance. The man meditates your request for a moment, while you hold your breath hoping for an affirmative answer.

“I-I suppose I can do that. Please, follow me.” He finally replays, giving you a quick smile, and turning around to lead the way to the empress’s chambers. You follow him instantly, trying to keep up his pace.

“I am Y/N. By the way.” You finally dare to speak once silence has become too awkward. “I’m the new empress’ girl. I’ll be assisting Marial.”

“I am Count Orlo. Nice to meet you.” He says with a gentle tone, nodding at you. Then focusing on the corridor ahead.

“Nice to meet you too.” You give him a sincere smile while trying to remember why his name sounds so familiar.

Even though you will probably lose your job, you are rather thankful for getting lost and meeting Orlo. He appears to be a very interesting and kind person. Not to mention, he is also very handsome; something you find yourself admiring from time to time as the two of you walk through the palace. The image of his hypnotizing big brown eyes and his pink parted lips refusing to leave your mind.

Quickly, you shake those thoughts away, as you’re not supposed to be having them. He’s a noble, you a serf, and, for your own sake, it would be better if you learn your place from the start. Besides, someone like him would probably be already taken, he may even have… kids…

“No. You can’t be him!” You suddenly say, a little too loud for your own liking, making Orlo’s heart skip a beat.

“W-what do you mean?” Orlo gives you a questioning look, visibly startled by your abrupt and blaring comment.

“Well… Earlier today, I heard some men talking about this guy in the emperor’s court, who was nothing but a coward and an insufferable know-it-all. Also, not the kind of man a woman would gladly fuck. Hence, the name they gave him: Orlo the Virgin. But…” You quickly cut yourself off, realizing what you just said.

Orlo clenches his jaw and let out a hurt sigh. A hint of sadness appears in his eyes, and your heart breaks into pieces. “Way to go, idiot.” You mentally punish yourself for being so thoughtless.

“I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean to…” Words get stuck in your mouth. You know you hurt him, but embarrassment and remorse hinder you from articulating a proper apology. You decide to remain silent. Your stomach tied in knots.

“Empress’ chambers are at the end of that corridor over there. Have a good day.” Without looking at you, Orlo points at the nearest hallway and walks away in the other direction.

“Orlo, wait!... Please.” You say before he disappears into the lounge he is heading to. Orlo stops midway, but his back remains facing you.

“Don’t think I’m saying this just to be nice or because I pity you…” You say, moving towards him.

“Sorry. It’s that supposed to be an apology?” His tone bitter and littered with disappointment.

“I’m just being honest. Please let me finish…” You make a pause hoping he would listen to you. Orlo still avoiding to look at you.

“When I heard those idiots, I mean, those men talking. I was expecting to meet a hideous man. Like a creature with crooked teeth, a face full of pustules, and...” You pause, acknowledging that you’re starting to sound like an idiot.

“What I’m trying to say is…” You walk to stand beside him while attempting to find the right words that match your true feelings. His eyes fixed on the floor.

“I just met you, therefore I can’t attest to the truth of their words, but something tells me that you are a very interesting person. Also, if I may…” You hesitate for a moment, unsure about whether you should say what you’re about to. Orlo’s expression seems softened by your words, still, there’s suspicion in his eyes.

“You are way more handsome than I would have expected.” You let out. It really doesn’t matter if your words come as inappropriate. That’s how you feel and you don’t have the intention to hide it.

Your honest remark makes him blush, and your heart melts. Orlo looks the other way, hiding his face from you. He breathes sharply and his muscles tense.

“I-I-I have to go.” He finally replies and leaves.

You remain still; staring blankly at the place where, just a moment ago, Orlo was standing in. A swarm of thoughts rushing through your mind, but all with two words in common: ‘What if…’.

What if you just messed everything up? What if you read the situation wrong and made him angrier? What if…

“Oh! There you are!” Marial’s voice snaps you back to reality. “Where the fuck you’ve been, Y/N!?”

“I-I…” You freeze. Marial grabs you by the arm and drags you towards the empress’ chambers.

“You’re lucky to have me as your friend, Y/N. Otherwise, you would hold the record for the Shortest Period of Service ever.”

***

The shift is over. You had a busy day, but not a bad one. The empress was very nice to you and you are very thankful for that. As long as you be there when needed and do everything you've been told, you're going to be fine.

Tired, but unable to sleep, you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Indeed, you didn't lose the job and it relieves you, but your mind is busy with something else.

The thoughts about what happened earlier today rushing through your mind, making you uneasy. You wish you could talk to Orlo just one more time, and thank him for helping you, but you are quite sure he hates you already. The mere thought of it saddens you.

You wonder why those men said something so rude about Orlo. Judging by the look on his face when you told him about it, you can be sure it wasn’t the first time he heard those kinds of things; which makes everything even worse.

Yes, he is surely a little awkward and shy, but he is also one of the few people in Peter’s Court that has treated you with respect and has seen you as a human instead of a tool. Maybe that’s the reason why the other men treat him like they do. He’s one of the few who appears like having a soul.

***

You don’t see Orlo for the next 3 days, and his absence is affecting you more than you wish; more than you would like to admit. If the Count is trying to avoid you, he’s making a pretty damn good job.

“Are you alright Y/N? You look a little… sad.” Marial’s voice brings you back to reality.

“Yes. I guess.” You reply, trying not to sound so serious, but Marial’s expression tells you failed.

Suddenly, someone enters the room. Your heart almost jumps from your chest when you see Orlo’s standing in the doorway.

“Y/N. May I talk to you?” Orlo says with a serious expression. Without a second thought, you follow the Count to an adjacent room; leaving Marial with a confused look.

“I apologize for leaving like that the other day. It was disrespectful and childish.” He says once you are alone. The look in his eyes is sincere and you realize how truly sorry he is.

“Apology accepted. I’m glad you don’t hate me for what I said.” You say followed by a warm smile. Orlo blushes and breaks eye contact instantly.

“N-never.” He says, shyly smiling back at you. “I-I noticed you can read. If you want, I can recommend you a pair of volumes I’m really fond of.” His face lightness as soon as he speaks about books. It is clear he enjoys sharing his reading passion with others, and you can’t help but melt at how cute he looks.

“Sure. I’m looking forward to it!” You reply moving closer to him. “Thanks for helping me find the right way the other day.” You say before, placing a light kiss on his cheek. Orlo tenses at the sudden contact, his breathing quickens.

“I-I-I...” He says, moving away from you and nervously looking around.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I-I don’t know what I was thinking.” You hasten to say, looking down embarrassed.

“N-no needs to apologize, but thanks.” He says, awkwardly bobbing his head. “Have a nice day, Y/N.”

“Have a nice day, Count Orlo.” You smile gently while nodding at him.

Your eyes remain fixed on the count as he leaves the room. A long blissful sigh escapes you as soon as he is gone.

“Care to explain to me what did just happen, Y/N?” Marial asks while moving in front of you to take a better look at your face.

“Oh my god! You like him!” She exclaims when she notices the stupidly sweet expression on your face.

“Shut up Marial. We have things to do.” You reply, quickly grabbing a cushion from a chair and fluffing it; pretending to do something useful while trying to hide your embarrassment.

You are not sure what is what Orlo makes you feel, but it seems too good to ignore it. Hopefully one day you’ll find out, for now, you must concentrate on your work.

[moonsapphicc]

my goat

3:34

I laid down to sleep but a memory struck my tranquility away and I grabbed my phone urgently to write down the said memory because I knew I would soon fall asleep and it would be forgotten for a long long time. The memory belongs to 6-7-year-old me, is it normal to remember something from such a young age? Perhaps it is the only thing I remember from that age maybe because of the pain it caused me.

 One morning my father and chacha (father's brother) left and later returned with a Bakri, 3 months before eid-ul-Adha. The goat's arrival had just been announced and in seconds it was swarmed by a crowd of excited children, not me though I looked at her from the far corner of the garage. The kids (my cousins/brother) shadowed her the whole afternoon and the whole evening petting her head, feeling her pathay(plants), and dragging her by the rope in the streets showing her out to the neighbor’s kids while my father told the kids' fathers what a great deal they had gotten for her- after all, she was a beautiful creature.

I had always been scared of animals and so I did not dare go close or pet her, I was content admiring her from afar.

After a week the children had eventually gotten bored of the creature as she provided no more entertainment and all the neighbor’s kids had gotten their own animals-cows and camels! And so the cousins forgot their smaller goat.

The goat seemed to understand that she no longer has the same importance and was just a mere burning animal now. I still admired her from afar, I never stopped. The goat saw me and got on her 4 legs so fast that out of fear I stood too. She was looking at me expectantly. Finally, she spoke a high pitched 'baa' leaving her mouth, it was almost as if she was calling me towards her, asking me to return some of the affection and attention she had lost.

Timid, I started moving towards the goat, picking up a bunch of leaves to feed her. The sight of the lush green excited her and she moved towards me in urgency but she could only come as far as the rope around her neck allowed her. Her sudden movement once again scared me and I, too jumped but I jumped away from her. She was a smart goat and seemed to understand that her movement scared me and so after that, she stayed as motionless as she could. I eventually got close enough that the plants in my hand reached her enough for her to take a bite. I saw her completely indulged in her meal and took a leap of bravery and pet her on the head, the fur was not as soft as I had imagined it but I didn't mind. As I was petting her, she started moving her head to encourage me. I stayed with her for the whole evening until my mother called me to have dinner and go to bed, I was happy to admit that I had gotten over my fear of animals.

After that day, we both developed a strong bond and spent most of our time together. I fed her, gave her water, sometimes even dressed her in flowers I had picked, but I never cleaned after her I left that for the grownups.

One day my uncle arrived with one of his nephews. I was with my younger cousin teaching him how to feed the goat when the nephew entered the garage. I immediately did not like him, he had a very dominant and arrogant presence-even at the age of 9. He walked around the goat, petting her back and talked about animals as if he had been born and raised on a farm-my little cousin was fascinated of course and asking a ridiculous amount of questions (all of which the nephew answered with complete certainty). I was very rudely nudged away from the goat. I disliked him from the beginning but now he had done something that enraged me.

I wanted to shove him into the floor and punch his face until I broke his nose I was ready to explode and disfigure his face. He had smacked my goats belly, he hit her so harshly that she jumped back and produced a feeble cry-he just laughed it off and continued to vandalize and harass my goat while I stranded in the Corner-I learned I was a coward.

After he left, I went to visit my goat. I offered her some greens, he sniffed the greens, looked up at me and then walked away to sit in a corner. I felt hurt like never before, I felt rejected, but mostly I felt like a coward. I sat next to her and pet her praying to God that she'd feel how sorry I was and forgive me. I pet her for a long time but she did not look at me nor did she eat the food I offered her. I was hurt and I was miserable, I told my mother that my goat was mad at me because I did not protect her and asked her to provide me with a solution. My mother merely laughed and told me that she was an animal she could not feel such emotions or act that way, she was an animal! But she was wrong of course because my goat was mad at me I knew it and I was going to do everything I could to make her forgive me.

Day after day, I went to her in an attempt to seek forgiveness but she rejected me every day, she would not eat the food I offered her, she did not move her head to encourage me to pet her, she did not call out to me anymore. I had lost my friend.

 A week after I had stopped trying to win her back, I was passing by the garage and peeked in to see what the goat was doing (I hadn't been with her for about a week). She was struggling to get to the bucket of water that was kept only out of her reach. With no one else in sight to help her, I quickly moved the bucket closer to her and filled it up again. Just as I was about to leave, I tried to feed my goat in a tired last attempt to seek her forgiveness. I don't think I had even been happier than I was at that moment when she ate the plants I offered her. we had rekindled our friendship.

After that, I offered her extra love and care to cover for my act of cowardice.   we settled back into our same Routine-I spent most of my time with her much to my mother's disapproval (her child was spending most of her time around an animal whilst ignoring all other obligations so of course she disapproved) but I felt so connected to her in multiple ways that I cannot explain. After all, in a way she was my very first pet and the very first animal that I eased up to.

2 days before eid, our whole family was sitting in a lounge-everyone was showing each other the outfits they had purchased for the eid. unexpectedly my father started yelling while on-call with someone, something about a Kasai. Now I had no idea what a 'Kasai' was and so curiously I asked my mom which was, well it was a mistake. when she did explain to me what a 'Kasai' was and what was to happen to eid day it took me a few seconds to process the information that had just entered my ears, and when I tell you I let out the most alarming, loud, deafening scream a 7-year-old could manage boy you better believe me. Everyone around me dropped whatever they were doing and rushed in my direction. I was inconsolable, I was launching around like the devil itself had possessed my body.

Now obviously it was my mum threatening to strike me with a chapel that helped calm me down but the tears never stopped, and what exactly do you expect when you tell a child that you were going to kill their dear friend and have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, OBVIOUSLY I WAS FUCKING TRAUMATISED. I was not allowed to see my goat after that because my parents were so sure that I would let her lose and now....of course I would that'd be the most human thing to do. Now I was young so I didn't know how to pray (in that moment I wished someone had taught me) but as my mom was consoling me she said, “we can make dua for the goat so that her soul is taken painfully", A DUA yes of course I could make dua for her. I prayed that somehow her rope gets lose and then she run so far away from here, where no one would hurt her.

I woke up the next day and she was still there- boy oh boy I was heartbroken but I did NOT stop praying. And then came the day of the eid, I was so busy getting ready and obsessing over my churian that was for a while I forgot about my god but then came my father bearing bad news- the Kasai was here (yes I did start crying again). I stayed glued to my mother covering my ears because I knew I couldn't bear hearing her last cry, by then my mother somewhat was aware of the pain I was enduring and let me clutch on to her dupatta.

I never knew my father's disappointed face could excite me this much-now I just wanted him to finally tell us what the bad (good) news was. "the goat is pregnant", the goat was pregnant THE GOAT WAS PREGNANT.  We didn't sacrifice the goat; she was sold to the Kasai at a loss. My dad was not happy about purchasing meat from the market when everyone else was enjoying the meat of their sacrificed animal- but I was so thrilled I didn't even bother to hide it for the sake of my family, why should I? my friend was alive (and pregnant).

 Anyways, I never got close to another sacrificial animal after that, I never even went out to see it and over the years family assumed that I was scared of animals and I let them believe that because telling them the real story behind it would be ALOT of effort (it actually would not be too much effort but the whole story sounds stupid to me and knowing my family I know they would use it against me to perhaps ridicule me and the story is too close to my heart and painful enough that I do not want to turn it into a joke).  I think the whole thing influenced me more than I'd like to admit and allowed me to learn things about myself that I wanted to avoid.

[ain-t-bovvered]

Bumpy Road to Love 15

EDITED & COLLABORATED with @waywardbaby ( a saint )

Pairing:  Dean x Reader

Genre: 40s-50s Au. Singer/ Reader x veteran WWII/ Dean.

Warning:  The story keeps going back and forth in the reader’s present and her past, and from joy and carefree to angst and angst and also angst

Disclaimer: the story takes place in the first years of WWII to the years right after, but I love the style and fashion of the 50s so some of the visuals and lifestyle will be not super time accurate, especially during the flashbacks, bear with it.

Catch up here :  Part 1  Part 2   Part 3   Part 4    Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8   Part9   Part10   Part 11  Part12  Part13  Part14

Masterpost

flashbacks are in italics

15.

I open my eyes once again, for the millionth time, because I want to make sure I'm not dreaming. The first light that is so insolently creeping in the room is a sign that the day is about to start. The day that just a few hours ago seemed so far away, is now here. Making its presence known. Alerting me to the ugly truth that I've been trying to ignore. 

She’s sleeping, her face and body turned towards me the way I'm turned towards her. I can feel her breath on my face. Her eyelashes are resting against her cheeks which are still flushed. Her lips are half open and deliciously swollen, inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm. My eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, travel down the line of her arm and stop at her palm which is resting on my chest. I hate the cotton sheet that's between our bodies and I wanna pull it aside and take her in my arms. I don't want any distance between us. Not when I know that soon, distance is all we're going to have. But at the same time, I don't want to wake her. No sooner than would be absolutely necessary. 

So, I lay there perfectly still and look at her. I remember how her body fitted perfectly against mine. I hear my name spilling from her lips. I feel her skin under my fingertips. And the longer I stare at this perfect woman who's sleeping in my bed I can't help but wonder what exactly I have done right in my life to deserve her. She has gone against her mother's order to not be with a slob like me. She has thrown every rule, she grew up with, out the window so she could be here. She has given herself to me in complete trust. She has practically shouted a huge “fuck you” extending her middle finger to the world once again and followed her strong, fearless heart. And what have I offered her in return? The feeling that in a few hours I'm gonna leave her standing at the docks, waving a small hand towards someone who she may very well not see again. How I wish I could hold her in my arms and never let go. Keep her close to my heart so that she knows that it's beating just for her. Kiss her and make her feel how much I love her. My hand reaches out before I get a chance to control myself and brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead. Her eyelids immediately flutter open and for a second I see panic registering in her irises. My palm rests on her cheek and I smile at her. Her eyes clear up at once and she turns her head and kisses my palm. She inhales deeply and a deep sigh leaves her half parted lips. 

“Good morning…” She whispers and moves a little closer so now her nose is almost touching mine. 

She drapes her arm around my shoulder and I sense her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. I wanna tell her so many things but for the life of me, I can't find any words. I wanna beg her to forgive me for the pain I will cause her soon. I wanna shout at this fucked up world to go screw itself because I have found the love of my life and I can't let her go. Not when I haven't had time with her. When I haven't told her how much she means to me. When I haven't shown her that she's my lifeline, my source of strength, my purpose of living. I can't let her go. And although I know that I have to follow my orders and help people who are thousands of miles away, although I have to be strong and brave and fight in a war that is raging on the other side of the world, all I wanna do is be a coward and stay here. Hide in the locks of her silky hair. Drown in the pool of her eyes. Get lost in the path of her body and let others fight, protect, kill. 

But the only thing I can do is stare in silence while I scream in utter desperation inside. I stare deep in her eyes and pray to everything that's holy to find the strength to not break down and cry. She pulls her body even closer to mine and she brushes her soft lips over mine. Her kiss is timid and slow. Careful and sad. She's covering my lips with hers ever so lightly, over and over again. “Hold me close.” She whispers while she's kissing me and my arm moves to her waist while her leg goes over my thigh. Our bodies are molded one against the other and I feel her warmth, smell her scent, taste her. And once again I realize exactly what I'll lose. What I'll leave behind. I have to tell her. Let her know what I feel, what she makes me feel, how scared I am. I have to tell her before it's too late. “Y/N…” I start and I'm pretty sure that I will have to look away as my eyes are fighting back all the unshed tears that have come and gone during the hours we've spent together. Tears that I have skillfully hidden from her but all of a sudden feel like I ton on my soul, weighing me down. But before I get the chance to continue, to make a fool of myself in front of the woman I adore, she places her small finger on my parched lips and whispers: “I know…”

“I know…” She repeats softly and kissing the bridge of my nose, she closes her eyes and whispers, “You have to go, I know.”

I almost let out a bitter laugh. Not quite what I had in mind but she’s right. I do have to go back to base and grab my stuff that I had already packed. Cradling her head between my hands I kiss her, and she sighs. Pushing her back gently is almost painful. I’m up quickly, paying no attention to the pull her body has over mine. I'm up before I fall into her sweet trap again. Hearing her little gasp I turn around only to grin when I see she has covered her eyes with a pillow. I'm sure she's blushing like a tomato under there, I snort and not wanting to stall too much, I locate and grab most of my stuff.

“I’m gonna go and take a quick shower, so you can -” looking around the room I grab her chemise and fold it on the chair near her side “- get partially dressed.”

I wait for her to peak from under her cover and relish in her crimson face as she gets a good look at me.

“Oh my gosh Dean, just get into the bathroom already!” 

I laugh as the pillow hits my back.

The door closes behind me and I’m now facing my reflection. The laugh dies on my lips and the mask falls from my face. 

My hands grab the sink, knuckles white and I squeeze. I'd rip the thing off the wall, smash it against the mirror that shows no pity to the fool looking into it. But I can't. So, I just stare back, angry.

“Don’t!” I threaten, “Get a grip!” Pushing myself away I get into the shower and under the cold jet like I couldn’t care less. I’m too used to it anyway.

I don’t have a lot of time and I don’t want to waste any of it so the shower is quick and efficient just like they taught me and in less than seven minutes I’m done. Cold and shivering I put on the shorts, starchy pants, the white t-shirt, shirt, socks and shoes in the all too familiar and quick by now way I've been doing it the past few weeks. I quickly dry my hair with a towel, take a quick glance in the mirror to check if I have to shave later and I open the bathroom door. The image in front of me stops me in my tracks and calms my angry and tormented soul. 

There she is, barefoot, with only the baby blue, silky chemise on, looking out the window, bathing in the light of dawn, gold and pink colors dancing on her skin, giving her an eerie aura as the rays of the new sun dance in her tousled hair, creating a halo around her. 

She’s hugging herself, back straight and posed as usual, like the proper lady she was brought up to be. I can’t see her face, but her hands squeezing her arms betray the way she must be feeling. Silently I walk up to her, embrace her from behind. My arms wrap around her creating a protective blanket, my hands cover hers and her head rests against my chest, fitting perfectly under my chin. That's when I feel her tension melting away. We stay like that, both looking out the window, silent, lost in our thoughts. The sun is rising in the distance, somewhere on our right bathing the world in its light. For the people of the town that is slowly awakening, the light of the new dawn symbolizes a new beginning. What do those fools really know? To me, to her, to us, the only thing it symbolizes is the beginning of the end. With every passing second, we both know that we must let go. I bend my head and kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, lingering there, needing to soak up all her scent and carry it with me to the ugliness and dirt I'm going to be drowning in soon. “I love you,” I whisper against her skin. She raises her right arm and places it behind my head, keeping me close. Turning towards me, she kisses my left cheek and murmurs: “I love you more.” Somewhere in the distance, the tolling of a church bell signals the time and her arm falls limply at her side. She gracefully moves away from me and goes over to the small wooden table that's sitting in the corner of the room. Her small fingers trace the name on my dog tags that were dropped on it last night and letting out a small sigh she picks them up and comes to stand in front of me. 

I bend my head down as she slides them around my neck. They clink together as they fall on my chest and they feel so much heavier than they did yesterday. Smiling weakly, she slowly buttons up my shirt and while I tuck it in, she turns to the side picking up the tie she had laid on the bed. Caressing the hard cotton she drapes it around my neck. With quick, skillful hands she ties it and smooths it down my chest.

I put on my garrison and she rises on her toes to adjust it.

“All done.” She says, her small palm resting against my cheek and I close my eyes as the weight of my duty is sinking down heavily to the pit of my stomach.

 “I’ll see you at the docks in a couple of hours. Do you know how to get there?”

“I’ll grab a taxi.”

“Like a true city girl.”

“I adapt fast.”

“Yes, you do.”

She takes a step back and I’m cold again. My body, my heart, my soul. They all scream at the emptiness. With heavy steps I grab my jacket and walk to the door, my hand hesitating on the doorknob. I glance back and see her again. The light is coming in the room bright and merciless, illuminating her silhouette, making her look like an angel. My angel. The angel that's gonna guide me back. 

“Couple of hours,” I say again. 

“I’ll be there.” She promises. 

The door closes behind me.

Cold and tired, I climb the last three steps to my apartment, swearing under my breath because I can’t find the damn keys in my purse.

“Ah-ah!” I rejoice when they are finally jingling in my hand but before I try to insert them in the lock, the door suddenly opens.

“Jesus Christ!” I jump back surprised.

“No, just Chuck.”

Pushing past him I shimmy out my humid coat and toss it near the door.

“Did you miss me that much, uh?” I say falling on the couch, toeing off my heels and massaging my calves. No answers. Uh, strange.

“I already ate so do you need me to make you something?” I have no energy to do any cooking but Chuck has had some pretty rough days. 

“No…I’m fine.”

“Ok then, I’m just gonna lay here for a bit. Maybe we could have a nightcap later? Put on some records? I don’t know. What are you in the mood for?” I cover my eyes with my arm, trying to rest my head. Chuck’s still oddly silent. No stupid comebacks or jokes. I hear him shuffling around the room. Pacing back and forth. He sits down, clears his throat and then he’s up again, stressing me out.

“What’s up Chuck? Did you piss off the neighbor again?” Still nothing. “I swear if I have to flirt my way out an eviction again…” “Did you -” he starts strained and stops again.

I peak from under my arm. He’s standing a few steps from me, looking down, his arms crossed. 

“Did I what?”

And he doesn’t respond.

“Chuck I’m tired. Come on. What happened?”

“Wait here,” he says before walking out of the room.

“You think I’ll get up after a full day on heels? Do you even know me?”

I light a cigarette and let the nicotine burn in my throat before exhaling slowly and watch the smoke swirl lazily over me. My mind keeps going back to the painful plunge it took earlier. There are two possibilities. I’m either extremely lonely or extremely horny. I let out an ugly giggle. I’m definitely both. No escape there. Not that I’d do anything about it, let’s be real. Just the thought of it makes me sick. Maybe I should get a pet or something. I should talk to Chuck about it. Maybe a dog? Nah they are too much of a hassle with our all over the place schedule. A cat? Bad idea. Chuck’s probably allergic. Or not. But he definitely looks like someone allergic to cats. Oh! Maybe a bird? Ah...it’ll probably die from smoke poisoning. What about a -

My train of thought gets interrupted by a rustling of papers.

I turn my head to the side and stare at the pile of letters landing on the coffee table.

Raising an eyebrow I look at Chuck’s face.

“...and?”

He sits on the lounge chair opposite me. Elbows propped on his knees, he stares at me.

“Are these all ?”

“...Yeah. What about them?”

“Y/N…”

“Oh please, don’t make a fuss about them. I know.” I say, suddenly feeling more tired. I close my eyes again.

“Y/N! Are these all the letters?”

“Jesus Chuck!” I blurt out harshly, “Yes, these are all. What the heck?!”

“Did you read them?”

Sighing, I take another puff of smoke, “Of course I did. A long time ago.”

“Are you sure?” He pushes. 

“I know them by heart, Chuck.”

“...Alright.” He says softly and I sigh in relief that this matter is finally over. “...but -” I was wrong.

“What?!” I sit up and now I’m getting angry. “Listen, it’s painful. I don’t wanna go through all that again. I know I haven’t told you about my whole life, but I'm sure you have figured it all out by now, ok? Can we drop this, please? I’m tired.” He stares at me with sad eyes. Pity leaking out every pore. I hate it.

“No,” He says, tense. “No, we can’t.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it. So suit yourself.” I reply, bitterly, as I stand up, planning to go hide in my room.

He follows me, grabbing my wrist. 

“Y/N…” He’s angry. 

“Chuck, please.” A painful lump blocks my throat and my voice comes out broken.

“Sit down and let me explain.” Dragging me like I weigh nothing, he guides me to the chair. The old leather protests as I fall down on it, defeated.

“...Alright, whatever.”

He takes my cigarette away, putting it out in the half-empty glass on the table, sits on the edge of the table and gently takes my hands in his.

“So, these are the ones you read, right?” He says pointing with his hand at the opened letters scattered on the table. 

I nod.

“What about those?” 

I follow his gaze to the ones that look unopened. The ones that were tied with old ribbons.

“I don’t really care for my Dad’s business correspondence.”

“So...you didn’t even open them?”

“...No. Why would I? I didn’t even know those were there.” 

“I think -” he looks at me strangely, his eyes gleaming, “I think you should.”

I tilt my head in confusion as he grabs the pile and drops it in my lap. I look down at them, and see they have been opened.

Looking at me, awkwardly, he scratches his head. “I took the liberty of opening them. I was curious and you said I could… anyway.”

“It's alright. I gave you permission. But why?”

“Oh Y/N…,” he says in a weak tone. “I think your parents made a big, big mistake.”

“Now you're scaring me Chuck. What do you mean?” He takes a deep breath and from his breast pocket he takes out a crumpled piece of paper. My breath speeds up and my heart clenches. I know what that is. I don’t want it but he pushes it in my hand. 

I look down and stare at the chicken scratches.

Dear y/n

My vision swims.

The weather here sucks so bad. You can’t even imagine how friggin’ cold Belgium is. I hope you can read this because my hands are shaking. We are not dressed for winter and since we are close to the enemy line we can’t even hope to get some new supplies. I’m lucky my boots are in one piece. 

Last night I was on patrol and everything was frozen. We couldn’t even start a fire to melt the frozen water to drink. I can’t remember the last time I had a hot shower, or simply a shower for that matter. One thing is certain. I’ll never take a bath for granted ever again. I swear even a dive in the murky river would be amazing right now. 

Enough whining about the cold. I guess I’m just missing home, and you, and even Sammy. Can you believe it? 

I don’t have a lot of time, we are moving soon. I’m scheduled to reach some little town whose name I can’t even pronounce. I forgot.  We are close babe, we are so close we can almost taste it.

This nightmare will soon be over and I’ll be home.

See you soon.

Pvt Dean Winchester

90ID, Company B,  359th Infantry Regiment

90th Infantry Division

United States Army

I’m silent as I finish reading. My fingers grip the paper and the lump in my chest prevents me from breathing.

“This -” He starts, “- This is the last letter, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“You’ve never got any others after this?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“...Why do you think?”

“But -”

“Christ, Chuck!  Do I have to spell it for you?”

“No, but listen -”

My body jerks into motion because I have never spelled it out loud. The walls close around me and I feel trapped. I just want to escape and drive off a cliff or something. He stops me firmly, pushing me back down.

“Did you write back?”

I avoid his eyes. He grabs my chin and makes me look at him.

“Did you?” He insists without mercy. 

“Of course I did!” I scream. “For weeks and weeks! I never got anything back.”

“And his family?” He seems oblivious to my suffering and keeps pushing and asking, tearing me apart. 

“ ...Never heard from them either.”

“ But let me understand…” he says confused. “They lived fairly close, right?”

“ Yeah, but I was not there. I had started college, remember? But I had left my new address in the next letters.”

He’s silent and I can see his brain working at full speed.

“I think your parents had something to do with it.”

My mind goes to a full stop. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m almost certain they intercepted the letters.”

“...W - what?”

“I don’t know how or why. Well, I can imagine why but that’s not the point.” He taps the packet of letters on my lap. “They kept these from reaching you and I suspect the ones you sent got lost …”

I stare at him.

“ If… if I’m right about it ...The battle he was getting ready for was a massacre. I heard about it while I was stationed in Holland. It was a disaster. It’s not uncommon for mail to get lost in a war zone and if you didn’t know where else to send telegrams and cards…well, it’s almost impossible they were delivered.” He takes a deep breath. “And if someone got injured, or worse captured, well ...the odds of receiving any mail is close to none...you understand what I’m saying?”

“...No, what...I don’t understand.” I reply and I'm not sure if I really don't understand or if I just don't want to understand. 

“Y/N…” He takes my hand and places it on the letters. “This is not your father’s correspondence.”

I stare at his weak, hopeful smile and look down at my hand. I realize it’s trembling uncontrollably as the meaning and heaviness of his words are slowly sinking in.

“It is not…” He repeats, steadily and sure.

I stay motionless, something hot is burning in my spinning head. Something heavy crushes my chest. The pile of letters gets heavier as the seconds pass. Something ugly, something I forget I would ever have again rush through my blood.

Hope.

I don’t register when Chuck stands up. I don’t notice him leaving the room and coming back, putting a glass of water by my side. I don’t feel his hand squeezing my shoulder nor the light kiss he places on my head before leaving the room.

All of a sudden, everything around me gets darker and suffocating while I stare at the pile of hope I cradle in my lap.

I’m confused.

I’m -

I undo the loose knot slowly letting the ribbon fall to the side and grab one of the letters.

It’s dirty.

It’s dirty and short.

Y/N,

I don’t know when or if this will reach you.

We made it, we barely made it. 

It was ugly, I’m not going to lie. We lost so many, babe. Our platoon almost got annihilated. The few of us that made it, are scattered. We have to regroup and hopefully, we’ll get some rest. I got hit but it’s nothing serious, don’t worry. Sadly, nothing that will get me a ride back home. Just my luck, am I right?

I’ll try to write to you as soon as I can. Everything is fucked up right now.    Comms are not working well.

Pvt Dean Winchester

90ID, Company B,  359th Infantry Regiment

90th Infantry Division

United States Army

-----------------------------------

Dear Y/N,

It’s been a few weeks that I haven’t got any mail from you. Only some delayed ones from Sammy. I guess comms are still banged up. I hope to receive yours later. 

We had some time to rest and medics patched us up well enough that we are on route again.

Morale is pretty low right now. We’ve got some new recruits and if you could just see them. They look like scared kids. They can barely stand a 12-hour march and keep their rifles clean. Tran still makes dumb jokes to try to lift the heavy feeling that’s been weighing on us. I mean ...they are stupid and they make me want to punch his stupid face but it helps, somehow.

One of my brothers here got hit on a suicide run. Son of a bitch got his ass saved by sheer, dumb luck. He’s fine but … I’m scared, y/n. I’m so scared and I can’t let that show. Those kids need to be sharp and ready.

I can’t let them down.

I can’t let you and Sam down.

We are moving out again. We are eating ground and I can feel my COs getting anxious to reach our position. The front is again closing in.

Pvt Dean Winchester

90ID, Company B,  359th Infantry Regiment

90th Infantry Division

United States Army

-----------------------------------

Next ones are a bunch of telegrams

Is your address the same. STOP. I got no mail. STOP. 

-We moved. STOP. Follow new coordinates. STOP.

-Y/n please. STOP. Are my letters reaching you. STOP.

-I need to know. STOP. 

-I can’t reach you. STOP.

-I miss you. STOP.

-----------------------------------

Hey sweetheart,

This, too, will probably get lost somewhere or I don’t know. You’ll probably get it and drop it somewhere, unopened. Don’t even know why I still do it. Writing to you. But I do it every chance I get. In the rain, in the snow and mud. It’s what keeps me grounded, it keeps me here, with my mind. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing it.  In a couple of days we are moving near Bastogne, I think. Never been good at Geography. I’m not gonna lie, things don’t look great, and if I’m right, Merry Christmas and happy new year.

I don’t wanna be here. It’s cold and everything is covered in mud. Your nose would scrunch up in disgust, I can almost see it. 

Jesus, I miss you on my lips. I miss you under my fingertips. I miss you in my soul. 

The thought of you, the thought of coming back to you is what gets me through this madness. Through this hell we all believed was a noble cause. What colossal fools were we? I could go on rambling about this hell we’re all living in. But I won't. I just wish I could have had a minute more with you… at our spot. Under the stars. A minute more to taste your lips. To memorize the way your body molded against mine. The way you fit in my arms. 

A minute more in that hotel room. To etch your eyes deeper in my heart. To sense your breath on my face…

But that's all wishful thinking, right now, I just hope you get this. 

Pvt Dean Winchester

90ID, Company B,  359th Infantry Regiment

90th Infantry Division

United States Army

---------------------------------------------

More telegrams.

-No news from you. STOP. Where are you. STOP.

-Sam can’t reach you. STOP.

-We are in [redacted]. STOP.

-I love you. STOP.

---------------------------------------------

My hands shake as I open the last one. I look at it and everything is all over the place. Words canceled, some illegible, some are just plain scribbles. They make no sense at all. What happened? 

Somewhere there’s a big patch of ink. The words are crooked or misspelled. I try to make sense of them.

Im fucked. My chest hurts so much. It’s hot. Its all hot. They keep waving stuff in my face and taking my tempratur. I can’t even keep the damn thing in my mouth, my chest is killing me. My heart is fucked. Most of the time I cant breath.  No snow, I hate, shit I never know I could miss it. But I miss summer. 

I dream about it . White fence sunny yard, grass stains on your skirt, kid laugh and youre on the ground with them. You look at me, upside down,flowers tangled in your hair and youre beautiful and- oh god, I want you on my lips and. I here your voice and youre here somewere youre a hudred miles away, youre right next to me sumthime.

fuck I wanna cry because it’s so- you are right there, I reach for you everytime I reach for you but I-

Everything fades,my chest feels like hell- 

Samm tell her im sorrry- 

I let the last letter fall to my feet.

He’s alive.

The docks are loud and crowded. I push people aside trying to find her in the sea of people hugging, crying, kissing, laughing. Everyone is saying their goodbyes. Some of them will be the last ones and the solemnity of it makes the lump in my throat painful. 

“Y/N!”  My mouth is dry as I try to call for her, neck straining to see over the sea of heads. In the corner of my eye, I see an arm waving to my right.

I make my way there, rudely. No one cares. We all have more important things to care about right now. 

Finally, she emerges from behind a woman hugging her son with the pain only a mother knows. 

She crashes into my arms out of breath, looking up at me with shiny eyes and red cheeks. I can tell she’s been running.

I grab her hand and guide her through the mass of people bumping into us left and right and after what seems like a marathon we finally reach the meeting point of my platoon. 

We stand side by side as I let my duffle bag slide from my shoulder and drop at our feet.

I feel my head ready to explode, filled with all the things I want to tell her. I feel my heart pounding so hard that it's one step away from imploding. Why is fate so cruel? Why let you meet the person you know you want to spend the rest of your life with and then tear you apart? What deranged higher power finds all this pain and suffering amusing?

I steal a small peak towards her side. I see her chest rising and falling more quickly by the minute. I see her hand balled into a fist. Her nails must be digging into her palm so hard that there's probably going to be blood. Tears are rolling down her cheeks. Tears she's not making an effort to hide from me anymore. I reach out and take her fisted hand in mine. Slowly, I caress each finger until I feel them relax and open up. That's when I lace mine with hers and bring both her hands to my lips. 

The moment I touch her skin she turns her head and looks at me. Face flushed, eyes glistening, lips parted in an effort to speak. I nod, letting her know that she doesn't have to. That everything she wants to tell me, I already know. That every feeling traveling through her body is also traveling through mine. 

We face each other. Fingers intertwined. Eyes locked. Words unspoken. 

The sound of the ship horn mutes us all. I see her jump at the sound. Reluctantly, I release her hand. She buries her small frame in mine and her arms circle my waist keeping me molded against her. I place my hand at the back of her head, making sure she can hear my heart beating and I place a small kiss on the top of her head. She looks up at me and tries to smile. A forced smile that doesn't fool either of us. 

“Come on, sweetheart!” I say and I try to pull away from her embrace. The minute her arms fall to her sides I brush some strands of hair from her face and wipe the tears that are still rolling down her cheeks. Her skin is so warm against the palm of my hand. So soft. 

She leans in my touch and closes her eyes. Slowly turning her head, she kisses my palm. 

Why is it so difficult to tell her I love her? I've told her a thousand times. But I guess if I tell her now, it will probably sound like “goodbye” and not like “I love you”. And I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready to let her go. I'm not ready to lose her. 

“I love you” 

Her words reach my ears and that's the minute I realize that this is the end. That we have no more time together. 

I look at her wrist. My watch is still there. Too big for her. Mercilessly ticking away. Oblivious to our pain. I unclasp it and pull out the small lever that winds it. The ticking stops and the arms come to a halt. And along with the watch, everything else stops. The screaming, the crying, the waves of people walking past us. It's just her and me. 

It's so quiet I can hear our hearts beating. I place the stopped watch back on her wrist and do the same with mine. Before she gets the chance to speak I bend down and kiss her. I try to pour all my love into that kiss. I'm trying to make her feel the depth of my emotion. My need for her. 

She rises to the tips of her toes and circles her arms around my neck. She returns my kiss as a kind of an unspoken promise. As a pledge. 

The booming voice of my CO calls for all of us. It’s the sound of war. It’s the call of our duty.

I don't want to let her go. I don't want to be a damn hero. Now, it's time to say it

“I love you”

“I love you more”

“Promise me that you will keep the hands of time stopped. Promise me that we will restart time when I get back. Promise me you'll wait”. 

All the words that I couldn't voice before come blurting out now. 

She places her lips on mine again and whispers: 

“Promise me you'll come back”.

My hand slips from her as I take a few steps back, our hands still raised.

“I promise”

@dean-winchesters-bacon     @wingedcatninja     @imma-winchester-addict           @maimalfoi       @missjenniferb        @hannahindie        @mariekoukie6661      @wayward-and-worn      @thewinchestertales             @starfirerules     @hunterswearingplaid      @sculptorofbeginnings      @younoeatcheeseyounobefat      @icequeen6666        @brokenhearted-littlegirl       @theangelwinchester       @missihart23       @weathergirl83        @ravenhg          @thisismysecrethappyplace      @yllwtaxi       @soloarcana      @itsstillnotwhatyouthink       @sexykitten253      @ackleholicwinchester       @snffbeebee       @daskleinevolk           @energizerbunnay      @hobby27        @cloverhighfive    @silent-loucidity       @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover       @dammitsammy     @mirandaaustin93      @srsllydunnodoncare    @flipperjanga11   @sandlee44  @alexisxwinchester  @jxnnxbrxwn @deans-baby-momma @pansexualgrapes @busy-bee-angel-misska​

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 5

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing, Angst

Words: 3,235

The week hadn't been kinder than most. Arthur's mother continued to badger him into mailing letters to Thomas Wayne, which he always did, though it was starting to frustrate him. He’d gotten notice the fee for heating the apartment was going up due to record oil prices. And he'd been fired.

It was a harsh coincidence that his biggest failure had been at the place he loved to perform the best. He'd been singing "If You're Happy and You Know It" with the children at the hospital, moving along to the upbeat music. They were having fun; even the staff had been smiling. It had been one of those rare times that he'd felt good. But he'd lost himself in the dance, as he tended to do, and made a mistake.

He'd taken to carrying the .38 regularly for protection. Feeling less vulnerable was nice for a change. And Randall had been right: no one had known he had a gun.

The pistol had sat safely tucked in his waistband. But Arthur spun a little too eagerly, stomped his foot a little too hard. The pistol had fallen through his pant leg and onto the floor.

His head had whipped around at the sound of metal hitting the linoleum. Faking a cry, he’d lunged towards the weapon, giving it a slight kick. Maybe if he retrieved it foolishly, the nurses would think it was part of his act. He had grabbed it and shoved it in the lab coat he wore over his Carnival costume of a yellow vest and patched brown pants. Nervous giggles escaped him as he put a finger over his mouth, gently shushing the children. Thank god he hadn't had a laugh attack.

Now he sat on the subway, large prop-bag by his side, still in make-up and costume. He hadn't even removed his wig. The train car was quiet, with only a woman reading a book and a middle-aged lady nearby. Staring into nothing, he remembered his conversation with Hoyt.

Someone from the hospital had called before he'd gotten to a pay phone. The despair he'd experienced when begging for his job still sat heavy in his chest. Hoyt had called him a liar. Arthur had lied. Hoyt hadn't believed Arthur before when he'd said he'd been jumped - why would he believe he was carrying the gun for self-defense?

And Randall... Randall had told Hoyt that Arthur had tried to buy the gun off him. It became clear to Arthur, then, that the gift, the kind gesture that had meant so much, had been the trick he'd originally suspected. He'd been an idiot to take the weapon. He hadn't even wanted it. He wasn't sure what hurt more: losing his job or being the fall guy.

It didn't matter, anyway. He shouldn't have brought that gun to the children's hospital. He was such a screw-up. It was difficult, how hard it was for him to make the right decisions sometimes. How could he be so good at taking care of his mother and so terrible at caring for himself? All he could do at the moment was sit and contemplate what went down.

The train came to a stop and three men in business attire walked in. Their volume and obnoxiousness made it clear they were drunk. A woman ran in after them and headed to the back left corner. She dropped onto the seat and took a folder out of her canvas bag. After a few seconds of watching her, Arthur realized it was Y/N. The corners of his lips turned up slightly. She had headphones on; he wondered what she was listening to. He wanted to go to her, but the men were in the way.

The shorter of the three men sat, eating fries out of the greasy paper bag he held. The other two friends continued to stand and talk.

"I'm telling you. She wanted my number. We should have just stayed." the man without a suit jacket said.

The taller man scoffed. "You're dreaming, man. She wasn't interested - at all."

"Did you see how close we were dancing?" the first man replied as the train began to move. "She was in love!" He started shimmying, badly, as he hung onto the pole grip

Arthur watched them closely, admiring their confidence. Maybe some of it would rub off on him.

The sitting guy held the paper bag out to the woman with the book. "Hey, do you want some fries?" When she didn't respond, he wiggled it at her. "Hello? I'm talking to you. Hey."

The woman looked up, answering politely. "No, thank you."

Confusion came across Arthur's face. Wasn't offering a woman a bite to eat a normal thing to do? He'd offered Y/N his favorite donut and she'd responded well. Maybe the woman wasn't hungry.

The dancing man sat next to the fry guy. "Don't ignore him, " he intoned, gesturing to his friend. "He's being nice to you."

French fries landed in the woman's hair as the men started throwing them at her. It was then Arthur understood the men's offerings were not kindly meant. They were like what Randall had done to him - selfish and ugly.

The woman looked to Arthur, obviously wanting him to intervene. He found he couldn't do more than look at her in sympathy. Even as he did that, he felt like a coward. Part of him wanted to speak up, but he was filled with unease. As his discomfort grew, he felt his body tense up, his throat begin to tickle. He shook his head lightly, turning away. Not now. 

Not now, please...

Loud, throaty laughter burst out of him. He felt the eyes of everyone stare at him. Wincing, he covered his mouth in desperation. He took a deep breath and lowered his hand, seeming to get his fit under control. But then his body betrayed him again, and more involuntary gales escaped.

The woman with the book got up and left the train car. Arthur didn't dare to give Y/N more than a glance. She was watching him and the men, taking her headphones off.

"Hey, asshole. What's so fucking funny?" he heard the tall guy yell at him.

Arthur's guffaws came even louder through his fingers. He lowered his hand to his stomach, willing his diaphragm to calm itself. He waved in their direction, trying to dismiss his outburst.

The men moved towards him. The tall one was singing, swinging from strap to strap as he got closer. Arthur could only choke out, "Please. Stop."

He felt his eyes tear up as they passed over Y/N, then down to the floor. He curled away as his laughter continued. The two times they'd met, he'd been able to hide himself from her. Now she was going to see him as the weak freak he was. She'd hate him. He'd lose her kindness. The same way he lost everything.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hadn't spoken up out of fear of unwanted attention, and now his condition was making him a show. The gun in his waistband felt heavy against his abdomen. He felt like turning it on himself.

The feeling of warmth against his arm caused him to still. He screwed his eyes shut against the blows he knew were incoming.

"Come with me to the next car." Y/N's voice surprised him.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to face her, but, out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was standing between himself and the men. He wondered if it was all a dream. But it couldn't be. His affliction never struck him in those. No. This was real. And Y/N was tugging at his sleeve.

Still bent with laughter, he stood and grabbed his bag. He walked in front of her. The door to the next car seemed so distant.

"Hey," he heard the tall man yell. "What are you, lady, a clownfucker?"

Anger bloomed in Arthur’s chest. She was being insulted because of him. Shouldn't he be rescuing her? That's how it went in every film he'd seen. He stopped, starting to spin, wanting to go back and cold cock the guy. Before he could, though, Y/N gently pushed him forward. Reaching the door, he opened it, then passed through the second door and entered the next car.

It was empty, thankfully. And the men hadn't cared enough to follow them. He dropped his bag to the floor. Various items spilled out of it when it tipped over. Slumping down on a nearby seat, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. A confusing mix of consolation and shame coursed through him. "I'm-" he coughed, laughter finally subsiding. "I'm sorry."

She was standing some distance away, further than she had the other times they'd met. That wasn't lost on him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I - I have a condition." Fishing around in his inner vest pocket, he retrieved a laminated card that explained his laughter and held it out to her. He didn't know how he kept his hand from shaking. She'd know the truth now. Frustrated and sweating under his wig, he ripped it off and reached to shove it in his bag.

Y/N was suddenly crouched in front of him. "Arthur?"

Stilling, it dawned on him that she hadn't recognized him in costume. He'd given himself away. "Yes," he said, defeated. He lifted his gaze to her.

She was looking at him so...affectionately. There was empathy there, a little sadness. But a gentle smile was on her lips. He wished he could be sure of what it meant. She handed his card back to him, then started to pick up the props that had fallen out of his bag.

Relief she hadn't run away, and was seemingly glad to be around him, settled in his body. It was foreign. He watched her pick up the magic wand that had rolled a couple feet away. When she handed it to him, Arthur felt the urge to pull her into his arms. He settled for squatting next to her to help her pick up instead.

"You must have had a show tonight," she said. "How'd it go?"

That snapped him back to reality. He snorted humorlessly, shaking his head. "It went great."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"It was at the children's hospital." He shut his eyes, remembering giving back the lab coat and his Dr. Arthur name tag. Anxiety crept back into his body. "It was nice." Slowly, he stood and brought his hand to the side of his face, fingertips smudging his make-up. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore."

There was an awkward silence before Y/N chuckled. His eyes narrowed. Was she laughing at him? "Because you're dressed as a clown? Don't be ridiculous." The train slowed and she straightened, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. "This is my stop. Come on."

He picked up his bag and followed her to the doors, standing beside her. Once the train stopped, he followed her onto the platform. His steps slowed, doubt refusing to leave his head. "No." His earnestness felt disgraceful. "Because of my condition."

Y/N stopped and looked at him. "Arthur, it's fine." She continued along, then. "Let's go up. It smells like piss down here."

He blinked as she hurried up the nearby stairs and turned to wait for him at the top. Her silhouette against the background of streetlights and steam loaned him the strength to get his legs working. His pace quickened, a grin daring to spread across his face at the prospect of walking with her again.

When he caught up with her, he touched his ribs, sore from his earlier laughter. "If you didn't know who I was, why did you help me?"

She started going down the sidewalk at a slow but steady pace. "You were in trouble."

Guilt assuaged him at the slight disappointment he felt. He'd wanted to believe she'd helped him because he was Arthur, not because he was some defenseless stranger on the subway. Straining, he fought that negative thought back. He didn't want to taint whatever they had with that. He should be glad she seemed to be a good person; he'd try to be.

Her continued answer warmed him, though. "I wouldn't have told anyone else this was my stop. Or invited them along." She flashed him a grin. "Know how I recognized you?"

A painted eyebrow lifted. "How?" he asked

"Your nice hair." She chuckled. "That's actually how I referred to you before I knew your name. 'Good hair, Tan jacket.'"

He made a face, looking away from her. Was she flirting with him or trying to cheer him up? Maybe she had a thing for weirdos. He'd happily be that weirdo. His hands raked through his unruly curls, trying to come up with a good reply. "Glad I took the wig off."

"Me, too," she said.

Arthur's head was spinning. He'd had a great gig, lost his job, been rescued by Y/N. What a fucking day. He reached up and squeezed his left shoulder. Yes, he was still here. She was still next to him. A breath he hadn't known he was holding escaped him.

At the next corner, Y/N stopped. "This is my street." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I don't want to be pushy. You're a grown man. But are you gonna be all right on the way home? I mean, I could call a cab. It's a long walk, you don't have a coat, I-"

"I'll be fine," he said, gently but firmly. "Don’t worry about me."

Smiling wryly, she pointed at his prop-bag. "You could always take out anyone who bothered you with that." She rummaged around in her purse and held out a piece of paper to him. "Here. Just...call me tomorrow? The earlier the better. And let me know you made it." She continued as he took the it, his fingers brushing against hers. "It'll make me feel better."

He studied the business card intensely before putting it in his vest pocket. "Okay. Thank you. I- I don't know what to say."

She shrugged. "Just say you're alive. That won't be too hard, right?" She nudged him with her elbow.

That wasn't what he had meant, but her smile was infectious, and for once he didn't mind being misunderstood. "Yeah."

Y/N started off down the street, walking backwards. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get home safe."

Arthur nodded and watched her turn to head the other way, standing there until she was out of sight. He patted his vest pocket and started to run home, in a hurry to get her card in a safe place.

~~~~~

Despite his firing, Arthur had had a busy morning. He'd dropped off the rent check, confirmed his upcoming appointment with the Department of Health, and gone to HaHa's to pack up his locker.

That last one had stung, but was surprisingly less stressful than he'd assumed it would be. He'd been able to avoid Hoyt, which was a rare stroke of luck. Arthur hadn't been sure if he would burst into tears, laugh, and beg for his job back, or punch him in the throat. His former co-workers either greeted or ignored him, as usual. There hadn't been many questions. When the Chippendale behind him joked about Arthur killing himself, he knew they were glad to be rid of him. Gary had shown sympathy, though, and it hadn't been fake like Randall's.

Arthur was fairly proud of how he'd revealed the pistol belonged to Randall. Then "punched out" by knocking the clock off the wall. Then ruined the sign telling everyone to smile. Sometimes pettiness was the only fuel to get through the day.

Now at home, Arthur was turning the business card Y/N had given him over and over in his hand. His knee bounced as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, smoking, running his thumb over the embossed name on the card-stock. It seemed like an easy thing, picking up the phone and calling a woman. When he daydreamed about it, it was. And he longed to. But, despite Y/N's demand that he call her, he hadn't worked up the nerve to do it.

Walking with her after the train had felt...normal, like what he wished for himself, when so few other aspects of his life did. Her smile, her friendliness - they hadn't disappeared despite his laughter or the taunting he'd been on the receiving end of. None of it had seemed to bother her. And she'd returned his card. They were usually discarded by those he gave them to. She'd looked into his eyes as she'd handed it back. His chest ached at the memory.

She was the kindest woman he'd met, the only one who hadn't talked to him because it was her job, but because she saw him. And here he was, letting his insecurities fritter away his chance to talk to her again.

It was already early afternoon. He muttered to himself and rubbed at his forehead. "'Hi, Y/N.' 'Hi, is Y/N there?' 'This is Arthur. Is Y/N available?'" He swallowed hard. Should he ask her out? He couldn't afford much, but he had a few dollars in his wallet. The thought of being in her presence again made his stomach flip.

Before his doubts could claw him back down, he pushed himself off the counter, picked up the receiver, and jabbed her office number into the phone. He puffed on his cigarette, willing himself not to hang up as it rang on the other end.

"Shaw & Associates. How can I help you?"

The calmness in his words concealed the force he put into being able to speak. "Is this Y/N?"

"Arthur!" The smile in her voice reached through the line and grabbed him. "I'm glad to hear from you." Her tone softened. "When I didn't hear from you this morning, I was afraid I'd have to hunt you down."

He braced himself on the wall next to the phone, relief washing over him. This time, he was fairly certain she was flirting. A unfamiliar thrill went through him, thinking of how to flirt back. "Maybe you're talking with a ghost?" he attempted. Y/N snorted lightly. He closed his eyes, pushing the next words out. "I want to repay you for last night and was wondering -"

"You don't owe me anything," she interrupted.

"- if you like pie?" he continued without stopping.

There were a few seconds of silence before her answer. "I love pie."

He smiled widely. "Okay. I have an appointment in your area tomorrow. In your office area. It's at three."

Her response came quicker than he expected. "Meet me outside my building at one? The address is on the card."

He nodded to himself. "Yeah. Okay. That sounds good."

Y/N's gentle reply caused him to blush as he savored the sound of her voice. "I'm looking forward to it. See you then."

The receiver stayed in his hand until it began bleating at him. He slowly put it back in its cradle. Laughter started, genuine laughter, as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

What the hell was he going to wear?

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​@clowndaddyfleck​ @stephieraptorr

[stachmousworld]

True Love (Lesbian Story) Ending 2; part.1

Maria Borges and Neelam Gill by Jonas Bresnan for L’oreal Paris (picture and caption found on @/sand-snake-kate)

Pairing: Mara x Carole

The main character’s POV is unreliable

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7

This ending will be in two parts. The last one IS just smut.

Previously: Mara and Carole had their argument in the hotel room. Carole assumed Mara and Ayela are together. Mara leaves the room...

The door closed behind Mara. Carole’s body sagged as the tension left her. What a…

“No, actually I’m not done,” Mara declared, reentering the room.

Carole almost jumped in surprise. She needed more time to put back her walls up. She knew she looked wrecked. Not the kind of look she wanted to affront, again, Mara.

“What are you doing here? I told you I don’t want to-”

“No. This time you are going to listen to me,” she announced firmly. She took a few steps further in the room. “I love you. I never stopped and I think you do, too. So, I won’t leave until you tell me why you want me gone.”

Carole could have laughed. When she had wanted Mara to stay, she had run away and now she wanted her gone and she stayed. Mara’s face fell. Oh, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Well…maybe she’d leave, Carole thought, a little ashamed. She squashed her feelings and relinquished on her anger.

“I’m…I don’t know how to apologize for that. I thought you stayed with me because I was a rebound. You never took her ring off and the first few months, you kept talking about her. You never told me you loved me. I told you every day. And at first, I was ok with you not telling me or feeling the same. At least you stayed with me. I was so pathetic,” she spat. “I should have confronted you, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to know the answer to my questions. So yes, when I so your ex and the way she talked about you and how she was back I panicked and left.”

Mara sniffed and wiped her tears. Carole opened her mouth and closed it. She didn’t have words. She only wished Mara would have talked to her about her insecurities. Fear suddenly gripped her heart. No, if she had talked to her about her feelings, Carole would have had to tell the truth about Elizabeth and her true feelings. And, Mara would have been gone forever. Carole would have lived a life without her. She couldn’t imagine that after everything.

“But maybe you are right. We have to let each other go.”

Mara stepped back still facing Carole. She toyed with the ring. It took a few seconds for Carole to understand what she had just said. She surged toward her.

“Wait! You can’t tell me all that and leave.”

“A few minutes ago, you were the one who wanted me gone because you presumed that I had a girlfriend, which I don’t, by the way.”

“I thought casual wasn’t your type”, she replied without thinking.

Mara raised an eyebrow. “People change. But, in this case, Ayela is just a friend. She and I are not like that and never will.”

Carole didn’t want to think to much on what she felt. Relief and fear. Relief to know Mara was still available and interested in her. Fear because something shifted in Mara’s behavior. She seemed unreachable. If Carole had hope to find her after all these years, she knew, deep down, that if Mara left the room, their relationship would definitely be dead.

The ring swayed slowly in the air before Mara caught it.

“I-.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be out of your hair. But I find it funny that you could be jealous of my friend but when it comes to your ex…” She left her sentence unfinished. “And she is still by your side. I guess some things never change”, Mara said grimly.

“Wh-what,” Carole spluttered. “There is nothing between her and I. And if you’d had stayed around the first time, you’d know that. But no, you ran out and left me the first chance you got.” Carole couldn’t stop the word from slipping out. She was angry. This situation and all of this should have never ended like that. She hated the mess Mara left. The gaping hole in her chest was screaming to hurt her as much as she did, even though, hurting Mara meant hurting herself. Her anguish face changed into an ugly sneer. “Living quite lavishly, don’t you? I didn’t know a librarian could live afford Hawaii. Last time we talked about it; it was just a dream. Oh, but wait, it’s true, I created a position for you in my company and paid you ridiculously high for the secretary job you were doing. And with all the money you saved on my back, living at my place, you should thank me to have put up with you.”

 It took her a few seconds to notice, but…

Carole was still flushed with anger, hands in fists by her sides.

It took her a few seconds to notice, but when she did…

She tried to calm down. Her eyes were still glaring at the ring which seemed to mock her.

It took her a few seconds to notice, but when she did, it was too late.

Mara stepped back hands on the doorknob.

Oh my God.

Realization hit Carole like a train. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Oh my God.

She couldn’t see Mara’s face. She was not facing her anymore. Carole tried to remember when she had moved. The scene was surreal. A few minutes earlier, Carole had wanted to fight for their relationship, fearing it’d be dead, and now, she was the one who totally shot it in the head, killing any chance to go back together.

“I’m so -”

“Don’t,” she interrupted with strangely calm and detached voice. Carole lips were trembling as she fought her tears. Jesus, she had fucked up. It wasn’t what she wanted to say. But she did anyway. Now, she had to- “I didn’t know you thought that of me. I’m sorry.” Carole frowned not understanding what was happening. “I’m sorry if you think I had used you.”

She seemed to want to add something but left the room instead. Before Carole had the time to react. Memories from the night of the party flooded her mind. Back then too, she hadn’t made reacted quickly enough. She ran to the door only to witness Mara in the elevator, head down, shoulder slumped.

Defeated.

Carole had done that.

She thought she’d feel better. She had been so angry and…and vengeful. She had been so hurt at Mara’s departure. Seeing her here, joyful, happy while she, herself, had been moping around and borderline depressive…something had finally snapped inside of her.

 Someone knocked on her door. She jumped to her feet and opened it. Her dad. She tried to hide her disappointment.

“Is everything ok, Care bear?”, he asked, worried.

She shook her head and fell into his arm. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

 It didn’t take long before he coaxed the story out of her. In between tears, sobs, and screams, everything came out. Her dad stayed calm and never interrupted her, whether she was right or wrong or didn’t make any sense. He stayed true to himself and let her cry her soul out. At the end, she felt so out of it. She could only focus on her breathing, any movement being too difficult.

“Hush hush my little girl”, he said, soothingly. “Sleep and we’ll talk about it tomorrow”.

“Stay here?”

He chuckled and nodded.

  Tomorrow wasn’t supposed to be that hard. Not at all. First and for the first time since forever, Carole had dreamt of Mara spooning her. Carole had hated the first time Mara had proposed to be the big spoon. She had argued, complained, and tried to push her away. She had not even stood a chance against Mara’s comfortable embrace and soothing caresses. If she remembered correctly, the morning after, she’d woken up on her pillowy boobs - Mara’s boobs were certainly the biggest she’d ever seen -, drool all over her mouth and obviously all over Mara.

She hadn’t missed Mara’s smug face and had tried to deflect this experience: she had drooled because she was extremely tired (a lie), her sinuses were blocked so she had to sleep mouth opened (a lie). Mara had only shrugged at her flimsy explanations and went to the bathroom.

What was only supposed to be a one-time experiment, turned out to be recurrent. Carole stopped fighting and accepted that Mara, indeed, was a great big spoon.

 Secondly, Carole woke up late. Around noon. She didn’t know why she was that exhausted. Her dad was long gone, and she was alone in her room, besides the little note she found on the drawer.

‘I let you sleep. Call me when you are up and we’ll talk (laughing smiley)’

She groaned and rolled under her cover. She was still tired even though her body was buzzing with energy. Her brain was sluggish, and she couldn’t really formulate a coherent thought.

She was forced to emerge from underneath all of her soft protection when she heard someone knocking on the door.

She pushed herself to a sitting position.

The knocking stopped as fast.

Had she imagined that?

No. Someone was really on the door and they were getting annoyed. The door was vibrating under the assault.

“I’m coming!”, she screamed, her voice raspy from the sleep and crying.

She didn’t even have the chance to wash her face or brush her teeth. For all she knew it was her dad and he had seen in far worse situation.

She opened the door and closed it quickly.

Mara and her not-girlfriend were there. In front of her door. She glanced quickly around and ran to her chair to pick up her robe, then the bathroom. She didn’t have the time to be thorough. She put toothpaste in her mouth, almost swallowing it, and washed her face.

 She was looking far better than a few seconds, but far worse than yesterday. Who knew that crying your eyes out would have this ugly consequence on her body? She tried not to focus on her red-rimmed eyes, puffy cheeks, and bags under her eyes.

She nibbled her fingers nervously. What the hell was she trying to do?

She came back to the door and attached her robe tightly. She could do it. Whatever it meant.

 Her first thought seeing Mara was that she looked…like shit. Carole felt a little bit relieved. At least not only her had suffered from their argument, even though, it wasn’t the same thing. She had unfairly insulted Mara, while she had taken Carole’s insults as truth. When Carole thought about it, – or at least tried to - she didn’t even know how to start her apology.

           They stood in front of each other in silence. The girl with Mara was more beautiful than she remembered. She was a natural beauty and transpired peace.

“My name is Aleya and I’m Mara’s friend.”

Carole nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t dare to talk.

“I’m here because, you both seem to be incredibly stupid. She talked to me about your fight, it wasn’t supposed to happen like it did. I had told her to talk about her feeling to get a new start, but she didn’t really understand what I said.” Aleya glared at Mara, who looked sheepish. “So, I’m leaving you, both. If anything turns south, I’ll have to be your mediator. And I don’t think you want me to listen to your heartfelt declarations”.

Aleya kissed Mara’s cheek, pushed her inside, and closed the door.

At first no one said anything. Mara was shuffling her feet and looked everywhere but at her.

“You can sit on the bed, if you want”.

Mara’s face said it all. She scrunched up her nose in a disgusted moue. Carole remembered her rules against beds and outside clothes. She chuckled silently.

“Or not. You can have one of the armchairs.”

She nodded, still silent, and sat on the chair. She made sure to take the furthest one away from Carole’s bed. Carole took a deep breath and went to sit on the bed.

“Do you want me to start or…?”

Mara tensed at the question, then opened her bag and took out a big envelope. She handed it to Carol without looking at her.

“What is it?” She asked uncertain.

“1 million 400 thousand 53 dollars.”

Carole stared at her lost. What the fuck was happening there? She opened the enveloped and saw two papers. One check and a…resignation letter?

“What is it, Mara?” Her voice sounded far away, even for herself.

“The money for my part of the rent and the salary you have paid me. The paper is my resignation letter. I should have done it a moment ago,” she announced with the same irritating calmed and detached voice as the day before.

Carole was left speechless. She gripped the envelop so tight her knuckles hurt. She couldn’t contain herself anymore.

“Is it about last night?” she asked, seething.

Mara raised un eyebrow.

“Fuck! I was angry and I lashed out. That didn’t mean anything. I wanted to hurt you. And…and…gosh, we need to have a real convo, with no interruption, no matter how hurtful we might say things. I will talk first and then I will let you talk. Ok?”

Mara nodded.

“It is true that the first few months after my breakup with Elizabeth and the first few months with you, I wasn’t a 100 percent in our relationship. I still had a part of me who grieved Elizabeth’s departure. I expected to hear bad news from the moment she left. She had been there for most of my life. I had been with her for almost all of it.” Carole straightened her back. She had long stopped trying to decipher Mara’s unreadable face and focused on her hands. “I shouldn’t have accepted to be with you so soon. I knew that you had feelings for me, and I used you, in a way. Your love soothed Elizabeth’s absence. There is no way I could actually make up for that. I should have talked to you about it and told you my thoughts. But the most important part is that I didn’t, and I hurt you all along. I don’t deserve you in any way. It took me a long time to actually register. You gave and gave, and I took all of it without giving you back. I can’t travel to the past and erase what I’ve done, because you did deserve more than half my attention.” 

Carole pried her fingers open, straightened the creases on the envelop and took the check out. 

“What I said yesterday was false. I know damn well that you didn’t use me, and you would have had the job anyway. I didn’t have to intercede for you, Marco was already smitten with you, in the first place,” Carole shredded the check and threw the confetti in the trash bin. “As for your resignation, if it is really what you want, I’ll accept it. I don’t want you to do something reckless and regret it. I know a thing or two about regrets”, she laughed mirthlessly.

Mara leaned forward and put her head in her hands.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” she took a shuddered breath. “I was afraid you’d stay with me because I’m the one who’ll never go away. I was never doing a risky job or traveling all day. I was a safe investment, as your friend “gently” repeated. I was blind, you know? I had the feeling that you didn’t actually reciprocated my feelings, but I thought naively that once you’d see my for what I am you’d fall in love with me.” She chuckled humorlessly. “It is not entirely your fault. You weren’t really hiding your sadness and longing for Elizabeth. There were my red flags, but I kept going, head down convincing myself that at the end you’d forget about her and you’d love me. Damn, saying those words out loud make me sound more fucked up than I was.” She paused, massaged her temples and kept going. “I will keep the job and the money since you destroyed the check.”

That was it. Carole had expected Mara to talk more. She, herself, had explained thoroughly her feelings. If anything, this discussion felt as if they were putting a stamp on their relationship. A stamp which would definitely seal their fate. Carole, once more, didn’t like where it was going. She hadn’t expected a huge effusion of love and vows of a happy ending.

Mara was so closed to her and yet so far. She still couldn’t read her face and her voice didn’t let any emotion through.

“Is it…everything you wanted to say?”

Mara shrugged. Carole refrained herself from throttling her. She didn’t like that Mara. She missed the one who kissed her and teased her last night. Where was she gone? She blocked all the obvious answers and stubbornly hoped.

“Are you not going to say anything?” Carole asked, expectantly.

“You said your piece, I have said mine. What more do you want?”

“I don’t know. Yesterday we kissed. I thought today we could talk and salvage the rest of our relationship. Now I know why you left and now I apologized for my behavior, I had hoped, maybe, if you want, that we could learn again how to be with each other, and perhaps, if everything goes well, we could go out.”

Mara stayed silent for an instead, fidgeting. Carole repressed the urge to take her hands in hers, then gave in. She kneeled in front of Mara and took each hand in each of hers and brought them together.

“I don’t want to get hurt”, Mara whispered, softly.

“I know my Astroios.” Mara glanced sharply at her, making her smile. “I know. I can’t promise we won’t hurt each other. I can only assure you to communicate with you. I know I have a lot to make up for. What happened with Elizabeth was a toxic foundation for our relationship. Unfortunately, it took me many months, and some visits to my therapist to work on my feelings, both for you and Elizabeth. I had to admit that I love (Mara’s breath hitched) and loved her as she was my first relationship, but I was never in love with her. We’ve been together since we were kids. I didn’t know any better. There was no spark, no passion and tenderness only two horny teens and a good friendship. I was so used to her in my life that I considered her more like a friend with benefits at the end.” 

Carole bent her head, nose grazing the back of Mara’s hand. She pressed a few featherlike kisses. Words fell out of her mouth naturally.

“According to my therapist, you were never a rebound, even though I made you feel like that. I was afraid of really falling in love with someone and so I tried to hold onto every bits of my former life. I remember everything from our first date to the first time I knew you were the one and had to ask for my granny’s wedding ring from my safe at the bank. I tried to act as if I was detached from you because you were so addicting. You made me go to museums, theatres, operas, libraries, concerts, food trucks I didn’t know about. Even old things were looking new under your gaze. I had fallen hard and quick. Couldn’t help myself really. I actually wanted to admit my feelings to you that night at the party, and I ended up revealing my feelings to my ex-friends. I was beyond pissed.”

Carole shook her head amused. She could clearly remember the faces of her then friends. Lost in her thought, she almost didn’t hear what Mara said.

“…love you.”

Carole tilted Mara’s chin toward her and pressed their foreheads together. Blues eyes against brown whiskey eyes.

“I love you.”

Tears were running downs their cheeks. Carole couldn’t help but sagged in relief, tension seeping out of her body.

It would be alright. I would be alright. We will be alright, she thought, hopeful.

“We’ll have to take it slow, right?” Mara asked, unsure.

“Yep, we have all the time in the world,” Carole reassured her, keeping her excitement at bay. She didn’t want to frighten Mara. Everything was still fragile.

“But, I’m staying here and you’ll be in San Francisco. How are we going to do?”

Oh. Carole hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’d believe Mara would have followed her back home, but it was counteractive to their “take it slow” plan.

“I am on vacation for a month or two. I could stay at the hotel, and we could go on dates, no pressure. Then I’ll have to go back but we’ll be able to communicate and call each other every day.”

“Do you think it is worth it?” Mara asked, abruptly.

What? Was Mara already backpedaling?

“What?”

“You didn’t…your relationship with Elizabeth didn’t survive the long distance. How could ours do so?”

“I told you I was not in love with her. And Boston/Hawaii is not that far. Roughly 6 hours.”

She could tell Mara wasn’t happy with this answer. Carole, herself, didn’t want to think of their future separation. One had been enough. Her only consolation would be that, this time, they’d be together.

“We’ll have to take it slow. Give us this time to work things out. If it doesn’t work out -- ” She shivered at the thought. “…we’ll part as good friends.”

Mara scrutinized her face before nodding.

“Ok. But no funny business.”

“No “funny business”, Carole repeated slowly. It was a whiplash. A moment Mara was about to flee and now her entire demeanor was open. She looked relaxed, at ease and her usual smirk was back. Carole closed her hand, repressing the need to kiss her plump lips. ‘No funny business’. “Do you take me for an easy person?”

“You jumped on me after our first date”, she replied deadpanned.

Carole raised her left hand. “I pledge the fifth.”

“So, you are guilty. Only guilty people pledge the fifth.”

“Lies, lies and slander!” Carole exclaimed, indignant.

“Is it too late to back off this relationship?” she asked, pouting.

“Nope!” Carole hugged Mara and lifted her from her chair to the bed, making her squeal in delight. She straddled Mara’s hips and pinned her down. “Now I got you, I’m keeping you.”

Mara tested Carole’s grip and smiled. The very first one of the day. Let it not be a dream, she prayed, fervently.

“I’m not an easy woman, you know?”

“Who said I’d do some ‘funny businesses’ with you, anyway?”, Carole teased her playfully. She couldn’t stop the soft and gooey feeling from blossoming in her heart. The tiredness from earlier left for a tension she hadn’t felt since their breakup. Her skin was too tight, too hot and too sensitive. All the nerves were so attuned with Mara’s body that she didn’t know where her body started and where it ended.

“Hey! You couldn’t resist me yesterday. You were ready to risk it all.”

Carole scoffed and rolled next to Mara.

“If that makes you sleep at night”.

“No, I have Herberta for that.”

“Her…what?”

“Herberta”, Mara replied, with a tone she wasn’t used anymore. The one which said, ‘you are really thick in the head, I don’t know why I’m still talking to you.’

Part 2 aka final part

[letsyesnomaybe]

Never Gonna Wanna Let Me Go | Part 5

Zayn Malik is one of the highest paid escorts in London. He’s good at his job, he knows this. But it’s not his chosen field, it’s easy money so he can have a chance to pursue his chosen field without becoming homeless. His employer Caroline has many rules to keep him safe but Zayn only has one ‘Don’t Get Attached’. Of course, there was always going to be one, the guy who would come in to the picture and make Zayn’s easy job almost impossible.

Liam Payne. Twenty Six. Made his money by inheriting his father’s music business after he passed away. Quite well known so expect publicity. Wants a pretty face on his arm to cover the events he has to attend while in town on business. Make sure he knows if he wants extra he has to pay. You’ve got your usual expenses on your card, don’t go overboard like last time. I mean it, Malik! Your share for the weekend will go in your account on Monday when you’ve done your job.

Love you babes, stay safe, C x

Part 1, 2 ,3 & 4  (also on ao3)

Liam’s father’s cabin is a literal cabin, which Zayn wasn’t expecting. He also wasn’t expecting it to be in the middle of nowhere, they have to take a plane, helicopter and car to get there. He actually starts to worry a bit as the driver pulls away from them that he’s suddenly trapped in a remote part of Scotland with a guy he’s only known for three days. 

But then Liam announces he wants to fuck on the deck out back and he offers Zayn the biggest goofiest smile imaginable and he thinks if this is how he dies then it’s not that bad of a way to go. 

After they get done being exhibitionist they split to shower in two of the five bathrooms inside the cabin. 

Zayn’s washing both his and Liam’s come off what feels like is every inch of his body and singing ‘Can’t help falling in love with you’ loudly to combat against the water pounding down when Liam enters the bathroom he’s in. 

He doesn’t notice straight away because the glass of the shower is quite steamed up so he doesn’t halt his singing but the moment he opens the shower door to find the other lad leaning on the sink, he instantly clamps his mouth shut. 

“Your voice is beautiful.” Liam compliments with wide curious eyes. 

Zayn offers him a smile as he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. 

“You shouldn’t let a voice like that go to waste, Zayn.” Liam tells him. 

“I don’t sing in front of other people,” Zayn informs him and steps closer so he can cup Liam’s cheek, gently stroking his thumb across the younger lad’s freshly shaved cheek. “You’re one of the very lucky few.” 

“I know but you could,” Liam argues and he looks suddenly very serious. “I could set it up for you.” 

“I don’t want another contract from you, Liam.” Zayn snaps and drops his hand, it’s harsh but he hopes it gets his point across. 

Liam doesn’t look hurt like he expects and Zayn realises it’s because he’s not even listening when Zayn speaks, he’s suddenly got his business hat on. 

“This could change your life.” Liam decides. 

Zayn decides he’s obviously not going to get anywhere with whatever train of thought Liam is on so instead he decides to leave the bathroom, thinking if he walks away from the conversation then Liam might finally realise he doesn’t want to take part in it. 

“You won’t take money from me because you said you pay your own way in this life,“ Liam continues as he follows him out, obviously not getting the hint. “This could be an honest way to make your money.” 

Zayn feels like that’s a punch to the gut, even if it wasn’t supposed to be and he only has to spin around to look at Liam, for him to quickly retract the words and have guilt consume his face instead. 

"I’m sorry,” Liam says quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, Z, it wasn’t supposed to come out that way.” 

Zayn gets a little smile on his lips from the nickname he wasn’t expecting and the moment he does, one appears on Liam’s lips too. 

“It could change your life, Z.” Liam states again, picked up on the fact the nickname was what made Zayn smile. 

“It doesn’t always change it for the better.” Zayn argues. 

Liam looks curious. 

“Harry’s mate was a busker in London, got picked up by some big record company.” Zayn explains. “It changed his life but in my opinion, it wasn’t for the better.” 

Liam looks curious. “What’s his name?” 

"What?” Zayn asks confused. 

“The busker,” Liam pushes. “What’s his name?” 

“Ed.” Zayn replies but doesn’t expand because he knows that’s all Liam will need. 

“As in Ed Sheeran?!” Liam expresses. 

Zayn nods his head. "It didn’t change Ed, he’ll pop in to Harry’s bakery for a chat now and then and he’s still the best person to have a quiet pint with. But god forbid if you wanted to go for more than one, he isn’t left alone, his face is so well known now that even walking down the street is a task. 

“Surely, people look at you when you walk down the street anyway?” Liam scoffs. 

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees because he’s not oblivious to how he looks, he knows it’s why he’s so good at what he does. “But having people glance at you as you pass them on the street is very different to attention artists like Ed get when they go out in public.” 

“There’s way to combat though,” Liam tries. “It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.” 

“I’m not a performer, Liam.” Zayn says finally. “I don’t want to be one either so will you drop it, please?” 

“You don’t think what you do is a performance?” Liam asks. “You don’t put on a show with every bloke Caroline sets you up with?” 

Zayn steps closer so he can reach out to slip his hands over Liam’s hips and offers him a sweet smile. 

“Not every bloke.” He points out. 

“This isn’t a show?” Liam checks. 

Zayn drops his hands and takes a physical step back. “You think that it is?” 

“No, no.” Liam says quickly and drags his fingers through his hair, it gives Zayn a perfect view of his bicep and the nail marks Zayn had dug in to not an hour ago. “Fuck, I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?” 

“Liam?” Zayn asks. 

Liam drops his hand and looks at him expectantly. 

“I wanted you to stop talking.” Zayn decides. 

Liam face goes through many emotions before it finally settles on humour. “You dick! I thought you were really pissed at me!” 

“I will be if you don’t come over here and fuck me again.” Zayn decides with a loose grin. 

Liam doesn’t need anymore instruction as he stalks across the room and kisses Zayn with so much passion, it makes him wish he’d never have to stop. 

***

They manage three peaceful days at the cabin before it all turns to shit. 

Zayn truly believes they didn’t have to fly all the way to Scotland to spend three days fucking each other raw, watching every marvel movie known to man and eating so much shitty food that Zayn’s sure Liam’s perfect body is slowly turning in to a dad bod. 

They’ve moved on to a Harry Potter marathon because they’d had an argument over which house they should both to belong to while showering together that morning. 

They’ve got ‘Goblet Of Fire’ ready and set to go when Liam’s phone buzzes with a name unfamiliar to Zayn. 

Liam picks up and frowns. “I’ll be right back.” 

“I’ll make more popcorn.” Zayn decides. 

Liam leans over and steals a quick kiss and when he pulls back, he smiles so hard his eyes disappear which he had started doing on their second day there and it hadn’t taken long for Zayn decide it was his favourite Liam smile. 

“I won’t be long.” Liam promises 

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Liam.” Zayn says with his own cheeky grin that he thinks Liam loves himself because he usually gets his favourite Liam smile in return to it. 

Liam grasps him by the chin this time and Zayn’s worried he’s done something wrong before Liam presses a more demanding kiss to his lips. 

“Your phone.” Zayn mumbles against 

“I’ll ring them back.” Liam decides and throws the phone aside so he can continue with what he’d started. 

They don’t let it go too far, only far enough that when they both pull apart, they have to adjust themselves before heading off to do their separate tasks. 

Though Zayn only manages a few minutes in the kitchen before he remembers he has no idea how to work the microwave so goes on the search for Liam to demand he be shown how to do it again. It’s not his fault, each time Liam has shown him how do it, he’d got distracted by how adorable he is while being instructive. 

He only makes it to the sliding door that leads out to the balcony Liam had taken his call on, when the other lad’s voice stops him. 

“--to myself,” Liam says to whoever is on the phone. “I wanted to relax, that’s all. I’ll be going to LA in a few days, I need to or Simmons will use it as his chance to turn the board completely against him.” 

The person on the other end must not be happy with that response because he sighs. 

“I wanted to show him I’m not a fucking coward,” He argues. “I won’t hide who I am just because he doesn’t approve.” 

Zayn feels a little proud that the boy he’s sure he’s slowly falling in love with is so sure of who he is and is happy to make sure other people know that too. 

“No, he was just someone I paid to attend with me.” Liam continues. “I know, yeah, he was worth the money for sure.” 

Zayn feels suddenly sick because those words hurt. Of course, he’s been called worse and to his face. But for some reason hearing Liam say it made him feel far dirtier and far more 

“I’m no hiding anything,” Liam argues. “I’m here alone, I told you, I needed a break but I’ll fly out in a few days.” 

Zayn doesn’t wait for the conversation to continue and for have himself hurt by more words. 

Instead, he drops the bowl of popcorn kernels on to the table by the door, making sure it makes a loud of noise to catch Liam’s attention. 

Though he doesn’t wait for Liam to come back inside, instead he rushes through the house to what they had claimed as ‘their’ bedroom to pack his bags to get away from what’s causing him pain as soon as possible. 

Liam’s worried call of his name follows him upstairs and Zayn waits in the centre of the bedroom for him to enter. 

“What am I?” He asks, the moment the other lad walks through the door. 

“I didn’t mean it like you heard it.” Liam tries. 

“What am I?” Zayn demands again. “Because you’re not paying me anymore but you made damn sure whoever was on that call knew you were alone so what the fuck am I, Liam? Why the fuck did you bring me here?” 

Liam looks lost on how he’s supposed to reply, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“What am I?!” Zayn ask a little louder but he doesn’t give Liam a chance to answer.

‘You’re a warm body to fuck,’ Louis’ voice echoes in his memory. ‘That’s all you ever were to me, babe’. 

Zayn starts walking around room, collecting things that are his to shove back in his suitcase so he can leave.

“Stop.” Liam pleads, reaching for his arm after he’s dumped a load of clothes in to the suitcase.

Zayn does stop but his chest is heaving as he stands now toe to toe with Liam. “I can’t do this again.”

“What do you mean again?” Liam worries.

Zayn moves away from him to collect his shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“Zayn, stop.” Liam pleads. 

Zayn feels frantic and he must look it because the moment he stops in the middle of the room, he can feel how fast his heart is racing 

“Can we talk about this, please?” Liam requests. “More rationally than we currently are.”

‘We can talk about it,’ Louis says. ‘If you want to, if it will help.’ 

“Fuck off.” Zee screams at the memories. 

Liam’s eyes go wide and he takes a slight step back from Zayn. 

“I want to go.” Zayn decides. 

“Zayn,” Liam pleads. 

“I want to go, Liam.” Zayn states more demanding. 

Liam lets out a haggard breath and he’s almost pulling his hair out now. “Can’t you stay and talk to me for a little bit longer?” 

“I’ll let Caroline know you ned to be charged for four extra days and three nights.” Zayn replies because he wants Liam to hurt as much as him. 

“Z, please.” He says this time. 

Zayn snaps his eyes in Liam’s direction and he’s now even more furious because how dare he try to use what’s supposed to be an attentive nickname to make Zayn submit. 

“Book me a fucking car, Liam.” He barks. 

Liam nods obediently and walks back out of the bedroom. 

Zayn turns back around and zips up his suitcase before dragging it off the bed. He’d managed to pull on a hoodie over his bare torso and slipped on the trainers Liam had bought him at the airport on the way over, before the younger boy returns to the room. 

“Your cars on it’s way,” Liam says and he’s got his wallet in his hand. “Five hundred a night, right? Three hundred for the days? That’s almost three grand.” 

“Two thousand seven hundred.” Zayn tells him quietly because his plan had backfired and now his chest is physically aching with how much it hurts to return to being treated like a prostitute when he’s spent almost four days feeling like a boyfriend. 

“I’ve only got one grand on me,” Liam explains, as he holds out the cash. “I’ll send the rest to Caroline.” 

Zayn looks from the cash and up to meet Liam’s eyes but the soft boy he’d had for the past four days has somehow disappeared (like he’d been some dream Zayn had made up) and the arsehole he’d met almost a week ago now had returned. 

“You need the money, Zayn.” Liam tells him as he shakes the hand that’s holding it, to intrigue Zayn to take it. “Take it.” 

Zayn puffs his chest out, determined to hold his own, at least until he’s safely in the back of the car and on his way back to London where he will soon be reunited with the one in his man in his life he’s sure loves him for nothing more than simply existing. 

“Take it.” Liam says more demanding. 

“Fuck you.” Zayn spits at him. 

Liam at least looks taken back by Zayn’s outburst and Zayn uses that shock to his advantage as he picks up his suitcase and makes sure to barge his shoulders in to Liam's as he storms past him to get out of the room. 

Liam doesn’t follow him and Zayn is slightly glad that he doesn’t because he doesn’t last until he’s in the safety of the car. Instead the moment he’s outside the cabin, the door slamming closed behind him, he’s crying so hard it feels like he’s never going to be able to breathe again. 

The car turns up ten minutes later and he’d managed to calm himself down enough that he can coherently tell the driver where he wants to go. 

***

One he’s back in London Zayn heads straight to the pub that Caroline and her husband own (and she runs her side business out of) to get the inevitable bollocking over with. 

“Alright, man.” John greets as he enters. “She’s out back, cursing your name I reckon.” 

Zayn nods thankfully and offers John a sultry smile as he passes to get to where Caroline’s office is at the back of the pub. 

“Not a chance,” John shouts after him. “She’d have my balls if I went anywhere near your right now.” 

Zayn laughs and blows the older man a kiss before heading to the back room where Caroline conducts her business. 

Caroline doesn’t look with her usual bright smile when he enters and that’s all he needs to know she’s well and truly pissed. 

“I have six main rules, Zayn.” Caroline starts gently. “What are they?”

Zayn sighs. “I know.”

“What are they?!” She demands, finally looking up and she looks more upset than angry.

“Text you if plans change, never go out of the country, don’t go near Styles, don’t smoke, always use protection and don’t let feelings get in the way of business.” Zayn lists off.

“And how many of those rules did you break with Liam?” Caroline asks.

“All of them.” Zayn mumbles.

“How many?” She insists.

“All of them.” He says louder. “But technically Scotland is still in the same country or same nation, at least.”

“City,” Caroline corrects. “You’re not supposed to leave the city unless I’ve given the okay.”

“Sorry.” Zayn says simply.

Caroline sighs and sinks back in to her desk chair. “Do you think I do these things because I don’t care?”

“I know you care, Lin.” Zayn tells her.

“Then why would you put yourself in situations that could get you hurt?” Caroline cries. 

“You know why,” He says and shakes his head. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out he got our number through Louis?”

“So?” Caroline replies. “I thought we were over the Louis drama?”

Zayn sighs. “We are.”

“Is Liam our new Louis?” Caroline wonders.

“He’s not anything,” Zayn assures her. “I think,”

Caroline raises her eyebrows when he pauses.

“Yeah.” He says to himself as he makes the final decision. “I quit.”

Caroline nods like that’s what she was expecting.

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of it?” Zayn asks.

Caroline shakes her head and gets up from her chair. “It’s been a long time coming, right?”

Zayn nods. “Think I needed the push, you know.”

“Yeah,” Caroline agrees and walks around the desk. “You’ve always been too good for this line of work, babe. It’s about time you got out there to show the world what you’ve really got to offer.”

“Didn’t have you down for soppy goodbyes.” Zayn teases.

“It’s not goodbye,” Caroline scolds. “Livy’s birthday is next week and Styles promised he’d make cupcakes.”

“He’s gonna burn down our kitchen again.” Zayn complains.

Caroline smiles and gestures for him to get up so she can pull him in to a hug. 

“You let me know if you need anything, okay?” She requests. “Money or somewhere to hold one those like art gallery things.”

“Sure,” Zayn agrees. “Thanks, Lin. For everything.”

“It’s always been you, babe.” Lin argues. “You’ve been the brains and beauty.”

Zayn squeezes her when he hears her sniffle.

“Right, I’ll see you next week for Livy’s birthday.” She says as she lets him go and ushers him out. “Tell Styles if those cupcakes are burnt he better not show his face.”

“I’ll make sure to.” Zayn promises and walks towards the door.

“Zayn?”

Zayn turns around with his hand holding open the door.

“You deserve the world,” Caroline tells him. “Don’t ever let some dickhead have you believe you don’t. If he’s not willing to give you it then he’s not worth your time.”

“You should write hallmark cards.” Zayn teases.

“Bugger off already.” Caroline retorts but she’s smiling.

Zayn blows her a kiss and finally leaves, walking away from the only reason he’d managed keep food on the table and clothes on his back, for the past seven years. 

[loudsuitlover]

Ohana 3

Jamie

It’s been two days since I’ve last seen Harry. I’m ignoring him like a coward and I know at some point it’s gonna have to end but he hasn’t texted me back since the last text I ignored yesterday afternoon. 

I just don’t know how to tell him. I freaked out. I panicked. And I don’t even know what was that. Why would I kiss him? Moreover, why would he kissed me? He could have literally any girl on the planet, counting on famous people, not famous people- not even any girl but anywho- and he chose me? There must be something wrong with him. 

Charlie turns around holding a box of weetbix on her hand, asking me whether those are the ones I have for breakfast or at least that’s what I think she’s saying. She tilts her head at me and I know she’s caught up with the fact that my mind is anywhere but here. I shake my head, trying to dismiss it, as I lean towards Mateo and caress his hair out of his face. He smiles at me and for a split of a second I forget I’m worried when Charlie’s phone makes a beep sound.

“Harry asks how our day went.” She doesn’t look at me as she types an answer.

“Does he know I’m with you?” 

“Yeah.” She nods. “He asked me about you when you stopped answering his texts and I told him that we were having a girls’ day out today.” 

“What wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“Would it have changed anything?” She shrugs. “Besides, I thought you knew he was interested already and I didn’t want to bother you.” 

This was all Jack’s idea. I was sure of that. Charlie would have given me the hardest time about this had she had it her way, but I’m sure Jack tried to calm her down. I busy myself reading the ingredient charts on cereal boxes as I wait for her to finally allow herself to bother me. 

“Are you still coming tonight?” She asks instead. 

I know Harry is going to be there but it’s not like I can not go to Jack’s promotion party and anyway I’m gonna have to talk to him in person sooner or later. I bite my bottom lip and then I turn to her. 

“Yeah.” I smile. “Mum’s looking after Mateo.” 

Charlie’s hazel eyes burn into mine as she just keeps quite. I don’t quite know whether she has really matured in a matter of months or whether she just doesn’t even know what to say to me. The haircut she just got looks so good on her too, her hair barely skimming her shoulders now. 

“Anyway” she smiles “do you know who keeps asking about you too?” 

I bite my bottom lip again- I keep doing that lately- as I pretend it’s no big deal that she used the word too because Harry also keeps asking about me. I turn to her so that she gets she has my attention. 

“Noah.” She smiles. “You know, it’s funny how you try so hard to stay away from guys’ attention and you still get it.” She laughs. “I mean, I get it, with that angel face of yours.” 

My head spins to her in a matter of seconds and I’m afraid I’ve given myself a whiplash. Did she just use the words angel face? I feel my heart beating ten times faster. 

“But the things is- they both are super nice.” 

Now, here she goes- she’s about to let Charlie take over Jack’s advises now. I hate to admit I like it and I try not to smile as we both walk to the cashier. 

“Like, before I met these guys, I would never think it was possible for someone to kind of outweigh Harry but I gotta say Noah is pretty close. I mean he’s so nice and funny and smart and cute, you know? He’s got a niece, you should see him with her.” She raises her eyebrows. 

I just shake my head at her as I place the groceries on the cash and she excitedly chats with the cashier because that’s just the way she is. It’s pouring rain when we make our way outside the supermarket and I try my best to cover Mateo with my jacket as we wait for the rain to give us a break under the roof of the supermarket entrance when Noah, out of all people, rushes to the supermarket. 

“Oh, hi, girls!” 

He grins like he had just come out of a romcom and I can’t help but hear Charlie’s words in my head as I look at him. I mean, like seriously, it is fucking raining and then here he appears, fully dry which can only means he has a car like a knight in shining armour. I internally roll my eyes as Mateo babbles against my chest. 

“Hi, Noah.” I smile. I’m about to scare him away. “This is Mateo, my son.” 

But Noah just grins wider and that’s the first time someone has reacted like that to me saying my son. He could really be somebody. 

“Of course he’s your son!” He cheers. “Mate he looks exactly like you!” 

My heart skips a beat when Mateo smiles back at him. He’s such a happy baby and I’m such a proud mama and Noah just chuckles at my baby’s cute antics. 

“You girls need a ride?” He offers. “I was going to get something quick for lunch but I can drive you home. It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop raining anytime soon.” 

“We actually could use a ride, yeah.” Charlie answers for us both. “We’ll treat you to lunch actually since you’re going to drive us. It’s the least we can do.” 

Noah smiles and offers to carry some of our bags as we make our way to his car. A black Volvo. Okay, he seems to have money too but then again I don’t know why I’m surprised considering he’s friends with Chloe and Harry and the rest of them. 

The three of us have pasta with zucchini and cream at Charlie’s house while Mateo takes his afternoon nap and we share such a nice conversation, it’s been a long time since I haven’t felt this relaxed, like I have nothing to hide and I can just be Jamie; for Noah has already met Mateo and he’s still being nice to me. I can tell he likes my outfit too, even though it’s just yoga pants and a crop top but I’ve caught him roaming my body up and down with his eyes once or twice and I’d lie if I said I’m not happy about it. It’s nice to know I still have it after giving birth to a child and breastfeeding him every day. 

Noah kept making Mateo laugh until he asked if he could hold him and I happily obliged. He’s been lifting him up in the air and showing him fruits since I handed my baby over to him as Charlie and I make some tea in the kitchen. 

“I told you he’s so cute with babies.” She whispers. 

I just laugh. 

“He loves the feel of mandarins as well” Noah notices as I stare as Mateo’s tiny hands playing with the tangerine “just like my niece.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what is with babies and mandarins.” 

“Maybe it’s the smell too? They smell really good.” I notice. 

“Yeah” he agrees “maybe.” 

After tea and pumpkin biscuits, Noah drives Mateo and me home with the promise of seeing each other again at Jack’s party. He offers to pick me up for it but I politely decline. He’s very sweet and cool and I really like him, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. 

I put on a burgundy satin v-back midi dress I bought online while I was pregnant because I had a mental breakdown and started buying a lot of clothes that didn’t fit for some reason but I enjoy the way it looks on me now. I decide on just using some mascara and painting my lips with dark burgundy lipstick instead of going with a full make up-smokey eye kind of look and readjust my bangs as I wait for Charlie to honk at the door. 

I walk with Charlie and Jack along the longest line I’ve ever seen in a club before I even realize we are at the Obleon. I stop them, holding Jack by his elbow as he turns to face me. 

“Eh, guys, how are we even going to get in here?” I ask them. “I thought you said we were going to the Morray’s.” 

“We were” Jack explains “but Gemma suggested that we could go to the Obleon as well, since it was such a special night” he grins every time he remembers he got the promotion after a year of internship with Mr Banks “and I mean there’s no way we would get in without her so of course we said yes.” 

I nod my head before I just follow them. I decide I won’t ask any more questions. This is probably all Harry’s doing anyway. I bet he got us all super VIP access to everywhere in the club and that he just has to say the word for the entire thing to just shut down for him. I don’t know how I feel when we walk past all those people waiting and just casually wait for Gemma to appear right next to the doormen. She finally appears, in a silver sequin short dress and purple lipstick, with such a cheerful smile on her face. She grins excitedly at me, apparently so happy to see me again for some reason and I start hoping everyone feels the same way. 

We follow her through a corridor with purple neon lights and plants on both sides of the wall until we finally make it inside the club and I start getting excited as I have a look around myself to see the Obleon from the inside. I thought I was never going to, to be honest, and to make things better, this is the first time I go to a club- without being absolutely forced to by Charlie- since I got pregnant. I have a look at the stairs, big, majestous, white and marble as they curled their way up to a second floor and since they all look down towards the dance floor, I can see there are three floors. I wonder how people look dancing from the third of them. 

Everyone in the club looks so fancy, but as opposed to the last time I hang out with these guys, I don’t feel too out of it now with my satin dress. I adjust the thin strap on my shoulder as we finally spot the group. I’m glad to find out Chloe’s also excited to see me and I greet the rest of the girls as she happily introduces them all to me. These people are so nice. Charlie comes back with a drink for me on her hand and she raises her eyebrows high when I gladly take it and bring the straw to my lips. As I scan the crowd and get starstruck a time or two, my eyes finally bumped into Harry’s green ones as he’s standing with his friends not that far away from me. He doesn’t look very happy to see me so I turn around and try to get a little farther away from him but Gemma cuts me off and walks me towards him. His friends are nice and they both introduce themselves to me, Jeff and Mitch, but Harry just looks me up and down. No hello, no smile, nothing. So I’m the one to greet him. 

“Hi.” I say. 

He just raises his eyebrows as if he was surprised I have a voice at all. I guess I deserve his behaviour, but he’s still making me feel so uncomfortable and I just want to drop dead in front of him. I almost feel like I should apologize for my existence to him but instead I just look down at both our feet and turn around, keen to just walk away from him and pretend and I never knew him, but he just grabs my elbow and then his hand moves down my arm until our hands intertwine and like that he pulls me along to the stairs. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we make our way along the white marble stairs to the second floor but I guess he’s not worried about anyone snatching a photo of the two of us because this is very private I take it. He only stops when we are standing next to a white column on the second floor and he places himself next to him so I am left facing him, having a nice view of the dance floor from the inner balcony. 

I entertain myself looking for Charlie so that I don’t have to face the apology I owe him. 

“Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?” He starts. He seems mad. “You text me the kiss I gave you was the best kiss you’ve ever been given and then you ignore me?” 

“You only text me once.” I complain, scratching my elbow as I avoid looking at him.

“And I called you and left a voice mail.” 

I look up at his eyes. 

“That you never heard.” He guesses correctly. 

“I never hear my voice mails. No one leaves voice mails anymore.” 

He doesn’t reply to that and I know he’s just waiting for me to explain myself but now I just don’t know what to say. He looks so good on that black suit even though he’s not even smiling but his face is just perfect I swear to God. And somehow the fact that he seems to be hurt by my silence makes me feel special, like he actually has been waiting for me to talk to him, even though I would imagine he would have random sex with girls he never saw again all the time. 

“Are you seeing someone?” 

He blurts out loud and I frown immediately. Under any other circumstances, I would have called him out for calling me a cheater like that- if there’s something I hate that’s lying- but the fact that he sounds jealous almost makes me smile. 

“No! That’s not what this is about.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I mean... What happened the other night was a mistake.” I lie even though I don’t know I’m lying. 

“You regret it?” 

I can’t lie to him. I don’t know why but I just don’t want to so I can’t say I do because I don’t. God for some reason I am dying for him to kiss me again right now. But... I know it’s silly, it would never work and I would just get hurt yet I don’t want him to know I had thought about a future because he had only kissed me once. I look away from him. 

“I just don’t think it should happen again.” 

He surprises me with silence. I won’t lie, I would like for him to fight me a little on that- to try to convince me, even though I’m sure if he does try he will win me over and I will just get my heart broken at the end of this little game. 

“Okay.” He says instead. “I don’t want to, but I’m going to respect it.” 

I hate that he’s so good. 

“But we can at least be friends, right?” 

I nod. I’m going to suck being his friend but he probably has a thousand and he probably means that just like- let’s say hi when we see each other at Charlie’s- so I take it and offer him my hand. He stares at him with an amused expression before he takes it and we shake hands before we make our way downstairs and join the rest of the group. Charlie gives me a questioning look, as if she wants to know if something happened between us, but I just roll my eyes. Oh, God, what did I just do? 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him walking back to his friends from before, and I make it a point to stay far away from him. I dance with Gemma and her girlfriends and they all try so hard to make me feel like part of their group that at they end I do. Noah offers me another drink and we both make our way to the bar. I hold on to his shoulder when someone accidentally bumps their elbow into me as they dance and he turns his head to look at me before he offers me his hand. I take it for balance but immediately feel guilty. I don’t want to use him but I also want to take Harry out of my head. When I look at him though, he’s staring at us and he doesn’t look happy. 

I grab the drink that Noah’s offering me and we sip on both our drinks a little so as not to walk back to our friends with the drinks fill to the brim because they would just spill all over the dance floor and that would just be a waste. I’m laughing with him but I am awared the alcohol is helping me a lot because on the back of my mind I keep hearing this voice that’s calling me an idiot for pushing Harry Styles away like that. Secretly, I can’t wait for us to go back to our group so I can eye Harry again but my night gets ruined in a matter of seconds when I do for I see him sitting down with some girls and they’re all gorgeous and laughing at his jokes. I hate to think he could be talking them up like he did me just a week ago. I want to leave. 

I say my goodbye to Noah and he offers to share an Uber so that I don’t have to go home alone but I politely decline because I’m not sure what his intentions really are and I don’t want to have to tell him that no, he can’t come in my home. If he were Harry, I would obviously say yes and invite him inside and I would have him in my bed as I kiss him all over but he’s not so insted I look for Charlie and give her a kiss on the cheek before I hug Jack and congratulate him again for his promotion telling them both I’m leaving. They both offer to wait with me at least until the Uber gets there but I crave for those few minutes alone so I can get my thoughts in a fine line. 

As I wait for my Uber, I try to organize the following day because that’s what I do when I get nervous, to regain some sense of control; but I can’t stop thinking about Harry and his calmed green eyes, and his dimples, and his nose, and his unruly hair and the way he smells and that suit... Why did I have to meet him? I was so put-together before I did. How can I miss someone I barely know and never have had? 

I look down at my phone to check how much longer the uber driver is going to take and I watch it die in my hand. Great. I hate when I run out of battery and even though I know my way home and there’s no need to worry, I start feeling a mild anxiety on the back of my neck when I hear him mumbling. 

“Come on, pick up, pick up.” 

I turn around to face him and he looks at me with bright green eyes, his phone still on his ear even though his mouth is agape and he’s not saying a word. He hangs up and stands in front of me. 

“I was calling you.” He admits. 

“My phone died.” I show him. 

“You’re alone?” He frowns. 

I nod. 

“I thought you had left with Noah.” 

Who would have thought he was the jealous type? 

“And that’s why you called?” He doesn’t answer. “Well now you see I didn’t, you can go back to your girlfriends. You almost have the blond, the brunette is playing hard to get.” I look ahead. I am jealous too. 

“I’m not interested in any of them.” He breathes. “That’s why I came after the girl I like even though she said she wants nothing to happen between us.” 

I feel him talking on my ear as he stands right behind me. He’s very close and I’m a little alarmed by his behaviour because we’re outside the club now and I bet this is full of papparazzis and whatnot. I swallow the lump in my throat. If I feel his breath against my neck again my knees might fail me. I’m desperate for him to touch me. 

“Let me take you home.” He whispers on my ear. 

That’s it, I’m a goner. I don’t even think about it because there’s nothing to think.

“You are trouble.” I whisper back. 

I hear the air coming out through his smile before he presses a chaste kiss on my temple and his arms are wrapping around my waist as he pulls me to him. 

“Nah.” He reassures me but I know he’s lying. 

He ends up paying my Uber just for the driver to walk away before he’s calling his driver. He tells me he doesn’t enjoy much fancy things, but that he can’t just have anyone driving to his house, so that he can keep as much of the little privacy he has left safe, and it almost seems funny to me that he is justying himself. 

I lean my head on the window of the car and enjoy the feel of his hand agains my thigh as he draws circles against the satin of my dress. I have two options now: I can either crawl back to my comfort zone and push him away and avoid him for the rest of the time he stays in London, which I don’t think it’s going to be much anyway; or I can stop fighting him and enjoy him as long as he decides to stay around and then he’ll leave and things will go back to normal. I’ll deal with the heart break when I have to. 

When we make it to his apartment, this time he doesn’t waste any time and pushes me against the door as soon as he closes it kissing my lips passionately as if he had been waiting forever to do that. I can’t help but moan against his lips as I feel a fierceness in his kisses I haven’t felt before. His hands circle my waist and raise my satin dress against my flanks and it feels funny between my legs. 

“I have been thinking about this since you left last time.” He confesses between kisses. 

I just softly gasp as my form of agreement. I hope he understands. How can I be this attracted to a man I barely know? But I understand all his fans now, I understand why he gets all that much attention, he really is magnetic and God he smells so good and his skin is so soft. I’m going crazy for him. I press my hips against his and feel him smile against my mouth. 

“You know, for someone who didn’t want this to happen again, you seem to be enjoying it.” He smirks. 

I’m about to attack him with a come back when he starts kissing my neck. His tongue lick a single stripe on the skin right below my ear and the air in my lungs... gone. 

“Oh, shut up” I tangle my fingers on his hair and he presses his hips against mine this time, letting my feel how hard he is already “and take me to your bed.” 

He growls against my neck, pressing his body against mine and pushing me further against the door. I’m so turned out I think I might burts into flames. I haven’t had sex in forever but somehow I’m not even nervous, the only thing I can think about is him coming in and out of me. 

“Are you sure?” He whispers. 

“Please.” 

He keeps kissing me as he makes me walk backwards towards the stairs and then he laughs when I trip on the first step. 

“Yeah” he laughs “maybe it’s better” he keeps interrupting himself by kissing my lips- not that I’m complaining- “if we just climb the stairs like normal people.” 

“What?” I tease him, tangling my fingers on his hair again so I can have control of the kiss “You don’t think you can make it like they do in the movies?” 

He smiles against my lips and I take advantage of that to kiss his neck. He throws his head back to grant me more access and I smile at the way he seems to be melting down on my hands. He chuckles but he sounds so turned on it only edges me on. I feel his hands grabbing my bum and I moan against his skin, pushing my hips against his desperately. 

“Rise your dress up your legs.” He half orders and my knees shake. 

I help him rise my dress up my legs like he said so now it’s a mess around my waist and then I feel his big hands against the bare skin of the back of my thighs pulling me up so that my legs wrap around his waist. He smiles at me before his lips are on mine and then he makes his way up the stairs not stopping until he’s pushing me on his bed, lying on top of me and kissing me passionately. 

“I love to feel you smile when I kiss you.” He whispers. “It means you want me too.” 

I don’t fail to get the meaning of his words so I pull away from his mouth and cup his face with my hands making him look at me. 

“Of course I want you too.” I confess. “The only reason I didn’t want this to happen again was because I don’t want to get hurt.” Now I don’t know why I just said that. 

I see his green eyes looking into both of mine and I know a hundred thoughts are running through his mind. I probably did scare him away with the thought of a future thing. I want to flinch but instead I hold his gaze and caress his cheek. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispers. 

I nod, pretending I believe him, even though somehow, I actually kind of do. 

“I wasn’t planning on telling you anything tonight after you ignored me” he smiles timidly “but I got mad the second I saw you tonight because fuck me you look so fucking sexy... And I thought I wasn’t going to have you.” 

I smile and caress the skin on the back of his neck as I enjoy the intensity of his stare on me. He caress my bottom lip with his index finger. 

“It also made me mad to think that you hadn’t thought about me like I had thought about you.” He confesses. “And... then when I saw you with Noah... I want to murder the guy.” 

I laugh, kissing the tip of his nose before I press a peck to his lips. I don’t know what this is. All these confessions on his bed, even before we’ve had sex, but I feel like I should tell him some secret too. 

“I haven’t gotten you out of my head since the other night either.” I whisper. 

He smiles, like that was all he needs before he leans over me and captures my lips with his again. He kisses me slower this time, more calmly, as if he was taking his time and I let myself enjoy the way his hands move againts my skin. He presses slow kisses down my neck and I let him explore my chest as he kisses my sternum, slowly pulling the strap down my shoulder with his fingers so my chest is more exposed to him. I know he can feel my erratic heartbeat but I don’t even mind he knows. 

He looks up at me and smiles mischievously and I know he’s asking for my permission to take his expedition along my body lower so I smile, granting him access. With one hand around my waist, the other grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it up until my belly is exposed. The hand that held my waist moves and caresses the strip of skin in contact with my hazel colour lace underwear and my skin burns from his touch. Once again he grabs the hem of my dress with one hand, the other lifting my back by my waist and he takes it off, delicately dropping it next to his bed as he stares into my eyes, after gaining control over his again after they dropped to bra covered chest. 

“You are so beautiful.” He whispers. 

“Leave the bra on.” 

I am panicking too hard to even take his compliment. The last thing I need is for him to breastfeed himself accidentally. I almost want to cry from embarrassment and he doesn’t even know milk can come out of my breasts yet. I don’t think I want to tell him. He frowns and I can tell I’m panicking because of the concer on his face. He presses his lips against mine and kisses me very slowly until I feel the tension leaving my body. 

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t question it and I just want to scream how grateful I am for that but then 

“Oh.” I moan. 

He just presses his hardness between my thighs and only then I realize my legs are spread wide opened granting perfect access for him to do that and shut me up just like that. He’s so hard and hot and I know I’m so wet and ready for him. He’s stopped kissing me and instead he just stares at me as he pushes his hardness against my clothed centre again and I just bite my bottom lip, my eyes almost rolling to the back of my head, but I don’t want to miss the way he’s enjoying the realization of his effect on me. He keeps doing that, gently but firmly rocking his hips against me while he intently stares at me and I keep whimpering and sinking my head against his pillow until he takes that as an invitation to kiss my neck. 

“Fuck” he whispers in my ear “I’m so hard for you.” 

“I want you.”

It’s like my sex has taken control over me for those words leave my mouth without my consent but I know I’ve said them because of the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are still fixated on mine as his hand glide up my thigh until it’s on my knee and gently pushes it to my armpit so that I’m impossibly more opened for him and then that same hand starts caressing the inner side of my tight before he cups my crotch with his hand and his fingers move against my entrance. His lips are brushing mine as he speaks. 

“Can I take these off?” 

I know he’s asking because of the bra thing but still his question makes my walls clench and I think he can tell considering where his hand is. I nod and kiss him again as my hands pull him closer to him. Goosebumps form in every part of skin he touches and I didn’t know it was going to feel so good to get rid of my underwear until he did. He careses his way back along my thighs and then squeezes my bum and has me like a moaning mess on his mouth. 

I am trying to decide whether I want to fight my heavy lids and keep my eyes opened to see his every move or whether I should just go with what comes natural and let them shut and just feel him all over me. I feel his weight on top of me before he presses his hard on against my naked sex and only then I realize he’s still wearing his suit pants. Before I can even organize my thoughts, my hands go straight to work and I find myself expertly unbuttoning his trousers as if I had done it many times before. I’m glad he isn’t wearing a belt for it would have been another barrier to have him like I want. He pushes his trousers down his legs as he hungrily kisses me and I can feel his breath erratic inside my mouth. 

I cup his face and kiss him with an affection I didn’t know I had for him and it scares the hell out of me to think he might leave tomorrow or worse, that he could stay for long enough for me to fall in love and then eventually go- not to mention how fast he’d run if he knew I have a son. But I don’t have to think about that now. I have him, naked, on top of me. 

“Harry” I exhale. 

“Can I have you now?” 

I only have to look at him for my body to scream at him that he can have me however he wants. I can’t barely see any green left in his eyes as his pupils have dilated and he stares at me like a hunter and I can’t help but wish he would devour me. But the moment I feel his hardness pressed against my entrance, I tense like a block of ice and I know he can tell because he abruptly stops his movements on top of me. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He whispers. 

I am blushing hard and I feel the heat coming up my neck towards my cheeks. I want to look away from him. I’ve never been more embarrased in my life. But he cups my cheek and presses a sweet kiss against my lips. 

“I don’t mind, Jamie.” 

But he’s naked and so am I and I’m dying for him. It’s just...

“I haven’t had sex in fifteen months.” 

My chest is going up and down as he tries to manage his surprise but his eyes betray him as they open wide. His lips are parted before he licks them and pulls my hair away from my forehead. 

“That’s okay.” He reassures me. “There’s no rush” he smiles “and we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

“But I... I do want to. I want you.” I reassure him and he nods, smiling. “I’m just afraid it’s going to hurt.” I confess. 

He smiles at me before he presses our mouths together again and my tongue is moving against him as if trying to let him know all those things I haven’t told him. That I have a child, that I’m afraid I’m not going to be what he expect, that I’m afraid giving birth has changed me forever. But also that despite having a child, I don’t have much experience anyway, that I only had one boyfriend before, that we didn’t experiment much but then his kisses start travelling down my body and I feel him leaving soft but sensual kisses against my sternum and between the valley of my breasts and right at the pit of my stomach. I feel hot pufs of air against my soaked, swollen sex and when I look down at him, our eyes meet and I know what his mouth is hovering and I feel my heart beating on my throat. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” 

He holds my thighs and pulls them over his shoulders and I feel incredibly exposed to him which makes me so nervous I involuntarily try to close my legs. Harry looks up at me. 

“What are you doing?” He smiles and then I see realization hits him. “Wait, you’ve never been eaten before?” 

I know the skin of my face has gotten redder than a poppy and I must look horrified because he chuckles at my reaction.

“Eaten?” I shudder at his filthy moath. “I... No, no one’s ever done that.” 

“Why?” He asks. 

I rub my forehead and swallow my own saliva. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It might be the refusal of how much I actually want this. I hope he can tell by the way I’m looking at him because if I actually have to say it I might start crying. I didn’t know this was so embarrassing, but he’s still face to face with my love door. 

“Sorry, I just assumed” he apologies “because you’re so sexy and... Confident and... I don’t know, but I kind of like no one has been lucky enough before.” He smiles like the devil. “Can I be the first?” 

I know he understands by the way he grins at me but I nod anyway, wanting to make the consent explicit, and then I shut my eyes and throw my head back, too embarrassed to look at how he’s going to steal my innocence with his mouth. My mouth agapes and I let out a suffocated moan when his tongue grazes my lips.  

I don’t know what’s going on, but the more he moves his tongue against my skin the more I feel like I’m not even touching the bed. I feel like a intruder in my own body, like I have lost all control over all my emotions. Like I didn’t even know myself. For the next minutes I feel as I don’t own myself but rather Harry does and I feel my mind getting further and further away as his tongue dances around persuasively, every now and then sucking at my clit or delicately licking it to bring some calm back to my fluttering chest. 

I can feel Harry smiling against me every now and then and I reward his amazing performance with loud moans. He’s moaning too even though I would never imagine this would be pleasurable for him as well but every time he moans I feel the vibration against my clit and I just can’t take it anymore. I pull from his hair as I cum and surprise myself with that because I hadn’t even noticed I had tangled my fingers on his hair. 

When I come back from my high, his face is inches apart from mine and his body is once again over mine. He’s grinning at me, getting the shinning away from the corner of his mouth with his fingers. I’m still struggling to breath when I talk. 

“That didn’t hurt, did it?” He grins like a naughty child and despite how embarrassing that still was, I find myself laughing out loud. “I love making you laugh.” 

I smile at him. What I’m about to tell him makes me shy.

“That felt incredible.” 

He grins proudly before he nods, taking the compliment. He presses his lips against mine in a sweet peck but I’m curious so I let my tongue out, licking his bottom lip, and he smiles at the realization of my petition, opening his mouth for me. I lick his tongue, tasting myself on it, and the salty taste and the thought that it was me who gave that to him makes me moan. 

“I can’t believe no one has ever tasted you.” 

I smile. It’s funny to me how he says no one, as if there had been many before him. 

“I haven’t been with that many guys.” I confess. 

“Haven’t you?” 

I shake my head. I hope he helps him understad why I ran away from him and ignored him and pushed him away and all the other stupid things I did before this. 

“I am not... Very experienced. I hope you don’t think I’m weird.” I caress his cheek. 

He presses a sweet kiss against my lips. 

“I don’t. I actually love the idea of being the first one to eat your pussy.”

“Harry!” 

My face reddens completely as I swat his chest playfully and he laughs out loud. He loves to embarrass me. He kisses my lips as soon as he manages to stop laughing and I enjoy the fact that he likes kisses this much. I’m a big fan of kisses myself.

“You’re such a good kisser.” He whispers against my lips. 

He’s the one saying that? I love kissing him and I have to recognize it’s not only for the way he responds to it, but also because... Well, because it’s him. 

[infinitywithyou]

In times that he cried

Inspired by those five times + 1 time fics, featuring our many, many Seblaine verses through the years both here and on discord.  Title from Seasons of Love from the musical Rent, which seems appropriate to measure the many seasons of love of this particular couple of ours.  And your birthday.  Although you usually write Sebastian, I’ve written these from his POV to show that you have always managed to write him with a heart.  Especially when Blaine is involved.  You, and he, are loved.

@problmatics​

1.  The thing about making the move towards something you want is that when you get it, when you find yourself with everything you thought you always wanted, it can be... overwhelming.  It isn’t just a single moment.  It’s an ongoing thing.  And that is a lot harder.  Pulling off a romantic, secret admirer type of mistletoe first kiss had been easy compared to the undaunting task of what comes next.  And although he was loathe to admit it, it wasn’t something he’d been prepared for.  Sebastian wasn’t proud of what he’d done, the way he’d ghosted Blaine for a majority of the rest of the school year, and then promptly disappeared to Paris like usual.

Paris of course, always made everything better; clearer.  Strolling the streets, coffee in hand, head filled with snippets of voices speaking his first language as he peered into shop windows, until his eyes came across something that was so unbelievably Blaine Anderson, that it knocked the wind, the breath, right from his lungs.  And maybe that was how Sebastian knew, deep down, in that place he often ignored, that this was worth taking a chance on.  He went in and bought the bow tie and had it gift wrapped in the store.  

He had a plan returning from Paris.  Or, an idea, at the very least.  And was determined to see it through.  But life... moves on.  It kept going, even when he was not there.  So all Sebastian could do is realize missed moments and opportunities.  Find a quiet, private spot, and let the disappointment and sadness wash over him.   Not that he'd ever admit to that; no, because no boy had ever gotten to him like this.  Not even Blaine Anderson.  But sometimes, sometimes, life, and Blaine, will give him a second chance.   (300 words)

2. As Sebastian stood there, dressed in a black tux, with light silver accents, he reflected in how he’d gotten here.  15 years; sometimes it felt like a life time, other times it felt like he’d blinked and it had all disappeared.  He would never have thought it would take him this long to get his life, and shit together.  It was truly as testament to Blaine’s love and loyalty, that the other was still there beside him; or would be, when he and Cooper arrived.  Blaine had waited ten years for an engagement; Sebastian had never intended to make him wait another five for the wedding.  

But things kept coming up, time seemed to slip through his fingers like quicksand.  Blaine deserved perfect;  tonight it was simple, basic, but classic, and romantic.  Black and white, with silver and gold accents for the New Year.  The silver, highlighting the grey sprinkled in Sebastian's hair the last couple of years.  Most days he couldn’t be bothered to do much about except hide it under a ball cap or a beanie. Thankfully it wasn’t yet showing in his facial hair.  Tonight he was clean shaven, and the grey in his hair coiffed stylishly.  The gold, of course was for Blaine’s eyes, and the warmth, and comfort, Sebastian had always found there.  

Because they'd waited long enough, and Sebastian wasn't starting another year without Blaine as his husband.  Plus if the date meant that many of their guests had other plans; it didn't bother him or his anxiety any.  When Cooper arrived with Blaine, who looked shocked, but relieved, Sebastian felt the sting of hot tears in the corners of his eyes.  Feelings, real feelings, breaking through the fog he often found himself surrounded by.  Because of Blaine.  It was always because of Blaine.  (300 words)

3. Sebastian laid propped on his side, still a little tender, watching as Blaine slept soundly beside him.  Pink still tinged his cheeks, sweat still had his hair slick at his hairline and even in his sleep his lips curled in a small smile.  Even asleep, he was beautiful to Sebastian.  It had been a long couple of days; a week, ten days?  He'd lost count as to when things had started to fall apart.  Blaine no doubt needed the sleep, if his own restless was any indication of how his ex boyfriend felt in the days since their break up.  

Sebastian would never had imagined that he would be the one to break up with Blaine, but he had, and had in a way, destroyed the younger man beside him.  Until Blaine had managed to see him, to see the truth behind what Sebastian was doing, and challenged him, appropriately.  Which was how they had ended up here, in a hotel room, broken up, but having just made love, the first time for Blaine.  It was fucked up, but that was his way Sebastian realized, eyes dampening because he'd done this to Blaine. The only saving grace was that Sebastian had convinced Blaine to top so at least the other would still have the opportunity to experience that first the proper way.  

Eyelashes fluttered but eyes didn't open, as a soft gravely voice murmured.  "Stop staring, why aren't you sleeping?" Blaine asked.  

"I don't know what you're talking about.  I am not staring, I was sleeping," Sebastian lied, a smile on his lips as he pulled Blaine closer.  "How are you feeling sunshine?  Are you okay?" he asked, pressing a kiss to Blaine's temple.  

Blaine's eyes fluttered open, finding Sebastian's.  "I'm good, really good.  I promise.  How are you 'Bas?"   (300 words)

4. Sebastian knew that it did cross a line.  Sending a porn link to his...crush... who happened to be in a relationship with someone else.  Even if he felt that there was no way Blaine was being properly satisfied in his current relationship.  And so what if the actors in the porn had similarities to them?  It was purely a coincidence.  He and Blaine had always been able to talk about anything, so why should taking about sex, and what they liked, be off limits just because Blaine was in a relationship?  Why was it wrong to picture his friend jerking off while watching said porn?  Or to watch it, imagining it was the two of them, while he got off.  

What really got to Sebastian though, was the way Blaine couldn't see just how wrong this relationship was for him.  That he could really see Sebastian, but not see what Sebastian could, would, offer him.  It was frustrating.  Listening to Blaine talk about Kurt, both good and bad, was becoming harder and harder for Sebastian.  So many times he just wanted to blurt out what he really thought, how he really felt, but he couldn't.  Because the thing was, as much as he valued his friendship with the golden eyed boy, friendship wasn't what he really wanted with Blaine.  It would never be the only thing he wanted.  But he was Sebastian Smythe and he didn't do broken hearted.  He wouldn't let a boy break his heart.  Especially not a boy that didn't even realize he had it, or wanted it, to begin with.  

It wasn't crossing a line Sebastian thought, gripping himself tightly and stroking slowly, to imagine Blaine's perfect ass, tight around him.  When he climaxed, hot tears fell while he spilled over his hand with a sob. (300 words)

5.  Sebastian stared down at his phone and the last message from the boy, man, he called Wolfie.  Blaine was going.  He and Quinn were going to lay out a map, throw a dart, and they were leaving town together.  Blaine was leaving without him, without even talking to him or saying good bye.  After everything that had happened between them, after everything that almost happened, after what could happen, Blaine was leaving.  Blaine was leaving and Sebastian was.... heartbroken.  

He paced around his room nervously, little things here and there catching his eye and reminding him of the tattooed, curly haired, leather jacket wearing loner that somehow saw him better than the people he'd known his whole life.  Who would see him now, who would noticed when he was barely floating, or worse, drowning.  Sebastian pulled a small bag out of his closet and began tossing those items into it.  He had to find them.  He had to talk to Blaine, face to face before he and the blonde left town.  This wasn't how it was supposed to end.  

"Where are you," Sebastian texted back.  "You can't just leave like this.  You can't just leave and not say good bye to me.  I thought..."  he didn't finish the text but sent it anyway.  Hot tears stung at his eyes.  "Regardless of what I thought, you're a coward if you leave like this and I know you're not a coward Blaine Anderson.  Wolves aren't cowards."  He picked up his jacket, pocketing his phone and slung the bag over his shoulder, turning for the door when he heard a knock.  A knock on the window.  Sebastian turned around, spotting a familiar figure on the other side of the glass.  He went to the window and opened it.  

"What are you doing here?"   (300 words)

+1. Good bye's were hard.  Especially when they involved someone you loved.  But that was why hellos meant so much more.  Even though he and Blaine had fought their families, Sebastian knew being in New York, at Columbia was where he was supposed to be, even while Blaine was still in Texas.  Still the prospect of a visit from his boyfriend was welcomed.  He understood why Blaine didn't want him at the airport, but now he stood in his apartment in New York City, pacing past the windows, waiting for lights signaling a car coming in.  They had five whole days together, and then in about two weeks Sebastian would be back in Texas for Thanksgiving for about the same amount of time, and then they'd have almost a month at Christmas.  It wasn't the same as seeing his boyfriend every day, but it was better than nothing.  And it was just for a year.  By the end of August, if not earlier, Blaine would join him in New York, and they'd be back together full time.  Sebastian couldn't wait.  

Lights lit up the street downstairs as the car slowed to a stop in front of his building.  Sebastian grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs, opening the door just as Blaine stepped onto the sidewalk with his bags.  "Killer," he breathed, arms immediately wrapping Blaine up in his arms, before their lips met.  He expected tears, one's he couldn't stop from streaming down his face.  The kind of ugly cry that he sometimes teased his boyfriend about during the more romantic movies Blaine sometimes picked, but instead all he could do was beam a wide smile at him instead.   So much so that his cheeks already hurt.  "You're a sight for these sore eyes.  I'm so glad you're here." (300 words)

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Beautiful & Damned (5/7)

Female Reader x Young!Remus Lupin | Female Reader x Young!Sirius Black

Chapter 5: Marauders to the Rescue

A/N: I love Sirius Orion Black so goddamn much. I just re-read what I wrote (adding stuff here and there) and that’s when the thought hit me. I want one in my life, why can’t I have one?... 

Jokes aside, I appreciate your likes and your asks to be in this story’s taglist so much! Thank you for indulging in my story and supporting my humble vision of what Marauders are like.  I hope you enjoy!

New to the series? - Accio Chapter 1: The Golden Couple - Accio Chapter 2: No, Definitely - Accio Chapter 3: Misread - Accio Chapter 4: Bravado Falls

Fear was bringing out the worst in him, Remus knew as much. How did he even secure a place in the Gryffindor house, for Godric’s sake? Where was that much-vaunted bravery he was supposed to be the poster boy for? 

The entire situation had clearly blown out of proportion. Because of how afraid he was to face pity and rejection, he was losing the people that cared for him, loved him despite of his furry little problem. He acted like a hormonal teenager (which he still kind of was, he tried to justify himself) and like a hands-down, the most disgusting twisted little git last night in the Common Room. This needed to stop, before he lost everything he had under the sun. 

Easier said than done: pacing back and forth in his favorite spot in the library, Remus was getting ready to show some serious Gryffindor balls and come clean before his friends, hoping that they’d take him back in spite of all the shit he’d done and said. 

Working up the courage to go talk to you, however, was another ballgame entirely, and he was still terrified he was going to strike out.

“You are going to tread a hole through those floors if you keep this up,” a poignant comment made Remus stop in his tracks. Looking up, he saw Sirius leaning against one of the bookshelves, hands crossed on his chest. 

“Sirius…” he started, not really knowing what to say. He needed more time. “I’m…”

“Sorry?” Padfoot cut in pitilessly, “I, too, am sorry, Moony, but I’m afraid that this kind of apology simply won’t cut it for me”. 

“Okay, chill out, Pads”, it’s only now that Remus noticed Prongs standing on the other side of the corridor in between the bookshelves. He approached Sirius and slung an arm over his. shoulder. Potter’s smile reassured Remus, giving him a much needed glimmer of hope that not all was lost. “Let’s get to the bottom of this crappy situation we have at hand, shall we?”

Peter, barely noticeable two minutes ago behind James’ broad frame, shook his head energetically. 

“I really miss you, Remus,” he added in a small voice. “We all do,” he gave Sirius a chastising look, but Padfoot chose to ignore it. 

Remus held their gazes for a moment, and finally spoke:

“I was an idiot,” he stated simply. “And I am very, very sorry”. 

Both James and Peter were already smiling at him; Sirius, however, wasn’t as quick to forgive and forget. 

“I want to know what exactly you are sorry for, Moony,” the latter claimed, his stubbornness unwavering. “To make sure that we are all on the same page”. 

Moony sighed, backing down and leaning on one of the wide window sills of the library hall. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been distancing myself from you and avoiding you,” instinctively, Remus crossed his hands on his chest, sort of mirroring Sirius’ pose. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you what was wrong instead of letting my shit get the best of me. I acted like a twat”, Remus admitted, looking his friends straight in the eyes. “Won’t happen again.”

“Sounds good to me,” James was impatient to be able to talk to one of his best friends again like always. Still smiling, Potter opened his arms to welcome Remus back.

“Not so fast,” Moony could swear Padfoot sounded so much like his brother Regulus right now. Or someone worse. “Is that all? Nothing you want to add?”

Remus looked at his friend questioningly, trying to spot some kind of a hint in his stare. Sirius all but rolled his eyes at the young werewolf. 

“Not to sound like a broken record, but come on, Moony, don’t play stupid,” Padfoot’s expression remained serious. “You’re smarter than that”. 

Remus bit the inside of his cheek - the habit he seemed to have picked up not so long ago. 

“Fine!” he let out in exasperated fashion, not breaking the eye contact with Sirius. “It’s true. I’ve learned to hate you, Sirius. I wanted to chop your head off this entire time and give it to blasted Pixies to kick around! I also wanted to feed you to a dragon, or hex you, an innumerable amount of times might I add, especially when…”

“Especially when you saw me with Y/N”, Padfoot finished for him before throwing his head back and laughing heartily. “Moony, I can’t believe how daft you’ve been this entire time. Real slow on the uptake.”

Remus gave him a confused look, truly not comprehending the meaning behind his words. 

“We don’t care that you’re a werewolf, I thought we made it clear when we learned the truth,” Sirius continued. James nodded at his words, followed by Peter. “We love you like a brother, and we will always be here to call you on your bullshit, which is exactly what we are doing right now. You need to put your insecurities behind you. Your furry side is what makes you - you, and we love you as you are. I just want to make one more thing clear,” he narrowed his thunderous eyes at the werewolf. “I’d better not see Y/N ever again in all sorts of states because of what you thought she did, and why you thought she did it. You are my brother and best friend, Moony, but Y/N is my best girl. I care about her, because she’s as much a part of the family I’m building for myself as you are. She is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and she deserves the world. So do you,” Sirius paused for a moment, as if thinking twice about what he was going to say next. “I’ll proper kick your ass if you fuck this up, Moony, I swear,” Padfoot clenched both of his hands into fists for a millisecond - enough time for the Marauders to notice. Sirius chomped down on his bottom lip, studying Moony scrupulously, hoping that the warning didn’t fall on deaf ears. 

Realization was slowly dawning on Remus. One emotion crept into his features after another, like objects on a slowly developing Polaroid picture. 

The fact that Padfoot loved you wasn’t what startled him - just like many other Hogwarts’ students, he heard the stories, exceedingly detailed, too. 90 percent of them were lies, of course, but Remus had seen the way Pads looked at you, the way he was with you. So no, he wasn’t at all astonished to learn that Sirius Black, Hogwarts’ most notorious bad boy and ladykiller and his best friend, held you very dear. 

What caught him completely off his balance, knocking the air out of his lungs, however, was the feeling that the fierceness with which Sirius loved you wasn’t quite reciprocal. When Remus looked at Sirius now he saw an aura of vulnerability, hiding behind the whole protective best friend facade. For what it was worth, Moony truly believed that Padfoot wanted more than forehead kisses, but you didn’t seem to oblige. 

Could it be?…

Sirius, with his vivid personality, all his swagger and all his bold handsomeness… You must have been insane not to want him back!…

This couldn’t be true. Magnificent wizards like Sirius and you were genetically programmed to meet, have beautiful babies and make the world a delightful place! He couldn’t dare to think otherwise, it was so obvious, common fucking sense!

Is it though? - small, smirking voice hemmed in his head. Remus forced himself to think back to the good old days, recalling your image in his mind. The way you’d smile at him as you’d always get out of your way to seat next to him and to steal his food. The way you’d always wonder if he was going to be at that particular Hogsmeade outing, this party, or that Quidditch game. The way you’d laugh at his stupid puns that weren’t even all that funny, brushing you delicate fingers through his messy mane of hair… The way you tried so hard to tell him something after you two kissed, begging for him to listen!

“Bloody boggart!”, Remus groaned, facepalming at himself. That’s right, he thought, Lupin, your whole circus of a life is a bloody facepalm sequence. “I really am a fucking coward!…I need to see her.”

Remus jumped up on his feet, a determined, wolfish kind of fire burning in his irises, licking his pupils. Two more seconds and he’d be out of the library, when James caught him by the wrist, grinning wide. 

“Wait up a sec, Moony,” he said, his bright eyes shimmering. “You know what happens now,” Potter’s smile slowly transformed into a smirk as he threw his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs: 

“Group hug!...”

“Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, crushing his tiny frame into Remus’ side so unexpectedly hard, he knocked all the air from his lungs. James chuckled before caging Remus in a bone-crushing embrace, making Moony groan in pain. Sirius was the last one to join the gathering, and being a huge pain the ass that he was, he made sure to squeeze as tight as he could. 

“Mr. Potter!…” Madame Pince appeared in the corridor like a cackling hen, her bonnet sliding on her eyes from running. “Mr. Black, Mr. Pettigrew!… Mr. Lupin!” a pang of honest-to-Merlin disappointment was ringing in her voice. “I feel like I need to remind you that this is a library, a sacred sanctum of knowledge and enlightenment! Silence and concentration are primordial as you enter these walls! Should you want to display public affection in such a brutish way, or any sort of boorish behaviour, I shall need to escort you four to the exit!”

“No need, Madame Pince”, Remus said politely, but impatiently. “We were about to leave anyway”, he added before exchanging a knowing glance with the Marauders and speeding out of the sacred sanctum as fast as his feet would take him. 

“Use protection!” was the last of boorish behaviour Remus had seen from James before shutting the door behind him with a deafening clutter.

“Mr. Potter!!!…”

To be continued...

My Beautiful Taglist (please, hit me up should you want to be tagged or untagged): @yuukiahim, @xapham, @spunkypatterns,  @jackie-houston, @justducky0423, @zakthedrak, @marauder–harder, @davros2004, @firefurr, @heyjess-marie, @kapolisradomthoughts

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 3

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,385 for this chapter (12,653 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan has been dreading the seemingly-inevitable call from his family, now that filmed interviews are being uploaded and live interviews are starting in the next few days, so he’s almost disappointed when it never comes.

Surely his parents know he’s in London. There’s promotion for his show on a couple different channels they watch, and his dad has always been fairly good at keeping up with entertainment news. Adrian follows him on Instagram, but - and Dan isn’t proud of this - he can’t remember if Adrian still lives in Wokingham or not. He can’t even remember how old Adrian is without doing the math.

So maybe they haven’t been keeping up with Netflix shit, maybe Adrian isn’t home to tell their parents that he’s in town, but surely, surely some well-meaning friend of the family will say something? That’s always been the case when he comes to town.

After almost a whole week, though, Dan cracks. He calls his mum. It goes to voicemail.

That makes him panic a little, but she texts him an, at work … call you when I’m home x. So, questionable ellipses usage aside, Dan is comfortably reassured that his entire family isn’t dead.

Dan busies himself with catching up on the Heatwave cast interviews he hasn’t watched yet. Patrick doesn’t like to watch them and Jaime couldn’t give a shit one way or the other, but Dan is unable to allow a video of him to exist without knowing exactly what it contains. That’s a control thing, mostly, but he also doesn’t want to be blindsided by a new Daniel Interview Meme that he doesn’t understand.

He types his own name into the YouTube search bar and feels his heartrate pick up when he sees a thumbnail from BBC Radio One.

Thinking about Phil makes his heart race like he’s a teenager with a crush, and he presses play just so he can listen to Phil talk. He can barely remember what he said in the interview, so completely caught up in Phil’s eyes and grin as he’d been.

The interview itself is good. Nothing special, in terms of the actual things they talk about, but Dan can feel the difference in the way he speaks to Phil versus the way he’s spoken to anyone else - comfort. He had been so immediately comfortable with their back-and-forth, only awkward because he’d been trying so hard not to think about what Phil looked like under his nice clothes.

Dan wonders if anyone else can see the difference or if he only notices because he’s so attuned to his own body language, has the advantage of knowing the whole context.

He scrolls idly through the comments and feels heat rise to his face.

Yeah. People noticed.

Lots of comments are just about Dan or the show or the lack of Patrick or Jaime, but there’s more than a few that are about Dan and Phil’s apparent chemistry. Phil, being an out gay man with no partner and a fanbase, probably has to deal with these types of comments all the time, but it’s new for Dan.

Dan shakes his head to try and clear it. He doesn’t want to get stuck in YouTube comments and feel impotent irritation every time someone replies, ‘uh, Daniel Howell is straight’, like they know him. Like he’s ever said that.

He’s been photographed with women, because he’s casually dated them over the past decade, but he’s never said he’s straight. And it never works out with them anyway.

Dating girls is fine - they’re all softness and little sighs and hands that look so extremely small wrapped in his own - but he doesn’t think he can ever be with one for a significant amount of time. That thought is one he usually keeps locked in his mental box, but. He doesn’t shy away from it this time.

Even if he could admit it to himself proper, it’s easier for Dan to just not talk about it publicly. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously enough for it to be an issue in ten years. Nobody needs to know that every time he’s inside a woman he remembers why it never progresses past that.

It’s fine. It’s always fine. It’s just, if he’s completely honest with himself, 'fine’ isn’t what he wants to settle for.

“Moot point anyway,” Dan mumbles to himself, clicking over to Phil’s channel for a distraction. “Not like you’re gonna do anything about it, you big fucking coward.”

Phil has uploaded the video he told Dan about when Dan was busy trying not to stare at his mouth. It’s such a welcome distraction that Dan almost doesn’t clock the title and thumbnail for the buffoonery they are.

IS MY DOG PSYCHIC?

The title doesn’t change when Dan blinks. Neither does the image of Thor, edited to be wearing round glasses in front of a crystal ball.

“What,” Dan says, clicking on the video before any of it really sinks in.

“Hi guys,” says Phil. He already looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I know you read the title and you’re like, what, but I promise it is not clickbait! As I’m sure many of you know, my grandma had 'the gift’, and sometimes I think she passed it on to me. The question is, did I pass it on to my son?”

Phil pulls an over-exaggerated thoughtful expression and then breaks, giggling and shaking his head at himself.

“I know it’s stupid, but, I also figured it might be funny? I dunno, you tell me.”

It’s exactly as silly as Dan expects it to be. Phil sits on his floor with Thor while the dog 'reads’ his tarot cards. Dan can see why this video gave Phil a hard time in editing. There are a lot of close ups of Thor and the cards, filmed more like a comedy skit than a vlog.

He finds himself laughing along and getting way too invested in what the tarot cards mean, and he knows first hand how much work Phil put into this, so Dan clicks the share button before he can overthink it.

tbh watching amazingthorgi do anything could make a believer out of me, he tweets alongside the link.

Most of America is asleep still, but that doesn’t stop hundreds of people replying. Dan’s really got nothing better to do while he waits for his mum to call, so he settles in to respond to some of them. He makes a couple bad jokes, commiserates with some of them over not being able to have a dog yet, and ignores any mention of Phil.

Maybe that’s childish of him. He is sharing Phil’s work, after all. He sighs and replies to an innocuous question about how he knows Phil. met during this and then he let me meet his dog so now he’s not getting rid of me, Dan says with a link to the BBC Radio One interview.

His phone chirps with a Twitter notification and he taps it warily, still scrolling through replies on his laptop.

@AmazingPhil @danielhowell You saw his face now you’re a believer? He’ll tell your fortune anytime! It’s accompanied with dog and sparkle and crystal ball and, inexplicably, sock emojis.

Dan laughs, the sound of it almost surprising him. It’s impossible not to feel some kind of way when Phil is the way he is, so cheerful and dorky and fun.

He likes the tweet, but responds by messaging Phil - do you have me on notif or are you just always online - because he doesn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire that is Twitter stans. He can already imagine the argument threads about his sexuality that he usually tries so hard to avoid.

The thought of strangers picking apart something he’s not even comfortable with himself is abhorrent, makes him itch, and he puts on some older AmazingPhil videos to calm himself back down.

That depends

on?

Which one is lamer lmao

Phil’s voice filling the lonely hotel room and his words taking up space on Dan’s screen where something anxiety-inducing might have otherwise been is almost enough to make Dan as comfortable as Phil’s physical presence does.

Almost. It’s unreal how much Dan wants to reach through both of his screens to pull Phil closer.

Dan hides his smile in his hand, even though nobody is around to see it, and replies, tbh those are equally lame so you might as well go with the truth

I was on Twitter anyway. I really shouldn’t be, I’m supposed to be responding to emails. Phil keeps typing, then stops, then repeats that process a few times before he finally adds, I should go do that, but you can call or facetime me if you want to keep talking or whatever? It’s easier not to type/text while I’m doing emails lol

And, in a third message, a string of numbers. Phil’s phone number.

Well, that sounds better than using Phil’s videos as background noise. Dan shuts his laptop and gets out of bed to fuss with his hair.

“You’re such an idiot,” he tells his judgemental reflection. It, thankfully, does not respond.

Once he’s gotten his hair into some semblance of order - it’s mostly still straight from yesterday, but it got all sleep-mussed and a bit wavy in the front overnight - Dan tosses on a shirt and video calls the number Phil gave him.

Phil picks up with a big grin and sleepy eyes, and Dan almost hangs up on him to stop the heart palpitations in their tracks. “Hi!”

“Hey, you just wake up?” Dan asks, getting comfortable in the hotel room armchair. It feels weird to lie back down in bed while they’re chatting. Phil is at his desk, phone propped up so he can use both hands to type. His glasses are a little crooked and his shirt is too big on him, exposing his collarbones whenever he leans forward. Unfortunately, he looks like serious wank material right now.

“Yeah, had my first coffee already, though,” says Phil. “You would not like me before my coffee.”

“Barely like you now, mate,” Dan says to try and hide his blush at the idea of seeing Phil first thing in the morning. Phil just laughs. It’s tinny through Dan’s phone speaker, but it still makes Dan feel warm.

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who doesn’t like me,” says Phil.

“I’m only bored, don’t flatter yourself,” says Dan. “My mum’s supposed to call me in a few hours, so I’m just kind of waiting around til then.”

“Oh, yeah, you haven’t had the chance to go home yet, have you?” Phil’s tongue pokes out between his teeth as he concentrates on whatever he’s reading. “My mum would be going out of her gourd. When was the last time you went home?”

Dan doesn’t really like the way that Phil keeps calling it 'home.’ Wokingham hasn’t been home in a very long time.

He doesn’t want to get into that, though, so he just shrugs. “Uh, Christmas?”

“Dan,” Phil says, looking appalled. “It’s August.”

“I don’t live here,” says Dan. “And I’m busy. My family gets it.”

Phil hums, a little disapproving still. Dan has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t say anything scathing, reminding himself that some people actually like their parents.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t love them, because he does, it’s just. Complicated.

“Do you get to see your family often?” Dan asks, desperate to get the attention off of how shit a son he is.

“Not as often as I’d like,” says Phil. He sounds so genuinely sad about it, like he really would like nothing more than to go visit his parents every weekend. “My brother lives in town, so I see him a lot.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yeah, he’s -” Phil cuts himself off, then, and gives Dan an apologetic sort of look through his screen. “You don’t want to hear about my family.”

“I do,” Dan says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. He shifts in the armchair. It isn’t that comfortable. “Dude, I already know every song on your iTunes, what’s so weird about telling me stuff about your family? They clearly mean a lot to you.”

He has no idea how to interpret the expression on Phil’s face, but whatever it is shifts into a smile as he turns back to his computer. “Okay, his name’s Martyn, he’s older than me, we work together -”

This time, Dan cuts him off. “You do? I haven’t seen him on your channel.”

“He’s not really interested in being on camera. We actually run IRL Merch together, although honestly it’s mostly Martyn.”

Phil explains the business to Dan, who feels himself getting more and more awed by the amount of stuff Phil does on any given day. It isn’t just sitting in front of his camera and then in front of his computer for a handful of hours.

Granted, Dan never thought that being a YouTuber was easy, or everyone would do it, but Phil seems to add things onto his plate that he doesn’t really need to do.

Dan listens for a little while, changing positions in the armchair a few times before he gives up and flops back onto the bed.

“Phil,” he says, holding his phone high above his head and making a face at the angle. It’s fine, really, Phil has barely been glancing at him this whole time. Now that Dan has some kind of idea about the number of people Phil works with, he gets the hours of emails thing. “Do you ever take a break? Hang out with your friends?”

“What friends?” Phil jokes, but Dan senses there’s some truth behind it.

“Okay, first of all,” says Dan, “big mood.”

Phil’s laugh seems like it’s surprised out of him, and his eyes flick to his phone again. They linger on Dan for a long moment before turning away again. Although, to be fair, that may be lag from shitty hotel wifi. “Is it?”

“Yeah, man, like I’ve got any fucking friends. Second of all, you need to take some breaks or you’re going to burn the fuck out.”

“Trust me, I know,” says Phil.

“I know Thor already reminds you to take breaks,” says Dan. “But he can’t force you to. I can.”

“You’re gonna force me to take breaks?” Phil hums, his eyebrows raising. “How exactly are you going to manage that when you’re back in Atlanta?”

“I can be very annoying with nothing but an internet connection,” Dan promises. “You wanna see?”

“No, no, I believe you, and I need to get this done, please don’t.”

They both laugh, quiet, and Dan curls up on his side to just watch Phil work for a little while. Phil runs his fingers through his hair every so often and mouths along to whatever he types. Dan has no idea how one person can simultaneously be the hottest and the most adorable thing ever.

“I have a brother too,” Dan offers.

“Do you?” Phil asks, more surprised than Dan expects him to be. “That’s not on your Wikipedia.”

“He doesn’t like the attention,” says Dan. It’s a half-truth. Most of what he says about his family are half-truths. “But you’re not, like, a stan account or the media or whatever.”

“Technically, I am both,” Phil jokes. “I’ll keep it to myself, though, don’t worry.”

Dan isn’t worried. He trusts Phil not to go blabbing about him on the radio, even with something as small as Adrian’s existence.

It feels a little strange to trust someone so immediately, and part of Dan wants to pull back, put some distance between them, because the combination of trust and a deepening crush can only spell disaster. He’s not going to do that. He’s only got Phil nearby for another two weeks.

After they’ve finished their media circus in London, then Edinburgh, then Dublin, Dan is off to France with Patrick and Jaime. They’re only hitting a handful of international media press, but that’s more than they were asked to do last year. It’s exciting to be expanding this way, to have something to point to and say, 'I did that before I was 30’.

And when they’re done with the press tour, Dan… goes home. Back to Atlanta, where his apartment is being sublet during his summer travelling.

They don’t even know yet if Heatwave will get a fourth season. It’s a bit of an industry joke that Netflix shows rarely make it past the third. Dan doesn’t even want to consider how Atlanta will feel without a steady filming job down the street.

Probably not much like home. Nowhere feels all that much like home, if Dan’s honest.

“Hey, you still with me?”

Dan blinks away the doom and gloom of his uncertain future and refocuses on the conversation he’s supposed to be a part of. Phil is looking at him now, the sort of undivided attention that makes Dan’s cheeks burn.

“Yeah, sorry,” says Dan. “I’m still here. Have you made a dent in those emails?”

Not the most graceful change of subject, but Phil allows it with a small snort. “No, for I am Sisyphus, doomed to answer a dozen emails only for another dozen to arrive.”

“Maybe if you didn’t have, like, three jobs, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Dan points out. “I get maybe two important emails a day. It’s great.”

“Maybe,” says Phil. He’s still just looking at Dan, his chin resting on an open palm.

“What?” Dan asks, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

Phil smiles back, brighter. “Nothing.”

There’s a warmth in his face, visible even through the mediocre FaceTime quality, that makes Dan’s stomach twist all up in knots. He doesn’t know how to handle that at all. “My mum’s calling I gotta go bye,” he says in one breath, hanging up before Phil can even react.

While he waits for his heart to stop pounding, Dan stares at the hotel ceiling and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

–

Dan’s mum does call, eventually. He’s been fucking around on Guild Wars and cursing the wifi for god only knows how long, refusing to check his phone so he doesn’t have to be faced with another message - or the lack of one - from Phil. Dan finishes the raid and then calls his mum back.

“Daniel, hi,” she says, sounding frazzled in the way she always seems to.

“Hey, mum.” It feels weird, now that he’s got her on the phone, but he pushes past that discomfort. “I was just calling to let you know that I’m in London.”

The sound of a door slamming comes through before his mum says, “Well, yes, dear. I know that.”

She doesn’t sound upset with him. More than anything, she sounds confused. Like she doesn’t know why he’s even telling her this. Like it hasn’t even occurred to her to nag her son for a visit. Dan has to swallow past a lump in his throat, not sure why he wishes she was angry.

“Oh,” he says. Allows a long moment of quiet to pass, just in case she wants to explain herself. She doesn’t. “Well. Okay. Do you - are you busy weekend after next? I could come see you before we leave for the continent.”

“That’s quite short notice, dear,” his mum says, and Dan experiences a dizzying rush of relief and distress before she continues. “But I’m sure I can make some time for dinner.”

Dan exhales. Dinner. He can do dinner.

“That sounds good,” he says. Another half-truth. “I’ll text you?”

“Yes, yes,” his mum says, already sounding distracted. “Text me and we’ll make a proper plan. Work hard til then, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

The call ends almost as abruptly as his call with Phil, but Dan is okay with that.

im going to see my fam before i leave england jsyk, Dan texts to Phil. Phil sends him celebratory emojis in response. And maybe dinner with his family will be horrible, maybe it will be great, most likely it will be slightly uncomfortable, but at least he isn’t disappointing Phil on top of everyone else he’s let down.

[notfunnydean]

Be quiet

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Warnings: NSFW / Hurt!Dean / Jealous!Cas /Semi-public sex

Word Count: 4.748

Challenge: @destielfreshhits​

Topic: Quiet

Summary:  5 Times where Castiel needs Dean to be quiet and one time, where he really wants to hear what Dean has to say.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782674

1.

Castiel has a really bad feeling about this, he is almost sure that this hunt is a trap, and he still followed Dean into the cave. Dean isn’t even sure what they are hunting, but did that stop him before? No, of course not.

“I hope Sam is fine.” Dean mutters under his breath and Castiel feels the urge to roll his eyes at that. He only doesn’t do it, because it’s so dark, that Dean wouldn’t see it anyway and where would be the fun in that.

“He is fine.” Castiel says for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes and they are still wandering along this dark path. Castiel hates the dark, even though, thanks to his angel powers, he can still see everything.

Unlike Dean who just hit his head.

“Oh, son of a bitch!” Dean grumbles loudly and Castiel tries to hide his laugh, but apparently he doesn’t do it well enough, because Dean glares at him. Or more at the stone wall next to them, since he doesn’t seem to know where Castiel is standing.

“I could help.” Castiel says and Dean shakes his head. His hand still pressed against his forehead. Somehow Dean is still thinking he has to do everything alone, but Castiel uses a bit of his grace anyway.

The whole cave lights up in mellow blue light and this time Dean turns around to him, still glaring. Castiel just shrugs and smiles.

“Turn that off!” Dean says and he even bats at Castiel’s hand, where he is now holding up his glowing angel blade. Castiel shakes his head and then shoves Dean a bit forward, still gently so the hunter doesn’t fall.

“Seriously Cas I know you don’t have enough grace for this.” Dean says quietly and this time it doesn’t sound aggressive. It sounds worse. Full of shame and embarrassed, Castiel hates it. While Dean is right about Castiel’s grace, it’s not Dean’s fault it’s this weak.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Castiel says honestly and for a second Dean’s whole face softens. They both stare at each other and Castiel wishes he could touch Dean. Maybe even hold his hand.

We… should continue walking.” Dean says finally and Castiel chuckles, when he notices the blush on Dean’s cheeks. As always he decides not to point it out and they walk forwards together again.

“I wish I had my flashlight.” Dean says after a while, when the angel blade is still the only lighting source. Castiel doesn’t answer, just because he can actually see something. Castiel squints and he was right, there actually is another light.

“Dean.” Castiel says and when Dean finally shuts up, Castiel points at the yellow light on the end of the cave. Maybe somebody is really there. He grips his angel blade a bit tighter and the wish to get in front of Dean grows stronger, but he knows that Dean would never allow that.

“What?” Dean says a bit to loud and Castiel shakes his head. He concentrates on the other light and listens quietly. He can hear some voices, at least three people. Dean puts his finger on his lips and then goes slowly towards the light. Castiel huffs, as if he was the one who failed to be quiet.

“What do you think?” Dean asks, when the voices get louder and they are standing at a Crossroad. The light comes from their right side and Dean presses against the wall. Castiel ignores the hunter and tries to listen.

They are not speaking english.

“Angels.” Castiel mutters and his skin feels way to tight for a moment. After heaven fell, a few of the angels got way to angry and are plotting revenge against Castiel and the Winchester’s. These are out for blood.

“Fuck.” Dean says too loud again and the talking stops. Castiel is   with Dean in a second and presses him even more against the wall. It’s not that Castiel can’t kill three angels, no matter how much he hates it, but he needs the moment of surprise, because his grace is failing him more and more.

“Be quiet!” Castiel hisses and he presses his hand over Dean’s mouth. It’s not the first time he did this, but something changed for Castiel in the last years. When he once just wanted to shut Dean up, he can now feel Dean’s hot lips against the palm of his hand and… he loves it.

Dean’s green eyes are wide and Castiel gets lost in them again. That happens a lot these days and even though they are in danger, he can’t look away. Dean blinks, something changes in his eyes and Castiel looks down.

The angels are talking again, so maybe they are really lucky and they didn’t actually hear Dean. Castiel takes his hand away, but he is still pressed up against Dean and he enjoys that for a tiny second longer.

He never even realizes, that Dean did indeed shut up. For the rest of the hunt.

2.

“Come on, Baby.” Dean says and he is grinning. Castiel’s grip around his glass gets stronger and he fights the urge to smash it. Sam winces quietly, from where he sits opposite to Castiel. They are at just another bar and of course Dean is talking about girls.

“I don’t know.” She is saying, but the way she plays with her hair shows exactly that she knows. Castiel growls quietly, even though only Sam is there to witness it, since Dean is over there at the bar.

“I promise you the best night of your life.” Dean says and it sounds actually sweet, how he says it, even though Castiel would love to strangle him here. When he was still an angel he didn’t really know what feelings were, but when he watched humans fall in love, he always envied them.

Now he wants to laugh at himself.

“Okay, meet me in thirty minutes outside, my shift ends then.” She whispers so loudly, that Castiel hears it very clearly. He wonders if he should do something to her. Nothing bad, just a bit use of his grace and… no he would never do that. This is just the jealousy speaking.

Dean comes back to their table and he is grinning proudly. Sam rolls his eyes and then looks back to the newspaper he is reading, still searching for some other clues for their newest hunt. Castiel can’t concentrate on his newspaper at all, so he puts it away.

“So Sammy, I want you to keep Baby safe, because this guy will get another ride tonight.” Dean says and he seems really proud of that joke. Sam takes the keys without another word, while Castiel smashes his glass back onto the table.

“Just be careful.” Sam says and Dean nods happily. He really seems to be excited about that and Castiel growls quietly. Dean doesn’t seem to realize that, or maybe he ignores it.

“What do you think, Cas?” Dean asks and Castiel shakes his head.

“I think, that my company isn’t wanted here anymore.” Castiel announces and is already standing up. Dean’s eyes widen almost comically and Castiel ignores him, when he is getting out of the booth. Now Dean stands a bit helpless there.

“Cas?” He asks and his voice sounds so different, almost scared, and it’s just a whisper. Castiel doesn’t answer, he just moves past him and is out of the door in seconds. He hates to feel like this and he wishes someone would protect him from this.

Normally he would just fly away, but he is still weak and he knows now, that it’s actually not very good to just vanish in front of humans. They think it’s strange. Castiel huffs. Humans and their damn feelings are weird.

Castiel doesn’t really know where to go, so he just leans against the Impala and watches up to the sky. Bright stars blinking at him and Castiel trying to blink his tears away. He wipes his hand over his face.

“Cas!”

Castiel turns away from Dean when he stumbles out of the bar. Dean is already heavily drunk, after he spend all night to find a girl to take home. He is walking funnily, but Castiel wouldn’t catch him, if he falls.

He knows what an asshole he is, but Dean is stomping on his heart.

“What do you want? Don’t you have someone to wait for?” Castiel mutters and he is glad that Dean isn’t standing right in front of him. Instead Dean sits down on Baby’s hood, just where Castiel is standing.

“I… I don’t have to go home with her.” Dean says quietly and Castiel sees that he brought his bottle of beer with him. Dean is nervously playing with the label on the bottle. Castiel sighs.

“You can do whatever you want.” Castiel says. Dean told him that once and Castiel tried to live like that and in some parts of his life, he does it. But he is still a coward, too afraid to tell Dean about his feelings. Too shy to finally kiss him.

“I just want you to know…” Dean starts, but he drops the bottle and his voice is so heavy with the alcohol. Castiel shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear it, not like that. Not… not when Dean just says it, so Castiel would calm down.

“Be quiet.” Castiel just says and then he walks away from the Impala. He doesn’t even turn around to see how lost Dean looks. How Dean wipes some tears away as well. He just walks out into the night.

Hoping his broken heart would finally move on.

3.

It’s a few weeks later that Sam found them a new case with angels again and Castiel is still so angry. Dean doesn’t really leave his room anymore and Castiel is sure that he is always hiding some girl in it.

Not that he ever looked.

“Just saying. It could be some good angels.” Sam says, but Castiel is already shaking his head. Most of his brothers and sisters are lost or angry these times and he actually knows those two.

They are here to hurt people and they already did.

“The bodies here say something different.” Dean mutters and checks for the pulse of one of the men, that is laying on the ground. Castiel isn’t even sure why the angels are killing humans, but maybe they were hunters, too.

“I was just trying to lighten the mood.” Sam answers and then he opens the door to the living room. Before Dean can say anything else, one of the angels has Sam already at the neck. Sam grunts and Dean yells.

Castiel tries to remain calm.

“Brother, what do you want?” Castiel asks and he looks the angel in the eye. Sam seems to be afraid, but he is hiding it pretty well, considering he has an angel blade pressed against his neck. Even though maybe this is already a daily routine for the Winchesters.

“Just kill the ones who killed my whole family and took my home.” The angel says and Castiel nods. So it’s revenge, he can deal with that. The other angel doesn’t show his face and that is what makes Castiel worry a lot more.

“Asshat, leave my brother alone!” Dean says and he is so angry again. Castiel shoves Dean a bit back, standing in front of him and Dean actually lets him do it. Sam swallows and Castiel winces when he sees how the Angel blade digs into his throat.

“Why don’t you come and get him?” The angel says and before Castiel can react, Dean is really ducking under Castiel’s arms and runs towards his brother. To Dean’s luck the angel actually seems a bit surprised and loses the hold of Sam, who punches him into his stomach.

Castiel just stands there and watches, a bit overwhelmed when it happens. Just as Sam turns around and kills the angel with his own angel blade, the second angel shows up, just right behind Dean.

Castiel isn’t sure who is screaming, when the angel blade splits Dean’s back open. There is so much blood and Dean is falling to the ground. It almost feels as if it’s in slow motion, but at the same time it happens so fast.

“Dean!” Castiel finally moves and kills his brother with his angel blade. Not caring about him at all. The angel falls to the ground as well, Castiel even throws his angel blade on the body and then kneels next to Dean.

“C-Cas.” Dean says and his hands are already so red from the blood. Castiel doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t even see Sam kneeling next to Dean as well. Castiel isn’t sure if the last of his grace would be enough to save Dean.

“Dean, it’s gonna be okay.” Castiel says, but he is already choking on his tears. The wound is so big and apparently went right through Dean’s whole mid section. The blood gushes out so heavily.

“Y-yeah.” Dean says and he is smiling, but he is blinking so fast and maybe he has a concussion as well from his fall. Castiel puts both his hands against Dean’s cheek. He tries to concentrate.

“No… d-don’t.” Dean stutters out when he realizes what Castiel is doing. Sam is still not saying anything and Castiel looks into his favorite eyes. Dean looks back, still smiling and he even tries to wipe Castiel’s tears away. His movements sluggish.

“I have to Dean!” Castiel says, because there is no way he would let Dean die. No, he had lost him before and he would never want that feeling back.

“It’s the last of your g-grace.” Dean says and Castiel nods. He will be human if he uses the last bit, but he doesn’t care. He would do anything to save Dean. Sam takes Castiel’s hand and he looks so scared.

“I know.” Castiel says and he closes his eyes, so he can gather all of his grace where he needs it. His fingers are tingling and when Castiel opens his eyes again, he knows that they are glowing. It reflects so beautifully in Dean’s eyes.

“C-Cas I… need to…” Dean says, but Castiel shakes his head and puts his hand over Dean’s mouth, when he sees that he is actually choking on his own blood now. He has a feeling what Dean wants to say, but he… he doesn’t want to hear it in this situation.

“Be quiet.” Castiel whispers just as Dean’s eyes roll back into his head. Castiel screams when his grace leaves him, but he can see how the wound closes and how Dean’s eyelids flutter.

It has to be enough.

4.

“So get this. I found out that the witch has a sister and she is doing the same thing.” Sam says at breakfast and Dean looks up from the tower of pancakes his has on his plate. Castiel sits next to him, way closer than normally.

There are a few things that changed after Dean nearly died, but nobody talks about it.

Castiel’s stomach growls and Dean is smiling, when he puts a pancake on Castiel’s plate, who hastily digs into it. The second time being human, isn’t as bad as it was the first time around. He is in the bunker most of the time, or like now, in a crappy motel and safe with his family.

And Dean always cooks for him.

“I hate witches.” Dean mutters, while Sam and Castiel laugh. They finish their breakfast quickly after that and are on their way to next library, Sam still wanting to do some research.

Dean is whistling, when they walk up the stairs and his hand is touching Castiel’s with every second step. Castiel can’t help but grin at that. Dean was never really shy with any girls, but apparently, he is with Cas.

“Okay, you two wait here. I will get us the books we need.” Sam says and he is already gone. Castiel nods at that and then walks over to one of the tables. Dean follows him without another word and they both sit down at the big window.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks out of the window, watching the humans outside, almost running, because it started to rain. Castiel gets lost in all the colors of the umbrellas.

“Cas?” Dean asks after a while and Castiel’s gaze snaps back to him. The last umbrella he saw was almost the same green as his eyes.

“Yes?” Castiel asks back and he sees how nervously Dean fidgets on his seat. Castiel is worried for a second, but Dean is still smiling, so he better not be dying again.

“I just… wanted to thank you, for… saving my ass.” Dean says quietly and Castiel swallows. He doesn’t really want to talk about the day where he traded losing his grace for losing Dean, not that he regrets it, but it still hurts in more way than one.

“It’s a really pretty ass.” Castiel says and he winks badly at Dean. He doesn’t know where the confidence comes from, but he is glad he said it. Dean looks even more stunning, when a faint blush graces his face. Even the tips of his ears turn a dark red.

“Oh… uhm… well, I wanted to say something to you back then and…” Dean stutters, but the librarian hisses at Dean, because he is actually talking a bit loudly. Dean ducks his head and nods at himself.

“Tell me now.” Castiel whispers and Dean nods hastily again. He is still looking down at his hands, too embarrassed to look Castiel into the eyes. Castiel can feel himself sweating as well. Another thing he hates about being human.

But Dean is so worth it.

“I really… Cas, you are my best friend but…” Dean starts all over again and Castiel smiles to himself, because Dean is coughing and the librarian is glaring at him. Nobody else in the library is talking but Castiel wouldn’t care about them anyway.

“But?” Castiel asks, because he wants to help Dean a bit. He knows that Dean sometimes struggles with the right words, but Dean takes another deep breath and then finally looks up again.

“That is not enough for me.” Dean admits and Castiel’s heart beats so fast, that he is scared it would actually come out of his chest, to snuggle Dean Winchester itself. Instead Castiel just stares at Dean.

He really said that.

Dean fiddles with the hem of his shirt now and then he is already getting up. Castiel is still thinking about an answer, when Dean is standing next to him, already apologizing. Castiel hates how Dean’s face falls, but he is stunned.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, but you are so perfect and I… I have these feelings for so long and… I promise you this won’t change anything...” Dean is already stuttering and now it actually causes a scene. The librarian hushes him again and now she seems really angry.

Castiel just reaches for Dean’s hand and pulls him directly on his lap. Dean is so surprised he goes willingly and blinks up at Castiel, who is smiling.

“Dean?” Castiel says and he carefully strokes over Dean’s side. Dean relaxed a bit at that and he is starting to smile again. It’s such a shy smile, his under lip shaking a bit and Castiel really needs to kiss it.

“Yes?” Dean whispers and Castiel can’t look away from his mouth.

“Be quiet.” Castiel says and then he finally kisses Dean quiet. It actually turns out to be the best method to shut Dean up, because even when Sam comes back, he is still sitting on Castiel’s lap.

Sharing sweet kisses.

5.

It’s so warm.

“Fuck Cas!” Dean says and he sounds so wrecked. Castiel loves it, when Dean’s voice drops like this, so he sucks on Dean’s neck again and Dean moans quietly.

“You like that, baby?” Castiel asks and he can feel Dean nodding. He currently has his hunter pressed against the wall, only that this time he can actually rub up against him. Dean breathes heavily by now.

“Yes, please. More?” Dean asks and he is trying to get out of his pants. Castiel chuckles and helps Dean to open his pants. Castiel spent many years imagining sex with Dean Winchester, but he is still blown away every time. And yes pun intended.

It’s just that Dean is not only a bit shy sometimes, he loves a good fuck yes, but he also needs the gentleness, some real care, and he is clingy. Castiel is already addicted and he doesn’t plan to ever let Dean go again.

“I’ll give you more.” Castiel says and Dean gasps at that. Such a wonderful man. Castiel helps Dean out of his pants, the belt making a loud sound in the empty room and Castiel stops for a second.

They are at a police station, just another empty room, but Dean in his new suit looked so good, that Castiel couldn’t wait to get him out of it. He had already touched Dean under the table, while Dean tried to listen to the sheriff.

Castiel looks back down at the bulge in Dean’s boxer shorts and smirks. Dean shudders under his gaze, but he looks so trusting. Castiel will never get enough.

“You’ve been good, right? Baby?” Castiel says and like always, Dean reacts so beautifully when he calls him by a pet name. Castiel strokes over Dean’s bare chest. The shirt and jacket are long forgotten on the ground.

“So good.” Dean whispers and Castiel goes down to his knees. Dean moans again and Castiel smacks onto his thigh. Dean hisses at that, but he does moan a bit quieter. While Castiel loves the idea of getting caught, he doesn’t really want to experience it.

“I know.” Castiel whispers and then he mouths at Dean’s hot cock. Even though there is still some fabric that separates him from feeling Dean, it already feels so good. Castiel has his hands on Dean’s hips, since he knows his boyfriend wiggles a lot during sex. Always so eager to please Castiel.

“I wanna suck you, too.” Dean whines quietly and Castiel chuckles, not missing the way Dean shudders when he feels the laugh against his cock. He would save that information for later and actually rips the underwear off Dean.

Seems like someone has to leave the police building going commando. Castiel doesn’t care.

Instead he licks over Dean’s dick just once, before he is already taking him into his mouth. First just the tip, but it doesn’t take long before he takes him a bit deeper. Dean whines louder and Castiel squeezes his hip in a warning.

When Castiel looks up, he can see that Dean is actually biting down on his hand by now and he rewards Dean by swallowing him further. Normally Castiel loves how loud Dean can be during sex, but he needs him to be quieter right now.

“C-cas. Stop!” Dean says and Castiel is a bit surprised. He knows that Dean doesn’t want to stop altogether, Dean didn’t use his safeword, but he had planned to make Dean come down his throat.

“What is it, Baby?” Castiel asks and he gets up again. Unlike Dean he is still fully dressed and Dean shyly looks down.

“Can you fuck me, please?” Dean asks and who would Castiel be to deny him? He didn’t think Dean would actually want that here. Normally Castiel takes his sweet time to prepare Dean and he couldn’t do that here, but then again he just fucked him this morning, so they should be good.

He laughs when Dean actually bends down and gets a little tube of lube out of the pocket of his jacket. Yeah that’s his boyfriend. Castiel kisses him even harder when Dean gives him the lube and Dean seems to like it.

It doesn’t take him long to actually open Dean up, because just like he thought Dean is still loose. Castiel doesn’t bother about undressing, when Dean is ready. Instead he just opens the zip of his pants and finally gets his dick out.

It’s even hotter now. Dean being completely naked, while Castiel is fully dresses. Dean is smiling so beautifully again and Castiel stands in front of him. Dean seems a bit confused, maybe he had thought Castiel would bend him over the table.

While that is a nice thought, he wants to fuck Dean against the wall, just like he wanted back whenever he had Dean against a wall. Castiel groans himself, just a quiet sound, while he grabs Dean’s hip again. This time helping him up.

Dean lets himself be handled like this and then puts his legs around Castiel’s hips, while he leans back against the wall, so he won’t fall. Castiel winks at him and Dean nods. Castiel enters him carefully and they both take a deep breath when he bottoms out.

Dean is so tight and hot inside.

“Please.” Dean whines again and Castiel nods before he actually starts to fuck Dean. Hard and very fast, not caring about anything.

Just as he starts to stroke Dean’s cock, since he can sense that his boyfriend is already close, they hear loud voices outside. Castiel stops his movement and tries to listen. He actually prays - and Castiel knows how dirty that is - that they won’t come in.

“Please, Cas!” Dean says and Castiel shakes his head. He lets go of Dean’s hip, hoping Dean can hold himself up, since his back is still against the wall and puts his left hand over Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s eyes are so wide and then Castiel uses his other hand to slowly, oh so slowly, continue to stroke Dean’s hard and leaking dick. Dean shakes his head and he still makes noises behind Castiel’s hand.

The two men are still outside the door talking about their lunch break, while Castiel is grinning dirtly. Oh yes, Dean actually loves this.

“Be quiet.” Castiel says and Dean whimpers softly.

He doesn’t make a sound at all, when he comes a few minutes later. Castiel can’t stop grinning all day.

5+1

Dean has been nervous all day. He really tries to hide it, but Castiel knows him long enough to know it. He just has no idea, why Dean is being like this.

“So uhm… do you… I mean, can you come outside with me?” Dean asks and he winces, when he messes up the sentence. Castiel chuckles and nods. Since he became human a lot of stuff changed at the bunker.

There is actually a tiny garden now and Castiel loves to spend his time there. Dean always says he hates it, but Castiel caught him more than once watching him gardening.

They walk upstairs together and Dean is holding his hand. Sam calls it annoying, Castiel calls it cute. He loves to touch Dean all the time. Dean’s hand is sweaty today and he holds onto Castiel even harder than normally.

“Oh.” Castiel says when he sees the blanket in the middle of his garden. There are some fruits on the blanket, with chocolate and even some champagne. Dean smiles nervously.

“Castiel I... “ He starts and then stops, before he lets go of Castiel’s hand and searches hastily for something in his pockets. Castiel’s breath hitches. Is that, what he thinks it is? Dean finally finds it and then he kneels down.

“Dean?” Castiel asks and Dean is still trying to get some words out.

“Castiel, I just wanted… I mean we are together for just two years by now, but it feels as if we’re together for a lot more and I always knew, if there was somebody I wanted to spend the rest of my life with… then it’s you. So I wanted…” Dean stops again and he looks so scared. Castiel smiles.

“Ask me Dean.” Castiel whispers, because he needs to know what Dean wants to say.

“Cas, will you marry me?” Dean asks and when Castiel nods and they kiss, he isn’t even sure who is crying. Maybe they both are.

“Yes Dean, of course.” Castiel says, when he can breathe again and Dean laughs. A sound that Castiel will never get tired of.

[jaqcarrw]

❝ Here are the women with ancient anger in their veins and the cruelty of a goddess in their hearts. You will beg before her, you will scream; but Hera never flinched from the words of a mortal, so why would she? Do not stand in her way. She will burn down your kingdoms, herself with it, if it meant your ruin. ❞

JACQUELINE CARROW really is the spitting image of PRISCILLA QUINTANA, right? For someone only TWENTY-FIVE years old, JAC has been forced to endure so much. Yeah, that MUGGLEBORN has been scraping by at the sanctuary since JUNE, 2028, working as a LEADER/COMBAT MEDIC AND UNSPEAKABLE in the DIVISION OF HEALING. SHE is a CIS WOMAN and is known to be HARSH and DISTANT but also RELIABLE and PROTECTIVE. Best of luck surviving through this. ⊰ JO, 26, EST, SHE/HER ⊱

Stat Sheet.

Pinterest.

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, emotional, physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, stillborn mention, parental death ( all within the first set of bullets in *history* )

History:

[ TW: KIDNAPPING AND MANIPULATION ] Jacqueline was born to a happy muggle couple who had the unfortunate luck in running into the pair of death eaters while they were in ‘hiding’ after the war had ended. Alecto was taken with the idea of having a child and while they tried for one, she hadn’t been able to conceive. If she couldn’t get what she wanted that way, Alecto had decided to take it. The death eater caught eye of Jac, a bright-eyed one year old, and her accidental magic– and set her target. Alecto and her husband spent a few months getting close to the family before the other shoe dropped and their daughter was taken right from under their nose. As a toddler, Jacqueline wasn’t the type to whine or cry. She was quiet…confused and though she still asked for her mother and father she was met with ‘we are your parents’. The next three years had gone by with only a few snaps on Alecto’s part and eventually they grew tired of just playing with Jacqueline when she grew into a child.

[ TW: STILLBORN MENTION, ABUSE MENTION, KIDNAPPING ] The pregnancy had been a surprise to the Carrows after failing to conceive before, however that happiness was soon diminished when the infant was brought into the world lifeless. Distraught and angry, Alecto took it out on Jacqueline because some how she was responsible for the out come. It was the first time for her to see such anger out of her mother and though she was left with bruises to match– jac attempted to console her only to be pushed aside. It took them an entire week to find a replacement for their lost child and they’d left four year old jac to fend for herself – when they came back they brought their new daughter who was red in the face from wailing. Jacqueline grew extremely protective and found herself trying to calm the infant’s, who was named valeria, tears to save her from their parents anger. Though this would last their entire life as Jacqueline became a shield for her little sister and took punishment which she didn’t deserve just to keep her safe.

[ TW: ALLUDING TO KIDNAPPING, ABUSE MENTION ] Jacqueline doesn’t know her origins ( like where she was born, who her parents were, etc ) but she had her suspicions since she was young that something wasn’t right and that she was missing something. The connection of child and parent was nonexistent and it was made clear when the slur ‘mudblood’ was hissed in her direction when things didn’t go her parents way but they’d praised her for being pureblood all along. Her mother’s hatred and anger only burned hotter as the girls grew up and jac took the brunt of it– not fighting back for Valeria’s sake. She would bide her time until she would get her vengeance. [ TW END ]

Growing Up:

She was a smart girl and she focused on her studies while her sister lived as carefree as she could ( which jac found smart just as well ). Hogwarts was a breeze. Jac soaked in information probably too quickly and aced her essays and exams which eventually lead into her career as an unspeakable. Even within her first year, in the love/sacrificial magic dept, she made many discoveries and invented spells that eventually helped save the lives of wixen.

Once the whispers of the dark lord and death eaters stirred around, Jac knew it was trouble. Her mother was hellbent on having her ‘most intelligent daughter’ help with their project as she was an unspeakable with knowledge they believed was important.  There wasn’t no room for a ‘no’, so went along with it. She attended the meetings, listened to the schemes, offered advice when she was asked to speak however– she hadn’t realized that they were actually serious in raising inferi along with the Dark Lord. Jac was dragged along to the cave, the cold wind whipping at her cheeks as she stood outside of the cave ( as a look out ) once they began. And when they ended and realized that they had made a mistake-- that she’d made a mistake. jacqueline watched passively as the death eaters fought for their lives-- failing one after the other including her mother. Turning a cold shoulder she apparated away leaving her mother at the mercy of the inferi without hesitation. Jacqueline’s survival was much more important....

She stayed put until she couldn’t any longer, only to see if her parents survived and unfortunately her father did as he was too much of a coward ( they always said one needed to be a little cowardly to survive anyhow ) to step inside. She joined her sister three months later at the strong hold where she poured her talents in keeping those who fought the battles safe as a combat healer and became a leader in no time. Her father is currently locked in the Chamber of Secrets and she gives a whopping zero fucks lmfao

After a recent scuffle ( a month ago ) with the inferi on a mission as a combat medic, Jacqueline went through a checkup with the healers back at Hogwarts and though she had some minor injury during the scuffle-- the most surprising result was that she was pregnant. ( I’d actually would love if the healer that performed the checkup, initially to make sure she was fine and not scratched/bitten, is pretty adamant on her taking care of herself/baby yeno probably wanting her to STOP as she should but she wont because she’s a dumb. BUT HEY potential friend connection please and ty <3 )

As of right now, she is a little over 17 weeks pregnant ( around 4 months ) and she’s still attempting to keep it a secret for as long as she can as she knows that is grounds to take her out of the action where she is needed the most ( and she needs to help put that guilt to rest over unknowingly help the de’s bring this mess into the world ) but girl is showing andddd…walp time is running out..  

Personality:

a no nonsense type of person and is pretty black and white when judging if something is right or wrong ( her standards on right and wrong i mean )

she can’t stand betrayal or disrespect of any kind and isn’t the type to let things slide. meaning u screw her over, she’s going to mess you up big time.

very smart, very clever, quick with her wand and pretty much anyone who stands in front of it will take a beating when dueling/fighting. and talented in healing which is why she took on the position of a combat medic instead of going into the research division like the other unspeakables.

her family is the most important to her- or well her sister. she’s very self sacrificing for them and shields her little sister from any sort of harm. which means she takes the brunt of their parents abuse or really any abuse because she loves her baby sister okayyyyowhigowihegowiheg.

outside of her fam its hard to get close to her outside of her being polite. if you do manage to become friends with her she’s extremely loyal and protective. SHE TAKES EVERYONE UNDER HER WING TBH the mom friendTM but like good luck? she’s like a block of ice.

jacqueline quite realistic and doesn’t dwell on things ( ha. ig inferi is different ) as she see it more as a hindrance to react emotionally to situations rather than take it at face value on with a levelhead. ( which she finds valeria annoyingly NOT doing ) but don’t let her fool you, she might not react outwardly but she is just as explosive as her little sister – perhaps even more so. you talk about blazing a path through their enemies when she finds the opportunity. she bides her time before she strikes tbh

and she isn’t phased a single bit by being ostracized because of her mother and uncle’s actions. she’d much rather just be left alone anyways LMAO. HOWEVER please do try and be frands with her lol eventually she will grow fond ioeghwoeihgwie she’s as soft as she is seemingly cold. haha