#but as the clock ticks down and the chip slowly eats away at him... why shouldnt he?

[fire-in-my-woods]

Oc thots on da mind alwayssss

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [7]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 5,123

A/N: thank you all for your patience, and your excitement! we’re checking back in with reader this chapter, and unfortunately, she’s not doing too well. 😅 bottom divider by @firefly-graphics

On the eighteenth day, it rains. 

At least, you think it is the eighteenth day. 

 The rising and setting of the sun only denotes the time of day—there is no clock in this room, no way to mark the longer passage of hours, no calendar with boxes for you to tick off. So you cling to the approximation, it’s the only knowledge—incorrect or no—that you have. 

Water streams down the walls of your prison, obscuring the beach beyond. You stare listlessly at the droplets, following them with your eyes as they slide down the glass into the sand. Though you haven’t moved in hours, you’re still strangely exhausted. So you stay there, tucked against the wall where the glass meets concrete. You’d told Ransom and Lloyd to leave you alone and they had followed your request to the letter—you haven’t seen them since your destructive fit.

You’ve already cried yourself dry and hoarse wailing for help, for release, for your family, and though your distress at your current situation hasn’t lessened per-say, you feel a certain sort of numb acceptance. You’ve gone to sleep here and woken up in the ruined bed enough times to know now that this is true, that it is real—

That you have to accept it. 

What choice do you have? Raging had changed nothing, only isolating you further. You’ve taken to analyzing every moment in the silence, sifting back through to try and determine the point where it all went wrong. There’s no aha moment, though, no core memory that lights the path to recognition. You remember Lloyd and Ransom in your history classes, hotshot poli-sci majors destined for the big leagues. You knew of them, of course—everyone did. Legacy students with chips on their shoulders and grandaddy’s money in their bank accounts. 

Typical. 

You almost wish you could go back and tell yourself that you had been right, that your assessment that the Drysdale twins were selfish and self-centered—but it doesn’t matter now. Not with their baby in your belly and the minutes of your life rotting away in this box. 

You know what they’re waiting for, waiting for you to admit you want to see them, that you need them, and they’ll come and make everything better. You hate that you want to, if only just to have someone to scream at. You hug your knees. Your family will be home now, back to their lives in the States, having swallowed whatever lies you know the twins must have spun up for them—they certainly couldn’t tell the truth. 

She’s sick. Not feeling well. You see, we’ve been taking turns fucking her like our personal cocksleeve.

That would have gone over splendidly with your father. 

The hours tick slowly by until you realize you’re rocking, back and forth as you stare at blank space. Your resolve to say nothing, to ask for nothing, feels made now of rubber rather than stone. It’s been two weeks and then some since you’d spoken to anyone or had contact with your captors—your husband. 

Ransom had taken the ring when you’d thrown it at him, and you’re still not used to the feeling of not wearing it after two whole years. You run the fingers of your opposite hand over the blank space on your ring finger, over and over again, feeling the little divet where it sat.

The room is four hundred and seventy six steps around, you know because you have paced the width and breadth of it every single day since Ransom and Lloyd had left you here. You could do it with your eyes closed, even—you often do. Today isn’t any different, pacing the wall as you recite something—anything you can think of, usually—as many times as you can. Snippets of books you’ve read, scenes in movies, you replay them all, savoring each instance of remembrance as you feel the silence pressing in around the sound of your voice. That’s the worst part about all of this, you think to yourself as you round the far side of the room for lap number twenty five. They’re not even here for you to scream at them. 

They don’t even have to face your wrath, meager as it is. You’re not sure exactly when you’d begun to crave the sound of their voices, perhaps because you know they’re the only ones you have any hope of hearing. You want to cry and scream and wail at them, you want to tear at their faces with your jagged nails—but most of all, you just want them here while you do it. 

The quick pace you set around the room lasts until you can’t keep it up anymore. You collapse next to the door, resting a hand on your belly as your chest heaves. The sight that greets you as you stare listlessly out the window is a familiar one, the orange-red sun is pale behind the lingering cloud cover as it sinks beneath the dark, choppy waves. You have seen this eighteen times—and tomorrow, it will be nineteen. 

Perhaps it’s the realization you cannot even hear the sound of the water lapping against the sand, you can’t feel the breeze, feel the sun on your skin unfiltered through the eight inch glass. 

You can’t even go for a fucking walk.

It’s the knowledge of the agencies you’ve been denied, the freedoms you’ve been stripped of that drives you back to your feet as a frantic intensity grips you. You slam your fists against the door with a hoarse cry, beating against it until your hands ache and sting. 

“Please!” Your dry eyes ache for want of tears. “I don’t want to be in here by myself anymore!” You know you’re giving up ground, but you can’t help it. Weeks of complete isolation—of fucking nothing. You try to convince yourself it isn’t a loss, though, that you’re giving in for your own good, not theirs. That you’ll never have an avenue for escape if the door is locked, so you must make them open it. You repeat these reasons and more on a seemingly endless internal refrain as you beg and cry—so much so that you almost believe it when you hear the sound of hinges turning, of dress shoes on bare concrete. 

You stumble back from the door, anxiously waiting for the robotic sound of the pin pad on the other side. After six beeps—six, you’re sure of it, and you will remember; six—you hear the locks disengaging, the hiss of the hydraulic hinges. You almost don’t want to look as the door swings open, dragging your reluctant gaze up from the concrete step to stare at the twin in front of you. You hate that you’re glad to see him—you’re glad to see anyone, but your feeble  hope that it is your husband who will greet you on the other side of the doorway turns brittle in your chest as you drag your gaze up to his face. 

“Hello, Princess.” You swallow thickly at the sight of Lloyd. He’s letting his mustache grow back in now, the light dusting of hair above his lip, the thick chain at his throat, and the slick striped polo are all enough of a giveaway. He grins at you. Besides, you think venomously. What reason does he have to hide, now? Lloyd steps inside, and the door closes behind him with a soft rush of air. He clucks his tongue as he looks at the carnage around you, the destruction you’re no longer proud of—just exhausted with. 

“You really have made a mess of things.” It feels like he’s talking about more than the room. His expression is almost affectionate. Your chest tightens.“Let’s see what we can do to fix them.” Lloyd steps closer, and you mirror him with one step back, your body moving without your permission. “Baby, you asked for me to come,” he says, cocking his head. “Or would you like to be alone again?” Lloyd doesn’t say it like a threat, doesn’t weight the words with the implication you know he means. 

And yet the idea of being alone in this room—hell, alone in your head—for a single moment more feels like hands wrapping around your throat. The feeling spurs you to speak, swallowing the thick resentment lining your throat to make room for words. 

“No.” You say, looking down at your feet. “I—I don’t.” 

He smiles. “Good. I don’t either.” Lloyd takes an experimental step forward, and you stiffen—but remain still. The smile widens. “Why don’t you take a bath, Princess, and I’ll get someone to come in here and clean up a little? How’s that?” 

“Who?” You know this is bait and you take it anyway. Your options are either to engage with Lloyd—on his terms, always his fucking terms—or to have no engagement at all. “A-are there other people here?” The question lies unasked in the air between you. Will they help me? 

“Maybe if we get you cleaned up, and at least get a new mattress in here and some food in you, maybe I’ll tell you.” He’s not bothering to hide his enjoyment, and it turns your stomach. 

“I hate you.” It slips out before you can stop it, but instead of getting angry, Lloyd just laughs. 

“Oh Princess. I think that’s the best part about all of this,” he runs a hand through his hair before he steps closer. He reaches for you, and you flinch, but force yourself to remain still as he cups your chin. “You really, really don’t.” You’re not expecting him to kiss you, then, to slant his mouth across yours hungrily. You’re too shocked to fight it, standing there shocked as his worry at your lip and he sucks at your tongue until you’re panting, nipples pressing furiously through your nightgown—and then all at once it’s over. Lloyd drags his thumb across your lip. 

“Bathroom.” He points. “I’ll join you in a moment.” Lloyd straightens back up, watching you jerk back from him with a pleased smirk. “Oh, and Princess?” He waits until you turn to glare at him over your shoulder. “No peeking.” 

You practically flee from him, slamming the door behind you. You press yourself against it, your heart pounding. Pressing a hand to your tingling lips, you fumble at the handle with the other before your brows crease with confusion. To your dismay, there is no lock, only a handle. You’d thought yourself completely dry of tears, but to your surprise, more come, welling up as you slap a hand to your mouth so Lloyd doesn’t hear you sob. 

For some reason, you’d imagined your body would reject them, go stone cold at their touch now with how deeply your hatred seemed to burn—but as you reach between your legs with trembling fingers to check what you already know is true, you can’t help but hate yourself just as much. 

You’re not supposed to like it. 

The bathroom has been relatively untouched by your rage, nothing broken or out of place really beyond a few towels. Your cotton nightgown joins them on the floor as you turn on the tub’s faucet, and it drowns out the sound of moving furniture through the door. There’s an assortment of bath products lined up on the side, all ones you like. You resist the urge to knock them over or pour them all down the drain.

How long had they prepared this place for you? How long had it taken them to plot out each excruciating detail?

How long had they known they were going to?

The door handle clicks and jiggles, and you scramble for a towel as Lloyd enters. You know it’s ridiculous, your fear of being nude before him—he’s seen you naked dozens of times by now, he’d fucked you—but the muscle memory of it remains. He closes it behind him, glancing past you to the tub. 

“Oh, lovely.” He steps around you, his hands lingering familiarly on your waist before he reaches for the bottles. Lloyd grabs a few of them, glancing at the labels before making a noise low in his throat. “Ah, this one. You like Jasmine, don’t you Princess?” 

“How do you know that?” You glare at him accusatorially as he pours a hefty capful into the water. It begins to foam up almost immediately, the scent of jasmine and roses filling the air. Lloyd removes his rings and watch before dipping his hand into the water, mixing it. You glare hatefully at his back. “Did Ransom tell you?”

“Now why would Ransom have to tell me that?” He glances over his shoulder at you. 

“Be-because you don’t know me at all!” You stammer. “That’s why this is all so fucking insane!” It bubbles out of you before you can stop it, frustrated, enraged tears brimming in your eyes. “You don’t know the first fucking thing about me!”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Princess?” He asks, turning to face you. You’re suddenly very aware of how few options you have for space, the way Lloyd has placed himself between you and the door, using your own fear to herd you over to the far side of the bathroom, away from him—and from your escape. 

“That I don’t know a goddamn thing about you? That I’ve got no reason to feel about you the way I do?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, people have a funny way of remembering the things they want to remember—come here, Princess, this is supposed to be relaxing,” he cuts himself off, beckoning you with one hand. “I’ve had plenty of time to consider my feelings. Trust me.” 

 You wait for Lloyd to show signs of impatience, for his lips to crease into thin, angry lines, for his eyes to go cold and hard—but it doesn’t happen. Slowly, you approach, your fist clenched so tight around the towel that your fingers ache. He licks his lips. 

“Can’t have a relaxing bath with that on.” He flicks at the hem of your towel with his fingers. “I promise, Princess, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

He’s seen it before. He’s seen it before. Somehow, you still feel like a married woman showing yourself to a stranger when you release your white knuckled grip on the terrycloth, and it falls to the ground between you. You don’t want to see Lloyd’s face so you look at the large bathtub instead, watch the waterline slowly rise as as the seconds tick by. 

“Let me help you in.” Lloyd’s hand is warm on the small of your back as he gingerly assists you into the bath. You don’t want to enjoy it, the way you don’t want to enjoy anything he does for you. The tension, the fear—it’s all living in your muscles and in your marrow, and though you don’t want it to, the hot water feels good, damn him. The sound of Lloyd’s belt buckle reactivates your adrenaline, and water sloshes up over the sides of the tub as you sit up, scrambling back. 

Fresh fear rises in you as you watch him unclasp the gold chain from around his neck, placing it down next to his rings with a soft metallic click.

“Easy, Princess. Easy.” He steps in, arranging himself behind you as you practically curl into yourself to escape him. “I promised.” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his cock, swelling eagerly against his thigh. 

“Excuse me if I find those fucking meaningless,” you spit, flinching as Lloyd cups water over your shoulders. He settles himself in behind you, and you abhor the way your body seems to fit against his, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. You hate the way his half-hard cock sits perfectly against you, throbbing whenever you fidget. You’re shocked to find that there is part of you that enjoys it regardless, the closeness, the affection. After so long feeling only your own fingers on your skin, it feels strange and compelling to be so close to someone else. It’s electric to feel Lloyd against you, feels nearly as fitting and right as it had with Ransom—though you assure yourself that is only because they’re practically physically identical. 

Was it ever right with Ransom, though? You’re starting to feel like you’d never even known your husband at all. You knew bits, pieces of the whole, but now you’re seeing him as he is… maybe as he’s always been. Or was that just what he wanted me to feel? What they both wanted me to feel?

“Oh you wound me, Sweetheart,” he sighs, reaching for the soap and neatly folded washcloth on the side. “At least your parents think a little more highly of me.” You turn your head so fast your neck aches. 

“My parents? You’ve talked to my parents?”Lloyd says nothing, the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, knowing smile.  “Where do they think I am?” Lloyd says nothing, and merely begins to wash your back with the soapy cloth, his strokes firm, but gentle. The silence lengthens between you, broken only by the sound of water and breath. It ticks on until you feel the frenzied anxiety beneath your skin erupt out of your mouth. 

 “Answer me!”

“Princess, I think a much more interesting question is where you think you are.” He swipes it between your shoulder blades, brushing your curls out of the way to get at the back of your neck. When his lips brush the hell of your ear, it’s all you can do not to flinch. “Where do you think you are?” 

You’re tempted to answer snarkily, or better yet, to turn around and try your hand at hitting him as hard as you can—but something inside tells you that that will end worse than it had with Ransom. Instead, you force yourself to actually think. The days are long, tropical, hot. You can’t feel that heat, of course, not from inside your room, but the sand, the sea, the trees��

“You never moved me. We’re still on Mykonos.” 

Lloyd’s brows rise, but he smiles. “You’re so fucking smart, Princess. Anybody ever tell you that?” The praise feels wrong, sliding down your skin like oil. You don’t want to accept it—and because you cannot accept it, you attempt to ruin it. 

“Not smart enough to see you coming.” You retort, but the venom either doesn’t phase Lloyd, or he’s just that good at disguising his own offense, but he just continues to clean you up like it doesn’t bother him one bit. He’d been eager to get the trip started—more eager than anyone else. He’d been in a rush, you realize now, to get you here. To get to the good part, the part where he got to have you alone and defenseless. And worse, he got to have you with permission. Perhaps that’s why he’s so patient. He can afford to be, after all. 

“I loved you the minute we met. You know that?” He’s busy working shampoo through your hair, raking it through the tangled mess until it falls neatly, laden down by product. “You never thought I was serious back then.” Lloyd chuckles in that way that reminds you of Ransom. “Maybe I wasn’t. But I am now—we are. About making a life for you, for us.” His hand travels around to cup the barely-there swell of your belly. “For our family.” 

“Stop it!” You hiss, your teeth gritted. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to hear him spout words of devotion to you because they feel too good to hear—it feels good to hear anything at all after nearly two a half weeks of only your own sobs for company—

“Stop what?” You throw his hand off of you as you whirl to face him, water splashing out loudly onto the tile.

“Stop pretending like you’re doing this for me instead of to me.” You snarl. “You—”

“Are supporting your family.” He reminds you. “Nathalie gets to finish college debt free. Your father gets first pick of every single construction job in the city.”

“And I get to be a prisoner.” As Lloyd rinses the shampoo from your hair, you cannot help but wonder which was worse—the unknowing way you’d allowed the both of them to violate you, or sitting here in the aftermath, knowing you’d never had a chance anyway.

“Where’s Ransom?” 

“Sick of me already, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you clench your teeth to keep from answering. “He’s a little busy at the moment. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m not disappointed he couldn’t make it,” Lloyd spreads the butter onto his baked potato with relish before his blue eyes flick up to yours. “I like having you all to myself, sometimes.” He hadn’t touched you in the bath, true to his word—but you can see the desire plainly on his face now, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably. 

“You’ve never had me all to yourself, Lloyd.” You remind him. “I—I married Ransom.”

His smile doesn’t disappear, doesn’t even lessen. If anything, it gets bigger. “Haven’t I?” He chews thoughtfully. Ransom had told you the-the sharing had begun a year ago, but… but what if that wasn’t the first time? 

What if that was only when they’d made a habit of it?

Your stomach lurches, and you swallow bile, suddenly less hungry than before. You don’t know if you want an answer to this question. Instead, you circle back. 

“You said if I let you do what you wanted, you’d tell me if there were other people here.” Lloyd’s eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Is that what I said?” He hums. “No good hotel runs without staff, Princess.” You scoff at his answer. “Of course there are a few dedicated employees.”

“And my parents?” 

“I believe I promised you one answer for good behavior, Princess.” Lloyd practically purrs the pet name at you. “Not two.” You’re tempted to argue—you want to, but you understand a warning when one is given. The way you skirt the edge of his patience makes you angry with yourself, but when you think again of the two and a half weeks of silence, the long days spent rambling to yourself so that you would hear something, anything—you cannot experience that again. So you sit prettily as he fusses over your hair and your skin, swallowing your self loathing. 

He helps you dry off with the fluffy, comfortable towels you’ve been refusing to use, taking great care to rub cocoa butter into the supple skin of your belly. And when you emerge back into the bedroom, only evidence of the most heinous of your acts of defiance remain: the cracked mirror above the dresser, many of the draws missing—you had smashed them to bits against the unyielding windows. Everything that wasn’t too heavy to lift had been subject to your rage, even the mattress. But now, it’s almost like it had never even happened. 

The bed is freshly made, floor swept clean of debris. And on the new table—made of dark, heavy wood—there is dinner. And it’s real fucking food this time, not just a bland chicken salad sandwich cobbled together on dry bread. Roast chicken, carrots and potatoes are steaming on the plates, a bowl of salad between them. Your stomach twists at the sight of it. Shrugging quickly into one of the many pairs of plain white tank-tops and shorts sitting on top of the dresser, and make a beeline for the food. 

Lloyd emerges from the bathroom moments later, his polo shirt laid over one arm, his briefs slung low on his damp hips. 

“Oh good, dinner.” 

You sit awkwardly across from him, attempting to split your attention between eating your food and watching Lloyd. 

“How long do you plan to keep me here?” 

“I’d be careful with the questions, Princess.” He says, fixing you with a warning look as he chews. “Some questions have answers you’re not gonna like.” Somehow, that tells you everything anyway, and you feel yourself shiver, but not with cold. His eyes are hard when you meet them. 

“That long, huh?” You ask, turning to stare at the dark, troubled sea through your window. It feels like you’re in a movie—a fucking horror movie. Lloyd sighs.

“Think of it like a vacation. No work, no responsibilities—”

“Lloyd, please.” You can’t look at him. The rage, the terror—they’re all boiling over inside of you, and if you look at him, if you see his fucking face, you know you’ll lose it. And if you do, you have a feeling that you won’t recognize yourself if you’re left alone for another two weeks. So instead, you stare out at the water, chewing up the words you want to say and swallowing them back down.

“This isn’t a villa, it’s a prison. I can’t—” you choke back bitter tears. “You won’t even let me outside.” 

“You’re getting yourself all worked up, and you’re not going to be able to keep down your dinner.” He places a hand over yours, and the shock of his touch makes you jump, reeling back. “When we can trust you, Princess, then we’ll talk about day trips.” Hope lights a tiny candle in your chest. 

“We will?” 

“We will.” He points at your food with his fork. “Now eat up.” You do, forcing yourself to eat every bite on your plate. When Lloyd bids you goodnight, he tucks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you’re forced to look at him. 

“Goodnight, Princess.” He kisses you again, disgustingly softly. 

—

You sleep fitfully after Lloyd leaves. Turning back and forth, kicking the cotton sheets off until they lay in a heap at the bottom of the bed. Sweat sticks your tank-top to your clammy skin, and as you wake for the nth time that night, the memory of what scant dreams you’re able to achieve brings heat to your cheeks.  

Hands on your skin—two sets of them—prying open your lips to rest on your tongue, sliding between your legs—

You wake in your new bed feeling testy and anxious, glowering at the sunlight glinting sharply off the water. Clean clothes lay folded on the dresser, a pitcher of water and cups now sat on a rolling tray by the table. It isn’t lost on you that as soon as you’d begged for them the quality of your care had vastly improved. You’re reluctant to admit that it’s a relief, not sleeping on the mattress you yourself had destroyed, avoiding the splinters of broken wood on the floor. 

But now there are none. 

The tile floor is swept clean, the new mattress bearing fresh sheets, the new furniture polished to gleaming. 

This is what you can have if you forgive us, the neatly folded clothes in the new dresser-drawers seem to say before you close them again with a sharp snap. This is what you can have if you give us forever. 

All you have to give is forever.

The room seems somehow larger now, since Lloyd’s visit, emptier—lonelier. You resolve not to ask them for anything again, ignoring the desperate, terrified  part of you that dreads a return to the silent nothing. They’re smart—there’s not even a book in here for you to entertain yourself with. Through them, that good things flow, you know that’s what they’re trying to teach you. The part that sickens you most is that it’s true—and has been for a long time. You cannot remember the last time you’d had to pay a bill or concern yourself with the cost of living. You don’t even know what Ransom pays in rent for the apartment—you don’t know that you ever even did. 

You get out of bed, pulling the sheets back up over the spot you’d vacated as you take stock. 

Normally, your chicken-salad sandwich would be on a clean plastic tray in front of the door, but today there is nothing. You are not a creature of habit by nature, shakeups in your routine typically do nothing more than irritate you. But for some reason, this makes you antsy, anxious. 

Had you upset Lloyd last night with your questions?

Why do you even care? 

As you contemplate what you’ve given away without knowing it, you hear the sound of the outer door opening. You don’t know what it looks like outside of your room, not really, but you’ve caught snatches of the concrete hallway and stairs just beyond the doorway. The sound of the pinpad echoes in the quiet room before the door opens. 

Ransom steps over the threshold, a tray held steady in his arms. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at him, your lip trembling as you try to bite back on the overwhelming emotion that fills you at the sight of your husband. “I missed you so much.” 

to be continued…

next chapter

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[phychohex]

Addicted (Jesse Pinkman Love Story) Proulge

I look up at the clock as it ticks away. Once again, I have gotten caught up in the art and have stayed later than intended. I save all my work and shut everything down. As I am leaving, Jessica stops me. "What the hell are you still doing here?" she asks. 

"Got caught up in the work again." I sigh this tends to happen a lot and I get overtime way too often which tends to get me into some trouble. Once I start it's hard to stop. I work at an expanding company that specializes in merchandise as a freelance graphic designer. We have some pretty big contracts with people like Disney and Marvel. I specialize in horror art and when I find one of my designs on a shirt at places like Walmart or the mall it makes me feel like I am successful.

"Well go home, you goddamn workaholic." She jokes I nod waving bye and go to my car. This was my average life. I am just an average woman with a normal job and a place that I share with my freeloader boyfriend. You wouldn't tell just by looking at me the shit show that was my life. My freeloader boyfriend for one. We met while I was still in college. I went to SCAD also known as Savannah College for Art and Design. After college, we moved and got our place in a shitty part of town. We worked at the same grocery store and hit it off great. Now that I have a high-paying job and he was fired a little over two years ago we were broke with me having to pay for everything. I use that as an excuse for why I stay so late and while it is partly true I just tend to hyperfixate. For the first month, no one noticed a new co-worker. I have never been social and tend to keep to myself, but this is mostly because I'm autistic. Socializing has never been easy for me. 

After the twenty-minute drive, I slowly pull into my driveway seeing another car. I groan knowing that his friends are over. I have nothing against with them it's just I need time to decompress my social battery being completely drained. I take a deep breath and make eye contact with myself in the rearview mirror. I was average, with long chocolate brown hair that I usually keep in a high ponytail so that it's out of my face. I have hazel eyes with pale skin and freckles across my cheeks. I have always been the 'good girl' the only semblance of rebellion is my tattoos which are put in easy-to-cover places. With all my might I get out of the car and go into my house. My five-year-old pitbull Princess quickly greets me. I got her a few years back as a puppy as a guard dog. My dad was worried after I broke up with my boyfriend at the time and he showed up begging for me back on his knees. When I laughed at him for the way he was acting he got mad and tried to burst in but I managed to close the door just in time. 

I hear the yelling and gunshots from the living room as Alex and his two friends play Call of Duty. I look around my living room groaning. There are beer bottles and trash from chips and whatever else they decide to eat. "What the hell Alex?" I snap picking stuff up and getting in front of the TV for a second "I thought I asked you to clean up in here not make it worse"

"Get the fuck out of the way!" He snaps pausing the game. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I look at him putting my hands on my hips.

"I asked you to clean. It's the least you can do I work almost forty hours a week and you expect me to clean the entire house by myself." I snap having enough of the disrespect. His friend Max starts picking up stuff.

"My bad Ash we didn't mean to make a mess," he apologized. he is a nice guy and one of his better friends. I smile thanking him and I sit down for a minute.

"The fuck are you doing?" Alex snaps. I look at him confused. 

"Dude chill," Max rolls his eyes "She just got home man."

"You shut the fuck up!" he stands up pointing to the couch. He looked at me and I could feel shivers go up my spine. "Go start dinner" I just stay seated looking at him my flight or fight not kicking in all I'm doing is sitting here like a deer in the headlights. "Bitch" he rushes over and grabs me by my arm and forces me to my feet. "Get your ass in the kitchen" he pushes me into the kitchen and shoves me to the counter. He grabs my hair and forces me to look at him. "I hate having to do this you know that right?" I nod as the fear rises. He shoves me and goes back to the living room. I stand there in shock. This wasn't the first time he had done something like this but he didn't usually do it in front of other people. I hear arguing and the front door slamming shut before the game starts back up. 

I started to make Alfredo it is quick and easy. I fight the tears that threatened to spill out. I wish this wasn't my life. Even with my dream job, I was miserable. I try to think about anything other than the pain in my heart. As I watch the water boil and the tears peaking through I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. I look at the contact it being my stepmom Skyler. "Hello?" 

"He has, oh my god." She sobs making whatever I was upset about going to the backburner. 

"Sky, what's wrong? Calm down breathe." My brows furrowed in worry not being prepared for what she was about to tell me.

"It's Walt," she hiccups. "He has cancer" I felt my world shift everything around me was no longer there and the floor beneath me was gone. I felt like I was floating in a wave of shock. "Ash?" she manages.

"Y-yeah I'm here. Um okay, how bad is it?" My voice wavers as the tears start to peak through now for a whole different reason. 

"They say it's terminal. Stage three lung cancer can you believe it? What are we going to do Ash?" she sobs. 

"Is there anything I can do? I can send money for treatments or to help with bills." I offered "Do you know how long they said he has I mean terminal means he doesn't have long right?" This only made it worse her sobbing getting louder.

"A year maybe two. Oh Ash I wish I didn't have to tell you this over the phone." 

"Yeah, same. Do you think I could come down and stay for a little bit just to help when he starts the treatments I know it will be hard." I offer hoping she'd allow me. I can be closer to him. I have always been a daddy's girl my bond with him has always been better than the one with my mom. He is my everything and my world.

"yes oh god please come down as soon as you can you need to be here. Can you take time off to visit?" 

"Yeah, I can I just have to set stuff up." I nod as if she was in front of me and I wipe the tears that flow down my face. We talked a bit more about where I could sleep and how long I might be able to stay. Once we hung up I just stood there as shock overtook. My mind went to when I was young.

(flashback)

I watched as he coddled the little brat. I hated this I hated him. It wasn't fair he was paying so much attention to him what's so special about him? Ever since he married Skyler and moved away I haven't been able to see him often. I only see him in the summer and on school breaks. I have only been here a few days and we haven't done anything fun just him taking care of the baby. I look at the time and back at him. "Daddy you said we would go get ice cream," I huff.

"I know sweetie I just have to get Jr down for his nap okay?" That was it I couldn't take this anymore. I feel as my heart crumbles to nothing pouting. I stomp away and slam my bedroom door before going to my bed to cry. I hear Skyler ask what is wrong with me and Dad reply he didn't know. I hear her open the door and I turn throwing a pillow. 

"Get out!" I shriek "Evil lady" I sob her eyes widen in shock. 

"Ashly," she comes in slowly "Sweetie what's wrong," I flop on the bed screaming. She turns the light on which only hurts my eyes all the emotions and the light in my eyes are overwhelming and then that stupid baby starts crying. I cover my ears as I scream I close my eyes as panic and overstimulation take over. I couldn't process all of this. I hear Skyler call for my dad and him giving her Jr. 

"Ashly" he gets on his knees in front of my bed. "Sweetheart you need to calm down and talk to me."  I hit my head with my fist I hate this feeling it was overtaking me. "Okay okay" he wraps his arms around me holding my arms down as I scream more. "I know I'm sorry but you can't hit yourself." I cry letting all the hurt out as he rocks softly. The feeling of him holding me slowly started to work. I hug him crying.

"Not fair" I sob. 

"what's wrong baby" he continues to rock me. 

"You said ice cream at one and we didn't go because of him" I cry he stands up and carries me to the car Skyler comes out to see if I'm okay and he talks to her for a second before getting in the car. 

"I'm sorry that we didn't leave in time," he stated "We are going now though" I sniffle nodding guilt eating its way through. I look up at him feeling guilty. "You know it's okay to feel jealous right" I shake my head. "Well, it is. You know it's common for the older siblings to be jealous of the younger new sibling and it's because babies need a lot of attention. A normal baby can't feed itself, can't soothe itself even. Your brother has a disability so he needs more attention than most you were the same way." he pulls into the parking lot of the small ice cream shop. we go in and order before sitting down. 

"I'm sorry" I mutter.

"It's okay, I know it's hard for you sometimes but you are a strong girl always have been." He smiles "You know you were born before we expected and you were so little and you were sick so you had to stay in the hospital for a long time. Yet you were so strong and made it through it and then a few months later you got sick and managed to get better then too. I know we don't get to see each other as often with me living so far but maybe we can talk to your mom and have a monthly visit and it can be all about you and me." He offers I nod smiling and digging into my ice cream. 

"Is he going to be okay,"

"yeah he will be and as he gets older he is going to start looking up to you. You're his older sister and you have to be there for him. Just know you will always be my little girl." 

(end of flashback)

"What are you doing!" Alex snaps getting me out of my mind I look as if the water has almost boiled out and the food burns. "You're burning the fucking food get your head out of your ass" He snaps and yells in my face. Princess runs up at him barking he moves away. "Get the dog before I kill it" he snaps I grab her collar pulling her away realizing I couldn't just visit my dad but needed to go home for good. 

[julianrchandlerx]

He had dreaded this day ever since last year. A year was a long time, and yet it appeared to have come and gone in the blink of an eye. As Julian saw the date on his kitchen calendar, marked with a red circle around it, a strange feeling fell over him. Memories of lights and loud music, of hundreds of bodies swarming a dance floor and moving to the beat, and there he stood at the edge of the dance floor, in a fuchsia polo sweater and jeans, laughing as he plopped chip after chip in his mouth. It was all so innocent in retrospect, absolutely nothing to hint at what was to come. And then all at once, it changed. When he thought hard enough on the memory, Julian suddenly could feel the sensation of his throat closing up, the burning clawing from within to take a deep gasp of air only to realize it wasn’t possible. The horrifying panic as you realized the air was being cut from your lungs and slowly thereafter the rest of your body started shutting down. He had to slap himself a number of times to shake off the memory, to come out of a trance and remind himself that wasn’t happening now. That was a long time ago. And he had survived it, and moved past it. That’s what he said, and how he acted. On the outside, he seemed perfectly okay, but the truth… Even in his every day life, smiling and laughing with friends, or enthusiastically leading paint and sip nights, even wrapped up in the affectionate embrace of his sweet, beautiful Rose… He still felt like he was back there, laying on that dance floor and slowly decaying. Decomposing, forever.

The scritch scratch of his pen against textured paper had been his companion in that late hour. He had detangled himself from a sleepy Briar some time ago, leaving a post it note saying he’d gone to find a bite to eat (“Sorry Thumper” scrawled in the margin) and that he would be back by morning with a chocolate croissant and her go-to coffee order. And he would, he was a man of his word and the last he wanted was for Briar-Rose to suspect him of anything but being perfectly fine. Because he was. He was alive, wasn’t he? The longer he sat there, brushing line after line against the sketchbook, the more he thought he could just disappear into the moment, and maybe just spend the rest of the dreaded day alone. Briar might worry if you’re not there like you promised, she might ask questions. He didn’t need that. There was another woman who worried about him constantly, and tried so often to ask him questions but he evaded every one. And it was from pure memory, one that he feared was fading, that he was able to capture her likeness on the page. Julian paused his movements as he brushed in her wavy dark hair, the kind he inherited from her, and he felt a thickening in his throat. No, it’s okay, you can breathe. Just breathe. He sniffled and let out a staggering breath as a response to the thought, staring down at the warm visage of his mother on paper. The mother who tried to call him, almost every day, even if he ignored practically every one. The few he answered he kept brief, uncomfortably short. Hadn’t Ralph cautioned that it would be hard but necessary to let go? Why couldn’t he just let go? He stared at the other faces on the paper — his stoic eldest brother, then the middle Chandler boy with his easy going smirk, and finally his proud father. How long was it now since he last talked to Russell Chandler, really tried to have a conversation with him? God, must have been years. Would he get the chance to do it right, before it was too late? Was he losing time? He could hear the ticking of the clock, on how much time he had to approach the remnants of his human life, but how much longer did he have? Was he holding the last fistful of sand in the hourglass before it fully trickled away? His throat constricted at the thoughts. Breathe, Jules, just breathe.

He decided then it would be best to turn the page, to focus on something else, so he slowly flipped through unfinished pages, trying to find something to focus on, the edge of his vision blurring as he flipped through sketches of scenery, of people and their dogs in the park, of figures going about their normal every day lives in Lunar Cove, of the Green Hornet and its eccentric owner, of his best friend who was finally living her life more freely, of the woman who captured his heart and soul, and held them in the palm of her hand whether she knew it or not. Vibrant vignettes of the world around him that breathed and lived and was so, so, so wonderful and beautiful. And he was a staggering corpse, rotting his way through it. He paused, on a page with sketches pertaining to some of those happy, idyllic childhood memories he fixated on during late nights like this. Smiling younger Julian in a Mets hat, a shocking and pleasantly grinning Conrad Chandler beside him, drawn off a picture taped to the inside of his guitar case back home. Scribbled over, because he couldn’t take the sight of it. The vein in his jaw jumped. Why’d it have to be him? Why was he the sacrificial lamb, herded to slaughter without really knowing it was coming, not until barely the last moment. Why, why, why — the question he forbade himself from asking in the year since came to the forefront of his mind as he looked at a stapled photograph of a young Julian seated at a piano with his mother beside him, and a half finished drawing of it beside it on the page. A cherry red ‘X’ was scrawled boldly over his own face.

Julian was pulled from the thoughts when he heard the approach of another. He knew he was there before Ken came into the moonlight, having heard the scuff of his shoes upon the ground. Flipping to another, less intimate, page of sketches, Julian brushed a hand over his face to be sure it was not wet, frowning at himself when his fingers came back with the remnants of tears upon them, and quickly cleared his face before the other came fully into view. “I wish,” he said to the unfinished comment. He thought he had heard they could choose to sleep, but Julian didn’t want to. He knew what horrific memories awaited in the recess of his mind if he were to close his eyes, and he didn’t want to focus on that. He was sunshine, and warmth, and all things positive. He wouldn’t let this get him down. He couldn’t. Not when others around him were breaking, not when he was already useless enough. He shook the thoughts away as he looked up from the sketchbook to Ken. At his question, Julian waved the book and pen in the air. “The only thing I’m half good at,” he joked with a crooked smile, resuming an unfinished drawing of the lighthouse on its crag in the ocean. “What are you doing — looking to stop other idiot young vampires from making stupid, life altering decisions?” He winced at the memory he referenced, that hellish night and the moment he thought he wanted a taste of forbidden fruit. He rubbed at the back of his neck, where Ken had grabbed him and flung him aside. “Did I ever thank you for that, because, well… I really am grateful, you know. Not so much for the punting me aside, but for, well… you know…” He trailed off, quiet and uncomfortable as he stared at his stilled pen against the paper. “Am I, like… on your bench or something?” He asked after a moment, wishing to brush past the awkwardness of recounting that terrible encounter.

for: @julianrchandlerx location: park

Sandwiched between the subtle fragrances of the Sakura trees that bloomed over head, and the rich, dark earth underfoot, it wasn't lost on Ken that this was shaping up to being a pattern. A scene not so dissimilar to this occurred last year around the same time too, only thing that struck different was swap of alcohol to cigarettes, both were destructive so really, did it matter which poison he chose? Thoughts that plagued him too, an echo of those of the past; birth, death, family -- a trifecta of fuckery. Ken would laugh if he had found this situation funny. Things always hit, he noticed, after the moment's passed, once back into a safe orbit outside the event taking place, gravity eased its grip and allowed for surroundings and feelings to register, as if living in the present took up too much energy everything else was delayed till later. And later, caught up fast.

Ken had forgotten about the day, of course he had, it held of no interest now or ever, a wasted space in his memory (something that he was silently thankful for) but of course it couldn't be cast out, no, that would be too easy. Such things lingered, had to be forcefully remembered despite his best efforts. The day arrived with cake and a bright smile and he mirrored it with a less enthusiastic one but thanked her nonetheless. She had made last year one of the best, and her still being around was enough to fill him with ease. An end goal made it easier to bear -- end of day -- and he made it without heaviness clinging to him. The weight came later, growing in size as the days blended into each other, till it demanded to be felt. He had died yet here he was. That alone took his head for another spin. He didn't die when he ought to have and this... this was borrowed time, a second chance and a curse all in one. Letting out a sharp mirthless huff of a laugh, he paced the treeline, kicking a small stone about to have something extra to do, this life gained after death he hadn't quite yet figured out how to live.

Petals fell onto him softly and he brushed them off with an undeserved quickness, casting them onto the ground only to end up crushed underfoot, and wished he could do the same for his thoughts. Instead he took a drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before releasing in a cloud about him. Silence was soothing, the stillness only disturbed by breeze and swaying branches, he continued to walk, no particular direction, no real desire to call it a night. Not yet. But maybe he out to have. The night didn't belong to him solely, he knew that, but tonight he had wanted it to, not to share the darkness with anyone when eyes spotted a figure ahead. Head debated turning around but signalled to his feet too late and he was carried forward towards them.

Recognition hit and shoulders relaxed a tiny bit, he watched Julian for a bit as he scribbled away at something, head shaking slowly when he remembered stumbling to Briar in a similar way, and much like then, Ken questioned as a way of greeting and making his presense known, "Aren't you supposed to be..." But he realised sleep was not a requirement any longer for Julian either, "... Hmm. What are you doing?"

[haik-choo]

what the holidays look like with the haikyuu boys

oikawa.

they look like sandy beaches, late sunsets, and tanned skin. festive red and green lights illuminate the bar you sit at with oikawa, the colors bouncing off his face as he looks at the menu. his skin is warm, heated from the setting sun; his arms and shoulders are tan, his pale chest peaking through his loose sleeveless shirt. “it’s strange for december to be so warm,” he murmurs as your finger traces circles on his open palm. “only to you. for everyone else here it’s just another day.” he makes a face and nods, flipping to the next page of the menu. “don’t you miss your home, tooru? japan must be nice and chilly outside right now.” he laughs, finally closing the menu and looking up at you, eyes shimmering. “it’s more than chilly. the roads must have iced over by now. but...” you lean in, anticipating his next words, “but...?” “...but, I am home. I’m here with you.” shy, you scoff, brushing his hand away and rolling your eyes. “oh, shut up.” you look at the beach in front of the restaurant for a while, heart pounding too hard to look back at your grinning boyfriend. from outside your peripheral vision his hand reaches to grab yours again and brings it up to his lips, gently kissing the back of your palm. “I mean it, though,” he whispers, “you really are my home.” the words tickle the hairs on your hand, heating up your ears and cheeks. you look back at him, taking in his glowing demeanor and loving touch, eyes soft. “I know. and you’re mine, tooru.” 

tsukishima.

they look like messy hair even in the evening, neither one of you bothering to comb it when you woke up. there’s no fireplace, instead, there’s kei’s laptop on the coffee table, a video of fire playing, gentle wooden crackles filling the warm silence. the lights are off, save for the lamp that barely glows bright enough to be able to read under it. but, it still works. kei’s long legs are outstretched towards the coffee table, feet clad in red fuzzy socks you got him last year. in his left hand is a small book, some stupid small-font history book he’s reading for work; in his right hand a cup of hot chocolate made with hot water, marshmallows floating on top. you sit next to him, hands in lap, legs outstretched across the rest of the couch, eyes closed, only listening to the faux fire sizzling in front of you. “look at you, Mr. Studious Nerd,” you impishly joke, eyes opening to turn and look at his reaction. “shut up or you’ll get coal for christmas.” you pout, “I thought I got a promise ring?” a resolute sigh leaves his lips, eye closing for just a second, “I knew you’d sneak a look at your gift early.” you smile widely, shrugging. smugly, tsukshima goes back to reading, “good thing I got you something else to actually surprise you.” gasping, you latch onto his shoulder, eyes wide. “what?! really? I thought I checked all of the gift-hiding spots, though?” the sound of a page turning followed by a sigh and the closing of a leather-backed book resonates throughout the room. suddenly, you become warmer when a pair of lips brushes against your forehead. an arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you in, closer. a soft, “I love you so much, you dweeb,” rings like merry bells in your ear. under your breath, shy yet curious, you grumble, smile creeping on your face, “you dodged my question, idiot.” 

kageyama.

they look like his toned legs extended out on the green couch you bought together, ice packs on each of his thighs and around his shoulders. his sniffle can be heard across the living room, red nose under attack from his cold. you smile, porridge in hand in a little festive bowl that has menorahs painted on the sides. “happy holidays, tobio. hope this helps you feel better.” the black-haired setter scoffs, “the only thing that would make me feel better is for this stupid cold to go away.” “I told you not to practice outside with wet hair. now your muscles hurt and you’re sick. you are simply reaping your consequences,” you reason, snobbish look on your face before it breaks with the roll of his eyes. laughing, you move his legs and sit next to him, spoon in hand. you raise your brows when he pouts and looks away, brows drawn close together. “I know you aren’t acting like a literal toddler right now.” “I don’t need you to feed me!” rolling your eyes, you sigh and place the porridge across the coffee table and stand up. “fine. feed yourself you nimrod.” not even two steps out the room you hear a low grumble come from the couch. turning around, you see kageyama with his head low, mouth barely moving. “can you feed me?” you give him a look, “...please?” smiling, you walk back over. his deep navy blue eyes contrast with the light red of his nose and around his eyes; your heart jumps as you feed him, his eyes trained on you. moments pass, silence covers the room in a safe, secure blanket. when he’s done eating, you place the bowl on the table before shoving kageyama aside to lay next to him. “you’ll get sick,” he says, but his arm is already wrapped around you, “maybe.” another second passes before he speaks again, “I really appreciate you, ya know.” you smile, turning on the tv to the sports channel, “yeah, I know.” 

akaashi.

they look like batter-splattered countertops, green and red sprinkles dusting the floor and dangerously close to the stovetop. a warm vanilla scent exudes from the oven, the timer counting down from twelve minutes. akaashi is bent over the burners, stirring beige eggnog with a wooden spoon. unfortunately, it looks lumpy and burned on the edges, somehow. with a sigh of defeat, the wavy-haired man puts a lid on the pot and moves across the galley-way kitchen, leaning on the white counters. you look over from the fridge, amused. “chef’s special doing downhill?” he chuckles weakly, nodding, “you have no idea. I think I burnt it...somehow.” you laugh, closing the refrigerator door with your hip, two glasses of eggnog in your hand, “that’s why I bought these, big man.” he takes the glasses, quirking a brow, “good thinking.” it’s quiet as you lean next to him, both watching the clock tick down closer and closer to zero. in this time you decide to stare at the love of your life, his nose with a slight bump in the middle, his eyelashes grow outward like grass, his tired yet loving eyes, staring straight at you. oh. you blink, turning away. “sorry. got caught in the moment.” akaashi hums from beside you, not missing a beat as his hand comes up, picking something from your hair. he rolls it in his fingers, “looks like dandruff,” he jokes, making you groan and push him away. “I’m just kidding,” you can hear the grin in his voice, you can see it too once he moves to the front line of your sight, forehead coming to rest against yours. gently, he brushes his nose with your own, eyes open only a sliver. “I am so in love with you.” he whispers, voice fragile and warm. heart swelling, you gaze up at him, “I love you, too, keiji.” in the background, the timer beeps thrice, but neither of you really rush to take them out of the oven, you bought extra cookies just in case, anyway. 

kenma.

they look like warm fuzzy blankets layered on his full sized bed, the low glow of the led lights on his ceiling shining down on you both. the sound of clicking buttons and occasional ending screen of a failed level play behind you; your own nose buried in your phone, scrolling past posts of friends out and about. kenma’s sock-clad feet rub against each other in lieu of more warmth as his head shrinks back under the protection of the white blanket on top of him. “I’m still cold,” he mutters before scoffing as he fails the same level again for what must be the thousandth time. he tosses the nintendo aside, shifting closer to you. “get another blanket then,” you muse, eyes still trained on your phone. “hmm, don’t wanna,” you feel his cold nose dig into the back of your neck, his arms encircling your waist; a warm breath fans across your nape, and you twitch. laughing, you try to elbow him away, but he whines at your resistance and holds onto you tighter. amused, you click off your phone and shove it under your pillow, turning towards him. you’re met with glowing 24 karat-gold-eyes and messy hair. he stares unblinking at you, and shyness overcomes you as he shamelessly lands his gaze at your lips. nothing can compare to the image of kenma slowly leaning towards you, sunny eyes closing in anticipation of a sweet kiss. a few beats pass with his lips on yours, and he’s in no rush when he pulls away, still staring at you. “you taste like apple fritter.” shy, you place a hand on his chest, “don’t you have a stream in like an hour or something?” “that can wait,” he whispers, body snuggling into yours. 

sugawara.

they look like ribbon and tissue paper strewn across the floor of a shared apartment. glitter spilled on the table, scissors open wide in an unsafe position peaking out from under the couch (that has an obscene amount of pillows with different holidays listed on them), tubes of wrapping paper scattered in random corners. you sit opposite of the gray-haired beauty, sticking labels on newly-wrapped presents, each of them addressed to a kid at the orphanage down the street. sugawara’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, nimble thumbs placing tape of the edges of the festive wrapping paper. “you know, koushi, not all of the kids celebrate christmas,” the former setter looks at you quickly, shrugging, “I know! I just wanted to get each of them a gift anyway! wouldn’t you be bummed if I got light up cinderella shoes but you got nothing?” you laugh, shaking your head. it’s silent for a few minutes more, the last few wraps being the most complicated ones, spheres and cylinders. you sit, waiting, gazing at the ugly sweater his kindergarten kids had gotten him (they all chipped in a few dollars (or their parents did)) that was a size too small and incredibly itchy, but he still wore anyway. “hmm, whatcha starin’ at?” his voice broke you from your trance. you stay quiet a few seconds more muttering, “you’ve got such a beautiful heart, koushi.” a blush erupts on your boyfriend’s face, his hands stilling before he smiles softly and continues his job. “only because you’re here by my side. you make me a better person each day.” you bite your lip and play with the nametags in your hand, feeling bad because you know you have the best gift out of all of the kids, and he’s sitting right across from you, failing at wrapping a soccer ball. 

tendou. 

they look like empty streets in the earliest hours of the morning, a time so early yet late that the birds are asleep, yet twitching in anticipation to be awake. the snow falls gently on the salted sidewalk, fresh and fluffy. a loud laugh breaks through the silence of the neighborhood street, the crunching of snow following suit. red hair dashes from piles of snow to behind lampposts, garbage cans, mailboxes. you wind your arm up, a heftily packed ball of (almost) ice ready in your palm for ammunition. a giggle leaves your lips as tendou grabs his own ball of snow, cheeks bitten pink by the harsh cold. ‘he’s fast, but not fast enough’ you think as you launch the snowball. it flies through the air, hitting the lanky chocolatier in the face with a satisfying crunch. tendou stills, nose red and wet from melted snow as you laugh so hard you almost fall over. a smile slowly climbs his now-numbing face and he walks towards you. your laughter only stops when he’s right in front of you, gazing down at your gleeful figure with love swimming in his eyes like marshmallows in gourmet hot chocolate. the snow rests on top of his buzzed red hair like white icing to red velvet cake. warmth radiates off him, penetrating deep in your heart. “you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, embracing you. you melt in his arms, but the feeling of wet coldness slapping into your back and the sound of crunching snow tell you of his crime. you can only laugh and call his name, “tendou satori, get back here!” and chase his nimble figure down the road back home, where he’ll hug you -- for real, this time. 

[bvccy]

Friend, if you are still open for request, can you please do Heliotrope with the Winter Soldier? 🥺 please thank you 💛💛💛

My dear 😭 I am so so sorry for how long this took! I just hope you can enjoy the fic. It’s a little bit spooky at the beginning, but WS is soft and so is our reader. And they get their happy-ever-after 💗

Thank you very much for this prompt also! 🌺🌺🌺

— PAIRING: soft!Winter Soldier x female!Reader — PROMPT: Heliotrope - walking in the sun, and losing each other — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

They had been living in darkness for months, and the oppressive cold that battered against the walls with fierce winds all day, and hungry howls at night — not that one could tell night from day in the sunless vastness, except by the ticking of the clock.

Hydra had installed that arctic facility at the mouth of a crater, covered by ice over the ages to conceal its dubious treasure. It was clear to the Soldier that the treasure was not made up of precious things, but it was only when the crew finished digging all the way down that he understood why all the scientists were there...

It was difficult for him to tell who the shuttle belonged to. It might have been some advanced technology from America, but then how did it get so deep down, so quickly? Maybe it was an old German prototype from the war, but it didn't look like any he'd seen before. Or maybe Hydra was just recovering their old property from past attempts... It didn't matter, he was just there to guard the scientists while they did the work.

The other soldiers stationed with him stopped taking the job seriously after the first three months, but he kept watch, and paid attention, and didn't miss the odd slimes that seeped across the floor out of those metal shells, nor the odd crunch as the scientists cut into something that looked soft and milky, but held like bone. And the smells, the cold metallic smells like iron dipped in silver... It sometimes felt like home, but he knew better than to let that grip him. And he kept watch.

The one chemist that doubled as the chef didn't make particularly good meals, but they were hearty, and if he was being honest, he was eating better at this isolated station than he did at the Base — felt freer too, almost in charge of his destiny, if one didn't count the frozen wastes he'd have to survive if he ever wanted to run. But the Soldier couldn't imagine why he'd ever wish to run.

Especially when she was here.

Studying the files of all the scientists on the mission, her portrait stood out as particularly sad, morose, with a bit of a death glare toward the cameraman. But when he actually saw her, she seemed sweet like a spring day and even happy to be there. She looked up into his eyes as she walked into the protected area to study their find, blinking up from beneath a mess of furs and protective equipment, but there was a smile crinkling around her gaze. As the months drew on and everyone got more bored with staying there, and loose with themselves, they'd sometimes play some music in the lab, and the Soldier didn't know why he liked it so much or felt the need to dance with someone.

The military staff initially had their own mess hall, a small room with a kitchenette where they could eat together, but then one of the doctors needed it to test the effects of temperature changes on some of the samples, and the place was... contaminated every since. Now, they all ate together. The girl who'd caught his eye tended to eat with her own team, the Geologists, but he could feel her looking at him sometimes, he noticed her lingering when he was around even if she was about to leave, and a few times she even dared approach him — under the excuse of getting the jar of sugar that was on his other side rather than reaching for the one next to her, or leaning down to get some plate she didn't need from right by his knees. It wasn't until she tried to reach a glass above his head, beyond her grasp, that he gave in and acknowledged her.

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the cup — the first time she'd ever said anything to him. Her voice suited her, but beyond its soft tones the Soldier was struck by being thanked at all. When was the last time that happened? What did one say in response?

"You're welcome?"

And he seemed so unsure saying it that he made her giggle.

She was inevitable after that, not because she was trying to be found but because he allowed himself to be around her, to guard her door while she chipped at stones and studied them, to sit near her during lunch — not right beside her, the Soldier still had a lingering shyness about that, but at least on the table opposite, from which they could look at each other if they wanted.

The long night was almost over, four months into their stay at this forsaken place, and the pair had taken to something really dangerous: in the small barn attached to the base, where some dry supplies were kept along with canisters of fuel, they escaped together while everyone else slept. He had led her there first, asking timidly whether she'd...

"Want to see something new?"

"Always," the girl grinned.

And so they found themselves piled on top of one another like firewood, almost not feeling each other beneath the layers of fur that kept them warm, but just being in each other's presence was... something. It was quiet without being quiet, with another real soul there, thinking its own thoughts in harmony with you.

The Asset wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep, though he did close his eyes sometimes and let the girl relax against him, and doze off, and during those times he allowed his arm to come down from where it propped his head up and wrap itself around her, holding her still — as if she were in danger of falling off some imaginary bed.

Nobody ever seemed to wonder where they both disappeared to, nobody noticed, which was why he was all the more surprised to hear shouting on that day. The Soldier didn't move, just tightened his arm around his little partner more. But when a bloodcurdling cry echoed through the vastness, he shook her awake.

"Wha—"

"Get up. The base is under attack," he muttered, reaching for the rifle laid beside him.

"That's crazy, who would attack us all the way out here?"

He didn't want to tell her what he thought, but only made her hide out in the shed while he went out to scout the area. Turning his radio on, nothing came through. There were no helicopters around, no trucks, no marks in the snow that anyone had attacked — at least, not from the outside. On the horizon, just the rays of a reluctant dawn were shining.

There was silence for a while, and then another symphony of screams rang out, muffled by the walls and the desperate shots of whoever was left inside, glass and metal knocked over, broken, and silence once again. Stepping away slowly, then more hurriedly, the Soldier returned to where he'd left the girl and picked her up by the elbow.

"Come on, we're leaving."

"Leaving where?" she cried out, confused and even slightly angry. "What's going on?"

"We're under attack."

"But our research..."

The Soldier dragged her to where the trucks were parked, and after the first flush of confusion she went along quietly. He gave her the rifle to hold while he looked in the back, making sure they had enough supplies for whatever drive awaited them — gas was there, some blankets too, and more ammunition. It would have to do. And without sparing another moment, he got in beside her and drove off. Against the rumbling of the engine as it drifted on the ice, a shrill scream cut through the frozen air and reached them, not sounding human nor animal nor like anything in the world, except perhaps a demon. The girl didn't look back, she wouldn't dare, she just looked quietly at the Soldier as she slowly understood. They drove into the sunrise as its rays burned away everything behind, and the snowdrifts buried it.

They didn't stop until the sky was bright as a midday, many hours later.

"Are we slowing down?" the girl mumbled sleepily.

"We're nearing a town," he said, eyes on the GPS. "Need to check that the road is clear. And that we are, too."

She stretched the shivers from her bones, but deep down she trusted the Soldier to keep them safe.

Getting out in what-felt-like days, frozen stiff, muscles aching from the shot of fear that penetrated down to her bones, the girl got out and reached for the sky with all she had. The air felt freer and fresher than ever before, even though it still hurt her lungs when it reached to their very bottom, but she loved such a pain — it felt like life.

The Asset walked slowly to her, just watching silently and smiling a half-smile at the sight of her all ruffled and soft, and safe.

"What do you think happened to the base?"

"Guess it's a mess by now," he hummed, bringing one gloved hand to feel around her head, her shoulders, down her arms, but always gently.

"We woke that thing up, didn't we?"

"You're the smart one, you tell me."

Her lips pursed — she never liked it when he teased her, but she tried never to reproach him for it, loving this sign of his personality shining through. "Are we far enough away now?"

"I don't know," he sighed, finally looking back into her eyes. "Are we?"

"The sun would kill it."

"How do you know that?"

She didn't answer but wouldn't look away either, and her determined gaze was enough for him. She did know more than he did, she'd spent months studying whatever that was, and that was fine by him. So long as none of it had managed to sneak on board.

"Stay close to me."

They walked around the car together and he checked the back, the wheels, then climbed on top and checked there too. Through the clearness of the day, he could even see the edges of a road that must've lead to that town. The car seemed clean, but they were close enough to a rescue that he'd rather not take any risks, and so picking up just a few useful things and one backpack, they started walking.

The snow got less deep and crunched beneath their boots, the wind was gentler downhill and even moved through the tendrils loosened from their hoods, shaking off the frost. In the distance, one tree stood tall, thin and dark and barren but alive, and over all of them the sun kept shining.

"We're almost at the road," said the Soldier, spotting a black snaking line a few meters ahead. He turned his head when he didn't hear anything back, but there was only the glint of sunlight on the snow.

Amorphous fog covered the horizons, and hills and dales of white, and suddenly the light felt very hot and burned his body as he turned frantically around and called for her. With mad fear, he traced back their steps up the snowy hill, nearly swimming through it as he called for her, terrified of the unthinkable.

Then, as if from the sea, a lone hand reached up and waved at him. Within one breath, he'd reached her, sitting in the snow just a few feet away.

"I'm so tired..." she huffed, burrowing like a rabbit. "Can't we rest a while?"

"You didn't rest enough in the car? Get up," he grumbled, pulling her up to her feet. He regretted snapping as soon as he saw her sad little face, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I was worried."

"I'm sorry too, for being so weak..."

Before thinking, he pulled her in and kissed the snow off her mouth. "None of that," he smiled as their lips parted. "Come on, we're so close. I'll carry you a bit if you want."

The girl shook her head mutely, face already flushed from frost but now truly heated. To be cared for, and worried about, and searched like that, and kissed... It put the life right back into her.

He kept his word and carried her in his arms at one point, but they both walked in the town together. Nobody knew who they were or where they came from and some had a few murmured questions, but by the time Hydra sent an extraction team for them, it didn't matter — they were gone, lost in the wind like two rays of sunshine.

[iknowthekoolaidflavor]

Every Kind of Way

Prompt: On the way to a friend’s house, during a blizzard, you end up stuck in a cabin with Daveed’s family…or as I like to call it Rose doesn’t know how to finish her other projects, so she wrote something else

PART 3

LISTEN TO EVERY KIND OF WAY BY H.E.R.

Pairing: alpha!werewolf!daveed x omega!reader

Tagging: @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @ramp-it-up @sebastianabucknettastan @wtfhell

This is a soulmate au with a/b/o dynamics, werewolves, eventual smut, and some pining because why not!

“Werewolves having a soulmate is extremely rare”, Rafa started

“Most go their entire lives without meeting them. That’s why many of us never believed in them in the first place”, Jasmine continued, pulling Anthony close, “I wasn’t sure they were real, then I met Anthony, I knew it was true. According to our elders, he isn’t really my soulmate, but I know he is. He’s my favorite beta and favorite person”

Anthony smiled up at his wife. She cradled his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“What about you?”, you asked Rafa, who avoided their display of affection

“It all seemed like a fairytale to me. Until now. You really came out of nowhere, almost bringing our fearless leader to his knees”

“Don’t be dramatic”, Jasmine sighed

“We both know what we saw. He’s like putty in her little hands now. Wait and see”, Rafa explained before his eyes went wide, “We’re going to have to give them some time...alone”

Anthony chuckled beside you as Jasmine covered her mouth.

“How much time do you think they need?”

“Well, he hasn’t been active for years. A pretty omega shows up...a week”

Your cheeks burned at his insinuation. At some point, you would have to face Daveed again and you didn’t know if you were ready for...that. 

“We’ll have to talk. I don’t know if I’m ready to take it there yet”

“I’m sure he’ll understand”, Jasmine remarked, “He’s very gentle and understanding when he wants to be”

You shifted on the couch, staring at Rafa flip through an old book he’s most likely read a thousand times. 

“I’m destined to be his omega?”

“That’s what the lore says. You don’t feel any different after your magical staring contest?”

You threw the pillow you were resting on across the room. It bounced off Rafa’s forehead, earning a laugh from Anthony. Rafa threw the pillow back, missing by a few inches. The alpha smiled at you as you stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Feels like I need to be closer to him, but I don’t think he wants that now”

“He probably thinks you rejected him”, Anthony suggested

“No”, you reasoned, “I’m being cautious. I didn’t know what all of this meant until today”

“We haven’t reached the part about getting marked”, Rafa smirked

“I know one day I’ll get marked”

“Do you know how painful it is for soulmates to go too long without getting marked? The clock is already ticking”

“Rafa, you’re going to scare her off”, Jasmine chastised

“I’m just telling her what I know. She needs to be prepared”

Jasmine changed the topic, thankfully lightening the mood. They eventually showed you your room when you started to yawn. In the morning, you would deal with your soulmate. 

The next day started off uneventful. By noon, Jasmine and Rafa went for a walk and Anthony decided to join them. You were alone with your book and thoughts in the living room. The sound of a door opening and careful steps pulled you out of your reverie. Daveed attempted to walk down the steps as slow and quiet as he could. You held the book tight in your hand, watching him out the corner of your eye. 

“Did you even eat breakfast?”, you asked when he reached the ground floor

Daveed’s eyes grew wide now that your attention was on him. 

“I just wanted to get a snack and give you some space. I’ll be out soon”, he responded as he walked into the kitchen

You put the book down and followed him. Both of you were ignoring the force pulling you to each other. You took the soup from the fridge and put it on the stove as Daveed pulled out a bag of chips. He started walking away until he heard your voice. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Told you I wanted to give you space”, he said refusing to turn around

“You don’t have to”, you uttered, “I’m sure Jasmine, Anthony, and Rafa would never forgive me if I let you go hungry”

Daveed turned around with a smirk. 

“Let me? Did you plan on starving me at some point?”

“After last night? Yes”

He looked down, ashamed of the way he behaved the night before. His heart was in the right place, but he knew better than to send you out into the aftermath of a blizzard. 

“I’m sorry for my behavior. I thought I was keeping you safe, but I was wrong”

Daveed couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, watching you bite your lip and tap the counter. He could tell you were nervous. Something was on your mind.

“Will I be safer here...with you?”

In that moment, his heart exploded. Of course he will be the one to keep you safe. He knew he would give you whatever your heart desired. 

“Yes, I’ll keep you safe”, he promised with a gentle squeeze of your hand, “Last night was intense, but we still have to talk about it, don’t we?”

You nodded as you poured the soup in two bowls. Your eyes remained downcast as you busied yourself around the kitchen. Daveed watched you, slightly irritated that you were avoiding the topic. When you crossed paths with him again, he held your waist and sat you down on the counter. He cradled your chin and directed your gaze to him. 

“This is new to both of us. If you want this, we can take our sweet time. Get to know each other. I’m sure there’s plenty that we don’t know about this soulmate thing”

“Your friends have told me plenty”

Daveed cocked an eyebrow, “What did they tell you?”

“I’m sure they’ll fill you in”, you smiled, contemplating your next statement while playing with the hem of your shirt, “I’m not rejecting you”

The tension leaving Daveed’s body could be felt from miles away. 

“I don’t know what it’s like to have a soulmate”

“But?”

“I want to get to know you and take our time”

Daveed nodded, hesitating to pull you in for a hug until you pulled him closer. Your chin rested in the crook of his neck as you took in his scent. Everything was fine until you made the very mistake he made the night before. Your nose brushed against his scent gland and his entire body tensed. 

Daveed wrapped his arms around you as his body shook. This time you slowly kissed and nipped along his gland. He buried his face in your neck, thankful you couldn’t see his eyes rolling to the back of his head. If you weren’t careful, you would reach the point of no return. 

Your legs immediately spread for him the moment a moan slipped past his lips. He pressed his hardening cock against your slick covered shorts. Daveed bit down on your neck, hard enough to send a shock through your system, but not enough to mark you. You’ve had partners bite you gland in the past, yet it never felt like this. 

“Alpha”, you moaned as his cock rubbed your clothed pussy

The moan and the name leaving your lips sent him into overdrive. He left fervent kisses against your gland as you nipped at his. The tight grip on your hips held you in place and you knew there would be bruises later. He pressed into you as you held on for dear life, begging him to keep going. 

Everything in Daveed reminded him of how enticing it would be to bite your delicate gland and make you his. He growled as he opened his mouth, intending to do so. You were falling apart in his grip and none the wiser. 

His teeth were about to sink in when he heard the front door open. Daveed immediately jumped off of you, readjusting his clothes and yours. He fixed your hair, then picked up his bowl. 

“We can never do that again, understood?”, he demanded

All you could do was nod as he made his way up the staircase. 

[sneksandfish]

Aertha x Satan (Part 2) - Angst || Obey Me!

WARNING! **Descriptive Gore/Mental Breakdowns**

Thank you for reading! Please read the previous post for context. Here’s the epilogue.  ______________________ Satan sat in front of a picture frame that showed himself and Aertha, then looked at the ripped portrait that showed them on their wedding day. She's dead.

It’s all your fault. 

You did this. 

He took in a breath and looked away from the ripped portrait that barely showed properly how beautiful Aertha was that day. His knees curled up to his chest and burying his head into his knees. His books were tattered, the bedsheets ripped, and there practically wasn't a single thing in his room that wasn't broken. Looking at the mirror that was in fragments, he can barely make out through blurred eyes how much of a mess he was.

For starters, Solomon was forever put into a realm of loneliness, the 9th circle of hell. Where there was nothing but himself. They were able to hold a proper funeral for Aertha. Although there was no body, there was a closed coffin and the grimoire was never to be seen again thanks to Diavolo and Barbatos.

His brothers seem fine, not remembering the memory at all, only concerned for the fourth born. So if Satan were to vent it out, the brothers would only feel despair and terror rotting them away at the core. As much as Satan spites them, he can't bear to see his brothers wallow in guilt. He's a rotting mess of guilt and can't even eat properly, cursing at how his brothers are able to live on properly, amnesia on their minds.

Dark circles shaped Satan's eyes as he finally got his stiff limbs to move and look at himself in the broken glass. His figure skinnier than ever and lips chapped. He looked at the picture of them together and sighed.

"...I did this..."

"And so you did,"

Satan looked up, feeling more awake than ever, seeing Aertha's red eyes behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

They feel cold.

"I'm sure you had a lovely time eating my thumb, didn't you Satan?"

"Aertha..."

"Satan, you sure looked like you had such a fun time watching your brothers eat parts of me. Bit by bit, little by little,"

"...I didn't."

Aertha walked around the room, twirling a strand of her hair, "You see...I thought you loved me."

Satan reached out towards her, noticing how parts of her chipped away, slowly. Bit by bit, little by little to her flesh, "I do love you though! Aertha... Aertha please."

"Satan, I'm not an idiot."

"Aertha..."

"Satan, I'm not a fool either, you're so weak willed..."

"...Aertha?"

"You're so weak willed," She turned to him, the bone of her cheek exposed, "You couldn't even pull yourself together when I asked you to! I'm your wife Satan! Your lover!!! I out of all people should've made you snapped out of it!!!" Blood dripped from her clothes and onto the floor, "And this is what you do to me?! You stab me in the heart?!" blood then dripped from her mouth, "Stab me in the heart without a word?! NOT EVEN AN I LOVE YOU AS I DIED?!"

Satan is curled up on the floor, begging for her to stop, begging for her to have mercy on him, begging for her to go away and that he's sorry for what he did. His hands over his ears and tears streaked down on his face. He can feel how angry she is. He can feel how resentful she is. His breathing hitches in unsteady rates and his heart pounding in his ears.

He's scared. He's so scared.

"Aertha... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I couldn't snap out of it... I'm sorry that I'm like this... I'm sorry I couldn't rescue you... help me... I'm sorry... please help me... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Aertha I'm sorry... please forgive me..."

"...Satan."

He looked up to see her red eyes cold and unloving, "You think I can forgive you for what you did? Are you bullshitting me?" She pulled his head back by the hair, "Are you really asking me for forgiveness? Pull yourself together you foolish demon!"

"I'm sorry..." 

"You're sorry? WHERE IS THE PROOF THAT YOU'RE SORRY SATAN?! WHERE IS IT?! CAUSE I KNOW IT'S NOT WHEN YOU'RE HALLOWED UP IN YOUR ROOM DOING JACKSHIT." Satan is sobbing, begging for her to stop, someone to stop her.

"Satan. You're pathetic. Oh so pathetic. I should be happy that you've dumbed yourself down to this level, but I'm not. I'm not impressed." 

Satan is barely breathing as she says the next words, watching her cry. 

"Why did I even marry you? I should've never married you in the first place."

Something snaps in him, he wants to believe this is all imaginary and all a dream. Maybe he was delusional from not drinking enough water. Maybe he didn't eat enough, sleep enough, or maybe he is sleeping! The line of reality and fantasy blurs heavily as Aertha starts crumbling, and so does he. 

 He doesn't know how long he's been on the floor, confused, sobbing, crying, ringing in his ears, but he knows it's not healthy at all.

They could've had a beautiful daughter as he promised on their wedding day named Liselotte, grow old together, make more memories, cherish the old, make the new, be there for her, care for her, the family memories they could've had but it all died with Aertha. 

 And it's all because of him.

Everything he wanted died.

Small ringing in his ears formed voices. Voices so loud he couldn't ignore anymore. Varying voices, male and female, taunting him out of his room.

"You killed us." 

"Take responsibility." 

"You did this Satan! You!!!" 

"You let your brothers eat us?! Are you kidding me?!" 

"I couldn't do everything I wanted because of you." 

He grabs the sword he killed Aertha with. 

"I could've had a future with the person I loved," 

"You ruined our dreams. Our hopes!" 

"I can't believe you..." 

"I believed in you!" 

He drags it along the floor, following where his instincts wanted him to, straight into Mammon's room. 

"Hey? Hey Satan! What are you doing?! Satan what are you doing with that sword?! SATAN?! SATAN!" 

"I loved you." 

And he stabs Mammon straight into the heart without a word.

He didn't know when Mammon's cries died down and his body flumped to the seat, neither when the brothers entered his room, seeing the deed he's done. The floor stained red, the couch stained red, hands on the floor and blood gushing out. The brothers could only look at Satan, slow terror and anger rising in their blood as they turned into their demon forms. Satan could only scoff. 

 "Do you know what I had to bear with alone my dear brothers?" 

 "You can tell us later, for now, we're going, Levi call an ambulance for Mammon." Levi nodded, pulling out his phone. 

 Satan stabbed Mammon's eye, straight through the sunglasses, "No I don't think you will," 

 "Satan stop!" Asmo yelled out.

 "DO YOU ALL KNOW WHAT I HAD TO BEAR WITH ALONE?! My dead wife yelling at me?!" 

He lunged towards Belphegor, making sure that sword was stuck between Belphie's head, "ABUSING ME?!" He felt the a force shove him into a wall, the sword for sure making a scar on the 7th born's head, "TELLING ME SHE SHOULD'VE NEVER MARRIED ME?! DO YOU ALL KNOW HOW THAT FEELS?! DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY?!"

"Shut up Satan," Beel placed a hand on his head, trying to ignore the loud maniacal laughter Belphegor let out then flopped to the side, trying to stop the blood by Leviathan's jacket.

 "No! You shut up! I'm sure you really liked Aertha's body for a meal! Didn't you?! YOU DIDN'T HESITATE TO EAT HER ALL UP UNTIL I SNAPPED OUT OF IT AND STOPPED YOU!"

 "...What?" Beel felt empty and panicked, "...Satan...what?"

 Satan got the sword and slashed Beel's neck, "YOU HEARD ME YOU FUCKING GLUTTON! YOU ATE THE ONLY PERSON WHO UNDERSTOOD ME THE MOST!"

"Satan, get a hold of yourself!"

 "Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up! JUST SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

Asmodeus threw a perfume bottle at Satan, hoping it hit his head, "You didn't have to harbor all of that to yourself you damn idiot! You could've told us! YOU COULD'VE TOLD ALL OF US AND WE ALL COULD'VE SUFFERED WITH YOU!" 

 Satan stood there shocked. Then shook his head, then thought about it again, kicking Beel away from the sword, "You fucking fool of a narcissist..." 

 "Excuse me?" 

 The 4th born looked up, drenched in blood, sweat and tears, "I couldn't do that to you...if what happened then made me like this, then what about all of you?"

Asmo held a hand out for Satan and seconds later without a breath in his lungs, that hand was cut off. The screaming his throat and visible wrist bone popping out as he finally screamed and let it all out. 

 "...I couldn't say this to you before...But you looked fucking ugly when you ate Aertha's arm," He looked at Leviathan and Lucifer, the two of them backing up. He looked at the bodies and maniacally laughed, "Lucifer!!! Oh darling Lucifer! What are you going to do now?!"

He spread his arms out and laughed to himself, "Everyone is bleeding, Beel can't breathe, Belphie is bleeding out...Is Mammon dead?" He kicked Mammon's head like it was a soccer ball and Lucifer winced at how it cracked in an awful noise, "...Well now he is," 

 Leviathan carefully backed up, "Satan...Satan please..."

 "Satan will do what for you brother Levi? What will Satan do for you? Give you mercy?" He placed his bloodied hands on Leviathan's cheek and slapped him right across the face, "That's fucking bullshit." Without knowing, Leviathan just collapsed onto the ground, breathless as he felt the slashes on his ankles, rendering him unable to move. 

 "Now you can't run or swim!"

 "Satan, you're mourning, but you put this on yourself. You put this burden on yourself." 

 Satan scoffed, hands on his hips and glared at Lucifer, "That's not what everyone said when you hid the truth about Lilith for I don't know, a thousand years?" "Don't bring Lilith into this," 

 "I don't know her anyway. I'll offend the dead a little longer Lucifer, spite everything you've liked and known." 

 Lucifer felt his patience snap into thin lines, fraying at each second that ticked on the grandfather clock. Taking off his jacket, he placed it over Mammon, closing his eyes with two fingers and breathing out an "I'm sorry" in a hushed whisper. 

 "Lucifer, I can hear the ambulances coming," 

 "...So you can?" 

 Satan held the sword with two hands, "...Can't you just let me die...and maybe let me see my wife one last time?" 

 "...You fool. You want to see your wife after you've broken our family?"

 "At least the problem is gone-" 

 "Satan, I'm not letting you die." 

 "...Honestly..." Satan held the sword by the handle, and made sure to make a large cut over Lucifer's face, diagonal, enough to cause a scar, "You fucking piss me off,"

Time ticks slowly as Satan sat on Mammon's bed, staining it with his hands, he looked at the ceiling and saw how lavishly peaceful Mammon lived, "...This is why he's foolish and an idiot..." 

He looks over to the hallucination of Aertha who looked at him back, this time with gray eyes.

 "...Are you satisfied love?" 

 "...If it's for you then yes I am," 

 "...Can...Can you tell me that you love me?" 

 I want to live. 

 He paused, hearing another faint voice. He sat up from the gray sheets and listened and saw in blur. 

 "...Tani please, I want to live, don't let me die like this...You know I love you...right? ..Right?" 

 Tani please, 

 I want to live, 

 don't let me die like this... 

 Fuck off Solomon...Fuck off! 

 you wouldn't actually do this... 

 guys, snap out of it 

 ...Do you...really hate me that much... 

 I should've died a lot earlier... 

 you know I love you, right?

He looked at the illusion, at Aertha's sad gray eyes, she sent him a smile, a sad but genuine one and closed her eyes, holding him with her two faded, cold hands. She didn't have to say anything because now Satan knew how she felt in her last moments.

 Cold, alone, unloved, wishful, miserable. 

 The guilt piled up in heavy brick, choking on his words that he could never find. In the end, he hugged nothing but air, everything an illusion. 

 When he woke up, he found himself cold, alone, unloved, wishful, and miserable, hands chained to the wall. He wasn't dead, there was no such bitter sweet release like that where he was. He silently sobbed to himself, the hallucinations and voices gone. 

 He woke up devastated. //END// ___________________ Thanks for reading the oneshot!!! It’s greatly appreciated! Please read the other oneshot(s) I posted lol

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg thanks for the shoutout

Heads Up- Part 11 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

That night was a troubled night for Caesar.

As a living clay figure, he was unbothered by human needs, like food, water or air. The sole exception was sleep-- he never felt physically tired, but his mind demanded rest, and even he needed some shut-eye to keep his thoughts in check.

Except tonight, sleep refused to visit him.

Caesar was troubled by the revelation of his identity. Was he once a living man? Was he really Anthonio Zeppeli returned from the dead? Caesar didn't want to believe it. He couldn't quite grasp the reality of his rebirth as a work of art.

Yet, at the same time, he felt there was no other possible explanation.

The night dragged on, slowly and arduously, and all Caesar could do was watch the wall clock slowly tick along, and see the progression of the moon across the night sky from outside the window, little standards of change that reminded Caesar of the passage of time.

Eventually, his eyes grew too heavy, and soon his thoughts calmed down as he began to dream.

---------

Where am I, he thought to himself, as he wiped his forehead with back of his hand.

Caesar paused.

Hand?

He looked down. He indeed had a hand.

And arms, and legs, and a body.

Caesar looked around. He realized he was in front of some kind of building, adorned with gothic-style structures on its top. He had been sitting directly in its shade, clad in dusty overalls and a dark shirt underneath.

"Anthonio!" yelled a voice. "Quit sitting around and get your job done!"

Caesar tried to stand up, uncertainly, as he no longer quite remembered what it was like having arms and legs. They felt strange, almost wrong, like parts of his body that shouldn't be.

"Alright, alright," Caesar told the unseen voice. "What do you want me to do?"

"Weren't you supposed to be working on your mural?" it said, and Caesar, looking up, saw a ladder leaned up against the wall.

He saw the mural, an unfinished sculpted work of a dove in flight, with above it a large, stone crucifix. This building seemed to have had once been a cathedral but was converted into a hotel and attraction, while still keeping its original visual style.

"You better get this job done soon if you want to get paid," complained the unseen voice, irately.

"I'm onto it!" Caesar yelled back. He ascended the ladder, tentatively and uneasily due to his newfound limbs, toward the top where his-- no, Anthonio's-- mural sat unfinished.

Or maybe he was Anthonio.

Caesar reached the top, and pulled out a chisel from a belt in his overralls. He didn't remember quite how to use it. Hell, he didn't even know how to use his hands.

"Maybe like this?" he mumbled to himself, chipping away at the part of the mural that was the dove's head. He struck the stone etching.

And then suddenly, it began to crack.

"Shit!" was all Caesar could cry out as the entire mural began to break apart, the elegant avian form on the mural suddenly tearing itself apart and crumbling as it did so. The entire front of the hotel began to crack.

"Anthonio!" cried the disembodied voice again.

Suddenly, Caesar felt himself falling.

He was toppling backwards over the ladder, falling fourty, fifty feet, down onto the hard, solid pavement below.

And as he looked up, the last thing he saw was the dark silhouette of a crucifix, descending upon him as it blotted out the sunlight

He felt a surge of agonizing pain, and then nothingness.

--------

Caesar's eyes snapped open in a panic.

He was going to die.

No, he was already dead.

Caesar panicked for a moment at the realization that he couldn't feel anything below his neck. His body was gone.

And then he remembered: he didn't have a body.

Caesar looked around. He was in Joseph's room again, sitting by the tabletop. It was still nighttime, and Joseph lay snoring loudly on the bed, clad only in shorts.

Caesar sighed. It was all just a dream.

"Joseph?" he said. "Joseph..."

"Hnghhh..." groaned the artist, his eyes flickering and fluttering open. "It's still dark, Caesar. Go back to sleep."

"I can't, Jojo. I can't sleep." he said.

Rubbing his eyes, Joseph sat up in his bed and stretched out. "What's the matter, Cae? Had too much coffee before bed?" Joseph joked, knowing all too well the bust's reaction to Joseph bringing up his inability to drink or eat.

But today, the clay being had no power for snarky bantering.

"I'm just...having bad dreams lately." Caesar said sadly.

"About what?" Joseph asked.

Caesar sighed, a long, heavy sigh of grief.

"Do you really think I am Anthonio Zeppeli's soul imprisoned in a clay figure?" he said.

Joseph reached out to Caesar's shoulder, as if to hold his hand, had he had any.

"I wouldn't say imprisoned," Joseph said. "If it's true, as Suzi had said, I think you were given a second chance."

"A second chance at what? Anthonio had been a successful artist, and all I am is a clay head, useful for nothing," he lamented.

Joseph hugged his creation. "You're a living miracle, Caesar. You're a work of art with a soul, in more ways than one. You've made my life better, and a bit more colorful, since you came, and I think that's purpose enough."

"Plus, you make a great alarm clock," Joseph added jokingly. The last crack was enough to force a smile onto Caesar's distraught face.

Joseph yawned. "And speaking of clocks, it's just 2 AM," Joseph hummed. "I ought to be getting back to bed."

"Can I sleep beside you?" Caesar asked.

Joseph paused at the strange request. "Sleep beside me?" he asked.

"I mean, if it's alright with you," Caesar added, apologetically. "I've just have been really lonely."

"Sure thing, no problem," Joseph said. With some effort he gently lifted up the bust, and laid him onto the bed. With his face and hair varnished, Joseph no longer needed to worry about Caesar's details flattening out when he laid him sideways.

Normally Caesar didn't like soft surfaces: he was unable to bounce, and he felt even more helpless than he already was. But this was different: embraced by Joseph, as they lay side by side, Caesar never felt more loved in his brief existence. Not just loved as a masterpiece, but loved as a person.

He felt fulfilled. He felt important.

He looked back at Joseph, who had fallen asleep again, messy-haired and shirtless, embracing Caesar's vestigal torso like a pillow, and lightly snoring. Caesar looked lovingly at him for a few more minutes, until he, at last, fell asleep.

If I could only hug him back, came the final thought in Caesar's head for the night, before weariness in the end took over, leaving both sculptor and sculpture entwined in peaceful slumber.

--------

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned as the sickeningly sweet smell of burnt pancakes filled the early morning air. "I hope you like it well done," he joked, flipping the charred patty onto a plate.

"And that's why I'm glad you didn't take culinary arts," Suzi replied with a laugh, as she sat by the kitchen table with Caesar on the tabletop.

"By the way, I love these little elevators you made for Caesar!" Suzi complimented, examining the dumbwaiter-like contraptions Joseph built to help Caesar get up onto tables or back onto the floor. "You really worked hard to give him independence."

"He needs it," Joseph answered. "It's the best I could do for him."

Caesar, meanwhile, had plenty of questions to ask Suzi ever since she spoke of his magical origins.

"Say, how long did the clay beings live, in those legend you found?" Caesar asked, a bit uneasily. "My existence isn't just a short-term spell, is it?"

"Not at all!" Suzi reassured him. "If anything, they were said to sometimes live for up to hundreds of years!"

Hundreds of years, thought Caesar, somewhat regretfully. Would he eventually outlive Joseph? And what would he do without him?

But he shook such thoughts from his head. It just meant he still had plenty of time with his beloved sculptor, and what mattered was today. Joseph was here. He was here. And that was the important thing.

"Say, it's Sunday tomorrow," Suzi told Joseph. "If you're free, maybe we should go out sometime? It's kind of been a dull week, and I'm sure we could both go somewhere," she said. "I could use a vacation since I don't really have much else to do."

"I mean, sure," Joseph said, "but what about Caesar?"

"Take me with you," Caesar begged. "I want to get out of this house at least once!"

"It's dangerous," Joseph said. "People could see you! Or steal you! And you're so realistic-looking people might think I had an actual severed head with me if you'd try freezing up." he mused.

"I'm just a head," Caesar insisted. "You could just stick me in a box or something."

Joseph hesitated. He didn't want to put Caesar in danger. He knew the outside world had its perils, and Caesar, a mere clay figure and one without limbs at that, wouldn't stand a chance.

But he saw Caesar's pleading face.

What kind of life would it be for him to spend his whole life locked in a house? He knew Caesar had to be kept a secret. The world wasn't ready for something like him.

But at the same time, since Caesar was blessed with life, Joseph believed he needed to get to enjoy it, too.

"Say, Suzi," Joseph asked. "Do you know a place without a lot of people?"

She pondered for a moment. "There's a parkway by the beach, it's not very crowded this time of year. I mean, last I checked there isn't even anyone at all. It's completely deserted."

Joseph's face lit up.

"Tomorrow afternoon's sunset it is then," he said with a grin.

"And remember to bring us a box."

----------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[youarejesting]

Love Listening

[MASTERLIST]

Beta: @tinysweetscrown​ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, Reader x Yoongi Genre: Smut Warning: Auralism (sexual sounds), Masturbation, oral sex (m & f receiving), penetrative Sex, voyeurism. Words: 3.6k

You had been roommates for a few years now, really great ones so you thought. Taehyung was handsome, kind, and witty, a gentle guy who enjoyed some eccentric hobbies and rarely started beef. You liked him for sure but not romantically and any feelings you may have had didn’t take over your life. He always brought home different girls and you had your books and loud music to drown it all out. Other than that, the two of you lived in harmony, eating and talking trash together. 

Things between work and home had been going great. You felt like you were finally getting somewhere with your work. It took months to get this ahead in paperwork, that is until your boss surprised you with a document you had forgotten to include. Months of work you had to redo, because he didn’t give you all the required documents. Bitterly you remember asking for this form a week ago and being told he would send it over email, but obviously never did. Thankful for the completed worksheets in front of you, it made writing new ones easier. 

Before you could end your shift your boss asked you to stay a little longer, just to discuss how the edit was going. Explaining that you were halfway through, he lectured you about making sure to remember every document before beginning a task. His lecture went so long you glanced at the clock. You would have to race to the bus if you wanted to make it on the last trip of the night.

You were running down the street when the bus passed by, causing you to curse loudly. Taking out your mobile, you called for a taxi, paying the man and collecting your bags. You realized you had left your wallet in the cab and had to call them back. As you waited for the taxi outside the apartment building where you lived, it began raining. Seriously what was today? 

With your wallet returned, you entered the rooftop apartment. You never understood why these apartments always were the setting for so many K-dramas. You had gotten into a discussion with your good friend Seokjin; both agreeing that the rooftop was the worst due to the heat. So the rain was your saving grace. Fighting the keys in the lock, you were quick to shed your bag on the hook by the front door. 

Stepping into the apartment. It was a modern style, everything open directly from the front door was the living room, behind the couch was the dining table and behind that the kitchen. On the other side of the living room was a hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. It was cozy. You really enjoyed living in the small home. 

Even if at night the pipes in the ceiling rattled ominously, or that you didn’t have a proper laundry and as it was just a washing machine in the cupboard by the dining table. But there were so many good memories within the apartment, like the couch you and Taehyung had carried half way across town and broke to get it to fit through the front door. Or the hole in the wall where you both had decided to roller skate in doors and he fell through the drywall.

Yes, you were fond of all the little cracks in the tiles and all the chips in the paint as they were memories that you loved and shared with your best friend and roommate. The very same roommate you had walked in on getting dressed up in the living room. He was buttoning up a dress shirt, when he noticed you across the room.

“Okay, how do I look?” he said, while you hopped out of your shoes and coat, which you put away neatly in their rightful places. 

“What’s the goal for the night?” Eyes sliding up and down his form. 

“To get some,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Then you look good” you threw him two thumbs up. You walked to the washing machine, which was hidden inside a cupboard in your small apartment and began stripping from your drenched work uniform, standing there in only your bra and underwear. 

You were both comfortable with each other, but this was no rom-com. You were pretty sure if he liked you, he wouldn’t fart in your room at night and run away laughing. Taehyung noticed your appearance with a laugh. “An umbrella,” he said with his finger in the air as if he had had a profound idea before running off to find one.

With the washing machine set you wondered what you would do in the house by yourself tonight, you walked down the hallway towards your room. Pressing the bedroom door open you were met with a strange sight. There was water all over your bed and dripping onto the floor “TAE! What did you do?”

“What? I didn’t do anything” He stepped in inspecting your room and his mouth fell open. “Oh no”

The rain you had praised earlier was another omen of bad luck. There must be a leak, and a big one at that, in your roof and it completely soaked the bed. Taehyung was quick to call the landlord, who said they would send someone to inspect it the next day. 

Did you do something wrong in this life or a past life, why did you deserve this? You pushed your bed aside and placed a large bucket under the drippage, pacing and nervously looking around at all your treasured items. Taehyung loosened his tie, sending a text to his current fling that he was unavailable.

"Hey shh, it's okay listen, we are Bro's I have extra space in my room. I will make room and we can move your bed and any valuables in case something happens." You spent the evening moving everything, you couldn’t believe he canceled his evening with his latest girl,Alana. She was really pretty. 

"Sorry about your girl?"

"It's all good, she can’t resist me” he gave a cheeky box grin.

Dinner and movies helped you forget about the disasters in your life. You both laid in Taehyung’s bed while your mattress was upright in the corner of the room, drying. 

The digital cloak on Taehyung’s bedside table began to blur, the soft blue LED numbers ticking over. You were in a haze like sleep, when you heard heavy breathing and whispering. A woman’s voice talking quietly seemed to really pull you from your sleep state. Taehyung was face timing Alana. 

You tried to ignore it, but their hushed whispers became muffle giggles. You heard the blankets move slowly and cautiously. Taehyung shushing Alana while she purposefully tried to exaggerate her sounds. The out of breath words, became soft moans accompanied by the slow movements against the blankets that gently bounced the mattress. There was a sticky wet sound that you knew was his hand pumping around his shaft.

How you wanted to look. Each new sound sent a volt of electricity through your body. The dirty talk increased.

“You are such a little slut,” Taehyung growled. “You couldn’t even wait, one night”

“I want to come so bad,” Alana’s sickly sweet voice spoke through the phone and you wanted nothing more than to throw the phone. “I want to see”

“Fuck, I wish I was there right now, I would sink this thick cock so deep baby” He moved the blankets aside and the sounds were clearer almost deafeningly loud. How did he not know you were awake. “God I want to fill you up”

His hand moved faster, sounds of air pushing past his lips like he was trying to muffle it with tight lips, but it was too powerful to prevent. He came. His voice was a low growl, you could practically feel it in your own throat, it was so raw. 

His cry broke mid climax and his hips bucked into his closed fist. The imagery and sounds had you soaking through your panties, you tried lying as still as possible to not let Taehyung know, you heard it all your heartbeat strumming mercilessly against your clit. 

He leaned over the bed shuffling around.

“I gotta go and clean up” Taehyung sounded a little frustrated. He was panting, whispering a quiet thank you as he said goodbye to Alana.

“Fuck, I didn’t think I was going to cum so fast, it’s okay Tae it’s only for a few days until the roof is fixed” Taehyung leant over the side of the bed rummaging around before readjusted the blankets with a deep sigh and falling promptly to sleep. 

His soft rhythmic snores attesting to his workout. You however were not so lucky, unable to fall back asleep. Feeling guilty and ashamed for listening. You felt like a creep, but he must have known the risk by doing something like this in the same room, in the same bed. 

With Taehyung fast asleep, you shamefully took care of your business, you remembered the sounds and his groans. Recalling them made you desperate, the girl he was on the phone with praised him for how big he was, so you did your best to add a finger more than you usually did, biting your pillow trying to stay quiet. 

The next day you moved about the house, heading to work and forgetting all about what had happened. Work was slow and tedious and by the time it was all over, you were completely exhausted. Hoseok the most energetic and on some occasions the most annoying co-worker you had the pleasure of working with smiled in your direction. Practically skipping over to chat your ear off which usually made you feel better, but you weren’t feeling good at all. The thought of your room slowly flooding and your things being destroyed really put a damper on your work ethic.

You had plans to box everything up and perhaps have it sent to storage while the repairs were underway. Tae had contacted you saying that the maintenance guy came and they had to repair the roof and the ceiling. He also said that he had put your mattress in the sun to dry and would bring it in, when it was dry or before nightfall. This gave you some hope things could get better, putting a little more effort into your work. You would finish it all today you decided, even if you had to stay all night.

Walking inside the apartment you stripped out of your uniform as always and threw them into the washing machine. Stopping yourself from entering your bedroom, you walked into Taehyung’s room, not thinking anything of it. You froze at the sight. Taehyung lay naked, his head back and eyes closed while Alana took care of him. You could see he indeed was  big, bigger than you had thought, and much bigger than your own finger the other night. Sneakily crawling across the room while the two were busy in their activities, you grabbed your over sized sweater and yoga pants before turning to crawl out of the room,trying not to startle or disturb them. 

Turning to exit you paused momentarily in the middle of the room, when you finally gave in to your urges and took a peek. Taehyung had a firm grasp on Alana’s head and was thrusting hard, You could hear Alana gagging at the sheer size of him. The sucking sound squelching as he fucked her throat, as it tried to close around him, rejecting him. What a waste, he should at least be with someone who could take him, you thought. Clearly not you, you weren't any better yourself. 

You escaped, but the images you witnessed had lit a spark between your hips. You headed out, leaving the apartment, deciding it was almost too dangerous to stay. Also it was kind of frustrating and weird to just sit in the living room and listen to the two enjoying themselves. A mix of respecting their privacy and the growing urgency of her own sexual frustration.

Yoongi’s apartment was nice. He was a music producer and worked with many of the latest artists. He was a friend, whom you had a history with, and you were sort of banking on the fact that because of  said ‘history’,he might help you out. 

Knocking on the door, you waited patiently. Min Yoongi wasn’t the type to rush. He answered tiredly and thoroughly confused to see you. "Hey what's up?" 

"Yoongi I need to ask you a favor”

"Okay," he allowed you in with a swing of his arm, stepping back to allow you inside. You barely made it past the threshold before you asked him.

"Remember that time we both got drunk at  Jin’s New Years’ party?"

"Uh, the time we agreed would be better if we didn't talk about?" he eyed you curiously.

"Look I still don't want to talk about it, but did you hate it?"

"No, you sucked my dick why would I hate that?"

"Can I do it again?"

He stared in shock, a little concerned as to why you were really here. "Why?"

"Look I am pent up, and I need a dick in my mouth and I trust  that we can do this and it means nothing at all, you won't call me up to ask me how I am feeling and it won't be awkward. So would you be interested in a free BJ?"

"I mean I don't feel like it, you know? I'm not really in the mood," he shuffled, running his hands through his hair. 

"Oh okay, that's fine then" You nodded and went back to the entryway ready to put on your shoes and leave. Yoongi grabbed your arm, not looking at you, but leading you further inside his apartment.

"Hey woah, I didn't say I wouldn't help. You are frustrated and I don't need it, but I would be more than happy to help you."

You looked at him and he patted the dining room table, "Sit up here, you caught me at a good time. I am hungry," he licked his lip. Carding his fingers through your hair, brushing it off your neck and inhaling the sweet smell of your skin. His dexterous fingers sliding to the front of your jeans as he whispered dirty things into your ear.

“What do you want me to do?” he said, palming and massaging your thighs slowly. You moaned, grabbing his hand and dragging it closer to your core. He retracted his hand back quickly “Use your fucking words or you will get nothing, I don’t want to play” He was set in his ways. Yoongi never messed around nor was he someone for anything implied. He was a man who liked things to be direct and clear. So of course he wanted the same thing when it came to your consent.

“Can you?” you blushed “Eat me out?”

“You want me to taste this pretty pussy baby, I want to thank you for the New Years party,” Yoongi popped the button of your jeans grabbing the tiny slider on your zip between his thumb and forefinger. He not only pulled the slider down the teeth of the zip, he also pressed his knuckles into your skin grinding down against your clothed heat. 

He pushed you to lean back on the table and ripped the denim from your hips and followed with your underwear. He watched you shiver from the cold air and pulled up a seat at the head off the table, his gaze strong. He didn’t bother taking off your sweater as he didn’t feel it necessary. Self-conscious you pulled your knees together and he slapped the curve of your hip in a warning causing you to let your knees fall open again.

“Now I can see how pretty you are glistening in the light, you still want this?” at your verbal confirmation he scooted his chair forward wrapping his arms under your thighs and around to hold them apart. Without hesitation, he dived straight in and your body locked up at the sudden pleasure. It was intense and everything you needed, his pants and growls sounded like he was purring as he pressed his hot mouth against you. 

You loved every minute of it; the way his tongue seemed to move so uniquely and so fast. The way his long thin fingers plunged inside you and curled up, hitting something deep within you that had your hips twitching in response. You were so lost in the feeling and you weren't being quiet. He pulled away panting, resting his cheek against your thigh as he grinning up at you. 

"You taste so sweet" Yoongi breathed, you were shaking and in absolute bliss, something about him devouring you with such gusto made it so much better. After his quick breather, he returned to his task as if it was his civic duty to bring you pleasure. No one had ever been so excited to eat you out. You were so close, your eyes scrunching closed and toes curling. Fantasies of Taehyung playing out in your head, had you releasing the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced.

You came, body tensing in waves and he continued not lowering the pressure until you were completely spent. "I'm not going to lie. I am ready now if you want to continue" Yoongi offered you more. Breathless, your mouth moved saying yes as you nodded, but barely any sound came out. 

He moved you to the couch, casually strolling off to grab a condom from the nearby junk draw. Returning he lowered his sweat pants to his knees and pumped his long length, rolling the thin layer of latex over the head and down to the base. Yoongi’s cock was pretty. He turned to you, and gestured for you to sit on his lap. Yoongi was good at sex, but it just couldn't compare to his expertise in oral pleasure. You remembered Taehyung’s size and frowned. Yoongi had the length but not quite the girth. His voice was deep too, but the tone was off. 

With all your thoughts and imagination on Taehyung, you spurred yourself on, getting closer and closer until you came tightly around Yoongi. Once he was finished he pulled out almost instantly making you feel empty once more. With a content sigh, he gently rolled you off of his lap to lay down on the couch. Tying off the condom, he lifted his sweatpants back into place and moved to the kitchen to dispose of the used contraceptive. "Do you want a drink?"

You nodded your voice too dry from the activities and he sent you a quick smirk.

"Hey, are you two done?" Jimin's voice called from the front door, he was standing in the entrance way, which was blocked off by a divider wall. 

"Oh sorry, Jimin" You pulled your pants back on. Jimin looked between you and raised an eyebrow. 

"So when did you two become a thing?” 

"We aren't, we are bro's and I just needed some help"

"Oh okay," you noticed Jimin's tight pants and you frowned looking at Yoongi, who was looking soft as hell with a gummy grin "I got another round left in me, Jimin come here" the boy beamed and you thanked Yoongi, leaving to give the two men some privacy. 

When you returned it was quiet in the apartment, Alana must have left. You had just started making dinner, receiving a call from Jimin "Hey sorry about walking in on you guys this afternoon. I hope I haven't made things awkward. You don't seem the type to do casual, at least that's not how Tae describes you."

"I am allowed to get horny sometimes, it's not a crime is it?"

"No, you sounded really sexy though, and I was a little jealous that I didn't get to join in." You saw Taehyung had exited his bedroom and was quietly ordering dinner on a phone app and you told Jimin you should go. “Next time if you are horny, you can come to my house.”

“Alright bud, I have to go, but I will keep that in mind.”

"Hey, you came home late?" Taehyung said after waiting for your conversation to end.

"I went to see Yoongi," You added the seasoning to your ramyeon, hoping to finally get a chance to eat.

"Ah his Snap chat makes sense then"

"Why?"

"He is boasting about tongue technology on Snap chat"

"Oh yeah" your voice broke still hoarse from overuse and Tae laughed. 

"Good for you, I was worried you would never get some, my friend, you look happier."

"Thanks, man" This wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but what can you say. Moving through the room to the dining table to eat your dinner, processing your recent actions, which also took place atop a dining table. 

That night you didn’t hear any nightly activities, which meant you fell into a deep sleep. You woke up the next morning and dressed groaning, “Ah my back hurts table oral isn’t very comfortable.” Taehyung coughed into his cereal, he knew you and Yoongi were doing things but you forgot he didn’t know what you two had done specifically but you ignored him. The two of you finished your breakfast before placing your bowls into the kitchen sink and going your separate ways to work.

Work was stressful. You were trying your best and even stayed later than usual. When you arrived home the house was empty, taking the opportunity to follow your usual routine, and even getting to settle into your bed early. 

Woken by the sound of the front door unlocking, the small digital clock on the nightstand read ‘2AM’ in big digital figures. There were giggles, Taehyung and Alana entered the room clearly drunk and shushing each other loudly. 

“We have to be quiet”

“What if she wakes up?”

“It’s okay we are cool, she was doing the same thing just the other day with a friend of mine.”

You heard him unbuckle his trousers, the button popping followed by the zip. Your hearing seemed to enhance each sound bringing a new sensation through your body. The fabric being shed from his body and the accompanied growl, when Alana took him in his mouth. He pulled her off pretty quickly and pumped himself in his hand groaning. It was too dark to see anything but their basic silhouettes in the faint glow of a wall charger. 

You saw him spread her legs wide, the bed moved with a small sound and you heard him groan as he settled between her legs. Her higher sounding whine pissed you off, was it because it sounded fake or because you were jealous. It was making you mad, but you were distracted by his timbre words of encouragement.  

“Oh you feel so fucking good, oh yes so tight,” he paused and pulled back and flipped her over, making sure to bury himself entirely in her once more. You squirmed laying on your stomach trying to mimic the pose she was in. He must have forgotten of your presence or didn’t seem to care, because he slapped her ass hard and continued praising her the whole time. Your imagination went wild and you could almost feel the slap against your skin even though you knew it was all in your head. Finger working quickly, desperate to find your own release. 

This was different, your orgasm was building stronger than you had ever felt before.You didn’t even have enough warning to catch a small whimper of his name. It left your mouth before you could muffle the rest in your pillow, trying to stay completely still even though your body was shaking. You cursed yourself and tried to get some sleep as they continued seemingly unaffected. 

Making your escape early in the mourning, you arrived at the office trying to drown out the thoughts in your head. As always it worked, you were easily distracted. Hoseok was on his day off, so you couldn’t even talk with him about regular office gossip. On the journey home, the thoughts came back quickly, your distraction no more. You stepped through the front door of your apartment and saw the boys all sitting around the lounge room, the place covered in snacks. 

“Hey, you are home” Jimin grinned, leading you to sit down, which wasn't your routine but you were drained physically and mentally.

“Jimin was telling us about the action you and Yoongi had the other day” Seokjin laughed as your eyes flew open and Jimin dropped his head apologizing for letting it slip.

“It’s okay Jimin we are adults and I went to him for help.”

“Yeah but what if something goes wrong, pick some other random guy to get your fix, we don’t need drama within the group” Taehyung scoffed, picking at the hem of his shirt aggressively. What was his problem? Did he think you were going to start a fight amongst your friends, you were adults and knew how to keep things pretty civil. Neither you nor Yoongi had any feelings towards one another.

“Well if you ever need it, we are all willing to help” Namjoon smiled.

“You just want your dick wet” you scoffed standing and walking into your room to get changed. 

“Hey, I won’t say no to that,” Seokjin grinned; Namjoon’s face was slightly pink. 

You all had a great time talking and drinking and after a shower, you went to bed cuddling in your blankets. Returning from his shower Taehyung asked. “Hey, are you awake?” 

Contemplating whether to respond you decided you should “Yeah what’s up?”

“I was wondering um about last night?”

“You must have come home pretty late I didn’t even hear you?”

“You said my name” he stated and you blinked shocked

“I say your name all the time, what do you mean?”

“You were awake last night and you said my name” he breathed noticing how tense you were and how weird you sounded.

“I don’t remember you coming home, were you talking, maybe I heard your voice and responded automatically, I had a weird dream though, that you were running away from a murderer or something and you were hurt.”

He sighed softly, not wanting to push you, even if he had been madly in love with you this whole time. He could wait, no matter how long it took. He had waited a few years now so he was in it for the long run.

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[youllneverknowrac]

Oscar Diaz-Birthday Bash Pt.2

(Momma Bear Series)

When you finish getting dolled up, a breezy summer dress now on your body you head to the back yard, all of your kids outside helping Ruby decorate the backyard, including Cesar. Minus Alexander of course who sat happily in Jasmines arms as she watched her boyfriend command everything into perfection. Oscar working on firing the grill up.

“Hey girl, you look good.” The still crazy outgoing girl, now women compliments when you walk up to her.

“Thanks, so do you. Love the earrings. So where’s Monse?” You ask as you take a seat next to her,”Jamal?”

“Jamal is showing up after he gets off of work and Monsé couldn’t couldn’t make it. Something about her dad and his ankle this morning, I don’t know.” She shrugs, making faces down at Alex.

“That’s too bad.” You say sadly,”I’ll ask Cesar to find out what exactly happened.” Looking around as your backyard is slowly getting covered inch by inch in party decor,”I don’t know why Ruby hasn’t become a official party planner.” You joke

“Because I would go crazy with how stressed to the max he would be all the time. I don’t need that in my life and neither does nobody else.” She laughs, letting you think it over before agreeing with her statement.

“Okay true.” You say, making small talk with her before your husbands voice grabs your attention.

“Yo birthday boy! Bring daddy a beer.” You hear Oscar yell from across the yard, Angel sitting down and trying his best to blow up a balloon.

“Uh no!” You call out quickly to him, standing up and doing it yourself,”Don’t have our three year old bring you alcohol.” You scold playfully as you shove the can to his chest when you reach him.

“Aye, I’m fucking thirsty mama.” Oscar defends as he grabs the beer and pops the tab, the grill heating up,”Besides he’s a big boy now right? So I gave him a big boy task.”

“You’re so annoying.” You laugh and turn to walk away, Oscar smacking your ass roughly,”Stop.” You squeal, running away to go make yourself useful. Oscar’s loud laugh filling your ears.

“Hey boys.” You smile, watching as Cesar and Ruby secure the yellow plastic cover over one of the rental tables, your kids doing the same at another one.

“Y/N.” They both say in unison, offering a smile to follow

“Can I do anything to help out?” You ask

“No. We got this.” Your brother in law says, Ruby holding his finger up in disapproval.

“Actually, I noticed you guys didn’t have any dip or sauce for the snack table so if you could whip something up that would make everything look a lot more presentable. Thank you.”

“Right. Dip, I’m on it.” You smile and wave them off, running inside as Jasmine follows in,”If you want to set him down, his rocker is in the living room.” You tell her, pulling out a large bowl from the cabinets.

“I guess, he’s asleep anyway.” She says and puts him down before joining you,”Want me to help?”

“Sure. I have a basket of avocados and tomatoes in the fridge, I may have some limes and cilantro as well.” You tell her, Jasmine nodding.

The two of you work swift and quick around the kitchen, working as one and before you know it a beautiful bowl of guacamole is prepared. You glance at the clock on the wall as you make your way outside again, the party almost about to start. You admire the transformation in front of you, a huge grin on your face. The slide taking up most of your yard, a little kiddie pool set up for the younger kids, the speaker now blasting music, and baby shark decorations covering every inch.

“Ruby!” You say happily as you set the bowl down outside near the chips,”Everything is so perfect. You’re the best.”

“It was a bit of work, but I’m glad you like it.” He grins, fixing the collar on his button up shirt,”I’ll take my payment please. I’m now accepting cashapp as well.”

“You can talk to my husband about that one.” Motioning over to him as he worked on filling large foil trays with patty’s and sausages.

“I will do that...um no problem.” Ruby’s says and takes off in that direction, his fiancée following. Knowing that Ruby still had a unresolved nervous tick when it came to talking to Oscar sometimes.

“Hey Uncle Cesar.” You call out as you walk over to sit by the kiddie pool, watching Angel play. The older boys already making use of the slides.

“What’s up?”

“Can you please go get your nephew from the living room and then come tell me why Monse hasn’t been coming around anymore?” You ask

“Fine. Only cause I know you’re going to keep bugging me about it.” He groans, darting off inside the house.

“Mommy? I want to go on the big slide.” Angel says from the pool,”But I’m a wittle scared.” He admits shyly

“The slides for you papi. You don’t need to be be scared. Go ask Ant or JJ to help you, I’m sure they will.”

“Okay.” He grins excitedly, pushing the curls off his face before he goes in search of his big brothers.

One at a time, people start showing up to the party, Cesar joining you a few minutes later,”Had to change him, it was a messy one.” He says, handing over the fussy baby.

“Thanks.” You smile and let Alex chew on your knuckle as he brings it to his mouth,”So where is your long time girlfriend at?”

“She’s always busy with work and her dad, I don’t know. We’re just sort of drifting apart. That doesn’t mean she didn’t want to come today though, her dad messed up his ankle and she’s staying with him for a few days.” He explains, not being one to beat around the bush when it came to you.

“Why are you letting it drift apart then stupid?” You ask him with a raised eyebrow,”You can’t let adult shit keep you guys from being together. You guys are endgame, like me and Oscar.”

“I know, it’s just hard. And I don’t want it to be hard. I know we’ll get through it though, we always do. I just have to give her some space and she has to do the same for me. You know we’ve always been like that, it’s just how out relationship works.”

“It shouldn’t work like that though. You guys are 24 now, it’s time to buckle down. Don’t you agree to some extent?” You say with a small smile,”I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I’ve been in your life since you were 5. I care about you and love you. I just don’t want you to waste the best years of your life with Monse just for it to go no where, same for her. You both deserve a happy stable relationship.” A flashback popping into your mind of when you were 15 and Oscar brought you over to his house for the first time ever and you met a certain little Diaz brother.

“I know hermana, and I appreciate it but I don’t want to talk about this. At least not today. Okay?”

“Okay.” You sigh, changing your mood,”Now, go enjoy that really expensive slide with your nephews please. They missed you.”

“Will do.” He smiles and walks around to join the boys.

You sit back in the chair and enjoy the sun, watching as your back yard gets filled by the minute. Jamal managing to get off of work a bit earlier and picking up his growing family on the way, not really a surprise to you that he ended up being a young dad as well whenever Kendra got pregnant in their final year of college.

“Is that the Mrs.Oscar Diaz?” You hear him joke as he walks over with a pregnant Kendra and two year old daughter in his arms.

“Why yes it is.” You laugh and do a little shoulder shimmy. Standing up and placing Alex in the kiddy pool before you go over to hug the both of them.

“How have you guys been?” You grin from ear to ear,”How’s the parent life treating you?” You ask along with a bunch of other questions, always having loved the chats you shared with them. They make conversation with you for a while before going over to sit with Ruby and Jasmine, their daughter now sitting in the pool with Alex and two other baby’s from the neighborhood. After asking one of the other moms to keep a eye on Alex, you walk back over to Oscar. Standing on the other side of the grill this time, not wanting to feel his hand on your backside again.

“Where’s my food chef?” You joke as you push all of your hair to one shoulder.

“Aye, I’m going as fast as I can mami. Lot’s of people asking me for food around here.” He says with a wave of the spatula, his forehead covered in sweat.

“I’m sure Cesar wouldn’t mind taking over.” You suggest

“Do you want our kids party to end in flames? He ain’t coming no where near my grill.”

“You’re right.” You giggle in agreement,”But I think you’ve made enough to hold people over for a while.” You say after taking a look at both trays filled with meat,”Come enjoy the party. Please.”

“Only for a bit.” He says, switching the fire off before coming around to join you.

“Yay.” You cheer softly and wrap your arms around him when he’s in arms reach,”Let’s get some of the food you worked so hard on.”

“Gladly.” He says and pecks your lips before releasing you and reaching for a plate as you do the same. Once the two of you are satisfied you go back to your original spot by the pool and take a seat, Oscar by your side as you both talk and eat. Him being the one to discard of the trash when you’re both full and have had enough. When he returns he has a crying Carlos in his arms, clinging to his neck.

“Oh my god, what happened?” You ask quickly, letting Oscar place the six year old boy in you lap as you hold him to your chest.

“He fell, got a little cut on his knee. He’ll be okay but he wanted me to bring him to you. He said he’ll believe he’s okay when you say it.” Oscar informs you as he sits back down,”Apparently I don’t know shit about cuts so he’s got to hear it from the expert. Which would be mommy.” He chuckles.

“Shut up.” You say followed by a large eye roll before you cater to your son,”Does it hurt papi?” You ask him softly as you stroke his damp hair back

“A little. Is my leg going to fall off mommy?” He asks, little sniffles still coming from him.

“No. It’s not going to fall off.” You laugh and kiss his forehead,”You’re going to be all okay. I promise. Just sit with me for a few minutes and rest your leg. Then you can go play again, sound good?” You ask him

“Sounds good.” He answers quickly and lays his head against you, letting you cuddle him. You know people loved to judge you about how you ‘baby’ your kids but you didn’t care. They were your baby’s and always will be. Oscar actually liking that you treated them with such love and affection since it was something he never had growing up,”I feel better mommy, can I go now?” He asks not even two minutes later.

“Yes, just be careful.” You tell him seriously before letting him down from your lap, watching him take off back to the slide at a super speed.

“Must be nice. I pick him up, clean the cut and put the bandaid on, but you get all the love and credit.” Oscar comments next to you, a grin on his face.

“They are mommas boys, you should have gave me a girl if you wanted love and credit.” You smile and reach for his hand.

“We still have a few years of trying left in us. We can always get that girl. Maybe I’ll have a gift for you tonight and she’ll get here sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah right. The only person getting gifts is Angel and if your so called ‘gift’ ever comes near me again it better be wrapped. No baby’s here. Ever again.” You tell him seriously as you point to your stomach,”Five and done.”

“Sure.” He says smugly, taking a sip from the beer can.

“Damn right I’m sure. What the hell would we look like with six kids? Plus Junior is going to be 18 soon, we would have an adult for a kid and a newborn. You’re crazy.” You laugh

“We would look like a normal Hispanic family and we wouldn’t have to pay for a babysitter.” He laughs in return,”Besides I’m not being totally serious, I’m just messing with you.”

“Good.” You say and squeeze his hand,”I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now let’s cut the cake and then we can do presents.”

“Yeah just what we need, more monster trucks and fake tools laying around the house.” Oscar laughs as he stands up, helping you to your feet. The present table over flowing with boxes and gifts bags.

“I’ll just get rid of his old toys, he won’t even notice. I’ll get the baby and you go get the cake. Or do you want to switch?” You ask

“Switch.” He grins, already walking past you to pick up Alexander. You smile and head inside, grabbing the cake and cupcakes, along with a lighter. Oscar loudly instructing everybody to gather around, Angel rushing to the center of the table and climbing up on the chair.

“Cake! Hurry mommy.” He says excitedly with a clap of his hands.

“I’m coming.” You tell him and you hurry over and set everything down in front of him, lighting the three candles before stepping back.

“Nobody better smash his head into anything! Now sing!” Oscar quickly adds in before the famous birthday song commences, everybody keeping their hands to themselves when it comes to a end. A loud cheer erupts when he blows out the flame, Angel over joyed at this.

You help pass out the treats, letting everybody have time to eat before moving onto gifts. The rest of the part continuing to be just as perfect and lasting until late at night. Most of the kids passed out in random places around your house as the parents enjoy themselves until you nicely kick them all out.

~

“Thanks again for staying to clean up.” You thank Cesar at the door,”get home safely. Love you.”

“Love you guys.” He says, heading to his car after and driving away. You yawn tiredly and lock up, the time reading a little past one in the morning now. The older boys just going to bed a few minutes ago, wanting to enjoy the slide for as long as they could since it was being picked up early in the morning. Angel and Alex already in your bed and absolutely drained from today’s activities.

“I think that’s everything.” Oscar slurs as he comes in through the back door with another garbage bag filled with trash. He sets it down in the kitchen with all the others before stumbling towards you,”I’ll take it all out in the morning.”

“That’s okay with me.” You giggle and help him walk to your guys bedroom,”Drank a bit too much huh?”

“Just a bit.” He laughs,”But I still managed to clean the yard up pretty well.”

“You did. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m so tired mami, I need sleep.” He groans, kicking his shoes off and not bothering with his clothes as he goes over to the bed.

“Careful. The boys are asleep already.” You remind him, already undressing yourself and pulling a t-shirt over your body, Oscar grumbling in understanding. Showering could just wait until tomorrow. You join them in bed, your eyes already closing before your head even hits the pillow. Today being long, hectic, tiring, and happy all rolled into one. Knowing that in just a few more months you would be throwing another party and then another after that. Which was all okay with you, you loved your boys and their birthdays were something you took pride in making special. This was the life you signed up for after all with five kids and what not.

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 5)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader (Platonic)

Warnings: descriptions of violence and blood

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do?  

A/n: Heyyy, I'm sorry this took so long to get out. Writers block is a bitch, anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter and please tell me what you thought!( Gif made by Gaywitchtwins)

It was a week later when you felt the first pull. A familiar feeling that started in the cradles of your boots and traveled up your legs, nudging you in a direction.

She wants me to keep moving, You thought. Even though Manah controlled you like a puppet there were instances she loosened her hold on you. You were still a person after all, and is she wanted you to work properly that meant giving you time to eat and sleep.She was mainly in control when you fought, but other than that you mostly had control over yourself.

Looking up from the already cooling cup of coffee wrapped in your hands, you let your pupils scan over the diner. It hadn’t taken long to find a place to stop when you had hit the outskirts of Kansas City. Outside the old sign of the diner swung slightly in the breeze, it’s paint mostly chipped away as rain ran off in sheets. The inside was as weathered as the sign too— torn vinyl on the seats, the air greasy in your lungs. You didn’t care though, it was these types of places that reminded you of a feeling of home. Playing tic tac toe on the paper place mats with Sam and Dean, dipping fries into milkshakes. Innocent things like that.

Everything you no longer were.

“You been on the road awhile?”

The voice seemly came out of nowhere to you, instantly snapping you out of your gaze as you looked up.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The waitress smiled. The kind of smile that was sincere and not sinister. “I said, have you been on the road awhile?”

“Just a week. But it’s flown by.” You shrugged lightly, fiddling with the handle of the mug in front of you.

“What’s got you travelin?” She asked. She had a deep voice, rich as a cup of melted butter, dark skin, topaz eyes.

“Family. Haven’t seen them in awhile.”

You watched as she attempted to read your facial expression before letting out a light laugh. “Have fun with that. Family can be complicated. Doesn’t look like your looking forward to it.”

“You could say that again.”

The waitress let out a light sigh, spinning the pen in her hand. “Well, can I get you anything else before you head out? Maybe some actual food and not just coffee?”

“I’m good, but thank you.” You smiled, fishing out a few bills and handing them to her before grabbing your backpack that had been sitting between your feet. The longer you stayed in one place the tighter the hold on you became. Better to leave now.

As you stepped out onto the gravel of the parking lot, rain soaking you instantly, you felt your hand move towards the charm hanging around your neck, wanting nothing more than to tug on it, but you stopped half way. Each attempt at trying to pull the damn thing off only left you with blistering skin on your palm.

Your feet were moving before your mind was and as you made your way down the side of the two lane road your mind went back to the last conversation you had with the demon who had power over you.

“Tell me, Do you enjoy games, Y/N?”

Game? Manah didnt do games. She was organized chaos. She had a specific order to things. Games weren’t her type.

“Games? What the hell are you talking about?” You questioned, hands clenching around the straps of your backpack as you stood on the deck of the old railroad yard the demon called her home. Any second now she would take her hold on you and like so many times before you would become an obedient attack dog.

“Just to spice things up, let’s say you and I have a little game.”

“What type of game?”

“Well, seeing as they are your family-“ the demon began, dragging a manicured nail across your cheek. “I’ thought I would have some fun with you.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting to that darling.” She sighed. “I’ll give you two weeks. Two weeks to find your brothers and end them. . .or ill send someone else to do it.”

Find them? When it came to stuff like this she always gave you somewhere to go. Now she was giving you nothing. Fear rippled through you as your hands white knuckled the straps. “Why?”

And then, like so many times before- Manahs hand came up to grip your face harshly. “Because they are your family and I know you. You are going to try and fight this. You’re defiant by nature.”

Everything inside you wanted to head butt the bitch right off the deck but you stood stoic, glaring her down. “Alright, you gonna tell me where I can find my dear brothers?”

“Not this time. I’ll give you. . . Let’s call it a homing device. Like a bird, you’ll know your direction. It’ll be up to you to find your way.”

“Like a map?”

“No, like instinct. No way to know how far. You just have to go.”

“That’s not fair! Two weeks? They could be anywhere in the US—“

A soft breeze shifted through her red hair, her gloved hands going back into the pockets of her black coat. “Then you best start moving. The clocks ticking.”

The weight of the weapons in your pack shifted as you forcefully tightened your straps, heading towards the road with a growl. It was only when you reached the steps of the deck did you pause and turn around. “Why are you playing this morbid game with me?”

Manah only smiled, red lips twisting wickedly. “Your a hunter aren’t you? This is what your good at.” She paused. “I’m going to break you Y/N, whether that be by you killing your brothers or watching someone else do it. It will happen.”

A shudder ran up your spine at the memory, the only thing to pull you out of it being the sound of a Bus tires hitting one of the deep puddles in the road before coming to halt at the bus-stop you found yourself at. The greyhound was driven by an older man singing a blues song in a gravelly voice as he opened the door. He stopped mid chorus to ask where you were headed.

“Lawrence.” You handed a over fistful of bills. He took a long look at you, and then at the backpack. “Now that’s a whole lot more than you need to give, young lady. Tell you what.” He sorted through the bills and change. “This much’ll take you as far as you need to go, and if you settle in back, I’ll turn the heat up for you.”

It was at times like these that you were reminded that there were still good people in the world. It wasn’t all demons and monsters. Manah may have raised you in chaos but you still knew good from bad. Once you had given him a sincere thank you bumped your way down the empty bus towards the back, collapsing tiredly into the back row of empty seats.

Your feet were pulling you towards home. . . And you had no idea what you would find.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Dean let out a deep sigh as he flexed his hands against the steering wheel, peering out of the front window of the impala at the parking lot.

“Dean?”

“Why did I drive us here? Seriously, this has to be more stupid than going back to Lawrence to see Y/Ns grave.” Dean snapped. He wished he had never brought up that reoccurring nightmare, had never thought twice about you. It was like he liked drowning in grief.

“You okay?”

The older Winchester huffed, flexing his fingers again. Sometimes he hated you more than anyone else he knew. Hated you for being selfish, for running out that damn motel door, for not thinking about what it would be like for him and Sam if something happened to you, leaving them behind. Or worse, for thinking about it and not caring.

Instead of giving his brother an actual answer, Dean kicked open his door and stepped out into the mostly empty parking lot before taking a few steps and coming to a stop besides the other person with them.

“You okay, Mom?”

There was a pause before Mary slowly nodded, bringing her hand down from her mouth. “This is- this is where she-“

“Disappeared? Yeah.”

The place was practically the same. The neon sign of the motel flickered every few seconds, and the hum of several air conditioning units filled the night air along with crickets. Though his mothers eyes were fixed on the trees just beyond the asphalt, Dean turned his head to look back over his shoulder at the motel. The red paint on the door of room 16 was beginning to flake off with age, the lights off and quiet.

“It’s messed up.” Dean began. “Messed up that I’ve stopped here more than I have in Lawrence.”

“Why?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked down at his boots. “I think a small part of me always held out hope. That maybe I would show up here and she would come walking back out of those woods. . . God, I’m such a child.”

Mary let out a sigh, ignoring the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. “Dean, she had you and Sam, she’d raised you traveling with the idea that she would always be there, and suddenly she wasn’t. You can’t blame yourself for having a little bit of hope.”

The hunter nodded solemnly, eyes still on his shoes. He felt like he was twelve years old again, standing on the stoop of the motel room with your gun in his hands, listening to you scream.

He quickly shook it off though. He had had decades to mourn your death, to mom it was still fresh- and she was holding herself together better than him.

“You and Sam never gave me a full explanation of what happened though-“ Mary started. She didn’t want to poke but it was her daughter who was gone and she wanted the story.

“Mom, I’m not sure Dean wants to-“

“It’s fine, Sam.” Dean sighed, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “What do you want to know?”

And that’s how Dean found himself launching into the fucking nightmare of a memory for what felt like the millionth time. It hurt more this time though because he could see that his mom was trying hard not to cry, and he had to remind himself that he hadn’t just lost a sister, she had lost a daughter. . . And now she was outliving her.

“The only thing dad came back with was her flannel. It was practically in ribbons and soaked with blood.” Dean breathed, his voice cracking at the next words. “I was twelve years old when I watched my sister run out that door to her death.” He jabbed a finger at the door behind them like it was the one to blame for you leaving.

There were still so many things running through his head as he suddenly spun and headed back towards the car, anger beginning to rise once more like earlier. What had killed you? Why didn't Dad put more effort into avenging you like he had with mom? Why didn't the Darkness bring you back along with her? Why did you have to die? 

Mary made a move to go after him but Sam clamped a hand down on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t try. Each time we've stopped here he only leaves angry and in a wreck. It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

She paused before nodding. “I think this place has taken its toll on all of us right now. How bout we go home?”

“Sounds good.”

As the remaining Winchesters made their way back to the car, Dean paused at his door, his hand tightly gripping the handle as he cast his gaze towards the woods just beyond reach, as if answers might lie in the shadows. But there was nothing.

Sliding into the drivers seat, Dean stuck the key into the ignition. Home. He just wanted to go home. No more trips into the past.

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[comic-brew]

Anemos

Summary: Grief is like a toxin, invading your every pore and spreading like the plague, leaving behind nothing but a jade black painted husk. Hollowed out, resembling more of a dead shell than a man.

Notes: Another last minute @jaytemisweek2020 fic! I really am incorrigible. Song: Anemos by Katherine Duska and Leon of Athens. I'm sorry in advance

Reading time: 18 mins (2.2k words)

Warnings: dealing with grief, fake character death, angst angst angst

Or read here on ao3!

***

Hurried wind, blowing forth

"Hey, Princess... It's Jason."

The phone had already started recording, the whooshing sound of passing vehicles was simply a miserable undercurrent to his already bitter voice.

He looked around at the city's skyline. It seemed so familiar from his spot on the rooftop, yet the empty, discarded bottles of scotch in the far back reminded him just how bloody different everything was. How it would never be the same.

"Well uh.."

He trailed off, coughing dryly and staring at the seconds passing on the screen. He scrambled to find the right words. He had so much to say -too much- so he might as well end up saying nothing. It didn't matter anyway.

"It's Wednesday today. We… we had plans for this morning. We were gonna grab breakfast at that terrible diner that you somehow like so much. Shaw's."

He chuckled bitterly.

"I seriously don't know why you like that crap. I'd rather eat Dick's cooking than go there again, and that should be saying something. Although-"

His eyes glistened under the moonlight, tears fighting to be spilt out of their glacial blue. Jason tried to swallow back the lump in his throat. He had to do this.

"I would relieve Quraq all over again if it meant getting to be dragged there -or anywhere- by you again- I-"

His voice broke, bent like a flower's rachis crunched beneath a boot. Jason finally gave way to the tears, flowing in beads across his cheeks. He put the phone down for a second, to brush away the salty waterfalls.

Hurried wind, he whispered to me: 'stay

"You know what? This is stupid"

A small scoff evaded his lips. A little insane. Perhaps a bit more of a sniffle as his kevlar enhanced shoulders drooped even further down.

He sat back down on the cement. Plopped the phone down on the ground next to his helmet, his forehead burrowed in his hands. Perhaps to hide the pain, to keep it locked inside. Trying to hold the weight of his head so that his neck wouldn't have to. It felt so heavy. Everything was heavy and fuzzy, thick and inky like a bog eager to consume him.

There was no bog, of that he was sure. So.. that left only the gaping hole in his chest.

Yeah, that should be it.

Dark matter was devouring him, sucking him from the inside, to make up for the absence of a heart beneath his ribcage.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

Lifting his head up from his gloved palms, he rested his fingers on his chin. Limbs huddled closely together, in a small bundle of 6 foot tall boy. A small bundle screaming in despair, even without the air tingling at his vocal chords. His every cell was radiating anguish, Jason could almost reimagine the bleak stench of death encompassing his meager existence.

He drew in a deep shaky breath, shuddering at the sudden chill blowing against his body. He kept shivering even after the soft gust had dissipated.

Blow forth with the wind, a kiss piercing me like a bullet in the middle of the night

The sharp 'ping' indicating the halt in the recording was almost lost amidst the cacophony of horns and shouts rebounding from the city streets. Gotham highway was hazardous on normal days. Only a more terrible place for grieving souls, even above it and by the familiar coldness of a gargoyle made of stone.

Jason would push this all aside and bury the pain deep down, he really would. But he didn't- he didn't get to say goodbye. His eyes welled up once more as he gazed solemnly down at the passerbys, going about their lives while his felt almost frozen in time.

Seconds weren't ticking anymore when the clock on his phone was pointing at midnight all of a sudden. Tears had been closely followed by sobs as he gulped down the last drop of liquid numbness.

It didn't numb the pain nearly enough.

At the final hitch of his breath, Jaso let his feet dangle from the edge of the rooftop as he was picking up the bloody device with Artemis' name and smile displayed, captured for eternity in an almost mundane moment of joy that he recalled being so heavenly.

It was at the beach. He remembers the feel of sand and wet hair between his fingers, remembers the soft crashing of the cerulean waves and how those same waves felt against his bare skin, and how his skin felt encompassed in her warmth.

Take me far away from here, you're the only one dressing me in light amidst the darkness

Jason remembers the tender whispers of nothings that held more value than all the knowledge in the universe. Those everythings now were truly nothing, if not for sharpened blades slashing deep into his skin. The faint aftertaste of salty lips and a smile so lovely in his eyes it could outbrighten the midday sun, now simply reduced to the shine of a katana embedded in his chest.

Twisting.

God… Why does it hurt so much?

He started another recording. The words kept nagging at his brain, they needed to be let out lest they ate away chunks of his soul. His soul that had already been split in half, drowned out in the haziness of regret and guilt.

His hand shot up to wipe at the tears but they were already dried roads carved into his flesh.

Grief is like a toxin, invading your every pore and spreading like the plague, leaving behind nothing but a jade black painted husk. Hollowed out, resembling more of a dead shell than a man.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

"It's me again. One more and I'll let you rest" he paused. "I promise"

Taking a deep ragged breath, searching his mind for any and every final bit of strength and courage, he continued.

"I-I love you, princess. I love you so damn much"

He sighed.

"I should have said it sooner, but my fucking trust issues… I just- I just thought we had more time"

This time when his eyes flooded he let the tears flow freely. There was nobody there to see them, nobody there to ask.

Nobody

My dream, my secret, sink me deep into the wind

"And it fucking hurts that you're gone, you can't even begin to imagine just how much... I don't- I don't think that much pain is able to be measured. Every time I even think of you my heart is just.. shattered -no- shredded into a million pieces I know I'll never be able to put back together"

If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right. No holding back on his emotions, no use trying to conceal the aching claw impaling his heart, stopping it from thumping in the right rythm. Broken, every attempt at pulsing was as good as a heaving sob of loneliness.

Broken..

"A thing that breaks is never the same, huh?"

The words were said in a somewhat joking manner but his lips hadn't got the energy nor will to twitch into a smile. His muscles felt like marble, securely tight into place no matter how much his brain ordered them to unclench. The pain tugged at his soul, wanting to pull him down, down below and sink him right through the murky depths of its abyss, until pain was all he could sense.

>I want the pain in my eyes, the ashes, the fire

The pain was close- he was already starting to asphyxiate, he wasn't prepared to hold his breath when his head was pushed underwater.

"And Biz.. he misses you a lot too. He's obliterated, and that's putting it mildly"

His voice was rasped and broken when he next spoke, the ever growing lump had almost clogged his throat.

"Please come back"

It was merely a whisper, the exhale of his final breath of hope assuming a material from. The desperate last stand of a wildflower against the harsh cold of winter. Jason closed his eyes, shutting out the harpies' eerie songs reminding him that she's truly gone, drifted away with a wind that never quite got to caress his skin.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

Next thing Jason knew was he'd been yelling, shouting loudly for the words to beat the lump and the anxiety. The air rising up his throat clawed against his trachea but he didn't care as long as his feelings weren't lost with the breeze. Even if the person they were aimed at never got to receive them.

His passion finally died out, turned to ashes smoldering miserably beneath his scarred flesh. Who would know when he saw him, that the most painful of his scars was the one nobody could ever trace with the pads of their fingers.

I want to last another breath in the deep

The sorrow was starting to become unbearable as that wonderfully radiant smile disappeared from the screen, belonging to a different lifetime. One that ended when the spark of fire wavered in her emerald eyes, much alike the fainting last flame on the wick of a candle.

With frantic movements he fumbled to whip out his pack of cigars and lighter. He held them in front of his chest, staring holes in the nicotine filled package, guilt settling in the pit of his stomach. Artemis never wanted him to smoke and continue ruining his lungs, she didn't want him to let the it slowly chip away at his health. He hadn't felt the mellow sensation of his worries evaporating and blending in with the smoke in months. She was all he had needed to feel whole.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

The guilt was drowned and lost beneath the pain as Jason placed the cigarette between his lips and set it aflame.

Artemis wasn't there anymore to care.

***

"Just- I know it's hopeless, but if it happened to me, then why do the people I love keep dying?"

Even the mechanical sound of the recording couldn't dim the pain that laced Jason's voice, bitter like a bird that broke its wings.

She let a stray sniffle escape her.

"First Roy, now y-you.. Is this some short of sick joke, universe?! Alright, Jason, you come back, so you can get attached to people and witness everything fall apart so you can feel it. Yeah, the irony wouldn't have worked if I hadn't died, right?!"

The pointy lines of the recording ascended, indicating the increase in volume. Still, there was no way to show the despair with which he clung to the rage.

She pushed back the tears.

"Oh, Arty…"

He was crying.

The tears fought harder to be freed, somehow proving to be even stronger than an Amazon.

I want to run, to leave, go to the open sea

"I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to do!" the voice uttered. That deep timbre that could soothe and comfort her in a heartbeat was reaching her thorn studded, tying her insides in a knot.

She started weeping quietly. A duet for two broken hearts.

There was a big pause in the sound, yet the needle kept running to reach the end of the voicemail, she was beginning to fear that tinted in pure anguish would be his last word she'd cherish in her memory.

A snort interrupted her abrupt panic. She wiped at the tears as she let old memories be carved into her brain.

I want to touch the sun before I fade in the dark

"Look at me. I'm ranting in a voicemail meant for you. I must be fucking delusional but... I still- I still believe you'll hear all of this someday.."

Her chest heaved with increasing difficulty as the guilt gradually consumed her. He was mourning the loss of her, oblivious to the fact that her heart was still beating, and aching with every poisoned word.

He was going to hate her, but she preferred the man she loved to be able to loathe her, than to take this futile love to his grave.

I'm becoming one with the wind now

She would protect her little one, no matter the cost doing so already relayed upon her heart.

"Well I.." he begun, clearing his throat. "I guess this is goodbye" he said softly, cautiously, and the message ended with a pained 'I love you'.

Artemis murmured back a goodbye. Her breath caught on her throat, she had to exert herself to convince her lungs to draw another sharp intake of air.

She stared at Jason's contact before she'd have to dispose of her phone and everything that bound her to her previous life. She gave the picture of the man a tight lipped smile, tears running down her skin as she muttered an 'I'm sorry'.

I'm not afraid, you're here now

A finger hovered above a tear tainted delete button as wreaked sobs echoed throughout the dark room. The dark room where the shadows danced a walz of death and chaos, giggling under the starlight pouring in from the only window.

Someday.. Perhaps someday she could see her love again.

The finger came down and the shadows danced no more.

I'm becoming one with the wind.

[221castiel]

Let it Snow - Chapter One

Master Post // AO3

1 year later

December 1st,

24 days until Christmas 

The engine was cut, and for a moment Dean’s eyes stayed locked on the house he parked outside of. It was one floor, with white paneled walls, and a brown roof that was now covered in bright snow. Without even going inside he already knew what it was like, he’d long ago memorized the set up. Every hall, every room,  every doorway, the colours of the walls, and the material that made the floor, the way the ceiling was just that little to low when you took the staircase to the unfinished basement. He knew every chip in the paint, and every scratch on wood. 

He knew the house, yet staring at it, through the falling snowflakes, only brought dread. A deep unease that came every Friday night when he walked up the stairs to pick Jack up, and every Sunday evening when he walked back up them to drop Jack off. 

Dread. 

Discomfort.

Pain.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked up the front steps and felt ease. 

“Dad?”

“Yah kid?” Dean hummed. His eyes still rested on the house to his left, more specifically the Christmas tree that glowed in the window, contrasting against the evening sky, and falling snow.

When no reply came Dean turned finally looked away from the window and instead to the back seat where Jack was sat. A wide grin was spread across the child's face, while his arms were wrapped around the teddy bear that sat in his lap.

“How about,” Jack finally began in his usual high voice, “I can stay with you again!” 

“Yah,” Dean replied, “Next weekend.”

“No now!”

Dean gave a shake of his head, something that only made Jack’s smile drop into a pout. “But, we can watch the who movie!” Jack cried, causing Dean to raise an eyebrow.

“The who movie?”

“Yah with the mean green man, and the baby puppy,” Jack babbled. “And the man sneaks into the houses, and takes Christmas!” 

“The grinch?”

“Yah!”

Dean couldn’t help the small tug of his lips, as he turned away from Jack, and instead faced forward, eyes on the front window of Baby, and the thin layer of snow already covered the glass. “We’ll watch it next weekend,” Dean said as he pulled out the keys, shoving them into his jacket pocket before he undid his seat belt. 

“Tonight!”

“Jack-“ 

“Please!” 

Dean glanced to the rear view mirror, getting a glimpse of Jack's pleading expression, a mix of puppy dog eyes, and a puckered out bottom lip. 

For a moment he considered doing as Jack wanted, turning the engine back on, and driving back to his apartment, where they could spend the night watching movies and eating junk food. Fall asleep on the couch then make pancakes for breakfast. Just one more night that Dean could spend with Jack, one more night where his apartment would be filled by giggles and stories instead of the heavy silence that usually weighed throughout it.

Dean wanted so badly to do as Jack asked though no matter how much he wanted he knew he couldn’t and instead pushed open his door. A low crunching coming as he stepped out of the car and into the snow, the noise continuing with each step he took, from his door and to Jack’s. 

“You gonna walk yourself?” Dean asked as he pulled open Jack’s door, leaning down so he could peer into the backseat of the car, where Jack was still sitting, somehow more pouty than before.

“No?”

Jack didn’t respond, instead crossing his arms over his chest, head twisting to look the other way.

“Come on kid, I’m freezin’ my ass off.”

As Jack once again didn’t respond, Dean exhaled breath coming out in a cloud around him. He leant into the car, unbuckling Jack’s seat belt before he took the child into his arms, Jacks own arms immediately wrapping around his neck, squeezing tightly. 

With one arm holding Jack to his chest Dean stood, using his other to close the door, before he turned back to the house, breath immediately hitching in his throat. His grip around Jack tightening as he took his first step forward.

A second soon following.

It never got easier, walking along the path, up to what once had been his home. Though now it seemed harder then ever, each step more forced then the last, as Jack’s face stayed buried in his shoulder, and arms around his neck. 

It wasn’t until he’d made it up the front porch, and had knocked on the door that he let out even somewhat of an even breath. 

He forced himself to take another breath as he herd movement behind the door, and then with his heart leaping to his throat, the door was pulled open. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Cas,” Dean greeted. His voice steadier than he expected with his heart racing, hammering frantically in his chest. His eyes lingered on Cas’s for a moment before darting down his body, then once again to his eyes. He looked good, tired but good, his blue eyes seeming more vibrant against the blue long sleeve he wore, a blue long sleeve that was one of the few shirts he owned which showed off his build; hugging his shoulders and waist.

His dark hair was its usual mess, and the thought of leaning forward and attempting to fix it crossed Dean’s mind. Run his fingers through the dark strands, then trail them down the side of the Cas’s face, lean in for a slow kiss, movements that were once automatic. Done most mornings when they were still too tired to wake up, or on late nights when they were together on the couch.

With that thought still lingering on Dean’s mind, stabbing at his heart, he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Dean hummed this time to Jack, gaze dropping to his son. “you gonna say hi?” 

He raised his free hand to Jack’s hair brushing his fingers through the strands that were now stuck together with small snowflakes, though Jack stayed silent. The only indication that he had even heard Dean was the small movement he made, burying his face further into Dean’s shoulder, and grip tightening around Dean’s neck.

“Come on kid,” Dean pestered. “Don’t be stormy.”

When it became clear Jack wasn’t going to reply Dean looked back up to Cas, forcing a smile across his own face that the other didn’t mimic. Instead Cas continued to stare, his gaze harsh, and lips pressed in a tight line. 

Whether it was meant to be that way, or if he was simply being Cas, Dean wasn’t sure, though either way he could feel his stomach tug. His lips suddenly incredibly chapped no matter how many times he licked at them and throat dry, the words he’d been wanting to say suddenly stuck.

He’d been practising throughout the drive, the reasonings of why he should get Jack for Christmas, yet now, they all seemed blurred. A mix of thoughts that didn’t make much sense even to him.

“Dean-“ 

“Are busy?” Dean asked before could he dwell on his thoughts any longer. “Or could we talk?” 

Cas tilted his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing together. “About?”

“Christmas.”

For a moment Cas didn��t rely, his lips staying pressed in a tight line, before they slowly parted. “I have a few minutes.” 

After bringing Jack, who still only gave Dean mopey looks, to his bedroom, Dean made his way through the house. Down the hallway, and into the kitchen where he took a seat at the kitchen table.

He didn’t look to other as Cas placed a mug in front of him then took a seat at the other side, Dean didn’t think he could. He didn’t think he could see those blue eyes he knew so well. The darker shades that would be visible, overlapping the lighter, so powerful, so electric, it put even the ocean to shame. He couldn’t look and so instead Dean glanced to the kitchen, gaze darting across the room he knew well.

It was set up exactly as he remembered it, though now decorated for the holidays, with fake holly lining the cabinet tops, while the kitchen towels and placements had been replaced with Christmas themed ones. Everything about it was incredibly warm, with candles glowing through the dim lighting, and the lingering smell of baking.  

Warm.

Welcoming. 

Home. 

That thought passed Dean’s mind for less than a second before a soft meow got his attention and his gaze dropped from the kitchen and to the floor, where Atticus walked past his feet and towards Cas. 

“You still have that fuckin’ thing?” Dean asked as he finally looked to the other. 

“His name is Atticus Finch.”

“More like Assicus.” Dean mumbled as Cas lifted the cat onto his lap.

For a moment Cas didn’t reply, his gaze on the cat in his lap one hand brushing through Atticus's calico fur while his other rested around his cup of tea, leaving the room to sit in a heavy  silence. Each breath that parted Dean’s lips seemed too loud, seeming to echo off the walls, bouncing back.

Everything was too loud, his breathing, Atticus’s purring, the ticking clocking, his own thoughts. 

He knew what he wanted- had to say, and he was sure Cas already knew what he was going to say, yet the words seemed stuck, even as his lips slowly parted. 

One breath, he let himself exhale once before speaking. 

“You had him for Easter,” Dean barely whispered. His heart seemed to stop as Cas finally looked up, the pain clear in his eyes for a moment, though just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “And his birthday.”

“So you want him?”

“Want him?” Dean asked almost breathlessly, words coming out more exhausted then he’d expected- almost empty. “Why the hell wouldn’t I want him.”

Cas didn’t reply and instead he pressed his lips into a tight line, gaze dropping to his cup. 

There was nothing else to say and Dean knew that no argument Cas could make that would explain why he should get Jack, and no joke Dean could crack that would ease the tense atmosphere. Something that had suddenly settled around them, thick and heavy, squeezing out any air that had once filled Dean’s lungs. 

“You can have him next year.”

Once again Cas didn’t reply, only giving the smallest nod in response, and leaving Dean with no way to respond. 

He didn’t want Jack- or atleast in this way. He wanted Christmas, he wanted the way too early mornings, and soft smiles that would tug across Cas’s lips, he wanted the gifts and crackling fire. Everything he’d learned to love, everything he hadn’t spent enough time appreciating. He wanted Christmas not the expression that now sat across Cas’s face, underlined with pain, as he stared down to Atticus.  

Dean let his own gaze rest on the other for a moment, across his wide eyes, and locked jaw, looking until his heart hurt too much and his gaze dropped to something easier to look at. Castiel’s hand which still rested around his mug.  

From under the rolled up sleeves of Cas’s sweater Dean could just see the wings that tattooed his skin, the tips of feathers done in a dark ink. He didn't need to see the rest to know each line, each feather and detail. To know the way the dark ink made Cas's tanned skin seem to glow, to know how the feathers had been engraved along his shoulder blades and down his arms to just below his elbows, or the way Jack's name had been done cursivly in one of the feathers.

Dean knew every inch of that tattoo, and part of him wondered how long he'd know every inch of that tattoo.

How long he'd know every inch of the other's body.

How long he'd know every shade of blue that danced through his irises. 

How long he'd remember the way Cas's hands would glide his body.  

How long it would take before he could look to Castiel, and not feel the heartache of everything he'd lost.

[kingsten]

CELINE: So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like traveling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. (...) But I’m happy to be with you. You couldn’t possibly know why a night like this is so important to my life right now, but it is. I think this is a great morning. 

JESSE: It is a great morning. Do you think we’d have other mornings like this?

@cir ——— 14.) The timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.

Brian traces the silver band on Peter’s ring finger. 

It’s an unpretentious piece of vintage work with an engraving of a mostly worn away rose. Peter shifts, pouting even in his sleep from the sunlight hitting his face. Brian watches quietly, curious of what Peter’s reaction will be when he wakes up. Brian can hardly remember most of what transpired the night prior but it’s coming back to him in hazy fragments but mainly the crumpled 77$ receipt from a wedding venue with their vows messily scrawled out on the back is the main indicator that last night was not a dream. 

Peter, after sleeping in for a few more minutes stirs again. He groans, rubs his eyes with his hands then freezes in that position. Brian holds his breath as Peter pulls his hand away to inspect the cold metal while still half asleep, half hangover. It takes a minute for the significance to register then his eyes cut suddenly to Brian who holds up his own hand to show off the near identical ring on his own hand. 

——— 

“We met at a party” Peter states but Brian shakes his head. “or it was the cafe?”

“I think it was in that one class— remember?” At least that’s when he thinks is the first time he saw Peter. “Business fourteen something. I showed up for three classes but couldn’t understand french so I dipped.” Jae’s eyes roll so hard the wired frames slip down to the bridge of his nose and he slides them back up. “I don’t care about how you met I just want to know why you got married? Who the fuck gets married after knowing each other half a year?”   

“Actually, we’ve known each other five months and a half. I know because we met after Peter’s birthday and— ” Jae and Peter both give Brian a hard look and his voice falls but he finishes his thought. “and It’s...uh, now... december.” then sits back in his chair. Jae holds the look longer than Peter before he turns back to his cousin and shakes his head. “RIP to your taxes.... have you even told your mom yet?” It’s a valid question and Brian’s ears perk up though he doesn’t expect that he has given Brian hasn’t mentioned it to his own parents either.

It’s a bridge they’ll cross once they get to it.

Now, regardless of the time and date of their technical first meeting. Brian likes to think that their official meeting was in the metro, while waiting for the last train to come. He remembers this clearly because it was the first time he’d seen Peter outside of the cafe or rather, to be more specific, without a laptop in front of his nose. Sure, even in this case it was tucked safely beneath his arm to be opened on the chance that there’s a free seat available. 

“What are you always working on?” Brian asks, sitting down without invitation in the seat across from Peter. The fact Peter is distracted enough by the question to leave his laptop closed is a small victory in Brian’s book.

“Excuse me?” 

Brian is used to Peter’s blunt speech. In the cafe he quietly says his order then goes back to being silent unless he’s on a business call. The lonewolf silent type is kinda Peter’s thing even when in the midst of a group of coworkers. But there’s something about him that catches Brian’s attention and he’s been working slowly to chip away at that outer exterior by bringing him extra sweets on the side in an effort to get to that other side of Peter that Brian’s yet to see but knows is there. And tonight he’s got a few minutes to kill. They’re not exactly strangers— at least not by Brian’s definition. They both have a few stops before they part ways. What better time than now? “Are you a business man? My dad is always working on finance stuff on his laptop too.” Peter remains silent. Brian takes it as his sign to continue. “He owns a shop. A cafe bookshop in Jersey.” 

“So you are American.” Peter speaks up and it catches Brian by surprise. “I thought you might be Canadian.” 

The fact Peter thought about him makes Brian grin a little before he nods.

That’s the subject that breaks the ice and gets them to talk, so much so that Brian misses his stop but pretends that he’s getting off at the same station as Peter where they both get off then talk even more. Brian’s able to draw out interesting thoughts and commentary from Peter and vice versa. Things like what Peter does on his laptop to discussing their biggest fears, observations of their surroundings and their shared experiences of being only children are brought up. They even touch on the topic of love and how it impacted Brian’s recent breakup and Peter’s long past break up. 

It’s in the middle of that that his phone vibrates, cutting them both off mid-sentence.

“Oh, I’ve kept you for too long.” Peter says apologetically as he glances around their surroundings, uncertain of what time it is but Brian shakes his head. “Honestly, I could’ve stayed on that subway until...forever. I like talking to you.” He says before taking another glance at his phone. “It’s just. There’s this thing I promised a friend that I’d— “

“It’s ok.” Peter interrupts. “It’s late and we should both head home.” 

Brian nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I know you said that you had work to do and God, It’s so late— I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No, no, no it’s alright. I don’t eat after 7.” 

“Is that like a french culture thing?” Brian asks, curious. He doesn’t get it but he can begrudgingly respect it. It tells him Peter’s very disciplined or likes schedules which he could’ve guessed. Peter laughs, and it still strikes Brian how much his whole face changes with it even as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” Peter replies, eyes still warm. Brian almost forgets to answer the question. After a beat he finds his words. “Oh,uh, I sometimes wake up at like 2 AM to make ramyeon. Don’t tell my roommates but it’s the only time i don’t have to share with them.” 

“You should get going then. Is it your roommates wanting to know where you are?” Peter comments, nodding to Brian’s hand when the phone goes off repeatedly. “It’s the group chat. Nothing important.”

Just Jae asking where the fuck is Brian. Kate wondering why the hell hasn’t Brian shown up yet. Angelina wondering when more drinks are coming and the inevitable: who is going to kick these people out of the house after their social filters take a nosedive after the clock strikes midnight in, roughly an hour to thirty minutes.

Yet, Brian is still hesitant to say goodbye. Peter doesn’t move either and it’s almost as if he’s waiting for Brian to make the first move to end their time together. 

“So there’s this party over at my place tonight. I — I say that like it’s not going on right now but you should come over and we can have a few drinks, talk about uh what did you say you’re reading Fred....?”

“Friedrich Nietzsche.” 

“Wait, like, for fun?” Brian has to take a minute to let that information sink in and almost reconsiders his previous invitation because frankly he can’t think of anything more boring than Nietzshe. Peter shifts his weight, waiting for Brian to get back to the point. ”Ok, maybe we won’t talk about that but do you want to go? I’m sure by now you’ve figured out I’m not a psycho.” 

"What if I am?” Peter smirks. Brian gives him a once over, standing back like he’s truly considering the possibility then leans in close, too close. “I don’t know what if I’m into that?” Peter grows quiet again, blinking a few times and uncertain of what Brian’s about to do before the other leans away again.

“Come to the party with me.” Brian turns up the charm voice low, warm and inviting. ”It’ll be fun.” Peter knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s clear by now that he’s hinting for him to at least stay the night. He could say no, tell him that he’s not interested in parties but then he gives a small nod and the rest of the night moves in a blur. That tends to happen when Brian is involved. Time seems to blur from one minute to the next in the way that:

One minute they’re in the park, then the vague familiarity of Brian’s place — loud music, flashing lights, pushed closer by a crowd of dancing people. And a few drinks in it’s Peter who breaks the tension between them and throws caution to the wind when he kisses Brian. 

Time and everything else moves entirely too fast after that. Some days they both have to take a seat and remind themselves that it’s ok to go slow, but it’s hard when the clock is ticking down and they both know Brian graduates in December and after that? Where do they stand?

Six months after their chat on the subway they wake up in some shit hotel in Vegas. Bed hair, hung over, admiring the vintage silver on their ring fingers together that Brian picked up for cheap in a pawnshop in L.A. Peter, who always finds ways to surprise Brian is more calm than he anticipated. Brian takes advantage of the slowing in time to make Peter laugh just to see his face transform in that way that made him infatuated before they move onto the next chapter.

It is the start of many good mornings.

[bidnezz]

11:45

Here on Ao3.

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Rating: T (for language really). Workplace AU, Coworkers, Lunch Thief, Silly, Apology notes, Simon is adorable imo

Summary:

Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

Was looking for some inspiration and saw a tumblr post with the prompt:

who keeps stealing my lunch and leaving apology notes?

Tuesday 11:43am

 Alec stares at the digits in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, swears he can hear the ticking of a clock in his head. He wills it to go faster, knows it won’t, but tries anyways.

 Two minutes is all he needs, honestly.

 He thinks of his bag in the fridge. Boring, brown, and crumpled from re-use the day before. It’s the treasure it holds that has his stomach responding, begging the gods that preside over this particular section of pixels to somehow speed up time.

 He’s starving, hungers for the leftover chicken pasta that graced his and Izzy’s dinner table last night. If he thinks really hard he can even taste the hint of cream on the back of his tongue, heavy and savory. Maybe that’s just his saliva. Maybe he’s died from hunger and has gone insane.

 His eyes are drawn back to the screen when the numbers change with sloth-like speed and the mantra of food food food in his mind bring him to his feet, his chair protesting at the sudden movement.

 Nobody notices, nobody cares but him that he’s going to lunch 15 minutes early, and he likes it that way. He prefers the company of his grumbling stomach and beeping of the microwave before the only sounds in the room are scrapes of his utensils against the tupperware and content sighs of happiness. It’s his favorite part of the day, the 15 minutes he gets to himself before he prepares for the drama and insipid tales of parties he has no interest in ever attending that his coworkers like to push on him.

 His coworkers aren’t bad, if he’s honest. They’re normal for the most part, and he’s done his best to stay in the relatively good graces of almost everyone. Everyone near him, at least.

 Alec doesn’t venture very far in terms of cubicles, choosing to stay contained and focused on his work. But sometimes when he’s been away from Izzy for too long he’ll feel the creepings of loneliness and a need for human interaction and he’ll drag himself down two-to-the- right- one-up until he’s peering over the edge of Simon’s desk, patient and waiting until the bespectacled boy offers him a story about his band’s gig the previous week, or wistful stories about his best friend that’s just a friend, and he’s totally not in love with her, shut up Alec why are you laughing?

 So things could be worse, he thinks to himself as he reaches into the refrigerator for the paper bag and settles himself into his favorite chair with his back against the wall. He could have coworkers that are raucous and annoying, who squawk and screech when they talk. Or he could—

  Thief!

 Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

 He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

 He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

  Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

 The loopy scrawl looks elegant but does nothing to quell his rising blood pressure or satisfy the ache in his stomach. He crumples the paper, tosses it into the trash bin across the room where it belongs, and snaps his tupperware lid open to stab at his fruit with a fork that really doesn’t deserve the harsh treatment.

 He’s going to find out who did this, and he’s going to…

 Well, Alec is too hungry to think of what he’s going to do to them, but he knows it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

   --–

   11:34 Wednesday

 The low hum of keyboards and the occasional mouse clicking that he’s used to doesn’t calm Alec’s racing thoughts like it normally does, doesn’t try to lull him into the dream-like trance of his peers. Most days it does, but today is not most days.

 Today is the day Alec has begun to see his coworkers for what they really are. He doesn’t care if Lydia—who sits in the adjoining cubicle to his left—is pristine in her work and mannerisms and polite to a fault. Doesn’t care that she’s always polished and perfect in the coworker handbook, which doesn’t exist but really should because who steals people’s lunch? What he does care about is that he knows for a fact Lydia still has a stack of post-it notes she asked to borrow last week, a pack that has been almost completely used up to leave reminders and notes around her desk. She still hasn’t given them back, or offered him a new pack, and Alec pushes back the errant reminder in the back of his head that she offered and he refused.

 Because now she’s a suspect and he trusts no one.

 He stands, slowly as not to arouse suspicion, and when he passes her desk he does a quick glance around to see if he notices anything else that belongs to him on the dark wood.

 As hard as he tries, Lydia is perceptive and offers Alec the same picturesque smile she always does, teeth white and blinding in the fluorescence, and Alec does his best to hold in his guilt at his mental accusation.

 He’s early to the break room, earlier than usual, and he hopes that he’s rewarded with the mouthwatering teriyaki chicken and rice he prepared for today. It’s one of his favorites, and he feels his mouth flood with just the thought.

 He grabs at the crisp paper bag, sets himself down in his usual chair and reaches in to find—

 Money?

 There’s a note with it, red paper embellished with little gold swirls that trap the $20 bill.

 Sorry again mon pétit chef !

Hopefully this covers whatever I’ve stolen

I promise I’m not a bad person, just hungry!

Your food is the best. ♡

 He’s infuriated. This monster is mocking him now, taking the time to doodle on apologetic notes while he savors every last bite of Alec’s carefully cooked meal. They have the time for jokes and notes, surely they have the time to bring their own damn lunch.

 The only thing left in his bag is the empty, but thankfully washed, tupperware he had packed this morning. Damn it, he thinks as he shoves his fingers through his hair and heads over to the vending machine, angrily forcing the crisp bill through the slot and punching in his choices. Chips and cookies, highly nutritious and sure to get Alec through the day in a wonderful mood.

 He jabs at the coin return button a few times with no response, and when he glances down he can’t help the strangled noise that leaves his throat and the anger that forms a prickle at the corners of his eyes.

  Machine does not give change.

 He’s never used the vending machine before, not in his one and a half years has he ever needed to. But now…

 Now, he’s forced to sit at his table with a defeated sigh and $20 worth of snacks.

   --–

   Thursday, Alec comes prepared.

 In the morning he comes in wary with his lunch held close to his chest, and he sets it down in the same spot as always. Only this time, there’s a note taped to the front of his bag, a yellow post-it note that he hopes gives Lydia a hint, whether she’s the culprit or not. “Stop eating my lunch” it reads, big bold and to the point. Just like Alec.

 The day passes uneventfully, and though he’s confident nobody will be touching the cut up steak, potatoes and veggies in his bag this time, he’s still suspicious of everyone.

 Simon comes over to pass him a flyer for his show tonight, bright orange and the art is drawn by my best friend Clary, she’s so amazing isn’t she? I mean it, it’s amazing artwork. You know in a few years time this will probably be worth a lot of money, like a collector’s edition or--

 Alec’s ambiguous stare unsettles Simon and he adds a weirded out “Dude are you, like, okay?” before he shrugs and heads back to his own cubicle, Alec’s undecided eyes following his every movement with a sharpness he’s never needed to hone until now.

 Perhaps he’s covering up, trying to extend an olive branch beyond the monetary.

 Alec won’t accept, though. Won’t forgive and forget until he knows for certain that it’s Simon, and has a confession straight from the source. Why doesn’t Simon just admit that he’s been taking Alec’s lunch and apologize? Why does he have to do it in a roundabout way now that he’s been called out? Be a man, Simon Lewis. Admit your defeat, and stop eating my lunch.

 At 11:45 Alec’s visit to the refrigerator is prompt and purposeful, renewed with vigor because he has no reason to believe his lunch has been stolen again. Not until he’s sat on his chair with another empty container and note, livid.

  Or what?

I’ve repaid you for my trespasses.

Sorry again, mon pétit chef!

Today was especially tasty.

xo

 Fuck.

  --–

   Friday’s plan is foolproof, Alec smiles to himself, whistling as he steps up to his chair and sets his thermos and rustled paper bag on his desk. It’s unseemly, looking out of place and cluttered, but it’s a precaution he has been forced to take now, because he’s figured out how to get out of this predicament he’s been caught in all week.

 Gone are the days he comes home, starving to the point of exhaustion because Alec really does rely on his lunch to get him through the days. It’s hard to concentrate on numbers that begin to jumble together on a flickering screen that only agitates the pounding in his temples.

 So he’s decided that he’ll bring a lunch that wont spoil on his desk, something that will still be edible after 4 hours of room temperature climate. He’s testing it with his favorite soup, chicken noodle with extra chicken and veggies, his broth rich and hot filled with all the flavors that make his mouth water.

 Perhaps having his food in such close proximity to him all day is not the best idea. He eyes the thermos, then shakes his head because he’s being ridiculous now. He’ll survive, and at 11:45 when it’s time for lunch his soup will still be warmed and tasty and completely untouched by him or any conspiring coworkers.

 Only by the time lunch rolls around his thermos is only half-full and he’s already got cracker crumbs on his shirt because self-control is severely underrated and Alec is literally hungry all day long. So he savors what’s left of his lukewarm soup, tips his head back to drink the leftover vegetable bits and pieces that have settled at the bottom of his thermos with a grimace. It’s not the worst lunch, but it’s not satisfying and the high hopes he had set himself on this morning are shattered like the last cracker he crunches in his mouth.

 At 12:40 he’s about to head back to his desk when curiosity strikes him.

 Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what would be on the other side of the door, he pulls open the refrigerator. His stomach twists bizarrely when he sees the carefully tented green paper in the spot he normally leaves his lunch. It looks oddly fitting, he thinks for a moment, like it belongs there instead of the unsightly brown paper bag he always leaves. He reaches for it, turning it over and feeling the weightlessness of it on his palm, despite how heavy it feels in his chest.

 Mon pétit chef -

I’m sorry if I’ve scared you off.

Here’s to hoping Monday brings new gifts.

Enjoy your weekend.

xo ,

M.B.

 Alec feels his face heat up, warmer than he’s ever felt in the confines of his kitchen with the fire high and wrapped in the air. The irritation sparks up again, and Alec doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so embarrassed and intrigued, but he knows it’s all too much to take in right now so he stuffs the note in his pocket and stomps to his desk.

 He scans the room before he sits down, most people are in the break room enjoying their lunch before the hour is up. Most people except Catarina Loss, three-to-the-right-two-down, who meets his eyes with a patient smile. Alec pauses, for the briefest moment he wonders if this is his thief, M.B., but then she looks away, returns back to her work as quiet and unnoticed as always.

 He doesn’t know much about her, and he makes a mental note to get whatever information he can out of Simon later without being obvious.

   --–

   Monday brings Alec in with hesitant, unsure steps, and he feels as if he’s walking into a bad idea.

 He sets his bag down on his desk, pulls out two brown paper bags, and stares.

 He would probably look insane if anyone walked by, watching these two lunch bags with such intensity he’s surprised they don’t burst into flames, but he’s early and Raj who sits behind him is the only one around at this time. Alec doesn’t care about Raj, nobody likes Raj. He’s an ass and if he wants to look at his lunch bags for 5 minutes then Raj can screw off.

 Chill, Alec, he can hear Jace’s words repeated in his mind. He sort of had a panic attack at Jace’s house Sunday afternoon when he realized he had no idea what he was going to do about Monday’s lunch.

 Jace knows about Alec’s lunch dilemma. Knows a little, at least. Enough for Alec’s freak out to seem a little less random and crazy.

 But still a freak out nonetheless, and now Jace isn’t here to calm him down, but he’s got his affirmation in his head that it’s really not a big deal, it’s just lunch.

 He snatches the offending bags, taking quick steps to the refrigerator where he sets them down side by side, one lightly rumpled bag next to an unblemished bag with the simple letters M.B. on them.

 What the hell is he doing? He must be losing it. All these numbers and long hours in a stuffy office all day long are turning his brain to mush and now he’s making lunch for his thief—not his thief. A thief. A lunch thief.

 Damn it!

 This shouldn’t be complicated at all, this shouldn’t even be a thing for heaven’s sake. It’s just lunch, it’s not a date and he doesn’t even know who’s on the other side of these notes. He’s acting like a teenager with these silly games.

 His fingers twitch, ready to reach out and snatch the bag to toss it in the rubbish along with any other stupid ideas he might have come up with, but he leaves it alone. Whatever this is, he’s being dumb about it, because it’s just food and maybe his mom would be proud or something, because Alec is feeding the less fortunate.

 With a nod, Alec regains his composure and heads back to his desk, feigning the confidence he sure as hell doesn’t feel, and when he slumps in his chair it’s definitely not because of a stupid lunch bag.

   --–

   11:45 comes so slow Alec is surprised he isn’t bald from ripping his hair out with each passing minute that feels like an hour.

 He stands, an attempt that was intended to be slow and purposeful but comes off as awkward and causes him to sway with misstep. Nobody sees, but he feels stupid regardless.

 While nobody notices him in his cubicle, he sees the usual smile from Lydia as he passes her, but this time Catarina is watching him and they make eye contact on his trip to the break room. Her expression is calculated, studying his movements and he hopes to god he doesn’t trip and embarrass himself.

 When he opens the refrigerator he’s disappointed to see the brown bag with the initials back in place, looking as though it hasn’t been touched. He grabs it to toss it away so he doesn’t have to take home the shame of his failed attempts at—

 Alec pauses, because he doesn’t even know what he would call this. Friendship? Peace offering?

 Whatever it is, he’s done with it for good.

 When he lifts the bag, though, it’s light and the food inside has clearly been consumed.

 He grabs his own bag and hurriedly makes his way to his seat, reaching in unceremoniously to retrieve the folded note he’s hoping is in there. He’s victorious, and he knows he looks bonkers with the huge grin on his face but he doesn’t care because he’s alone for now, and he’ll smile if he wants to. He sets the note down on the table, his eyes tracing over every letter slowly, admiring the swooping penmanship that he wants to rewrite with his fingertips.

 Mon pétit chef -

Today’s gift was from the Angels themselves .

I feel very special, so I’ll answer your request.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

xo,

Magnus

 He picks at his food, for the next 15 minutes, rolling the name he’s asked for over in his head, tastes it on his lips like the sweetest word he’s ever said. Magnus.

 It’s impossible to get back to work after lunch, but Alec does his best, honestly tries so hard to focus on the numbers in front of him but it eludes him. So he welcomes the distraction when Simon pops into Alec’s space, typing away at his phone and half-attentive to his own story that he’s regaling Alec with.

 “—and then Maureen was like ‘Oh, Simon, you’re so smart you should be the one running this place!’ and guess who walks past the office?”

 Alec gives a noncommittal grunt, and that’s enough for Simon because he continues.

 “Mr. Bane!” His voice is grave and he stops plucking at his phone to watch Alec’s reaction, deflates when the only response is a raised eyebrow. “C’mon Alec, work with me here. Mr. Bane,” he repeats as though that will get the point across.

 Alec shrugs. Simon rolls his eyes.

 “Mr. Bane is the guy who runs this place. He’s like the Sam Walton of Walmart.”

 “Sam Walton Bane is a weird name,” Alec responds, his fingers tapping quickly at the keypad to his right. He’s good at multi-tasking.

 Simon groans and smacks his palm to his forehead in an over-dramatic show of frustration. Simon has always been a bit over the top, but Alec supposes he has to be since he sort of owns a band. “No, Sam Walton is the guy that invented Walmart or whatever, you know the big chain? Magnus Bane is the guy that invented this place,” he supplies, though his voice comes out dejected because he’s sure Alec isn’t even interested anymore, if he ever was.

 But Alec’s brain halts suddenly, his fingers ceasing all function at the mention of the name he’s been repeating all day to himself.

 “Wh-What?”

 “Dude, if you’re not gonna listen I’m gonna go talk to Maureen,” Simon sigh and steps away from Alec’s desk where he was leaning against it. He’s ready to leave, takes the first few steps out of the cubicle before Alec seizes his arm, tugging harshly to bring Simon back. “Ow! The hell?”

 “Who did you say invented this place?” The words sound stupid coming out of his mouth, he knows that’s not the proper way to say it, it’s Simon-speak, but he doesn’t care. His brain is on auto-pilot as it tries to catch up.

 “Magnus Bane,” Simon repeats slowly, as though Alec is a child.

  Magnus Bane.

  M.B.

 Fuck.

   --–

   Alec calls out sick Tuesday, his head pounding with the stampede of a million questions that will never receive an answer if he doesn’t go back to work. But curling up in his bed and burying himself in all the blankets he owns seems like a better idea, and Izzy is gone at work all day so really who’s to stop him?

 Wednesday follows in the same fashion, only now he can’t stop googling pictures of Magnus, and good god, the man is literally perfect. He’s so gorgeous it makes his heart feel tender with loneliness because he knows Magnus is way out of his league. Magnus works 2 floors above him—well, Alec uses the term work loosely, because when you’re the head bitch in charge, what do you even do?

 Oh god, he’s just called Magnus a bitch.

 Magnus doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, but Alec still feels sheepish, and he ducks his head under his pillow to suffocate his shame.

 Not 5 minutes later, he’s got his nose pressed to his phone as he takes in the glorious sight of Magnus Bane on the cover of some trite magazine. He looks exactly like his notes would paint him to be, Alec thinks, sighing as he scrolls to the next photo. That’s how Izzy finds him hours later, cheeks flushed and jittery, thoughts and images of a man so unattainable Alec wants to cry.

   –--

   Thursday is sluggish and slow for Alec, his body genuinely retaliating against him for forcing house-arrest on it, depriving it of the essential vitamins and exercise it’s used to. He blames his inability to concentrate on this fact, and when he tosses two lunch bags into the refrigerator in the morning, he holds tight to this excuse. He’s too out of it to think straight, to really deduce why he still brought an extra lunch for Magnus.

 Why is he bringing Magnus lunch in the first place? The man has enough money to quit his company and live lavishly until he dies. Not that Alec wants to think about Magnus dying.

 Mr. Bane, he should be saying instead. Because he really doesn’t know Magnus enough to be on a first name basis with his boss.

 Little lunch-time notes from a stranger are one thing, but now that he’s wholly aware of the situation, this has to be the last of it. There has to be something against feeding your boss delicious food every day and getting flirty little notes in return, he’s sure of it.

 Something stirs in his peripheral on his way back, and he sees Catarina frowning at him, though she remains silent.

 He’s so lost, he doesn’t know what’s going on in this place anymore. His boss is stealing his food and flirting with him via notes like a kid, his coworkers are watching his every move, and on top of it all he hasn’t told anyone Magnus’ identity so he’s all alone in this.

 By the time 11:45 comes around Alec isn’t even hungry, his mouth is satisfied with the nervous energy it’s consuming because he’s got plenty of it right now.

 He opens the refrigerator to see his two bags unmoved, checks Magnus’ to make sure, and sits back in his seat dejectedly when it’s true.

 There’s a noise at the door to the break room, followed by a soft click, but Alec is too preoccupied in his thoughts to notice.

 He’s pushing around forkfuls of his spaghetti, jabbing his fork rather forcefully into one meatball in particular, but it does nothing to settle his nerves. He hears noise to his side, the soft tap of expensive shoes on tile, the door to the refrigerator squeaking open, the rustle of a brown paper bag with the initials M.B., and his heart races a few beats faster than normal.

 “Is this seat taken?” the melodic voice questions, and Alec feels his jaw lock up, his body tense around the tupperware in front of him.

 “N-Not at all,” Alec stutters. Dear lord, have mercy on his soul.

 Beside him, hand grasped on the back of the only other chair at Alec’s table, is Magnus Bane, asking to sit next to him. Him, of all people.

 Alec’s eyes travel first to the fingers curled around the plastic of the chair as he pulls it out, to the slender arm that connects to an equally slender but toned body and how does he even fucking know that? How can he tell what’s underneath the suit and tie Magnus is wearing?

 Surely the hundreds of google images don’t factor in. No.

 Alec gulps, and he finally meets the hesitant but curious gaze before him and jesus christ this man is beautiful.

 “Thank you, Alexander,” he speaks, his words pouring out of him like warm honey. And Alec chokes. He chokes, on what he has no idea, but he chokes in front of Magnus Bane.

 “H-How… My name?”

 It sounds stupid, he sounds like he can barely string a sentence together, and Magnus watches him. He can see he’s trying not to laugh, of course he knows Alec’s name, he’s probably done his own research on his employees, and he’s obviously caught on that Alec knows exactly who he is and he wonders if maybe google ratted him out to Magnus about his search history, because the smug look is awfully suspicious.

 “Would you prefer I call you mon pétit chef?”

 The magical laugh makes the teasing almost worth it, but Alec is beyond mortified now, because what does someone say to that?

 Magnus reaches across the table, his fingers graceful and soft as they brush along Alec’s chin to tilt it back into place. And Alec doesn’t say anything, won’t ever mention the way Magnus lets his fingers linger on Alec’s skin to anyone, or the way he feels electric in all the spots Magnus touches.

 “N-No. No thank you,” he murmurs, not sure why he’s being so polite when this is clearly not a formal setting, but rationalizing it to the fact that Magnus is his boss and also so insanely gorgeous and Alec is just so average that there’s no way he can form coherent thoughts in his presence.

 “Your cooking really is quite heavenly,” Magnus manages, popping open the lid to his tupperware, Alec’s tupperware, that looks so dingy and dirty in Magnus’ polished hands. It all feels so very domestic, despite Alec having never sat across from anyone so brilliant and extraordinary in his life.

 Staring at him now, face-to-face, Alec thinks that the photographs and magazine covers don’t do him the justice he deserves, don’t quite capture the immortality and timelessness of his face.

 “I’m glad you like it,” Alec says softly, his gaze everywhere but Magnus, because even though they’re drawn to him like moths to flame, it’s too much to bear for a prolonged period of time.

 But there’s time, he hears the whisper of the words in his head, feels them stretch across his consciousness with the promise of the future.

 He’s only just met Magnus, only started his silly correspondence a little over a week ago, but he feels a connection he didn’t know he was missing.

 Suddenly, a questions pops into his head and passes through the filter of his mouth before he can stop it, a question he’s been mulling over for days now since he found out who Magnus was.

 “Why did you steal my lunch?”

 Magnus laughs, loud and genuine and Alec basks in the sound, feels it warm the shakiness in his sweaty palms still.

 “Catarina is one of my oldest friends,” he begins, his eyes twinkling. “I came to visit her one afternoon for lunch and I saw you sitting in here alone, in that very seat.” Alec feels the heat rise to his face and he shifts uncomfortably at how predictable and boring he is. “I thought to myself, ‘what is this gorgeous man doing here all alone?’ And then you took a bite of your food, closed your eyes and looked so peaceful that I decided then and there I needed to try this amazing food.”

 Alec balks, his mouth threatening to fall open again, but he attempts to keep his composure. Magnus looks pleased with himself.

 “You could have just asked me to make you something,” he whispers, more of a thought to himself than to Magnus, but he hears it anyways and gives a low hum.

 “Where’s the fun in that?”

 Where indeed, Alec thinks, and he takes a bite of his lunch he’s made for them today, peering up at Magnus through his lashes, watching his response as he takes his first bite of the dish. And maybe Alec’s in the wrong profession because the soft moan and euphoric look on Magnus’ face makes Alec feel more accomplished than a day filled with numbers and data entry.

 The humor that their first meal together being pasta is not lost on Alec, and he smiles across at his lunch thief, wondering if he’s going to steal more than just his food.

 He kinda hopes he will.