#but it turned out the 'genuine leather' tag on it was a big old lie!!

[muzdiir]

i want to get some leather so i can make my dad a new tobacco pouch bc his fav pouch has been busted for years (the zipper has come off one side, regardless of my attempt to fix it). he has another one he's using now but its pleather, the opening isnt very large, & the zipper doesnt go all the way across (by design) so there's a hole on one end where tobacco leaks out (also makes it dry out rly fast)

i wanna get real leather & im picky about the tanning style. it cant be too thick, so no bark tanned cow hide. fat tan buckskin would prob be too supple for just a tobacco pouch.

i know i can prob find a local leatherworker/shop but i fear they'll all be like. biker leather. maybe a tack shop?? but idk if theres a local one i can actually afford lmao.

unfortunately, smoking is out of style so theres no demand for (good) tobacco pouches :/

[tennessoui]

this is probably too many prompts lol but uhhh obikin: #6 meeting at a coffee shop au; #24 literally bumping into each other au; #40 exes meeting again after not speaking for years au (i'm a sucker for breaking up and getting back together again lol); #42 star-crossed lovers au; #48 meeting again at a high school reunion au

hi!! you probably forgot you sent this at all and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest. I'm pretty sure someone else already asked for 24, 40, and 42, so I wrote #6 instead! warnings for this one: bittersweet in that both anakin and obi-wan are sad, also the author is sad, also this takes place in the midwest in america (this is the first fic that is obviously set in america!!! wow!!)

6. Meeting At A Coffee Shop Diner AU (1.9k)

“Have a seat anywhere you want,” the hostess tells Obi-Wan without looking up from her phone.

Obi-Wan blinks and then looks around the deserted seating area. “Thank you, uh.” She’s not wearing a name tag.

“Angel’ll bring you the menu and take care of you, thanks for coming in,” she says, glancing up at him and then away.

Well then. Obi-Wan reminds himself that customer service isn’t everyone’s strong suit, that she might have had a rough day, that he’s here for the quick food on his way through town, that his ego isn’t fragile enough that he needs to be led to a table with a smile.

The restaurant is almost completely deserted. There’s two truckers eating their weight in bacon and eggs at the counter, and a family of four seated around a table, resolutely picking at their food instead of talking to each other. And then there’s Obi-Wan.

He chooses a booth by the window, one that overlooks the absolute nothingness of midwestern American scenery. If he cranes his neck, he can probably see corn.

God, Obi-Wan’s sick of seeing corn, and he’s only been in this part of the country for a few hours. He needs to go right through most of it to get where he’s headed. He’s not sure how he won’t die of boredom.

The thought sends a pang through his chest. It’s too soon to think of death even in an offhand way. He taps his fingers on the cover of his leather journal, before a line of dark brown under one of them catches his eye. He studies his hand critically.

It’s been two days since the funeral. Surely he wouldn’t still have grave dirt under his nails. Surely things like that wash away eventually.

“Hey,” a voice says from in front of him. A man is turned around and kneeling up in the booth in front of Obi-Wan’s, leaning over the garishly red vinyl of the empty seat with a menu clutched in one hand. His hair is short and dark blond, an undercut with a long fringe settling over his forehead. He has a nice sort of smile, one that looks genuine but doesn’t touch his eyes. Obi-Wan notices how long the man’s neck is and how predominant his collarbones appear in the loose white shirt he’s wearing, before he forces himself to focus only on his face. “I’m Angel,” the guy says, passing over the menu. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Obi-Wan accepts it gingerly. It looks like something that’s perpetually sticky. “Water is fine,” he says politely. “Thank you.”

“Will do,” Angel salutes him and ambles away. Obi-Wan watches him go before shaking his head to rid himself of any sort of thought, and opening the menu.

It’s standard food fare, of course. Breakfast options served all day if anyone were to come in and request them. Lunch and dinner options are also served all day, probably for the same reason: a diner like this can’t afford to turn anyone away, even if they want a hamburger at nine in the morning.

A glass of water clinks down onto the table next to him, making him look up at Angel, who’s looking at him curiously.

“You ready to order?” he asks, even though Obi-Wan is still very much looking at the menu and it’s also only been a few minutes at most since Angel gave it to him in the first place.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Obi-Wan asks politely. “I’ve never been here before. What’s good?”

“The water,” Angel says and then laughs like he’s said something funny. Obi-Wan finds his own mouth curling up at the sound. Sometimes people’s laughter is contagious, like a yawn.

And then Angel says, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits. “North of Boston.”

Angel whistles, like Obi-Wan has said something impressive. “Boston, huh? What are you doing all the way out here?”

The pit in his stomach intensifies. He does his best not to look at his nails and the grave dirt that might still be under them. “Driving,” he finally says. “And are you...from around here?”

Angel’s eyes grow distant for a second, and when he focuses again on Obi-Wan, they’re cold. “Born and raised,” he tells him flatly. “Never got out.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do with the sort of bitterness in Angel’s tone. It complements his own well enough.

“If you like eggs, I’ll put you in for the house special omelette,” Angel declares suddenly, all business again. “It’s four eggs, tomatoes, peppers, cheese. The usual.”

“What makes it special?” Obi-Wan asks, closing his menu and setting it down on the table in front of him.

“For you?” Angel drawls, “I’ll watch the cook to make sure he doesn’t get any egg shells in it,” and then he winks, holding out his hand.

Naturally, Obi-Wan shakes it. Naturally, Obi-Wan realizes a second after feeling Angel’s warm, calloused rough palm against his own that the man had meant to take the menu from Obi-Wan.

He can’t remember the last time he’s blushed this red, but he is absolutely regretting everything about this road trip. God, he’d pay money just to be able to leave now.

He should get in his car and drive back to Boston. It had been a stupid idea to come out here anyway, a result of stir-craziness and a desire to outrun the death of his father.

And now look what he’s doing. Shaking hands with his handsome waiter, as if he isn’t thirty-nine and perfectly aware of social norms.

Thankfully, miraculously, Angel laughs and this time it sounds real. “It’s okay,” he tells him, reaching out to pick up the menu.

Luckily for everyone involved, Obi-Wan finds it very easy to laugh at himself. “Well. It’s nice to meet you, Angel, I’m Obi-Wan.”

“I’ll go put the order in,” Angel says, “Obi-Wan.”

He’s back within five minutes, sliding into the seat across from Obi-Wan. So much for no eggshells in his omelette, but he can’t bring himself to be disappointed. There’s something magnetically fascinating about Angel. He’d like to know more.

“So you’re driving?” Angel asks, picking up a thread of conversation from several minutes ago. “Where are you going?”

“I was thinking of Alaska,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ve--I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You’re driving from Boston to Alaska?” Angel whistles, raising his eyebrows in shock. “I think the gas money alone would cost me two months of work.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. It’s not like he makes much himself as a teacher in Massachusetts. “My father was a lifelong gambler,” he discloses without really knowing why he’s telling this to a stranger. “He came into a bit of luck near the end. A bit of a fortune as well. And when he...died, I inherited it and his house.”

Angel touches his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “When did he pass?”

Obi-Wan huffs out what might be a chuckle. “A week ago, actually. It’s summer break in Massachusetts--I’m a teacher--and I suddenly had nothing to stay for, for a bit. It was either leave for Alaska or find some other way to cope.”

He runs a hand--his free hand, the one Angel isn’t touching--over his beard as he gives the man a rueful smile. “Dad always wanted me to see more of the world.”

“My mom was the same way,” Angel leans forward to tell him, as if it’s a secret. Obi-Wan feels like it is a secret, that there’s something delicate and fragile in the air. Something that matches whatever emotion is filling up Angel’s eyes. “Always telling me to leave, go get famous, go get happy, come back and tell her about it.”

“You didn’t?” Obi-Wan asks, his chest tightening at the thought that the man before him could be unhappy.

“I couldn’t,” Angel sneers, looking out the window and propping his chin on his hand. Some things must be too close to the heart to tell someone to their face. “Mom got sick. I wanted to get out, I was so close. Graduated high school, packed my stuff. I was going to go to California. To Los Angeles, really make it big.” He rolls his eyes and scoffs, as if there’s something inherently funny about the dreams he must have cherished for so long.

“Then mom collapsed going down the stairs. Just passed out in the middle of the day. Doctors told us she was sick. Then life became all about treatment plans and monitoring symptoms and getting the money for the medicines and I never left. Got a job here when I was eighteen years old, right before I graduated high school. It’s all I’ve ever known, I guess.”

“And your mother?” Obi-Wan asks, mouth dry and heart all tangled up in itself for this stranger man, for Angel with the hard, sad eyes.

“Died a year and a half ago or so,” Angel says flatly like he’s repeated the words so often in his head that the truth digs no barbs into his flesh. Obi-Wan knows that voice is a lie. How often has he looked in the mirror this past week and told himself, ‘Qui-Gon Jinn is dead’? He can’t imagine a year and a half would make the pain go away.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says seriously, reaching across the table to touch Angel’s hand this time.

Angel shrugs but doesn’t pull away. “Is what it is, I guess,” he says. “I’ve made my peace with it. And the fact that I’ll never leave this godforsaken town.”

“You could,” Obi-Wan points out hesitantly. “You could leave tomorrow.”

For a second, a wild and previously undiscovered part of Obi-Wan wonders what it would be like, if Angel did leave tomorrow--with him. If they got into the same car and headed to Alaska together and Obi-Wan wasn’t alone at the wheel and Angel wasn’t alone in this town. If Obi-Wan could look over at the man in the passenger seat, asleep against the doorway as they crossed into Canada.

Obi-Wan wonders. Obi-Wan aches.

“I could,” Angel says, laughing once. “I guess I could. I guess I just can’t think of a good enough reason to.”

There’s a call of his name from the kitchen, and Angel stands and stretches, checking the time on his watch. “That’ll be your omelette, sir, which is perfect timing considering I’m off shift as of five minutes ago.”

“Thank you then,” Obi-Wan replies, ignoring the pang in his gut at the knowledge he won’t be able to keep talking to him. “It was nice meeting you, Angel.”

Angel’s face grows dark for a second as his jaw clenches. “That’s not my name,” he finally says, scratching at his neck with one hand. “That’s just what they called me when I started working here. Angel, like Los Angeles. Cause I told everyone for weeks this was a temporary thing, you know? I’d be going to California soon as mom got better. Guess they knew better than I did.”

Obi-Wan has never wanted to kidnap a grown man away from a place more, so he hides his hands under the table instead. “Would you tell me your name then?” he asks, wondering if he’s overstepping but needing to know too much to censor himself.

“It’s Anakin,” his waiter says, sticking his hand out, no menu to grab.

Obi-Wan takes it gently, turns it over, and cradles it between both of his hands. “Then it’s nice to meet you, Anakin.”

Maybe, he thinks as he picks at his omelette and watches Anakin shoulder his way through the front doors of the diner before disappearing down the street, maybe he can stay a day in this nowhere town. Just an extra day.

Yes, he thinks, taking a sip of his water. He’ll try the pancakes next.

[dracosaurusrex]

Bookworms (Draco x Reader)

Summary: Where Y/N and Draco discover that there’s much more to each other than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 11k

Genre: Fluff (slight angst in the beginning); enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ; No Voldy AU

TW: Self-harm but it’s not too much.

A/N: Hi friends! I want to say that I don’t really know where I was going with this, but that would be a lie. So a couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine (we’ll name her @minty-malfoy​) posted a tag thread and one of her responses involved her wanting to own a bookshop. It got me thinking of a bookshop romance and ugh YES. With dark academia, how could I not? Fast forward to last week, I ask her for a favor without realizing it was her birthday, and I felt so embarrassed LOL. So, yes, this is your gift my friend. I hope you enjoy it. Keep shining like the light you are!

Besides that, I genuinely hope that if you come across this, you enjoy this big chunggus of a oneshot. I apologize if it’s slow at some parts. I also didn’t proofread the end. I should probably shut up now before I start questioning my writing omll

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Written in pages bound by leather covers are worlds that bring you out of your own. An adventure. An escape. Within that escape sprouts myriads of emotions and thoughts, but what you value the most amongst them all are its gifts of perspective and solace. 

Y/N Y/L/N lived the majority of her life with her mother. Her father, who was an auror, passed when she was young, leaving them to surmount the challenges of the world alone. Together, they owned a decent bookshop in Hogsmeade. Its shelves lined the walls, occupying the entire expanse from the floor up to the ceiling. Within them were books of varying genres, filling your senses with the soothing aromas of old parchment, sounds of turning pages, and the feeling of warmth and coziness. To others, this little shop was known as Avenoir Books. However, you knew it as home, your safe space, your comfort zone. 

Your mother was the one responsible for introducing you to your love for reading. Growing up, you’d recall the sound of her voice as she read to you--the way that it cradled you with reassurance when times got rough. She always managed to disguise her worries, yet in moments when she thought she was alone, you had witnessed her at her lowest points. It was only within your knowledge that you knew life was difficult, for your mother would shield you from the problems that reality had actually  presented to you. She carried the weight of both your worlds on her shoulders, giving you protection by surrounding you with new ones to step into as you sat yourself in the confines of your cozy shop. It was because of her that reading became your refuge, and it remained so when you went away for school at Hogwarts.

Your mother’s resilience fueled your desire to become strong, to become great, to create a new life where you wouldn’t have to see her cry in secret. She was the reason you had been sorted into the Slytherin house in your first year, and she was also the reason why you’d been so successful within your 4 years of schooling by far. 

You were a quiet Slytherin, mostly keeping to yourself while observing those around you. The most interesting and exasperating individual of the entire student body was a proud and arrogant boy, Draco Malfoy. He had never picked on you, but there were countless times you had witnessed his relentlessness with others, especially with the Golden Trio. Each and every instance increased your despise for him, furthermore deepening your ardent desire to keep your distance. However, it seemed that the universe had other plans for you today.

Weekdays kept you immersed in bulky textbooks--notes constantly jotted down through endless heaps of parchment. On weekends, however, you swapped your robes for a work apron, helping your mother around the shop. She’d situate herself by the counter and typically manned the ground level, while you’d be propped on a sliding ladder, managing books that sat on shelves higher up. You had a system in Avenoir Books. Customers would typically roam about the main floor, which was occupied by books from famous publishers and authors. However, for books that were more obscure or specialized, customers would head to the counter and gain consultation from your mother. In return, she’d direct them to you, prompting you to slide amongst the shelves in search for the requested titles, genres, or authors.

The store typically had a steady flow of people passing through. You have come across many different personalities and backgrounds throughout your life. Today was quite different, however. The bustling noises slowly died down upon the entrance of a pair of notorious figures, the air suddenly becoming tense. There stood Lucius Malfoy. His chin was pointed up, platinum locks flowing over his shoulders, walking stick in hand, his eyes scanning the shop with a pompous expression on his face. Standing to his side was Draco. He maintained the same look as his father, which soon featured a scowl as it managed to grace his face. 

You heard the older man mutter, “Let’s get this over with, Draco.”

The two made their way through the vicinity as gazes were trained on them. Even you stopped what you were doing to observe their actions. Lucius approached your mother, who gave much effort to keep a welcoming smile plastered on her lips.

“Mr. Malfoy, what brings you the pleasure of stopping by?” Her tone was sweet and quite inviting, although it didn’t do much to shift the man’s attitude.

“You have quite the selection here at Avenoir--I’m impressed.” His tone on the other hand was laced with a tinge of venom and arrogance. Lucius' eyes kept trained on the expanses of shelves until they landed on you. 

“I assume that’s your daughter, Y/N? Draco’s told me much about her.” You couldn’t decipher whether he meant well, moreover what Draco could’ve possibly said about you to his father. You weren’t aware that the boy even knew of your existence since all you did was keep away from him at all costs. 

Your mother responds, “Yes, she’s a fifth year at Hogwarts. I assume your son’s the same?”

“You’re not wrong. Although, that’s not what I’m here for…” As Lucius continues his consultation with your mother, Draco takes the liberty to browse through the various genres of books featured on the ground floor. You don’t move from your position, rather you keep your gaze on him, observing his reactions. He picks up a familiar script. It’s a muggle book entitled, The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa. You witness him flip through the first couple of pages before focusing in on the first chapter. Slowly, you see the scowl begin to leave his face--the tension between his eyebrows dissipates, his lips release the frown that had situated itself there, and his eyes take on a more solemn and concentrated expression. It contrasted greatly to the image he maintained at school. You realized then that when he wasn’t so obnoxious and loud, Draco was actually quite handsome. 

“Draco, drop that filthy muggle book!” You weren’t aware of Lucius approaching until the snake embellishment that topped his walking stick violently landed on the boy’s shoulder. You saw him wince in pain as he dropped the book, rubbing the area to soothe the harsh sensation. Before you could react, your mother calls out to you. 

“Y/N, Alchemy, Argo Pyrites.” You broke out from your daze and simply nodded in understanding. The duo now had their eyes on you as you charmed the ladder to take you to the location of the book. You actively scanned the spines for the targeted title, releasing a small “aha” when you find it. Once it’s in your hands, you blow off traces of dust and ensure that the book is in mint condition. It doesn’t take you long to make your way down. As you do so, you approach Lucius and lend the book over. He takes his time to check for any disparities before meeting your gaze once again.

“Y/N is it? Pleasure to meet you.” His tone was anything but kind, but you go along with it, doing your best to maintain courtesy.

“Pleasure’s all mine Mr. Malfoy. It’s very kind of you to stop by.” 

“Certainly. Draco, say goodbye to your friend, let’s get going.” Draco looks at you from top to bottom before releasing a smirk. With a quick raise of his eyebrows, he turns around and follows his father out of the shop. You watch their figures disappear into the crowd before making your way to your mother.

“Draco seems like a nice boy, doesn’t he?” You scoff and cross your arms in disagreement.

“Oh please. ‘Nice’ is the last thing he’ll ever be.” She gives you a knowing gaze. 

“Did you see how his father hit his shoulder? Even I was shocked. That poor boy never saw it coming.” You recall the pained expression that Draco had on his face. You supposed his parents imposed their pureblood supremacist ideals on the boy’s choice of interests as well.

“It’s not like he doesn’t deserve the pity, mother. You should see him at school. Obnoxious! Rude! Arrogant! He bullies others mercilessly!” You expected her face to contort in disgust and disappointment, but she only gave that familiar motherly smile.

“We can’t always assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they show, darling. Similar to how we should not judge a book by its cover.” She emphasized the last point knowing that you would understand. You could never fight your mother. Despite the difficulty of getting to where you were in life, she always embodied grace and wisdom through it all. 

She spoke again, “Did you happen to see the book he was reading?”

“It was The Memory Police.” You couldn’t understand why she asked. She approached the book that Draco had dropped and picked it up. When she returned, she looked at you expectantly.

“You’re going to see him again this Monday, are you not?” You nodded, “I want you to give this to him.” Your eyes widened.

“Mother, I couldn’t possibly-”

“No excuses, Y/N! A kind gesture never hurt anyone.” Her tone softens, and you knew you couldn’t say no. 

“The look he had on his face reminded me of you when you were younger. Do you remember?” You only sighed, remembering the relief you felt when you cozied up to a book. She continued, “He seemed more peaceful having a little bit of time to escape don’t you think?” Your shoulders, which were once tense, dropped. 

You groaned, “Fine! I’ll do it.” Mother, 1, Y/N, 0.

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Throughout the remainder of the weekend, you thought of ways you could slip the book to the platinum-haired boy without having to actually confront him. You couldn’t understand why your mother wanted to reach out to him so bad. Never in your entire life have you seen her extend that much sympathy to a customer before. Ever! That boy is a git. A rich one at that! Everything was practically given to him on a silver plate. Why would he care so much about a measly book?

These questions roamed through your mind as you packed your school bag the following Monday morning. The book was settled on top of your desk, staring and waiting for you to pick it up. With dread, you reluctantly take it and place it into your bag. With one last look in the mirror, you grab your things and make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you enter the massive room, you take a seat by yourself in the Slytherin table. You took a glance to find a familiar blonde mop of hair. All of his friends were there in their usual spot with him being the only one absent, which was weird because he never skipped breakfast. Wanting to get your mom’s task over with, you approach the group. They were chattering amongst themselves, not noticing your presence.

You cleared your throat, grabbing their attention, “Um, hey. Do you happen to know where Malfoy is?” They only looked at you in awe.

“The famous Y/N actually speaks? Didn’t think I’d ever hear a word come out of you.” The girl, Pansy, pointed out. You rolled your eyes.

Another girl, Daphne, kicked the prior’s ankle, eliciting a loud yelp from her. She spoke out, “I’m sorry Y/N. He said he’s not feeling too well, so he’s cooped up in the dorm.” You appreciated the softness of her voice in contrast to Pansy’s strong tone.

“Why do you ask? You never talk to him.” It was Blaise’s turn to chime in.

“I have some business with him.” You stood there, feeling the awkwardness creeping up. Your fingers were twirling the ends of your hair and you casted your gaze elsewhere. They just stared at you, still comprehending the sound of your voice.

“Well?” You asked. 

“Ah, yes. He’s in dorm 7.” You nodded your head in appreciation and turned around to leave. You had about an hour before class, giving you ample time to make the delivery and go about with your day. At least that was what you thought.

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

Once you enter the Slytherin common room, you make a turn towards the boys’ dormitories. As you take the stairs leading to it, you’re met with a corridor that takes a close resemblance to the girls’. Doors were lined on either side with numbers used to differentiate them--Draco’s room was located all the way down the hall. Oddly enough, the closer you approached it, the more nervous you felt. You never imagined yourself stepping into this part of the dungeons, moreover doing so to drop something off for a boy you despised. You yelled at your mom internally for putting you through this.

The distance between you and the door kept shrinking, and as you drew closer, you began to feel strange. Something was off. The uncertainty looming in the air grew thicker until you finally found yourself standing in front of the room. Before knocking, you press your ear against the entrance. There was complete silence. You also notice that the door was not closed all the way. The animosity you felt towards the boy was gradually replaced with worry and concern. 

“Malfoy? Are you in there?” You ask hesitantly. There was no response.

“Draco?” You press your ear further into the door in hopes to pick up any sign of his presence. When you received none, you pushed forward, entering the room with caution. You were met with the sight of a half-made bed, Draco’s robes and uniform laid out on top. His desk still had books turned to different pages, accompanied with an open ink bottle and quill left upon pieces of parchment. All these things, yet still no signs of the Malfoy heir. You stood in your place for a moment, trying to concentrate on his whereabouts. However, your thoughts were interrupted by the subtle sounds of sniffles. Your eyes widened as your focus redirected to locating its source. It was then that you noticed another door leading to what you believed was the bathroom. The noises became more prominent as you walked towards it. You felt nervous and uncertain about what you were going to find. As you wrap your hand around the knob to open it, your eyes widened at the sight of the boy grabbing his wrist, which was dripping with blood. On his side was a razor blade. 

You gasped as his eyes met yours, your heart breaking in the process. In front of you wasn’t the same bully everyone knew. No. In front of you laid a half-naked Draco whose eyes were filled with what seemed to be hopelessness, defeat, and fright. Tear stains stroke his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed with pain. His hair stuck to his forehead as sweat accompanied his tears. The hand gripping his wrist was stained with blood, its pressure only forcing the flow to increase. 

“Draco!” You didn’t know what overcame you in that instance. You frantically threw your bag off your shoulders and proceeded to kneel next to him, taking in his wounded arm. The boy retaliated.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” His voice was defensive and strained, but it didn’t faze you.

“I’m trying to save your sorry arse! Look at how much blood you’re losing. Merlin!” You returned a gaze that matched the intensity of his. The concern in your own tone heightened as you dug into the pockets of your robes in search of your wand.

“I don’t want to be saved! Don’t you get it? Leave me alone!” He wriggled in your grasp, only inducing you to tighten the grip you had on him. He gasped at the stinging sensation, tears streaming down his face. Tears began to fill the brim of your eyes. 

“Stop spewing nonsense, Malfoy! I can’t leave you and I won’t!” The pained expression on your face caught his gaze. Tears had already spilled over. “Please, Draco. Let me heal you.” The boy stopped his protests upon hearing the desperation that was laced in your voice. You used the back of your hand that was gripping your wand to wipe the tears off of your face. After calming yourself down, you hover your hand over his gashes to perform the healing spell, a serious expression now spreading across your face. 

“Vulnera sanentur.” His blood begins to retract back to its origin, the rate of its flow slowing down.

“Vulnera sanentur.” Your wand continues to trace Draco’s wounds. The traces of residue begin to disappear. Draco looks at your concentrated face and then turns his gaze back onto his wrists.

You perform the incantation for a final time, “Vulnera sanentur.” The cuts disappear completely and you let out a sigh of relief. You cast a look at Draco’s stunned face before scanning his shirtless torso. It was also filled with scars that were most likely left to heal on their own. The frown on your face grows as a rush of thoughts suddenly occupy your mind. How long has he been doing this to have this many cuts and scars? Draco, behind his arrogant mask, was alone. You didn’t need him to vocalize that fact for you. It was written across his face. The expression glossed over his eyes longed for the company that he never truly had. 

In that instant, you knew your mother was right. You really can’t assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they showed.

“Would it be okay if I took care of you for a bit? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this.” Your voice was soft as you released small hiccups signalling the end of your crying. Draco, who has no energy to object, simply nods. Your thoughts drift to your mother and how she was strong enough to carry both your burdens. As you recalled the love she gave you, the sour feelings that you had towards the boy faded. At that moment your only task of importance was to clean him up.

It was silent the entire time. You picked Draco up and propped him up onto a stool. He did nothing but keep his gaze on you as you walked to and fro in the bathroom. You took a face towel that was hanging on the side of the sink and wet it with cold water. You then wring the towel of excess water and wiped his face. The streaks that the tears made disappeared. You proceeded to his forehead, getting rid of the sweat and pushing his bangs upwards. You then began to wipe his neck, making sure that there was a comfortable distance between you two.

“Chin up.” You demanded. He obeyed, and you wiped over the expanse between both jaws, his throat, and down to his collar bones. You yelled at yourself mentally to focus on the action instead of the curves and crevices outlined by his skin. Luckily, you were able to keep a straight face, making no sign of being flustered whatsoever. You step back to wet the towel again before proceeding to wiping his shoulders. At this point, you began feeling warmth spreading across your face. Draco let out a small laugh.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a broken voice. You snickered at the way he managed to be funny at a time like this.

“I’m only being nice, Malfoy. Don’t let your head get big. Not that it hasn’t already.” You say, giving a coy smile. You gulp discretely as you make your way down his chest. His eyes never leave you. You purposefully wipe that area much faster to prevent you from blushing even more. Once you get to his wrists, you rub circles on the area where the cuts used to be before running the towel over it and to his hands.

“How do you feel?” You ask.

“Better.”

“Good. Cup your hands for me please.” He follows your instruction once again. “Aguamenti.” A stream of water flows from the tip of your wand and into his palms.

“Drink up.” He remains obedient. Once he finishes, you pour in water once again, having him repeat the act. You feel at ease as he gulps the water down. His body still looks limp, and his face still gaunt, but it was a huge improvement considering the state he was in when you walked in. 

Your gaze settles on the floor and the stray blade, both covered in dried blood. “Tergeo.” You mutter, cleaning up the mess.  

You point your wand to the blade, “Evanesco.” It disappears in an instant. You turn back to Draco. You wrap your arm around his torso and bring him close to you to help him maintain his balance as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where do you keep your sleepwear?” You ask. He points to the cabinet, and you go forth to take out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You hand him the articles of clothing and turn around to leave him to change. 

He laughs, “You’re silly you know? You’ve already seen me half-naked, yet you turn around.” You only shrug and chuckle before turning around to meet his gaze. He leans on the side of the bed, arms crossed.

“I have yet to ask, Y/N. What brought you here in the first place?” You were so absorbed in healing and cleaning Draco that your initial purpose for coming over flew past your mind.

“Oh yes,” You pick up your bag that laid on the floor, and rummaged through it before pulling out his copy of The Memory Police. 

“Mother saw how peaceful you looked when reading this book at the shop. She heavily insisted that I bring it to you, saying that you can use an escape too.” You lean on the space beside him as you hand him the book. His eyes widened as he cautiously took the book out of your hands, as if his father would appear right this instant. He scanned the cover, and flipped through the pages, his eyes glossed with disbelief. The sight of him like this made you imagine how much of his life had been kept in a cage. Wealth did not serve as a basis for happiness. You could only guess how much expectations were held for the Malfoy heir.

“My father would object to me having this.” You nodded in understanding, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him. He looks up at you.

“I won’t push you to tell me the reasons why you decided to harm yourself, but I’m certain that you need a break from whatever bothered you in the first place. Please, keep it. My mother will nag me without end if I don't deliver it.” He smiles.

“Thank you. I mean it.” Your jaw dropped. He rolled his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy actually knows how to say ‘thank you’.” You say, mocking a look of disbelief. He scoffed and his scowl reappeared in an instant. 

You raised your arms in defense, “What? You can’t blame me.” You both share a laugh before silence overtakes you once again. Your head faced downward, and you kept your sights on your shoes.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you. It frightened me to see you like that.” You fumbled with your fingers.

“It’s a miracle that you came, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself if you hadn’t yourself.” You smiled. You were appalled with the fact that there was a soft side to the boy. You looked at him, remembering the comfort that you found in your mother’s love through books. In that moment, an idea sprung forth in your mind.

“Ever since I was young, it was only me and my mother. Father passed when I was 2, and we were left alone to face the world.” You looked at him to find that his attention was on you. You continued, “There were plenty of times I felt hopeless and scared, but it was the comfort of her voice that washed that feeling away. She’d stay by my side at night to read me books, and she always managed to take me to worlds that detached me from the reality that we lived in. She told me that Avenoir, besides it being a bookstore, was established to become my safe space, my comfort zone, my refuge, if you will. She’s why I love reading.” You took Draco’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“And I want to extend that to you. Please feel free to come by whenever okay? We’ve never been that close, and you have been pretty gittish, but no one deserves to feel alone.” You gave the boy a reassuring smile. 

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Draco gazed at his hand, which was still squeezed in yours. He then shifted his view back to the smile on your face. Y/N Y/L/N, the most reserved and studious Slytherin in their year, surely had a lot to say, but it was surprisingly the most relief he has felt in a long while, if ever. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before picking up her belongings from the floor. Before she left his dorm she faced him once more.

“Will you be okay on your own?” She asks. Draco nods and gives his signature eyebrow raise. She chuckles.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my dorm. I don’t plan on going to class today.” As he watches her leave, he notices the warmth that spreads over his chest. He brushes it off before flopping on his bed and immersing himself into the world of the Memory Police. For once in his life, he manages to escape the burdens of his family name. He escapes the burdensome fear of being considered a let-down to his parents. He escapes the rabbit hole of expectations, worries, pressures--the need to be “perfect” Draco. He finds an escape from the reputation that he upholds through you. Furthermore, he finds himself desiring more of your company. Because of this, he moves from his bed, with his book in hand, and strides into the girls’ dormitories. He never got her room number, but when he sees an open door, he automatically assumes that it’s her inside. Without thinking, he barges at the sight of her stunned face. 

“Draco? What’s the matter?” The boy takes a good look at Y/N’s space. Her bed is made neatly and is stationed against the farmost wall in front of a large window. Her table is positioned at the end of her bed. There were a number of small bookcases that cover a majority of the perimeter of the room. It’s cozy.

He takes a moment to compose himself. “Is it alright if I can stay with you? Just a little longer?” The girl gives him a confused look, but agrees nevertheless. 

“Sure, close the door.” He does as she says, and looks around. Her dorm truly reflected her personality. Her words break him out of his daze.

“You can sit on the bed if you’d like.” As he gets himself situated, he observes her. Y/N was known for her hardworking nature, and mostly stayed away from socialization because of it. In that regard, she never really had much to say unless she was answering a question during lectures. She doesn’t say much once he’s situated. Instead, she quietly turns back to her desk to focus on her note taking, actively highlighting important bits of information from her books. Draco was amazed to say the least.

“Y/N, why is it that you study so much?” He asks. Her gaze remains rooted to her work as she finished writing up the last sentence before gazing up at him. She grins.

“I’m working hard, so I can earn enough to give my mother a better life.” She says simply.

“Is the life you have right now not enough?” He doesn’t mean to come off as ignorant or insensitive, but he asks out of pure curiosity. Y/N only rubs her chin to think of a proper response.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re both happy. I just suppose it would be nice to know that she wouldn’t have to worry about her resources. Life was always uncertain before opening Avenoir. I remember how she would hide away to cry so I wouldn’t see her tears. I felt helpless and I couldn’t do anything about it. I hate being weak because of that.” Draco simply gawked at her. The availability of resources has never been an issue for him; it felt like a slap on the face seeing how hard Y/N worked for that level of accessibility.

“I feel like a lot of people have been gawking at me today. Stop it.” You chuckled as you scratched the back of your neck, recalling the reactions of his friend group as you held a conversation with them.

“You’re surely something else, Y/L/N. That’s all.” Y/N only smiled as she removed herself from her desk. She pulled a random book from one of her shelves and sat herself next to Draco. Together they get lost within their own worlds.

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

There was a mutual feeling of friendship that emerged between you and Draco. However, the both of you never bothered to make it obvious in the presence of others. Actions so far were limited to discrete nods towards each other in the hallways. Nevertheless, you were content. You didn’t see him constantly, but you heard people talk about him and how he hasn’t been teasing or picking fights with students as much as he did in the week prior. It was a change you were surprised with, but one that you were pleased to hear about regardless. Besides that, you still kept yourself to your own tasks throughout the remainder of the week. It was a set cycle, which involved going to lecture and studying within the confines of your room. Although, you had to admit that you enjoyed the blonde’s presence, and secretly wished that you’d spend more time together.

The weekend arrived, which meant you’d resume your work at the bookshop. The day flew by fast. Customers came bustling in by the hour that you never had much time to talk to your mother while you were working. As you waited for demands to trickle in, you occupied yourself with another book, The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. It was a pleasant book about selflessness, however you found your mind drifting off often. When you weren’t reading, you kept your eyes peeled for the entrance, hoping that a certain boy would come in. However, no sign of the Malfoy heir showed as hours passed. Your hopes soon depleted. Giving up on the chances of him coming, you resumed your reading. 

It must’ve been about 20 minutes after 3 o’clock when your mother calls you from the counter. You heeded her request and made your way down the ladder. Behind her are large boxes filled with new books that were to be stored on the higher shelves. As you drag them to the base of the ladder, your back bumps into something hard. 

“I’m so sorry! Are you al-” As you turn to identify the person you collided with, your eyes widened at the sight of Draco. Your heart skips a beat as you scan his appearance. He sported a black turtleneck that fitted securely around his torso, which was paired with dark plaid pants, and black leather chelsea boots. Rings adorned his fingers, and his platinum locks are slightly disheveled from the wind. He looked delicious rather expensive. 

Draco was just as shocked when he realizes that it’s you he bumps into. You weren’t wearing anything fancy as he was--just a simple white shirt, straight jeans that ended just above your ankles, faded white sneakers, which was all adorned by the work apron that wrapped around your waist. Your hair was tied into a loose bun that settled at the nape of your neck with some stray strands framed around your face. It contrasted to your typical appearance at school. He preferred you in casual wear much more than in uniform, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

You straighten your posture, “Hey! What brings you here?” The boy in front of you rubs the back of his neck bashfully.

“I just wanted to spend time here. You offered on Monday.” His timidness made you smile. 

“You’re definitely welcome to stay-” You were interrupted by your mother’s gleeful shout.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you! Please do make yourself comfortable. I assume Y/N delivered the book safely?” You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.

“Yes, mother. I did.” She only laughs in response. “I extended an offer to have him hang around if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! Would you like some tea, dear?” The warm welcome fills the boy’s heart.

He gives a polite nod, “That would be lovely, thank you.” He looks to you with amusement plastering his facial features. 

“Would you like some help?” The smile that you give to him in response makes his heart flutter. 

“I’ll be okay. Like what mother said, please make yourself comfortable.” You reassured him, before urging him to follow you to the back of the shop. Past the counter is a corridor that leads to a small outdoor patio. Fairy lights are strung on the edges of the fence that borders the space, and a table for two is set near the entrance that goes back into the store. As the sun begins to set, the small set up becomes even more charming.

“It’s not much, but this is us.” Your arms spread as you step towards the center of the patio. Draco looks around and then back at you.

“It’s lovely.” He states with a happy grin stretched across his lips. The space doesn’t hold the same grandeur as his manor, but within the small and cozy confines, he feels safe and content.

“I’m glad to hear that. Take a seat! I still have work to do, but I’ll be clocking out soon. Stay as long as you’d like!” The joy in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s quite difficult to suppress the emotions after the anticipation that has built up throughout the day. With your spirits lifted, you return to work. The load of the boxes don’t seem as heavy as they used to.

Draco sits around in silence for a bit with his hands clasped together. The thought of being within your personal space makes his knees bounce up and down as he waits for his tea. Wanting to release his nerves, he explores the compound a bit more. He steps into the corridor, taking notice of the way it’s decorated. Pictures of you and your mother grace the walls. The sight urges him to look out in the front of the shop. He catches you piling books in your arms before making your way up the ladder. In doing so, he takes note of your focused face, the furrowing of your eyebrows, and the slight parting of your lips. Your eyes blazed in determination, sparking that particular warmth in his chest again. Draco tore his gaze from you and redirected it to the photos mounted on the wall. One that caught his interest was of you on your mothers back. Your small arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders as your small face peered over her with a small toothy grin. He notices the light in your eyes. It had remained the same ever since. He stares at the photos for a couple of minutes.

“You found our pictures!” Your mother comes up from behind him, startling him slightly. She responds to his reaction with a hearty chuckle as she worms her way through the corridor, Draco following closely behind her. They sit across from each other, and the boy watches her as she sets a cup before him. She takes the tea pot and pours the liquid carefully.

“How do you like your tea, dear?” She asks.

“Slight cream, no sugar, Mrs. Y/L/N” Your mother looks at the boy. His shoulders are stiff and he’s tense all over. His hands look clammy. Basically, Draco looks nervous.

“I don’t bite. Don’t worry, love. Relax.” She gives the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was much similar to the feel of yours. He relaxes a little bit, adding cream to his drink.

“Y/N speaks very highly of you.” He states a matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” A smile appears, “How’s my daughter at school?”

“She’s a really hard worker. Everyone knows her for her intelligence, but she is rather quiet. Much different than the way she acts here. She is so vibrant.”

Draco takes notice of the surprised look in your mother’s eyes, “Oh my dear, if I’m being truthful to you, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen her vibrant side shine through. She’s more demure in character. It’s not common for her to act that way.” Draco didn’t completely understand why, but hearing those words made his heart skip beats. He didn’t respond for a bit, allowing her words to sink in. Out of nowhere, Y/N calls out to her mother signalling the completion of her task. Her head pops from the door frame, and she glances at the tea briefly before shifting her view to the boy.

“Y/N! Why don’t you give Draco some company and have some tea? You can go to your room after!” You cough, but merely nodded in response. You seat yourself in the chair that was once occupied.

“How’s work?” Draco asks. He takes the kettle and pours you a cup.

“Busy as always, but it’s a pleasure to be here.” You thank him for the tea and proceed to adding your preferred amounts of cream and sugar.

“You look handsome today, by the way.” You took a sip of your tea so you wouldn't see his reaction. The boy only beamed.

“You look pretty too, if I’m being honest.” You chuckle as you set down your cup. 

“You’re telling me that when I’m dressed in a t-shirt and some ragged jeans?” You didn’t really know what kind of answer to expect. For the most part, you felt average in your get up. He, on the other hand, looked like a model.

“Yes I am. You are pretty.” You only smile at your feet and thank him. The boy was charming without the pompous get up. Ever since that Monday morning, you began to develop appreciation for this genuine side that he showed you. 

As time passed, your mother closed up the shop. Both you and Draco offered to help her, but she denied almost immediately. Instead, she insisted that you take the boy up, causing you to palm your face in embarrassment. However, you eventually agree and lead the way. Within the corridor were stairs that led to a second level. You and Draco climb them and turn to the first door on your right. Your room was slightly bigger than the one at school. It was furnished in a fashion that was similar to your dorm, but there were a lot more books--this time stacks of them could be seen littering the floor.

“Did you bring your book?” He nodded and fished it out from his back pocket. 

He briefly scans the room, “Did you read all of these?” You nod with an embarrassed smile.

“I bet you’d love the library in the manor.” Your eyes widened at the sound of it. A tinge of excitement sprouted from your gut as you begin to imagine its vastness.

“I don’t think you’re wrong. I bet it’s quite the sight!” Delight could be heard from your voice. Draco only tries to suppress a smile.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters to himself, hoping that you didn’t hear. However, when he looks up, he’s met with your wide smile. He blushes immediately and curses under his breath.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t.” You wink at him, and pull out your book. You flopped on your bed, patting the space next to you. When he situates himself by your side, you begin to pick up where you left off, already pushing the outside world aside. Draco sits with his legs crossed, and copies your actions. Silence fills the both of you as an hour passes. However, he’d take opportunities to sneak small glances at you once in a while. Your focus on the pages never shifted. If anything, the furrowing of your brows deepen as you turn with every page. With his curiosity getting the best of him, he leans closer to you to see what was so interesting. His actions don’t go by unnoticed, though. As soon as you felt his knee come into contact with yours, you realize how close he has gotten since you started reading.

“May I help you, Malfoy?” You ask, slightly amused.

“What’s your book about?” He asks. You tense your brows as you come up with an answer, not wanting to spoil anything.

“It’s about the friendship between a statue of a very selfless prince and a swallow. What about yours?”

“I’d never thought I would like fiction, but I do like this one. It’s about a girl who protects a person who can remember.”

“Remembers?”You ask with genuine curiosity. Draco nods, his eyes expressing the interest he has for the novel.

“Things on the island vanish, and the majority of the people have no recollection of it after it disappears. The people who show any signs of remembering get taken away.” Your interest for the plot increases 

“That sounds very interesting. Do you think we can trade when we finish?” 

“I think it sounds like a plan.” You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before a snapping noise is heard. Suddenly your hair loosens, and you realize that the rubber band holding your hair together gave out. Draco looked at you with an eyebrow raised. As you reach to pull the remnants of the tie away, your hair frees itself. Some strands framed your face, while the rest flowed over your shoulders and covered the expanse of your back. You run your fingers through the front and they fall into curtain-like waves. Draco on the other hand is taken aback at your sudden change of appearance. Prior to getting to know who you were, nothing much was thought of you with the exception of your brains. Besides that, you were rather plain looking, always having your hair up in a braid or a ponytail. 

It was a seemingly natural reaction to let your hair simply flow. You really didn’t think much of it. But, when you met Draco’s surprised look, it was your turn to raise a brow at him. He really didn’t know what overtook him, or why these particular words fell out without thinking, but both hearts were racing and ears turned warm after he spoke out.

“Merlin, Y/N. You’re bloody gorgeous.” It caught him off guard. Your expression was the only thing that made him come to terms with the reality of it.

“I- You- You weren’t supposed to-”

“Thank you.” Draco’s jitters stopped in an instant when he saw the way you smiled up at him. Noticing the silence that settles in, you quickly think of something to break it.

“Should I wear it down at school? I’ve been thinking about it. It’s time for a ch-” You were startled by how quick his response was.

“No! Absolutely not!” He speaks frantically.

“-ange. Okay, then. Sheesh.” You both just laugh at his sudden outburst. Draco’s, however, was a nervous one. 

After a couple more minutes of reading, a savory aroma fills your senses, and your mother calls out to you both for dinner. The food was pleasant, but it was the actual state of togetherness that lit Draco’s heart. Although the warm feeling of you and your mother’s company was foreign to him, he was glad to have been able to experience it. The entirety of his stay lifts a huge weight off of his shoulders. Moreover, he begins to acknowledge the budding emotions that he feels for you. He felt each beat of his heart more profoundly within the small moments that you shared, with every glance that he took, and with every laugh that spilled from your lips. 

You stare up at the clock, taking note of the time. It was already 7:30 PM. Curfew was at 9:00 for fifth years. 

“Mother, I think it’s time that we get going. I’ll see you next week.” You notify her of your departure as you help clear out the table. 

“Oh, it’s that time of the day already? Very well then. I’m so glad you stopped by today, Draco. You’re welcome here anytime. Let me see the both of you out.” After you give her a hug, you make your way to the main room of the store. Draco thought you were going to exit, and was brought to confusion when you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

Draco clears his throat, “So, do you know how exactly we’ll get back?” It was already late and the boats that transported students to and from Hogsmeade were closed for the day. 

“Are you a fan of portkeys?” You ask. Draco’s eyes widened.

“Have you created an illegal one?” When you don't answer, he just laughs. You rummage through your bag, picking out a random book. When you open it, there’s a postcard with a picture of Hogsmeade on the front. 

“It’s a touch-activated one. It goes straight into my dorm.” You look up at him to see a devious-looking smirk plastered on his lips.

“You really are something else.” He whispers. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Let’s touch it on the count of three, okay? 1...2...3.” At the touch of the object, Draco felt his body get sucked into a bind, lights flashing, and your surroundings blacking out until it wasn’t. He kept his eyes shut the whole time. The entire instance occurred for a second. When you arrived at your destination, you felt fine, having gotten used to the uncomfortable sensation resulting from the mode of transportation. The boy who isn’t as experienced, however, didn’t find himself so lucky, and opted to lay down on your bed for a moment, closing his eyes to regain his strength. As you gave him time to rest, you took the opportunity to change into something more comfortable, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t be aware of you doing so. 

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by the familiar confines of your dorm. They  roamed around until stopping at your changing figure. You had slipped on a jumper, which was paired with loose fitting sweats, the waistband wrapping securely on your hips. The only source of light was that of the moon as it radiated through your window and onto your bedroom floor. It casted a surreal glow upon your features, and Draco couldn’t help but stare.

“Would you like some water?  I know the experience could be unpleasant.” Your voice was soft and was followed by the sound of your melodic giggle.

“Y/N, you’re mental if you tell me you do that every week.” He says astoundedly. You nod with a grin and shrug your shoulders as you passed him a cup of water. He takes it gratefully and gulps it down as you sit on the edge of your bed. 

“You should probably get back to your dorm soon and take some rest. Do you need any help?”  He shakes his head, but is betrayed by his body as he stumbles out of your bed. With quick reflexes, you hold him steady, allowing him to regain his balance quickly. 

“Are you sure?” You ask doubtedly. He reassures you by straightening his posture and flashing a smile. You return it as you walk him to the door. He stands in the hallway, facing you as you lean against your door frame. You rushedly look left and right to ensure no one was looking before shifting your attention back to him.

“It was nice having you today. Mother was really happy you came by.” 

“How about you?” The boy catches your gaze once more. You only looked at him with a raised brow, queuing the need for clarification.

“How do you feel about my company?” What he asked caught you off guard, but you couldn’t deny the joy that you felt being around him. The comfort you felt from reading alone didn’t compare to the calm silence that situated you both when you did it together. It was the simple yet overwhelming feeling of contentment--the feeling of someone entering your heart silently, gently, and with a rush all at the same time. Pure bliss was what it was, but you couldn’t formulate the words when he asked you. The boy smirked at your lack of response. Instead, he bent over to meet your eye level and leaned in. You held your breath within your throat as he drew closer, ultimately shutting your eyes in anticipation for who knows what. Draco noticed the slight change in your body language and softened the look in his eyes. His orbs, which were once filled with amusement, were now filled with adoration. He looked at your expression, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You opened your eyes, meeting his gentle gaze.  Shocked, Draco backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He stammered, “Y-You had something on your ear.” A flush had spread over his cheeks.

“Oh, is that so? Were you able to remove it?” You ran your fingers through your hair, oblivious of his frantic behavior. In your mind, you only wish it could’ve been more.

“Y-yea!” A nervous laugh leaves his lips. After he recollects himself for a few more seconds he says, “We should do this again sometime.” To which you happily agree.

You both bid each other ‘goodnight’. As you close the door, you lean your back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. You took note of the way your heart began to race when you recalled the events of today. The sound of his laughs, his subtle attempts to get close to you, his expression of interest towards the things that you treasured. Your image of Draco had begun to transform right under your nose.

Little did you know that as the boy walked back to his dorm room that night, the same thoughts ran through his mind. Although he was tired, he would constantly think about the way you looked when you were working, or when you were reading, or how your hair came undone. Moreover, he felt safe within your hospitality--it wasn’t forceful or intrusive, it just flowed naturally. This small escape made a huge improvement from the broken state you found him in that Monday prior. That night, as he laid in bed, he read his book peacefully until sleep took over his consciousness, filling his rest with dreams of reading with you by his side.

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It was a brisk Sunday morning when you found yourself at the Great Hall for breakfast. You were always one of the earlier students who came right when the doors opened. By the time you got yourself situated, only a few students trickled their way into the massive room. 

Your hand took hold of your book as the other filled your mouth with food. Your concentration blazed as you immersed yourself into the world of the Oscar Wilde that you didn’t realize how filled the hall became once you put your book down. The reason for you doing so stemmed from the sound of a presence that sat before you. You never had company when you ate, so when you looked up you were surprised to see Draco settling in the seat in front of you. Murmurs from other students could be heard at the peculiar sight.

“This seat isn’t taken I presume?” He asks. The typical Malfoy smirk graces his lips as he lowers himself down.

“Not at all.” You respond simply. You look around with a weirded expression. People had their eyes on the two of you. One in particular caught your attention. It was Astoria Greengrass, also dubbed as the Slytherin princess. She had an annoyed look on her face, but you brushed it off, turning back to the boy in front of you.

“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” You nodded towards the familiar group of people.

“I can’t read around them. They’re too loud.” Once the statement leaves his lips, he pulls out The Memory Police and finds himself in the same stature you were in previously. You smile inwardly before taking a few bites of your food. It’s silent and you can still feel the lingering stares around you. They begin to get annoying after a while.

“Leave them be. They can stare all they want, but I’m not moving anywhere.” He says as though he read your mind. He glances at you from the top of his book, but his tone remains unfazed.  

“How’d you know?” You inquire.

“You have ‘uncomfy’ written all over your face, Y/N.” He keeps his gaze stuck to his book while stuffing a piece of scrambled egg into his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him before slowly opening your own again.

“What are you planning to do today?” He asks suddenly. You look up to see that his eyes never left the page. Your look at your own, except you’re not reading this time.

“Probably read at the lake, go to my dorm and read some more.” 

“Do you do anything else besides read?” 

“I study.” You could feel his eyes roll.

“Besides that.” You lower your hands seeing that you aren’t getting anywhere with the plot. 

“What else is there to do on Sundays?” You laugh, “Well what do you plan on doing today?” 

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. There stands Astoria Greengrass, arms crossed with an envious expression on her face. She looks at you then to Draco.

“Hey Dray. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with me at Hogsmeade today?” She asks with a sickly flirtatious tone. She squeezes his shoulder while you just roll your eyes and look away to mentally gag.

“You must be blind to notice. I’m preoccupied if you can’t tell.” The sound of his tone is cold, much akin to the one he uses when he’s bullying someone. However, a smirk sneaks up to your lips as you keep your gaze lowered. The girl only scoffs before turning to you.

“Cute little book you got there Y/L/N. You always have your nose buried in one, don’t you? What’s that one about this time?” You take note of her condescending voice, which slightly pulls on your nerves.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Greengrass? Sorry love, I’m too preoccupied to explain.” You wiggle your book at her before getting up. You throw the boy your version of his eyebrow raise before turning to leave.

“I’ll see you around ‘Dray’.” You say, imitating Astoria’s tone. You looked at her from head to toe and scoffed as you walked out of the hall. You couldn’t be bothered to deal with the likes of her. For the most part, giving her any piece of your energy was not worth it. You find yourself walking down the corridor before hearing the sound of someone running to you. You stop in your tracks and turn around to see the familiar platinum-haired boy.

“You need some company at the lake?” He asks. Your face, which was once filled with annoyance, releases its tension, and transforms into a gentle smile.

“I don’t need it, but you’re free to come along if you’d like to.” You turn your back quickly before getting a response out of him. He follows you.

Throughout the walk, Draco notices that your hair is up in a braid again, smiling as he reminisces the sequence of events that occurred the night prior. Could you have kept it up because he said so? Such thoughts filled his mind with interest. The events that happened in the hall also made him wonder. He had never seen you agitated before.

“I never thought you’d respond like that.” He says to start up conversation.

“To Astoria?” He nods.

“Not worth my time or energy. I may be quiet, but I’m not a pushover...Dray.” You tease him with the nickname, although he doesn’t mind it when it comes from you.

“It sounds better when you say it.” He says, making you shake your head in response.

“I was about to choke myself. Merlin, did you hear the way she said it? It’s enough to make your ears bleed. Bloody hell.” The way you release your frustration gives the both of you something to laugh about. That familiar feeling of comfort overcoming you both once again.

“Do you think she’s going to approach me again?” You ask.

“Knowing her, she might.”

“Merlin, avada me now.” Draco only laughs louder at the sound of your displeasure. By the time you reach the lake, the sun is seen casting its rays upon the water. Clouds are still in the sky, but the overall scene is bright and beautiful, assuring that it was going to be a good day.

You sit on a patch of grass that meets the sand, while Draco assumes the seat beside you. Before you could even begin to read, the boy takes the opportunity to ask you another question.

“How far are you from finishing your book?”

“I’m almost done. Give me a few minutes and I should be finished.” His eyes widened slightly

“Fast reader aren’t you?”

“No, well, maybe. There are more stories in this book. The Happy Prince so happens to be one of them.” He nods, allowing that particular conversation to end. He lays down on the grass, ready to read in the process, but is caught staring at the expanse of your neck. Your braid reaches the middle of your back, swaying in the wind. When he takes sight of the band that holds it together, he reaches out, hoping that you won’t notice, and pulls it off. He swiftly drops it to make it seem like he hasn’t done anything, so by the time you turn around to identify the cause of the loosened sensation, he already has the book propped on top of his legs, gazing at the lines with much concentration. 

“Did you see anything?” You ask with a raised brow. He simply nods, trying to hide the smirk on his face. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you though.

“Draco. Was it you?” When he doesn’t respond, you laugh.

“You’re such a git.” Your fingertips trace the sand to locate the rubber band, but the boy stops you before going any further. He wraps his hand around your wrist, while catching your gaze.

“It looks better down.” He says firmly.

“But you said-”

“I don’t want you letting it loose for others to see. In front of me is fine.” He holds your gaze for what seemed to eternity before slowly loosening his grip on your hand.

He then proceeds to ask, “Can I touch it? Your hair?” You smile and nod at him. He takes the opportunity to scoot closer behind you. After he situates himself at a comfortable distance, he reaches out to your loosened braid, and gently runs his fingers through it, breaking it up entirely. Your strands are soft in his touch, and the light from the sun only emphasizes how shiny it is. You pay no mind to the boy’s doing. Instead, you continue reading while he plays with your hair. 

After 15, perhaps 20 minutes of reading, you finally finish your book. It is then that you notice that he’s still stroking your locks. Slightly amused, you look up from your book and decide to tease him for a bit.

“Are you having fun back there?” Your question is accompanied with a giggle.

“Most fun I’ve had in years.” Sarcasm laced through his voice. “Can you teach me how to braid?” Your head turns back, but you’re only faced with a serious expression.

“What’s the sudden interest?” As you ask your question, the breeze picks up, eliciting a shiver out of you. It takes a second for Draco to notice how thin your clothes were.

“Why don’t we go inside? It’s warmer and you can teach me how to braid your hair.”

“You’re so insistent, aren’t you?” 

“Not insistent, just ambitious.” You rolled your eyes as he lifted you from the ground.

You both make your way to the dungeons, taking the familiar route that leads to his room. You don’t protest the destination as much, only being grateful that it was warmer than the harsh change in climate outside of these walls. You can’t help but recall how much has drastically changed since the week prior, but it warmed your heart knowing that there was more to Draco than what meets the eye.

As you enter the dorm, you take notice of all the luxurious details that embellish everything from his furniture to the style of his clothes. It was much more put together since the last time you found yourself there. The crisp scent of apples filled your nose, allowing yourself to ooze into the comfort of the environment. You show no hesitance to flop on his bed, seeing as he has done so to yours a number of times already. While doing so, he discards his robes and hangs it over a coat rack. The sight of you brings out a small smile from him as he claims the seat next to you. 

“Now, where were we?” He asks. You proceed to sectioning your hair into two parts. You hand him one, which he takes gently all while focusing his concentration on the demonstration you show.

“Okay, so we start off with three sections…” He does as you say.

“Now I take this, and flip it over this section.” He repeats. Only the sounds of his breaths can be heard.

“Now you do it to the other side, and repeat the pattern.” As you demonstrate with your strands, a shocked expression fills his face as he tries to repeat your actions. He gets it eventually, although his braid is much messier and unkept in comparison to yours, which is tight and neat. A familiar scowl appears on his face, but you try to keep your laughter in. In all fairness, he really was trying.

“Here. Take all of it. Try braiding my hair.” You run your fingers, deleting both your work and his, and turn so that your back is facing him. You keep your sights set towards the window, as he begins to work his way through your hair. He starts off by combing his fingers through your locks, which felt annoyingly good. He then proceeds to repeat everything that he has learned within the last five minutes. Him doing so only proved how quick of a learner he was. Silence filled you both, and as time drifted on, you ended up dozing off into sleep. It is only when Draco finishes that he notices you. He tugs at his final product slightly to see the expression on your face, but in doing so, you fall onto his chest as soft snores find their way out of your lips. 

“And she calls me a git. Look at her sleeping while I handle her hair.” His eyes soften at the gentleness of your own expression before he scans the way your arms have wrapped themselves across your waist. Ensuring that you were sound asleep, he carefully reaches for your hand, forcing it to open as he slightly interlaces his fingers with yours. He takes a moment to comprehend the situation, his face warming up when he realizes that your back is slouched against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and one of his hands clasped delicately into yours. 

It’s when his eyes land on your resting face once more that he recalls all that you are, all that you have shown him. He then envisions the long-term, imagining all he has yet to discover about you. The care that you’ve shown him by far is more than what anyone has done throughout his life. He revisits the week before when you mentioned reading as a way to escape. Now that as he has you lying against him, he thinks of the possibility that his real escape is actually you. His mind finds pleasure in that thought, and it only makes his heart race when he thinks about what could possibly happen between you two tomorrow, or the day after that, a week, month, year. What answer would he receive by then? He isn’t even sure if you’d say ‘yes’ to an offer in a relationship, especially knowing how focused you are with your school work. Ridding the thoughts for another time, Draco slowly lays his back down against the mattress, bringing you carefully along with him. Your legs become entangled with his. His hand never leaves yours. 

Ensuring that you were certainly asleep, he whispers softly to the air, “I think I like you, Y/N.” He wraps his other arm around you before falling into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: I don’t think this is the end, but that’s not the point! I hope you enjoyed it :) Any feedback is very much appreciated hehe.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a beautiful sight

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: peter maximoff is good at getting himself into trouble. you’re good at getting him out of trouble. what happens when you get tired of the same old routine?

warnings: there is angst for a moment and then they just start fucking. language warning and also sexual content warning

notes: this took so long. this took me so long to write. this took me so long to write and i am so sorry about that. this is 4k words long i hope that eases the pain. also i tried to keep the pronouns gender neutral but since they are having sex the reader is written to have “female” genitalia

taglist:  @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles @rottenstyx

            Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, your teeth clenching so hard you feared your jaw would snap. Fat raindrops smashed against the windshield before quickly being swept away by the automatic wipers. Street lamps and stop lights sparkle in the rain, making for a beautiful sight; if you were traveling under different circumstances, you’d probably enjoy the drive. Unfortunately, you were currently being crushed by your current situation, anger simmering within your stomach.

            You pulled up in front of the police station, a withering sigh escaping your chest before the car locks popped open. Determined to keep your composure in front of a bunch of cops-- who, admittedly, you were not on the best terms with-- you kept your chin up and expression stoic as you walked through the rain into the main lobby of the station. 

            The police station was exactly like how someone would expect it to be: the floor was covered with dull white, the walls a similar shade of white. An unsuspecting visitor would be immediately greeted by the uncomfortable and unwelcoming lobby, decorated only with a dying fern in the corner. Four grey chairs sat against the wall, a small wooden side table between them. There were magazines on the table, each one more brain dead and empty than the last. One could only compare reading said magazines to eating only empty calories for their entire lives. 

            A shell of a receptionist sat behind a large desk across the room, and you walked directly over. This one is new-- you’d been here three times in the past three months, but you didn’t recognize her. She was typing away at a computer, her eyes tired and sunken in. There was a coffee cup sitting next to her, but it looked as if it remained untouched for hours. Sluggishly, she looked up at you.

            “How can I help you?” Her voice matched her exterior, a deep fatigue dripping off her words, Obviously, she didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t really blame her. Who would want to work in such a lifeless place?

            “I’m here to pick up my boyfriend,” You sound tired, not as tired as the receptionist, but still tired. She shoots you a sympathetic look.

            “Name?”

            “Peter Maximoff.”

            You catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s name tag, quickly learning that her name is Nicole. She types something into her computer, adjusting her glasses and leaning in slightly.

            “Alright, miss, he’ll be out in a few minutes. You can take a seat over there,” Nicole gestured over to the makeshift waiting room and you nodded. 

            “Thank you,” Like clockwork, you spun on your heel and landed in the uncomfortable chair that had gotten used to your presence. 

            You hated police stations. They had a certain soul-sucking quality to them; whether or not that quality comes from the poor souls that get thrown behind bars or the pieces of shit that put them there is up for individual interpretation. Police stations reeked of stale coffee and sweat, the occasional police siren cutting through the air every hour or so. The sound alone was hair-raising, especially to someone who landed themselves on the “wrong” side of the law uncomfortably often.

            The sound of footsteps approached the double doors to your left, and soon enough Peter walked through them, his hands still bound in handcuffs. The police officer that escorted him out unlocked his cuffs before disappearing back behind the doors, leaving the two of you in the lobby alone. Well, mostly alone. Nicole was still sitting behind the counter, looking as unenthused as ever. Peter rubbed his wrists, his pale skin an angry red where his cuffs constricted them. 

            He had a black eye, his silver hair messy and unkempt. The Nirvana t-shirt he was wearing was ripped, and dozens of small cuts and bruises littered his body. You already knew he got into a fight, you just didn’t realize how banged up he had gotten. A part of you pitied him. Upon seeing his injuries, you almost allowed yourself to let go of the anger that had been festering inside of you. Somehow, you restrained yourself. Silently, you turned and walked out the front doors of the police station.

            “Y/n--” Peter calls after you, an incoming apology hanging on his lips. You got to the car before he could catch up to you, quickly entering the driver’s seat and waiting in silence. Soon enough, Peter clambers in.

            “Y/n, I--”

            “I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, frustration evident in your voice. Wisely, Peter held his tongue. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep recklessly running through the city doing whatever the hell you want. I can’t keep bailing you out, I won’t keep bailing you out.” 

            “I’m really sorry, doll,” He sounds like he’s being genuine, but you were going to need a lot more than one measly ‘sorry’. “I just… I saw these guys beating up some teenager in an alley. I couldn’t let that slide, and god knows the cops aren’t going to do anything about it. I did what I thought was right,”

            “I’m not mad at you for that, Peter. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in your position, I’m just… worried. I know you think you need to stand up for the little guys, but you can’t keep putting yourself at risk. I hate seeing you all beaten up like this,” You sighed, taking Peter’s hand in yours. His knuckles were bruised, the new purple splotches decorating his skin. The bruises from the last unfortunate encounter weren’t even fully healed you.

            “I swear, this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I promise,” He smiled weakly at you, and somehow, you managed to swallow the fury that had built up inside of you. 

            “It better be.” You ran your thumb over his injured hand, watching as the dark purple patches disappeared. Thankfully, your mutation guarantees that all of the scrapes and scratches will heal quickly. “Now, let’s go home so I can bandage you up.”

            “I’d like that,” Peter smiles softly. His hand remains in yours as he rests his head against the car window, watching other cars whiz by in the rain. The street lights illuminated the sharp angles and delicate curves that made up his face. Even with a busted lip, Peter was still one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen. 

            The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of raindrops pattering against the windshield lulling you both. It was late, the sun had long plunged past the horizon and a dusting of stars had appeared in the night sky. You noticed a few constellations as you drove to your apartment, the three signature stars of Orion’s belt catching your eye. A few months prior, Peter had taken you to a large field in the middle of nowhere, the scenery free of the light pollution the cityscape provided. He talked for hours about the stars, going from constellations to the lore behind them to the planets themselves; he even spoke about the star signs. He spoke with such passion, you felt as if you could listen to him talk for hours. 

            You pulled up in front of your apartment, quickly switching off the car. The rain gradually grows harder as you and Peter scurry up the pathway to the apartment lobby. Peter practically dragged you inside; it was obvious that he was struggling to contain his speed. As it turns out, hiding superpowers is much harder than initially expected. With every mutation-suppressing day that passes, Peter grows more antsy and you grow more anxious.

            “You alright, silver?”

            “Yeah, I just wanna get home,” he replies, but it’s too quick. He’s too eager to ward off your concern. He’s hiding something.

            “Peter, don’t lie to me,” Your words are obviously a warning, but they come out much softer than intended. Peter is visibly unwell-- you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

            “Really, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” It was obvious that he was trying to reassure you and quell your worries, but he was failing miserably. Finally, he surrendered. “Seriously, I’m totally okay. I’m just a little sore and, uh… bleeding,” It’s only then that he lifts up the part of his shirt that hadn’t been torn, revealing a poorly bandaged gash-- you can only assume he got stabbed.  

            “Oh my god,” You gasped, taking a sharp step forward. “Peter, you-- what-- how have-- oh my god,” 

            “It’s okay! Don’t freak out, it’s just--”

            “It is not okay! Not in the slightest!” You pulled him into the nearest empty elevator, immediately slamming your hand on the button for the fourth floor. Peter looked pale and sickly, and upon closer inspection you realized that he was trembling. Still, Peter managed to smile softly.

            “I’m okay, dollface, really,” The elevator dinged, and you practically yanked him out of the small compartment. “Once we get home, you can patch me up, good as new, just like always,” 

            “Peter, why didn’t you tell me?” You fumble with the keys to your apartment, a metallic jingling punctuating your words. After what felt like a billion  years, you finally managed to shove the key into the handle and throw the door open. 

            Like clockwork, you fell into the routine you’d come to know so well. Peter sat on the kitchen counter, taking off his torn and tattered shirt and waiting patiently for you to come to his aid. You took a sharp left into the bathroom, your knees hitting the floor as you dig through the cabinet under the sink. The glimmering white gloss of the first aid kit caught your eye; within seconds you had yanked it out from between the extra toilet paper and the windex. Although you could heal the worst of the cut with your mutation, you still had to bandage it and disinfect the giant gash. 

            “Okay-- just try to hold still. You know the drill,” Peter nodded slightly, sharply inhaling as you pressed your fingertips to his pale skin. He leans back on his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he hisses. The open wound on his abdomen begins to slowly recombine causing blood to gush out of the cut. You’re quick to wash it away with a wet cloth. As extraordinary as your healing abilities might be, they don’t take away the painfulness of any given laceration. For the next minute or so, your beautiful boyfriend is going to be in near agony. Peter’s head falls back as he tries his best to avoid looking at his injury-- he claims it “always makes it worse”.

            “We’re almost done, Peter. You’re doing very well,” You soothe, trying your best to make the process as quick as possible. Peter whimpers as the cut closes and the blood flow stops. The skin where the cut closed was still very red and tender, and any sudden movement risks reopening the wound. This one was particularly bad, the severity and depth of the injury dangerous enough to warrant the consideration of double bandaging.

            A deep sigh escaped your chest; you were tired of this routine. This awful, never-ending chain reaction that almost always ended with you trying to scrub blood out of your clothes. The police station, the arguments, the cuts and gashes and hushed apologies-- you were just so tired. And you loved Peter, you really did, but he didn’t love himself. He was willing to put his own survival on the backburner at the drop of a hat, and even though he usually came out fine, the thought of him getting hurt was weighing down on you. 

            “Y/n?” Peter chimes up, his voice pained and gravelly. You hum in response, too occupied with disinfecting the now healed cut to answer with a full sentence. Peter winced every time you pressed the washcloth to his skin. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his voice wavering with each brush of the rag. Genuine remorse coated his every word, and beneath the gentle tremors and the sharp breathing, his voice is thick with building tears. 

            Peter sits up, a strangled grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. He moves slowly, trying desperately not to agitate the healing skin on his stomach. His shoulders slumped over and his head hung low, strands of silver hair falling over his eyes. It’s getting long. You’ll have to cut it later. Gently, you run your hand through his hair and pull his head up so your eyes meet. Some of the tears had spilled over, leaving glistening tracks in their wake.

            “I’m so sorry,” He coughed, although it seemed as if he was trying to cover a sob. You pulled him off the counter before wrapping your arms around his waist, minding his injury. His skin is warm and littered with scars. He practically collapses on your, gripping at your shirt like it’s his lifeline. “You do so much for me, and I always end up asking for more. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” 

            “Peter, it’s okay--”

            “No! It isn’t! You drove all the way across town at midnight to pick me up from  the police station, only to immediately find out that I got stabbed and decided to hide it from you,” he stuttered, his grip on you tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend lately,” 

            “Hey, look at me,” you softly cup his face with your hand, running your thumb over the fading bruises from past altercations with assholes in alleyways. Peter Maximoff is nothing if not a hero at heart. “Yes, lately you’ve been reckless and it freaks me out. Sure, I didn’t exactly think I’d be spending my Friday night sitting in a police station waiting room. And, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t hide stab wounds from me, but you are not a shitty boyfriend. You’re a wonderful boyfriend who happens to have an uncontrollable urge to help others, even at your own expense,” You press a kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes once again.

            “I just don’t want you to get tired of me,” Peter’s voice is quiet and vulnerable, hesitancy hiding between the syllables. 

            “Me? Tired of you? Impossible,” you enthused, reveling in the slight smile that cracked on Peter’s porcelain face. “I just hope you don’t get sick of my constant worrying,”

            “You know I could never,” A grin grew on his face, and suddenly the sadness and the tension in the air was replaced with content. Peter looked at you with admiration, and within seconds his lips were on yours. 

            Any remnants of the anger you once felt was snuffed out like a dying candle. Your head felt warm and fuzzy as Peter’s hands found their way to your hips. If someone were to tell you that Peter had a secret secondary mutation that granted him the power to subdue any person just by kissing them, you’d believe them wholeheartedly. There was something about the way he leaned against you, encapsulating you in a tight embrace as every aspect of personal space was thrown out the window. You’d call it intimacy, but it seemed like so much more than that. Sometimes words aren’t heavy enough to describe what you felt for Peter, and what he felt for you. That’s alright, though. You do what you can with the words you have.

            Your silver-haired companion takes a tentative step forwards and you proceed to follow his lead, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. He huffs, pulling away from you for a split second so he can whirl you around; Peter always preferred to be the one against the wall, for lack of a better analogy. It didn’t take a genius or a prognosticator to see where this was heading, and judging by the eagerness behind his movements, Peter could see it too.

            Hesitantly, you push him away from you for just a moment. His chest rises and falls in a brisk rhythm as he rests his forehead against yours. You’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s still clutching you like you’re some sort of flight risk. Almost instinctively, you run your hand through his shimmering silver hair. 

            “Peter, less than ten minutes ago you were lying on my counter with an open wound. Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” A wide smile grew on Peter’s face, and with each passion second you could see his signature cocky stature returning. You knew it wouldn’t last much longer, but hey, might as well let him enjoy it while it’s there. 

            “You fixed me up pretty well, dollface,” Peter pecks you on the cheek and a momentary chuckle escapes you. “I feel better already,”

            “Alright, if you say so,” You grab him by the collar and pull his lips to yours once again. The kiss was eager and needy-- Peter melted beneath your touches, just like always. You ran your hands over his bare skin, reveling in the shutters and shivers that ran up his spine. He pulled you closer, almost as if he thought you’d disappear if he let go. Gently, you raised your arm and began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, accidentally tugging on the silver strands. 

            This seemed to set something off in Peter, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself lying on your bed with him hovering over you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of soft kisses that led all the way down to your collarbone. You could feel Peter’s warm hands snaking under your shirt, tentatively caressing your skin. Although you’ve done this a thousand times, he was still incredibly focused on making sure you were enjoying the interaction as much as he was. 

            You spurred him on in the most obvious way possible; by pulling him back up to your face and flipping him over, swinging your leg over his hips and resting your hands on his bare chest. This position oh-so-conveniently happened to result in your knee pressing directly against Peter’s crotch. You’re quick to replace your knee with your hand, gentle palming him through his impossibly tight jeans. He swallows back a groan, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to break his skin. You’re quick to reach up and wipe away the blood that formed on his lip, a smirk growing on your face. 

            “Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself any more than you already have, now, would you?” The sudden use of his favorite pet name sent shivers down Peter’s spine, his heart rate steadily increasing with every second that passes. You quickly unbutton his jeans before pulling them off, dragging your nails down his thighs as you do so. Before you had the chance to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, he managed to use his mutation to flip you onto your back. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, a smirk stuck on his face. 

            “Y’know, you really do take great care of me,” Slowly, Peter starts making his way down your body. There’s something about how the light hits his face, casting shadows over his sharp features that make him look like some sort of greek god. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops along your waistband, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. “I think it’s about time I take care of you,” With that, Peter fluidly tugs off your jeans, discarding the rest of your clothing before settling between your thighs. He rests your legs on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and sending shivers up your spine. The feeling of light kisses on your thighs catches your attention and frustration spreads throughout your chest. You reach down and tug on Peter’s hair, whining in reaction to his ceaseless teasing. He looks up at you through his eyelashes with a cocky smirk growing on his face. After one last sultry look, Peter lurches forward and buries his face in the apex of your thighs. 

            A low moan escapes you as a soft string of praises falls from your lips. The grip you held on his hair tightened as Peter’s tongue circled your clit, sending white-hot waves of pleasure through your body. He pulls his hand off your thigh and immediately buries two of his fingers inside of you. Your head was scrambled, any semblance of coherency that you once had flying out the window with each jerk of Peter’s hand. 

            “Fuck, Peter,” You moaned just a little too loud. Just when you were regaining some sense of composure, the earth-shattering feeling of rapid vibrations ignites every nerve in your body. The combination of Peter’s vibrating fingers buried inside of you and the feeling of his lips working at your clit was just too much, and within seconds you were spasming around his fingers and calling his name. 

             You can’t bring yourself to form words, instead opting to pull him back up to your lips. All either of you could do was grab at each other, desperately trying to pull the other closer than you already were. Peter practically tore off whatever clothing that got in his way, leaving the both of you completely bare. With one last glance up at your face, he waited for confirmation before pushing his cock inside of you. 

            It was as if everything fell into place, the feeling of fullness and passion sending electricity through your body. You hooked your leg around his side, pulling him deeper inside of you as his thrusts fell into a steady rhythm. His pounding was relentless, his chest heaving with every jerk. Peter’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as he punctuated your words with deep thrusts. 

            “S-So good, Peter,” Your words are slightly slurred as you look up at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration; long, low moans fell from his swollen lips, and for a moment, it felt like music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me,” 

            Peter whimpered and his movements faltered; in one final act of defiance, you used your leverage to flip in around once more. You anchor yourself on his chest before rolling your hips against his, watching Peter’s eyes roll back as you begin bouncing on his cock. A string of senseless noises and incoherent ramblings fall from his lips as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your movement. His nails dig into your hips so hard that it hurts-- you can’t exactly blame him. 

            “Y-Y/n, please,” Peter begged helplessly, tears building in his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but he begged regardless. The feeling was so much; it was everything at once, and it was so good he almost couldn’t take it. “P-please, please...” He trailed off. 

            One slight adjustment resulted in Peter slamming into your sweet spot, causing your moans to get damn near screams. Your nails left angry red trails on Peter’s chest, taking their place amongst the countless hickies you left behind before. Then, in a beautiful amalgamation of moans and whimpers and screams, you and Peter came in unison. He snapped his one last time before throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside of you.

            You watch Peter’s face intently, his eyes fluttering closed and his hair sticking out in every direction. He was practically glowing; completely blissed-out with a golden halo hanging over his head. A soft smile played about his lips as he began to finally catch his breath-- it’s only now that you see the dozens of little marks you left on his body. An odd sense of pride filled your body and for a moment you felt like an expert artist admiring your latest mural. 

            Slowly, you pulled yourself off of him, collapsing to his side and exhaling deeply. He immediately wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Peter is practically radiating warmth, a strong sense of comfort settling over you and you gently trace his collarbones.

            “I love you, y’know that?” His voice is quiet and dripping with fatigue; it’s music to your ears. 

            “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” You joked. Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before resting his head on top of your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I love you too. Nerd.” He seemed satisfied with that response, nuzzling his face further into your touch.

            Rain softly drummed against the windows, light from the moon and from the city skyline reflecting off the droplets like a billion multi-colored stars. Peter had drifted off to sleep, the gentle glow from the outside world making him look like an angel that fell out of the sky and into your bedroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you succumbed to the influence of a deep sleep, you kept your eyes trained on Peter’s face. He truly was a beautiful sight. 

[free-pool-trash]

folklore - isaac lahey {7/?}

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait I’ve been ridiculously busy the past few weeks 😓BUT!!! As compensation I made this part super long and fluffy with sooooooo much Isaac/reader content (enjoy it while you can because shits gonna be messy from here on out 🤭🙈)

Having said that, I don’t have my laptop right now as I moved houses and my stuff got put into storage so I’m working with the mobile version 😓 sorry in advance if formatting is weird I tried to make it better 😓 also there’s no continue reading button so sorry if this comes up on your dash 😭

Let me know what you think tho I’d really appreciate it 💕

Word count: 5.5k 🙈

Warnings: Fluff 😳, mentions of blood, Derek being a PAIN IN THE ASS, Isaac being the cutest 😌✨, ✨kissing✨, swearing

Masterlist

Tag list (open as always): @makeusfreefromthisfandom om, @cece-lives-here here, @chocolate-raspberries , @belsandthings , @dancing-tacos-23 , @truly-dionysus , @britty443 , @tanyaherondale , @furiouspockettoad , @yunsh-17 17, @random-thoughts-003 , @gloomybrieyxb , @futuristicslimemongerbanana , @linkpk88 , @big-galaxy-chaos , @im-a-stranger-thing , @riaisnotcool (I think u had a username change but idk let me know and I can fix it), @its-evita-here , @pad-foots , @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy , @bookswillfindyouaway , @what-the-hap-is-fuckening , @awkwardnesshabitat , @pieces-by-me me, @wreny24 , @kerosene-angel (if this is the wrong username I’m sorry it wasn’t working the way I had written it down so I’m assuming I just took it down wrong 😳 it it’s not you let me know and I’ll remove you), @marveloucnco o, @babypink224221 let me know if you’d like to be added <3 (strike through means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

The days you’d spent in Mystic Falls bled into weeks and soon enough you were being beckoned back to Beacon Hills with a head full of things you hadn’t had a clue about two weeks prior.

There, of course, was the matter of Peter- who was now dead, well technically, he was murdered.

Derek’s first course of action as Beacon Hills’ new alpha was to break the news to you. He’d killed him but due to Scott and Stiles’ constant text updates, you knew it would’ve had to be done sooner or later. But still, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of him. That small intuitive feeling in the back of your mind told you that you’d see him again soon. You just hoped your next meeting wouldn’t be happening because you ended up buried next to him.

Over the course of your stay with Alaric, who had left you in the care of the Salvatore brothers- Stefan and Damon, you’d honed several new vampiric powers. As it turned out, some of the powers you possessed were completely unfamiliar to the vampires of over a hundred years.

You had super speed, it wasn’t just enhanced as you’d previously thought. As well as that, you’d discovered that you could run circles around both Stefan and Damon Salvatore, who were obviously a lot older and therefore should’ve been a lot faster.

And for that matter, they should’ve been stronger than you, they should’ve been able to snap you like a twig. They should’ve been able to. But they weren’t. Because not only were you faster, you were stronger too.

While having super speed and super strength was nice, mind compulsion, your most recent discovery, now that was incredible. All you had to do was look into someone’s eyes and they would become completely entranced to do whatever you told them.

Despite being over a hundred years old, neither Stefan nor Damon had ever seen a vampire quite like you.

They’d never seen a vampire who was also an empath, that, apparently, was usually more of a witch thing. Neither of them had ever come across a vampire bite which had a euphoric effect either. But having said all of that… they’d never heard of someone being turned from a wolf bite. Or a vampire who still had a beating heart, for that matter.

Your only real downfalls were that, for one, your blood’s healing capacity didn’t operate at the same speed for you as it did when being used to heal others. You’d put this down to the possibility that maybe your system had just grown too used to it. To be perfectly honest, though, you had no idea.

Secondly, your empathic tendencies were beginning to bring you down, but it wasn’t just that… it was the way in which you’d been instructed, by Damon Salvatore himself, on how to make them stop.

The plane ride home to California dragged on longer than you would’ve liked, the flight was delayed and you were absolutely starving by the time Derek picked you up from the airport. Your parents were still away, they’d travelled to Romania in search of answers to your predicament and they wouldn’t be home until at least next week, so that left Derek on chauffeur and babysitting duty.

“How are you?” He’d only spoken up thirty minutes into the car ride, you let out a sigh from the passenger seat and gave him a tired smile, you could feel the nerves radiating from him. He was afraid you’d be mad at him for killing Peter, and maybe you should’ve been, but again, you had a feeling he’d be back, and besides, spending time with Damon had helped you realise that everything wasn’t so black and white. It finally registered with you that people like Derek and Damon, the dark mysterious bad boys with secret hearts of gold- they sometimes did bad things but with good intentions.

Once you discovered this, you decided amongst yourself that you’d ease up on your not-really-big-brother in the future. Even if it meant you got hurt a little in the process. If hurting you was what he needed to do to learn his lesson then you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.

So you gave him a soft smile and answered, “Hungry.”

Derek let out a chuckle at that, nodding his head towards the backseat, drawing your attention to the three full blood bags laying on the leather seats.

A delighted gasp left your mouth as you snatched the plastic bags into your hands, wasting no time you stuck the attached tube into your mouth and began gulping the first bag down- it was definitely Stiles’ blood you were drinking, you’d gotten so used to the taste of it you were sure you could recognise it anywhere.

Letting out a happy groan you threw your head back against the headrest, “Stiles Stilinski you are a doll.”

Derek chuckled again, glancing at you fondly before his steely eyes returned to the road ahead.

It was only another 30 minutes before you were back in your driveway. “So are you staying here until my parents get back?” You questioned from the porch as Derek got your bags from the trunk of his car, the wolf shook his head with a smile, “Nah, I’ve got some stuff to do at home.”

“Derek, that home isn’t even structurally sound.” You chastised softly. Surely he’d be happier spending time with the family he still had breathing rather than living in the remnants of what used to be his.

Walking up to the porch, Derek placed your case down gently by your feet and moved himself to stand in front of you. A genuine smile painted his lips as he gazed at you, “New rule.” He stated, placing both of his hands on either of your forearms before going on, eyes staring affectionately into your own, “From now on, I will be doing all the worrying about you, alright? Not the other way around.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head. “I’ll try my best.” That had been a lie. Unable to blind you with his unusually sweet sentiment, through the physical contact you could tell he was scheming.

“Good. Now, go get some rest I’ll come check up on you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and then made his way back to his car, speeding out of your driveway and out of sight before you’d even unlocked the door.

The house was cold and empty when you’d re-entered. A shiver ran up your spine the second your feet stepped past the threshold. Something was very wrong, and unfortunately, you couldn’t tell what exactly it was that was so wrong. The feeling was unnerving, it was dark and it was agonisingly heavy. Like anxiety on steroids, lots of steroids.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped -more like clawed- at your chest. Nails scraping your skin as you attempted to catch a single breath, though it seemed that oxygen was determined to outrun you as you glanced around helplessly.

Almost twenty minutes has passed as you heaved and gasped frantically, overwhelming dread flooded your chest while simultaneously tears flooded your eyes, and still you didn’t have even the slightest idea of what it all meant.

And then it hit you. That panic- it didn’t belong to you.

Within a second you’d risen to your feet, breathing still staggered while you rushed out the front door, your vampire speed being put to good use as within seconds you were where your panic had led you. Night had fallen by now and it was completely dark, not to mention absolutely freezing, the hoodie you had on doing nothing to protect you from the biting cold in the air. The trail of feelings you’d been chasing had led you to Beacon Hills cemetery and before your eyes, there it was, the something that was very wrong.

Derek and Isaac. More specifically, Derek’s teeth buried in Isaac’s arm. You hadn’t even registered what you were doing when you ripped Derek from Isaac and violently threw him across the cemetery, the impact in which the Hale hit the tree all the way at the edge of the graveyard was a testimony to your strength. You hadn’t even used half it.

Without hesitation, you inspected Isaac’s body frantically, eyes lingering on the bloody bite across his right arm. Slowly and mournfully, your eyes met his, which were wide with shock. His heart was beating out of his chest to the point where you couldn’t ignore it.

“What did he do to you?” The question slipped out as a whisper, your anger melted away only to be replaced by dread as Isaac began to speak, “He offered me the bite and I- I said yes.”

“Isaac…” Your gaze drifted to the bite and you weren’t surprised to see it already healed. “I’m sorry.” You heard him mutter from above you, his anxiety pooling in your chest and mixing with his guilt.

Shaking your head softly you pulled him into you, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders while his own arms held you tightly against him as you kissed his temple to release him of the intense anxiety plaguing him. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.”

He relaxed against you upon hearing your words, the two weeks you’d been gone made him realise something, he was utterly useless without you, or so he thought. He felt weak. He felt as though if he didn’t have you as emotional support he was defective. Derek had honed in on that and manipulated it to his advantage, convinced Isaac that the bite was what he needed in order to be strong by himself. To keep you safe instead of you protecting him all of the time.

“Was that really necessary?” Derek’s voice broke the moment and you found anger was surging through you once again. You separated from Isaac to face Derek.

At this point, you didn’t care what his intentions had been, you weren’t going to let him away with this.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to explain why you did this.” As Derek moved to speak you ruthlessly cut him off. “Too slow.” And with that the back of your hand met his cheek, again sending him flying, only not as far this time.

His fangs were barred now, as were yours. Both of your eyes glowing, his red ones threatening as he attempted to demonstrate his power. And yet again, you had a revelation.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from your lips, a synacal and sarcastic lilt to it as you towered over Derek’s form on the floor.

“Oh I get it!” You exclaimed, lip held between your teeth in mock disbelief you pressed your palm to your forehead as you spoke, “You thought you’d go around and stalk some kids so you could add to your big bad pack. Right?” He growled at you and attempted to pick himself up, only for you to give a swift, hard kick to his chest, returning his back to the dirt.

“I guess you told him it’d make him stronger? That it’d make all of his problems go away? And what about the Argent’s, huh? Did you tell him that you were manipulating him?” It was then, again in panic, Isaac spoke up to your surprise, in Derek’s defence.

“(Y/n), I promise it isn’t like that! He told me everything, it was my choice I said yes!” You spared him a glance before crouching down to Derek.

“Well did you tell him how you usually treat your pack?” The words were dripping in venom and the guilt that radiated from the man didn’t deter you from moving forward with you verbal attack, your head turning to Isaac, your eyes sparkling with sadness as you locked eyes with him, speaking hoarsely you wondered out loud, “Did he tell you that he’s a liar? That he doesn’t know how to run a pack? That if he doesn’t understand you he’ll leave you in the dust?”

The look on his face spoke volumes as he recalled the state Derek had put you in the weeks previous.

With a final sneer in Derek’s direction you delivered your parting words, “You better treat him better than you continue to treat me or so help me Derek Hale I will tear you to shreds.”

As you angrily stormed away, Isaac stood in confusion for a second before he began to chase after you, leaving Derek on the dirt floor to help himself.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n) please wait!” He shouted as he was just starting to catch up to you. When you felt that you were at a good enough distance away from Derek you finally slowed your pace.

When Isaac finally made it to your side, he was panting slightly, swallowing the lump in his throat he nervously grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, his eyes resembling those of a puppy and you could already feel your composure slipping away from you as you looked at him.

It’d been almost three weeks since you’d seen him, three weeks since you’d made out in the school basement and this definitely wasn’t how you were expecting the reunion to go.

“Isaac it isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you, ok? I get it. I’m just worried, this town isn’t exactly kind on the supernatural.” You reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and giving him a sad smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaac told you and you had to laugh, “Sorry, babe but I will not be taking my eyes off you until this town becomes normal.”

Isaac’s face was then taken over by, what could only be described as, a Cheshire Cat smile, “Did you just call me babe?” His voice was teasing and you felt your face heating up despite your freezing temperature.

Sucking on the inside of your cheek you tried your best to conceal your growing smile, you shrugged innocently, “Yeah. What about it?” The playful lilt in your voice had his smile widening even more as he began to lean down to you, his face getting closer to yours by the second.

His breath fanned across your lips when he spoke next, “I liked it.” With that, his lips pressed to yours cautiously, as if he was still unsure of whether or not it was okay to do so.

His uncertainty melted away when he felt your lips begin to reciprocate his actions and your hands moved to cup his cheeks.

The both of you could agree that this kiss was different than the last one you’d shared a few weeks ago. “Why is it that we only ever kiss when one of us is coming out as a supernatural creature?” Isaac laughed against your lips as you pulled away with a sigh.

“It would be us wouldn’t it.”

After a few minutes of nagging at Isaac you managed to put all the pieces of Derek’s plan together. Isaac himself didn’t actually know all that much, just that he was the first to be turned, but that alone told you everything that you needed to know.

Derek was now an alpha with no pack, so logically, a pack was what he was building and that would have been perfectly understandable- if he hadn’t started with your best friend.

“There’s a full moon coming up, did he tell you what would happen?” You questioned gently, ready to throttle Derek when the boy in front of you shook his head.

Heaving a deep breath you squeezed his hand reassuringly, the initial excitement of being turned had worn off and Isaac was beginning to radiate anxiety once again.

“Don’t worry okay? I’m gonna call Scott, he’ll be able to help you.” Isaac’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “Scott McCall?”

You nodded your head, “He’ll know how to help.” You tried to convince Isaac without spilling Scott’s secret. Not that it was going to stay a secret for too long, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.

Isaac shook his head rapidly, his hands moving to hold your forearms, his panic at your suggestion hitting you like a freight train as he stared into your eyes, a wild look in his own.

“No no no no. You can’t tell anyone. (Y/n) promise me you won’t tell anyone okay? If my dad finds out I’m a werewolf he’ll-“ The words came out almost as fast as you could run and his panic only intensified when his father entered his mind.

Quickly catching on to his looming panic attack as his eyes began to glow yellow you cut him off, “Isaac.”

He didn’t hear you as he kept rambling, claws growing past his nails and digging into your arm, “No he’ll kill me. Oh my god he’s gonna kill me. (Y/n) he’s go-“

Yes, it would’ve been easy to rip your arms from his grasp that was causing you quite a lot of pain as his nails sunk into your skin as his hands held onto you desperately. However, you had a feeling that his hold on your now bloody forearms was the only thing keeping him from spiralling completely out of control.

“Isaac! Look at me!” Your voice was strict but served to make his amber eyes finally settle on yours.

Gently, you finally slipped your arms out of Isaac’s clawed grip, although you were sure it would’ve been less painful to just leave them, his claws dragged down your arms while you lifted them slowly and cautiously until you replaced them with your hands, using your new grasp of the boy to provide him with some peace of mind.

You focused your energy on shifting a sense of relaxation from your own palms to Isaac’s sweaty ones as you spoke, voice soft again, “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s just you and me, alright? Focus on me, yeah?” Isaac nodded his head, still slightly frantic but calmer than before as he did as you told and simply focused on you, “Take a deep breath.” You instructed, breathing steadily along with him until his eyes returned to their natural blue colour and his claws retracted.

A moment of silence passed with Isaac slumped against you, hands held tightly in his while he steadied his breathing. You placed your lips to his cheek and then again to the bruise forming beneath his right eye, you hadn’t noticed it earlier. You’d almost forgotten it’d been nearly three weeks since you’d been together, he’d probably been though it with his demon of a sperm doner over the time you were away.

“I’ve missed you.” It was Isaac that broke the silence when your lips disconnected from his injured face.

“I missed you too.” You replied simply, there was so much you’d planned on saying to him while you were in Mystic Falls but at the moment, you felt there were more pressing matters to discuss and again, it was Isaac who spoke.

He pulled away slightly to look at you properly, hands still clasping yours, he gave them a squeeze before he started speaking, “This pack that Derek’s building… I’m guessing you’re not in it?”

“I was never asked. But I’ve kind of already got a pack, which you are more than welcome to join.” You responded hopefully, wishing he’d agree but you knew he wouldn’t. As such a fresh beta he’d stay loyal to his alpha, but, you had to ask.

Isaac nodded his head sadly, “Scott McCall?” You let out a small laugh, at how quickly he’d caught on, “Yeah. He’s not exactly an alpha but he’s helped me out a lot, more than Derek has.”

“Derek told me that wolves are stronger as a pack, he didn’t say anything about vampires though.” Isaac went on, a confused lilt in his voice.

“I found out in Mystic Falls that vampires rarely belong to packs and by vampire nature I don’t need one, but Ric figures that it’s in my nature to want one since it’s all I’ve ever known.” You relayed the information to Isaac.

“Then why not, you know, join mine?” His lip was pulled between his teeth and he was looking at you with a hopeful expression.

“Isaac I just told you…” You said pleadingly, you didn’t want to upset him any further but you also couldn’t throw away the pack bond you’d built with Scott and Stiles when you’d first turned. If it was a matter of Isaac’s pack being made up of just Isaac there would’ve been no problems, it was the fact that it wasn’t Isaac’s pack but Derek’s.

Scratching what you’d decided about Derek earlier, you came to a new agreement with yourself: all of hell would freeze over before you even thought of easing up on Derek Hale.

Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “Come on, (N/n)! We are not going to let our love play out like Romeo and Juliet!” The way he spoke was humorous but it was obvious that he wasn’t really joking.

With a sigh you moved your shaking hands, that were now covered in scabbed over cuts as opposed to their previous status of raw and bleeding, to Isaac’s face. Your thumbs moved gently along his cheek bones as you took him in with an encouraging smile on your face as you told him confidently, “I refuse to let us become a modern day Romeo and Juliet, that’s not happening.”

You pulled him closer to you, slipping your arms around his shoulders and doing your best to ignore the butterflies rioting in your stomach when his arms wrapped tentatively around your waist.

You brought your lips to meet his briefly before fixing him with another determined look, “But listen to me, we might be loyal to different packs but I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Isaac nodded his head in understanding, “If it comes down to it, I’m always gonna choose you.” He responded honestly, arms tightening around you to hold you against his chest, his height causing his chin to be tilted downwards so that he could meet your eyes.

“I meant what I said to Derek, by the way.” You informed, Isaac’s eyebrows rose in confusion again, “If he mistreats you I’ll tear him apart.”

“Should I give Scott the same warning?” Isaac asked humorously and you had to shake your head in order to hold back a laugh.

It wasn’t until you’d separated from your embrace with Isaac that you took into account the fact that your body was now shaking with the cold.

“Come on, I’ve gotta call my dad and probably the sheriff and you’re freezing.” Isaac stated, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you back to the cemetery where you noticed his overturned excavator and the dug up grave plot.

You listened with curiosity while Isaac spoke to his father on the phone, trying to explain exactly what had transpired in the last couple of hours since his shift started.

“How the hell does an excavator just flip over, Isaac?” You could hear his fathers anger through the line and Isaac fumbled for a response, “Someone, or something- I don’t know it could’ve been an animal, but it got pushed from the side and tipped over. I fell into the plot I was digging and that was it, I didn’t see the rest.” He explained weakly.

“You still stuck in hole, you idiot?” You watched as Isaac clenched his jaw and motioned to yourself when he was finally looking at you, “No. No, um, (Y/n) just got back from Virgina, she came looking for me and helped me out.”

“She still there?” His father questioned, seemingly cooling off at the mention of your name. You hated how much that man seemed to like you when he should’ve held that affection for his actual son.

“Yeah, she’s with me now.” Isaac confirmed and you offered up a fake cheerful, “Hi, Mr Lahey!”

“Invite her over while I call the sheriff and see about getting this mess cleaned up.” With that, he hung up the phone and Isaac sighed, “You’re starting to look like Mr. Freeze, let’s get you warmed up.” His arm stayed comfortably wrapped around your shoulder and as you reached up to hold his hand that was hanging over your shoulder you stopped dead in your tracks, “Isaac, I can’t go and greet your father looking like this.”

You motioned to your torn and bloodstained hoodie, immediately regretting it when his eyes widened in shock, “Did I… oh god (Y/n) did I do that?”

Not missing a beat you grabbed his hands and made sure you soothed his panic before you got a rerun of earlier.

“It’s not your fault. You’re new to this, okay? Mistakes happen and that’s fine it’s all part of the process. And look!-” You pulled off the hoodie to reveal your now completely healed arms and hands, nothing but dried blood to show that the claw marks were even there in the first place. “‘M all healed up! No harm done.” You reassured him, bringing his lips to yours to further convince him that you were okay and distract him from the guilt you could feel building within him.

Your arms, although no longer cut, were covered in goosebumps as Isaac ran his hands affectionately down the length of them. “It won’t happen again.” He promised and you gave him a shaky smile, teeth beginning to chatter, “Let’s go home?” Isaac nodded his head, nothing short of ripping his own hoodie off before pulling your arms through the sleeves and moving himself in front of you to zip it up.

You watched completely content as he fumbled with the zipper. His curls were falling in front of his eyes and his eyes were squinted in concentration. The quiet, but triumphant, “got it” he let out when he finally finessed the zipper had you grinning like a fool.

When he moved his focus from the zip and back to your face, he smiled bashfully, “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

The sleeves of his hoodie, that was miles too big for you, hung far past your wrists and brushed against the nape of his neck, your fingers finding a place tangled in his hair while you stared at him, grin ever present.

Your other hand was otherwise occupied being placed firmly against Isaac’s chest, enjoying the feeling of his rapidly beating heart, and you didn’t know it entirely. But in that moment it was beating for you and you alone.

Isaac’s hand made itself comfortable holding your waist, the other holding your own against his chest, keeping it in place.

Neither of you needed to say it. You could both feel it. But still, you found yourself uttering the words, “I love you.”

Not half a second had passed before Isaac echoed your declaration, “I love you.”

“I feel like if I kiss you right now I won’t be able to stop but I’m still freezing my ass off so… your place?”

Isaac nodded his head in agreement, “My place.”

*

Upon arrival at the Lahey residence, Mr. Lahey had greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you into the kitchen where he instructed Isaac to make you some tea, to which Isaac had to restrain a grumble as he’d been planning on doing it anyway.

Mr. Lahey was happily chatting away to you when Isaac set down two cups of tea, one in front of his father and one in front of you, his eyes lingering on you with a certain kind of glint before he turned back to the counter to grab his own cup and returning to sit beside you at the table.

Isaac was, in all honesty, losing it. He didn’t even know why. You were just sitting there, wrapped up in his hoodie, nose ever so slightly pink from the cold, talking politely to his father. It was nothing out of the ordinary but he was finding it hard to think about anything other than how his hoodie would look splayed on the floor of his bedroom.

He wasn’t very good at hiding it either, you could feel it as clear as day. Teenage boy hormones mixing with teenage werewolf hormones were causing havoc and it’d be a lie to say it wasn’t having an affect on you.

Trying to return your attention to whatever Mr.Lahey was babbling about you clearing your throat and took a sip of your tea, keeping your expression neutral as Isaac’s hand slipped to your knee under the table. His attempt to pull you into his mess of hormones was obviously successful as you found yourself ready to yell out in frustration when his hand stayed put on your knee for a solid twenty minutes before his father finally rose from the table.

“I’m going to check out the situation at the cemetery, you’re welcome to stay tonight, it’s pretty dangerous out there these days.” Mr. Lahey offered and you smiled innocently at him as he stood in the doorway, “I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.” The older man gave you a nod but said no more before walking out the front door.

“What the hell are you doing?” You finally burst when the front door clicked shut, whipping around to face Isaac.

“What?” He asked as if his hand didn’t start sliding further up your leg the second his father left the room.

You groaned, “Don’t ‘what?’ me when you’re about four centimetres from having your hand between my thighs!”

“Sorry.” He immediately retracted his hand, eyes wide as he realised how close his hand was to reaching the top of your thigh, “I, um, I didn’t mean to- I mean, I did mean to but i won’t do it again if you don’t want me to-“

“Isaac.” You cut him off, lip pulled between your teeth, “I want you to.” You declared and he let out a heavy sigh full of relief, “Thank God.” He muttered before he was pulling you up off the chair and right against his chest.

His lips immediately found yours and his hands were gripping your waist like there was no tomorrow.

At this point, the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely bat shit feral when his lips began to trail past your lips, to your chin, then to the curve of your jaw. It was when his hand slipped deftly up your side to settle against your jaw that you realised just how much you’d been wanting this.

Isaac’s lips fell further to your neck and you couldn’t stop the hum of approval that escaped your mouth at the sensation of his soft lips sucking and licking at your pulse. “It this okay?” He asked in a mutter, the dainty and nervous nature of his voice contrasting greatly with the confidence and ferocity of his actions.

Your hands tugged gently at his hair to get him to meet you clouded eyes, when he looked at you you were sure that his eyes had flashed yellow, his breathing was getting heavy and you had an inkling that his lips on your neck was the most exciting thing that was going to happen between you tonight.

“It’s more than okay.” You told him with a dopey smile, letting out a laugh when he dived back into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin through a smile.

Despite your words your hands moved to his chest to push him away slightly, “But…” you started as Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “I think we should stop, and maybe revisit this after the full moon passes.”

After taking in a steadying breath Isaac nodded in agreement, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His hand slipped into yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours, he spent a moment just looking at your linked hands with a fond smile and the look of achievement on his face. It was easy to tell, with the help of your empathic powers, that Isaac was proud of himself.

You yourself couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was feeling so prideful in the moment, but he knew. To be truthful he wasn’t just proud of himself, he was downright ecstatic. He’d been nothing more than your best friend since you were both eleven, and now, six years later he finally crossed the threshold from being your best friend to being your- well actually now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he is to you now.

A few hours passed before Isaac worked up the courage to ask the question that had formed in his mind after his make out session with you earlier.

The pair of you had since gotten comfortable in his bed, which was nothing particularly new. You laid on your side with your back to the bedroom door, Isaac was behind you, his chin tucked in between your shoulder and your neck with his arms around your torso holding you close to him.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice broke through the silence and you responded with a tired hum, adjusting his arm so you could snuggle closer and tried your best to stop yourself from falling asleep while he murmured softly in your ear.

“What are we?” He kept his eyes trained on the dark room ahead of him, his hand grabbing yours as you readjusted his arm and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers, the action being successful in calming his nerves.

“What do you want us to be?” You asked sleepily in response, a small smile forming on your face as you heard his heartbeat speeding up.

Isaac let out a nervous breath against your neck and you held back a shudder at the feeling, “I was kind of thinking that all the kissing would make us a couple.” Letting out another sleepy hum, if it was even physically possible, you snuggled deeper into his hold. You sluggishly turned your head to place a light kiss against his cheek, “Then we’re a couple.”

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

[bangchanstudio]

Never Have I Ever | Changbin (3/?)

pairing: seo changbin x reader (fem)

genre: university au, awkward friends to ? something more? smut, house party

tw: sex, attempted date rape (spiked drink), mild panic attack, unprotected sex, penetration, cursing, praising, mild dom!changbin kink, oral sex (fem;receiving), fighting?

word count: 6.8k

ch.one | ch.two

synopsis: you’re forced to face Changbin after ghosting him for weeks, and things happen.

note: I suffered A LOT writing this so please SUFFER WITH ME. Shout out to sera aka @seraplantery​ for thirsting over changbin with me and his new fresh undercut as i wrote this 🥺 you the real one✨ again, i would love it if you let me know what you thought about this etc. i would love to interact more with those you read my fics!! 🥰 feel free to drop ideas or suggestions/requests in my inbox~ ps. if you would like to be added to the tag list for ✨NHIE✨ please let me know via inbox/message ❤️

taglist: @seraplantery​ @chang-binnie @synnocence @lordseochangbin​

“Spill it, sister.” The way Hyunjin crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently reminded you of your mother when you were in high school, waiting for a confession after sneaking out to a party the night before with the guys.

Suddenly, the ramen hanging out of your mouth that linked to your chopsticks seemed one hundred times more interesting than looking at Jinnie. He was good at seeing through your lies but mostly because you were such a bad liar.

When your only response was a shrug, he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve been acting sus for days now.”

“How?” You asked, still avoiding his gaze, sipping on your straw.

“Well, for starters, you’ve stopped pestering us about what happened at the party.” He eyed you up and down. “Did you remember?”

“Just that we watched a hot ass morning sex video.” You said wiggling your eyebrows. “Really, there’s nothing going on.”

That was a lie.

The only thing that was running through your mind most of the time these days was Changbin. Since that night you went to see him you couldn’t stop thinking about his touch. His skin. His lips. The way he tasted. Changbin got your number from Chan, but you were avoiding him. He wasn’t one to chase or push either, so when you didn’t reply to his first message he didn’t send another.

Chan already interrogated you about the night he walked in on you blowing Changbin, and asked why you haven’t talked to him. You could only assume Changbin told Chan you were ghosting him, and Chan knowing you like the back of his hand decided to mediate. You were grateful, because he never judged you for being an asshole or ghosting people. You were always like this and you had been told by many people that you were “too much”, but not Chan. That’s what made you love him and run to him. Even when you didn’t run to him because you were too self-conscious and didn’t want to annoy him, he’d go to you. Talking with Chan helped you realize you didn’t know anything at all and that it would all be okay regardless.

“You know what your problem is, (Y/N)?” Chan started two weeks after you went to see Changbin at his apartment.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” You were laying upside down on your couch, feet hanging over the backrest next to Chan who was sitting upright typing away on his laptop.

“You avoid thinking about your feelings. Instead of trying to face them head on and figure them out, you just run away.”

Ouch. The truth of his words stung.

“Just slap me next time will ya?” He rolled his eyes at your remark.

“I’m serious.” He closed his laptop placing it on the coffee table before giving you his full attention taking your hand in his as if you were a child. “Look, you know I love you. I care about you and I want to see you happy. That’s why we need to figure this out together. Tell me, when you look at Changbin, what do you feel?”

That was a tough question to answer. “Do I really have to think about that?” You whined.

“Yes.” He said sternly in his dad voice. “We’re going to figure this out together because if not you’re just going to continue this vicious cycle forever and I won’t stand by it.”

Sighing, you closed your eyes trying to find something, anything that you could put into words.

The image of seeing Changbin for the first in over a year at Seungmin’s house party at the start of summer came rushing back. You were sitting at the bar table in the wide living room of Seungmin’s mansion in a champagne slip dress and red lips talking your half tipsy ass off with your girl friend when she gasped at a hot guy who walked in. The place was overflowing with bodies, the heat made your skin slightly damp and the music was loud. There was a mixture of cigarette smoke and the smell of booze flowing in the air, basically it smelled like a good time.

“Who’s that hottie coming in with Felix?” She had asked shouting over the DJ and pointing at the door with her free hand, drink in the other.

Your heart had stopped and the smile you had plastered on your face slowly faded as you saw Changbin walk in, leather jacket, hood up, hat covering his features, but you knew it was him. He was scanning the crowed, high-fiving and bro hugging Seungmin and Minho as they found him. Minho had turned to find you amongst the crowd and nodded your way, Changbin found you but turned away. He never went up to you that night and you didn’t either.

“I feel sad.” You admitted, voice only slightly above a whisper.

“That’s good, (Y/N). That’s a good place to start.”

[three days later]

“Another party?”

Everyone was gathered around in your apartment eating your food and playing video games.

“Yeah, my parents are going overseas again so it’s the perfect time. I think we all could use a good old fashion house party.” Seungmin, respectable Virgo though he may be, was notorious for his house parties. He always had the best DJ’s, the best drinks and most importantly a big house.

“God knows we need to let loose, especially (Y/N).” Felix smirked over at you wiggling his eyebrows, blocking the pillow you threw at him.

“Besides, it’ll be funner this time since Changbin is back and we’ve been hanging out.” The room went quiet at Jeongin’s comment, just the video game sounding in the background “Oh… was I not suppose to say that?”

“Just focus on your game the grown ups are talking.” Hyunjin hushed the younger boy. “Everything is set to go we just need to go shopping.”

“We?” Everything sounded amazing except parties meant socializing, dressing up and being in public. You had a love hate relationship with parties, about as much as you had a love hate relationship with everything else in life.

[]

The weekend came faster than you could have hoped for and that mean the party did too. All you could think about was how you planned to avoid Changbin, though it shouldn’t be too hard in a house that big. You did it once before. The truth was, maybe you were scared to genuinely fall for him, just as he had said he was afraid of falling of falling for you. The only thing you knew how to do when you were unsure of anything was to run away.

Chan was right and you knew it. Your flight instinct was all you were good at but even you knew it would be your downfall eventually.

“Wear this. From your bestest friend in the whole wide world – Jinnie”

Hyunjin stopped by while you were in the shower and shouted a quick goodbye, reminding you to not be “late” to the party before rushing back out in less than a minute. You pulled your towel closer to your cold body before opening the top of the box and pulling out a really short, strappy, silk red slip dress.

“Does he want me to die of hypothermia?” you mumbled to yourself before doing your hair and make up. All the while constantly checking your phone to keep tabs on Chan’s eta. The best you could do was curl your hair and do some basic face makeup since you loved striking more with red lips rather than heavy eyes. Since the party had a rave vibe you opted for a way heavier highlight than normal and sprinkled a bit of body glitter along your collarbones and shoulders.

“(Y/N), I’m here !” Chan’s voice rang out as you heard him shuffling from the entrance to your room.

“Are you rea– damn girl, who are you?” He stopped dead in his tracks taking you in from head to toe.

“Fuck, this is too slutty right?” You turned from your long mirror to face Chan.The dress fit you well enough, but it was so short and low cut you thought your boobs would fall out at one wrong move, not that you had much to begin with, but this dress sure made it seem like you had a decent amount of cleavage. “Shit, I need to find something else to wear. I swear Hyunjin just wants to make me look like–”

“No! Don’t you dare, you look amazing, you are totally wearing that tonight. Just take a good coat so you don’t get sick.” Just like Chan to nag, you couldn’t help but laugh at his comment.

By the time you both made it to the party it was close to 10pm, definitely late. The taxi left you at the gate at the bottom of a small hill. Making your way up you were grateful you opted for a pair of black boots instead of heels. There were a lot of people making their way up to the house and people spilling out of the house as you got closer. The bass could be heard since you stepped out of the taxi and the closer you got the sounds of chatter, heavy laughter and shouting got louder. Crowds made you nervous but holding on to Chan’s arm made you feel better. After a few drinks you wouldn’t be as nervous or anxious. Alcohol had a way of numbing just about anything.

Stepping into the house the heat of bodies welcomed you, almost immediately encouraging you to take off your coat before handing it to Chan who in turn put it, along with his in the hallway closet. You were familiar enough with Seungmin’s house to be able to use certain areas of his place that would otherwise be deemed unappropriated for others.

“Welcome, welcome friends.” Seungmin said greeting you and Chan with a hug. Hyunjin and Felix followed close behind.

“Wow, (Y/N) that dress looks so much better than I imagined!” Hyunjin didn’t trust your sense of taste when it came to party or club attire so he had the habit of picking things up for you ever since you all started partying and clubbing together junior and senior year of high school.

Felix handed you a drink with a sympathetic look, maybe your nervous were louder on your face than you realized. You looked around the crowd trying to see if you could spot Changbin’s figure but by the looks of it he wasn’t here. Even though you were avoiding him, your heart still sank a little.

Get it together, you scolded yourself.

Before you knew it you found yourself on the dance floor passing between Hyunjin, Felix and a couple of strangers. Drinks and shots started to blur as your nervous melted and you started to feel slightly dizzy at the heat and bass filling your chest. The black lights made everything neon and colorful, there were even bubble machines that left residue of shimmer on everyone’s hair, face and body as they burst.

“Whoa– whoa!” Hyunjin shouted as you grinded your ass on a guy, making you laugh and push the stranger away before turning back to Hyunjin, throwing your arms around his neck and his hanging lazily on your hips. Felix had gone off somewhere, probably the bathroom. “Do you think Changbin will show up?”

You shrugged, not wanting to ruin the fun you were having. “Who knows.”

Eventually, you found yourself alone on the dance floor still as Hyunjin went to look for Felix, probably to do other things with him.

The vibrations of the song were filling you when you felt a pair of hands grab your waist letting you know someone was there, but you couldn’t see who since they were behind you. You let your body lean back into the stranger swaying to the song coming out of the loud speakers. He felt strong and warm though he reeked of weed which immediately turned you off, but you didn’t leave him enjoying his body instead.

“Let’s grab a drink.” The stranger said, grabbing your wrist and leading you off the dance floor, weaving you through the crowd. He wasn’t half bad looking, though, the thought came to you like second nature... but he wasn’t Changbin.

You leaned against the bar, letting the coolness of the marble run up the length of your arms, without thinking you placed your forehead down the bar top to cool off a bit. It felt good against your hot skin and the heat of the room.

“Here you go.” The stranger said handing you the drink with a cocky smile.

You thanked him raising the drink to your lips. He had a dark glint in his eyes that made you hesitate. “Fuck!” You shouted as someone grabbed the wrist you were holding your drink with, jerking it away.

“What the fuck did you put in this?” It was Changbin. You froze as he grabbed the glass out of your hand, still holding onto you. He shoved the glass in the guys face, “Drink it.”

“No way, I got that for her.” He said disgust in his voice, knocking the glass out of Changbin’s hand. It shattered on the floor, but you hardly heard a thing over the loud music that was playing. “What? Is she your bitch?”

“She’s not a bitch and what she is to me is none of your fucking business.” Changbin got between you and the guy, shoving his chest.

Fuck, this was not good. You desperately looked around for Chan or Jisung, anyone that could stop Changbin better than you could. You’d seen him in enough fights to know this wouldn’t end well. Of all the good qualities Changbin had, holding back was not one of them.

“What the fuck man, I was just trying to have a little fun.” The guy shoved Changbin back, though it didn’t have much effect since Changbin had a pretty solid build.

“’A little fun’ by what? By spiking a girls drink? You must be one desperate piece of shit if you can’t get a single girl to sleep with you of their own free will.” Changbin’s words made you go cold.

Did he spike your drink when you weren’t looking?

“No, it’s just funner when their helpless.” The guy retorted.

You could feel the rage boil up in Changbin and spill over seconds before he threw his fist connecting it with the guy’s jaw, sending him stumbling into a crowd. The guy couldn’t recover before Changbin grabbed him by the collar throwing him on the ground and shoving a knee into his chest hitting him again and again.

“You low life piece of shit, I hope you rot in hell.” He said between every punch.

Fuck, fuck, fuck where the hell was everyone when you needed them?! You desperately wanted Changbin to stop fighting. The fact that they had garnered a crowd of on lookers but no one was stepping in annoyed you.

“Changbin, stop!” You pleaded but when he didn’t respond you grabbed his arm just as he was bracing to throw it again, “Please, stop!”

Changbin tensed as he turned to face you, his eyes were scary.. on fire with rage. Your eyes must have been desperate because you could feel his anger slowly start to dissipate. For a moment it was as if everything went quiet and all you could hear was your breathing and heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The stranger seized the moment and opening to escape from under Changbin’s hold and book it into the crowd shoving a few people out of the way.

“Fuck.” Changbin mumbled watching the guy run off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He helped you to your feet before taking you by the hand and leading you around the bar and up the grand stairwell. His pace was a little faster than what you normally walked and with the alcohol running rampant in your veins you stumbled and struggled to keep up with him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was gripping your hand so tight you knew even if you tripped enough to fall, he would catch you.

The hallway lead off to various rooms and people were piling around room entrances and playing various games from drinking games to board games. The bass still sounded throughout the house, but you could hear a little more clearly from up here.

“Get the fuck out,” Changbin pulled you into Seungmin’s room where two people were making out on his couch. “Now.” He ordered.

The couple glanced at each other but did as they were told, which was good on their part. Changbin was scary when he was mad. You were dreading whatever was about to happen because he pulled you away from the crowd probably to scold you for almost getting yourself drugged.

The couple left closing the door behind them leaving you in a dim lit room with Changbin angrily pacing back and forth.

“You are so reckless!” Changbin’s voice made you flinch. You know he didn’t mean to, but he still needed to learn how to control his anger. “Why would you take a drink from someone you don’t know?”

All you could do was wrap your arms around yourself and avoid Changbin’s eyes. You felt like you could melt under his gaze, or burn.

“There are bad guys out there, (Y/N), just waiting for you to let your guard down enough so they can take advantage of you.” He was saying it with good intentions but that still didn’t make you any less angry about it.

“So, what the hell am I suppose to do then? Just not go out? Not drink or have any fun?” Your argument was weak but you hated being pushed around. Especially by Seo Changbin.

“That’s not the point, (Y/N) and you know it.” He stopped pacing taking an abrupt step towards you, your back hit the wall. He took another step cornering you in.

From this close you could smell his cologne, warm and musky. His chest was rising higher than normal, his anger still evident in his eyes and the way he set his jaw. Damn he looks so hot... wait shut up this is not the right time, you tried shaking the thought away but Changbin hit the wall next to your head making you jump.

“Look at me.” His voice was strained.

“Make me.” You challenged, the words leaving your lips before you could filter them out as this is a really bad idea, don’t say that.

He grabbed your jaw fingers digging into your cheeks forcing you to meet his gaze. It annoyed you how much that turned you on, you squeezed your eyes shut trying to control your lust.

“Do you like it when I get rough with you, is that it?” Changbin squeezed a little tighter until you opened your eyes meeting his. Fuck, was all you could think.

“Maybe.” You replied raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I just want to see you go insane.” 

His dark laugh made you tremble.

“You know what drives me insane?” He sneered, “The fact that we had one decent, open conversation and then you ghost me like a fucking stranger you met off Tinder.”

To be fair, you knew it was coming. You shoved him off, crossing the room before slumping down on the couch, kicking your boots off and crossing one leg over the other so you wouldn’t flash him by accident.

He watched you from across the room as you noticeably gathered your thoughts before starting, “I.. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Changbin threw his head back in disbelief laughing before angrily asking if you were serious. You didn’t reply which seemed to only set him off even more. He crossed the large room in three strides before sitting down on the coffee table right in front of you leaning forward, elbows on his knees, face resting in his hands; but you didn’t flinch or shrink away this time.

“Then why did you do that to me?” His voice was lower now, his eyes were closed as if he was struggling just to say those words. As if he was trying to hid the hurt that was laced in that question.

“Because I wanted you to feel the same hurt that I felt when you abandoned me.” The words stumbled out of your mouth again before you could stop them.

You both froze.

It’s not something you consciously had thought out, but as soon as you said it you realized that was it. That was the real reason you were avoiding him, you wanted to get back at him. You wanted him to feel the same pain and loneliness you did when he left. Of what could have been but wasn’t.

“That’s fair.” Changbin concluded before straightening his back. “I don’t blame you.”

You sized him up trying to find any trace that he was lying, but he seemed a little more relaxed now. His shoulders were slack, his breathing was normal, eyes serious.

“Really?”

He nodded. “There is one thing though.” He said placing his hand on your knee before pushing it off your other leg. “I haven’t repaid you for that one time at the apartment.”

Your eyes widened as he pushed your legs apart. “Wh–what are you doing?”

He smirked at your sudden shyness. “I told you. Paying you back.”

“No, no it’s okay, I swear, just don’t mention it.” You clumsily shot up before stepping a safe distance away suddenly cursing yourself for being barefoot.

He laughed with his whole chest before standing up straight. “Come on, you were not this shy sucking me off.”

Your cheeks were burning, you were positive your face was the same color as your dress. Changbin made his way over to you, pushing your hair back behind your shoulder. The closeness of his body, the way his eyes made trails down your neck and collarbones made you tremble again, you tried crossing your arms to keep yourself still.

He noticed you shaking.

“Hey, (Y/N), it’s really okay if you don’t want to. I would never do anything you weren’t comfortable with.” His voice was soft, worried.

“It’s not that,” You trailed off averting your gaze. “It’s just I’ve never been... You know.”

“Never what?” He raised his eyebrow in that way that said, I don’t believe you,”I know you’re not a virgin.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, “Of course not, I mean the,” You flailed with your hand trying to get the point across without explicitly saying it, “I’ve never.. you know.”

Realization dawned on his features, “Oh... you’ve never been eaten out?”

“Fuck, yes, Changbin. That. God.” The fact that he said it out loud made you even more shy.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” He said before pinching your cheek and biting his lip.

“This room’s taken.” Changbin called as a couple walked in barely keeping each other on their feet. He shoved them out before closing and locking the door behind them.

“Changbin!” You squeaked as he rushed back over to you, picking you up off the ground and carrying you to the bed before tossing you easily on it. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, one you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Who let you wear this dress?” He asked pulling at it teasingly; undressing you with his eyes.

“Jinnie bought it for me.” You replied. He took off his jacket, the sleeves of his black shirt were cut off revealing his biceps. “Been working out?” You asked not hiding your want anymore.

“Like what you see?” Changbin asked before pulling your legs towards him so your bum was at the end of the mattress.

You nodded, biting the tip of your finger as you gazed up at him. He ran his hands up your calves and thighs before tugging you a little closer to the edge.

“When did you get so buff?” You asked half teasing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know just looking out for my health.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes laughing.

There was silence as Changbin took you in again, staring down at you, his face unreadable as always. “Would it be okay if we forgot everything for a little while?”

His words made you catch your breath in your chest. Your fingertips grazed his hands on your thighs, slowly back and forth before nodding hesitantly, “That sounds fun” You breathed.

Changbin smiled before slipping his hands under your dress and slowly pulled down your lacy black panties. He got on his knees and spread your legs open, the motion made you squeeze your eyes shut squeaking in the process, covering your face with your hands.

“Ah, what? Don’t tell me you’re still shy.” Changbin laughed before placing small kisses on the inside of your thighs, switching between the two. There was a soft romantic song playing in the distance, so you tried to focus on it to calm your increasing heartbeat as Changbin kissed and sucked small spots on your sensitive skin.

His breath was warm as were his lips and his hands felt like they were burning on your thighs. It wasn’t long until you felt your body longing for more of him. He noticed the way your breathing started to come slightly quicker, the way your legs started to unconsciously shake with want and desire. He saw the way you bit your lip trying to keep yourself from making any sound, and the way you covered your eyes with your arm, hand clenched into a fist.

He smirked wanting to make you break.

“Oh, my god.” You breathed as you felt his tongue trace along your folds. You trembled at his warm touch. He liked the way you looked from this point of view and the way you tasted on his tongue.

His mouth found your clit and you let out a “Fuck,” as he drew circles with his tongue, the sensation sending waves of pleasure that you had never felt before. It was so much better than touching yourself. He went between licking you up and circling your clit occasionally sucking on it making you whimper.

“That feels so so good,” Your hands found their way into his hair pushing it out of his eyes, he looked sexy from here.

“I’m glad you like it,” He hummed still at your core, the vibrations of his voice against your clit making you shake.

You could feel the heat starting to rise, the way that familiar knot was forming in your core. 

But suddenly, you remembered the guy on the dance floor. The way he smelled of weed, the way he pushed his body against your back. The way he lead you off the dance floor and handed you the drink. The drink you almost drank, the one he drugged to... 

The sensation hit you like a truck after a few minutes and you could feel the pleasure start to change into something else, your breathing was coming out faster and heavier. The walls of the room started to close in and you felt like you might pass out. Your thighs were trembling and Changbin had to hold them open to keep you from trying to close them.

“Changbin I– I– fuck, I–,” you couldn’t form a coherent sentence and panic started to rise in your chest. There were black dots starting to dance across your vision, you felt claustrophobic, “Shit, it’s really heavy. Changbin, please,”

 “Please what?” He asked, noticing panic in your voice. But you couldn’t speak all you could do was clench his hair making him stop.

“I– I need to catch my breath.” Fuck why were you panicking now. You sat up clenching your chest trying to focus your breathing. Changbin was sitting back on his knees, he grabbed your face between his hands trying to get you to focus on him.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay just look at me. Focus on me.” His eyes and voice were calm but you felt a small part of you unraveling. Your chest hurt from how hard you were trying to breath, you tried closing your eyes but Changbin got your attention again, “No, (Y/N) look at me, keep focusing on me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Your eyes desperately searched his face trying to center yourself.

“The guy fro–from be–before, I– I’m having a p–anic attack,” You chocked out trying to at least tell him what was happening. It wasn’t the first time he saw you panic, but it had been a very long time.

“Okay, baby, don’t worry I’m right here. Just breathe. Can you tell me five things you can see? Come on, just five little things.” You could only see a small glint of desperation in his eyes.

“H–hair,” You chocked out looking at his dark hair, “Eyes,” His eyes that felt like home...

“That’s great, baby, really great. Three more. Just tell me three more little things you see.” Changbin encouraged, hands warm against your cheeks.

“Nose” that you loved to pinch when you would tease him in high school, “Cheeks,” they were flushed, “Lips,” they were soft and still wet from eating you out, your eyes stayed there.

“Great. Now four things you can touch.”

Your breathing was still heavy but you were a tiny bit calmer. You touched the bed for a few seconds, your dress, his hair and his hands on your face.

“Three things you can hear.” He continued calmly, voice like honey.

You concentrated, “rain, piano, your breathing.”

“Two things you can smell.”

“Beer and... your cologne.” Your eyes were closed but you were almost in complete control again.

“That’s amazing baby, now tell me one thing you can taste,”

“Dos XX.” You opened your eyes, he was smiling softly. “Damn it, Changbin I’m so sorry.”

You felt so guilty for freaking out like that. It was something that was out of your control but you still felt guilty and week for letting it overtake you like that. Especially now of all moments.

Changbin stayed on his knees looking up at you. You felt so embarrassed. Why did that have to happen now, you cursed yourself again. It had been months since your last panic attack but something about the way that guy tried to drug you made you lose your mind.

You pulled Changbin’s arm tugging him to join you on the bed. “Can you hug me for a bit, please?”

He chuckled before kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed. He pulled your body back with him as he sat up right against the headboard. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist as you settled between his legs. He rested his chin on your shoulder half mumbling half singing the lyrics to I will follow you into the dark and swaying you gently. You closed your eyes relaxing against his chest, feeling the vibrations as he sang the sweet words into your ear. You felt at home in his arms, they were strong and safe. Like a fortress.

After a while of being like this you shifted in his embrace enough to where you could look up at him.

“What?” He asked half worried half smiling.

“Thank you for saving me. Or well, not saving me but you know... saving me. I didn’t realize the guy was a total scumbag. I should have been more careful.” You looked down fiddling with your fingers.

Changbin was quiet for a long time before responding. “If you let me be near you again, I promise I will always keep you safe.”

You met his gaze again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, yes, I like you. A lot, actually. But I understand if you don’t want to be with me in that way or at least not right now, but it would be really great if we could try being friends again.. like before.”

Like before.

That’s all you had ever wanted. Was to go back to how things had been before, but you weren’t sure if that was even possible anymore. So much at had changed, everything was different. You were different.

“Can we go back to forgetting everything... Just for a little while longer?” You asked placing your hand on his neck, pulling his lips down to yours. You felt tired from the panic attack, but you need to feel something. Something that would replace the fear.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Changbin asked, he was hesitating against your lips.

You nodded pulling him into a kiss, your hands getting lost in his hair. Everything seemed to rush, the way your teeth teased his lips and his yours. The way you shifted yourself to lay down on your back pulling Changbin on top of you as you did. The way his hands slipped under your dress feeling your cold skin, and yours tugging his shirt desperately. You pulled the shirt over his head tossing it to the side before he went back to your lips shoving his tongue into your mouth. You could still taste yourself on his tongue and you blushed.

“I really want you to fuck me.”

Changbin chocked at your comment before laughing, “Damn, you can be really bold sometimes. I like it.”

He wasted no time unbuckling his belt buck, he looked so sexy doing it biting his lip, he knew what he could do to you. Changbin discarded the rest of his clothes and pulled your dress off surprised to see you weren’t wearing a bra.

“What?” You teased.

“Nothing, you’re just really hot.” His lips were hot on your chest, trailing down your stomach and back up again. His hands massaging your boobs before taking one in his mouth, he nibbling on your nipple the sensation making you whimper.

You pulled him by his hair back up to your lips, your legs wrapping around his bare waist pulling his naked body to yours.

“If you make me wait any longer I’m going to go crazy,” You whined pouting at Changbin making him laugh. “Oh, fuck,” he said shaking his head, “I don’t have a condom, I forgot my wallet at home...” At this point you were so turned on you just wanted to hit him, but you needed him so desperately. 

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill. Either way, I trust you.” You looked at him as you consented, before pulling his body closer to yours. The tip of his throbbing cock was teasing your entrance and you whined pushing your hips to get closer to him.

Changbin tsked, “You’re so impatient baby girl.”

“I need you, I don’t want to feel afraid anymore.” You didn’t care that the words sounded dumb or selfish, it was the truth.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me around.” He hummed into your neck brushing his head against your cheek, his hair was soft and smelled of mint. “I’ll keep you safe.” his words gave you chills.

“I know that, Changbin.” You didn’t, but you wanted to.

He slowly pushed his tip into your entrance making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Look at me,” Changbin said grabbing your jaw in the way that was starting to feel familiar. “I want you to know that it’s me, that it’s me and no one else.”

You picked up on what he was hinting at, because there were things he noticed that you didn’t. Like what may or may not trigger another panic attack. He was right, so you kept your eyes open, watching as his face scrunched up as he pushed himself into your pussy stretching you out.

“Oh, fuck that’s tight.” He groaned, voice raspy and deep. “Fuck.”

He waited for you to adjust before continuing to move slowly in and out. You were still slick from before, so even though he filled you up it felt so good. The way he kissed your neck, and left love marks made you whine and tell him how much you had always wanted to do this.

“How many times have you thought about fucking me?” He asked, sitting back on his knees and pulling your waist higher to fuck you at a better angle. These types of positions always made you a little self conscious since he had a full frontal view, but you felt safe under his gaze.

“Too many to count.” You admitted laughing before moaning as he picked up the pace in time to the song that was playing downstairs. The friction felt like heaven and you felt the butterflies in your stomach start to turn into little knots. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

“Since the day I met you,” Changbin confessed between moans. “Fuck (Y/N) you feel so fucking good.”

“Changbin,” You moaned his name, eyes rolling back shut. You arched your back slightly as he pounded into you, the increased pace was making you feel hotter. “Fuck, if I would have known you were this good I would have asked you to fuck me sooner.”

He laughed at your vulgar comment, “Where? Like at the hide out?” He slammed into you again making you curse, your walls starting to clench around his cock.

“Yeah, that would have been really fun.” You found his hand and squeezed it. “Shit, I’m getting really close.” “Don’t worry baby you can cum whenever you want.” His words made you go crazy, and he praised you telling you how well you were doing. He pulled your legs up over his shoulder and bottoming you out with each and every thrust.

“Changbin, don’t stop.” You moaned as the sound of his skin slapping yours echoed louder and louder, Changbin’s breathing was hitching and you knew he was about to cum too. “Fuck,” The knots in your stomach turned into heatwaves as you released onto Changbin, he slammed into you harder and faster the friction making you see stars.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” Changbin moaned your name as he came in you, his hot white liquid filling you up and you loved the way it felt. “Shit.”

He fell on your chest letting your legs rest on either side of him, you both struggled to catch your breath but the sound was sweet in your ears. Changbin kept telling you how beautiful you looked in this mess and how amazing you felt. You ran your fingers through his wet hair, admiring his beautiful features as he rested on your chest.

“Hands down,” Changbin breathed, swallowing his spit to hydrate his dry throat, “My favorite.”

You waited for him to finish his thought but he didn’t.

“Your favorite what?” You probed, putting your arm on your forehead still coming down from your high.

“Oh, my favorite sex round.” He said still breathing heavy, laughing. The sound echoing in your chest.

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking amazing.” You agreed. Changbin pulled himself out of you slowly before settling next to you pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest hearing his heartbeat return to normal, the sound bringing you peace.

His hand traced the curve of your waist, and he did that for long time.

Eventually you both fell asleep and sometime through the night, decided to just keep sleeping getting comfortable under the covers and Changbin’s skin pressed against yours.

It was the first night in a long time where you felt like you actually rested well. The morning light woke you and for a few seconds you started to panic, until you saw Changbin’s sleeping face next to yours. Then you remembered the night before, and the amazing things you felt. You calmed your heart and snuggled back into his chest.

“Mm?” he mused lightly.

“Shh, sorry for waking you.” You whispered wrapping your arms around him tightly. He chuckled and fell back asleep in seconds.

That was until Seungmin walked through the door and started yelling every curse word in the book, “What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing in my bed. Wait, fuck, what the hell did you guys do in my bed? Don’t tell me you fucking had sex in my bed that is so fucking gross. Ew! I hate you guys, we’re not friends anymore, get the hell out of my house and wash the damn sheets before you leave I’m telling Chan on you guys..” Seungmin stormed out of the room continuing his rant.

You and Changbin exchanged looks before bursting out laughing.

“I really hope this doesn’t turn into an everyday thing when we have sex.” Changbin said whipping a tear from his eye from laughing so hard. First Chan and now Seungmin.

You prayed to the gods the same thing.

[fooltofancy]

some val nonsense

since yaknow this man is mostly just vague sketches and me calling him an idiot in the tags, rather than a fleshed-out human being. some uh. not game-specific proof, i guess.

idk where the post these questions came from... is? i'll find it and link it later, if i remember.

aptitude

1. what are your ocs natural abilities, things they've been doing since they were young?

reading people - he's hyper-aware of what is expected of him in any situation, can and will play whatever part is asked of him if he's feelin it in that moment. no longer feels like he must fulfill any role, but the ability formed from habit is still there in the background.

also very good at appearing busy.

2. what activities have they participated in?

debate, in school.

3. what abilities do they have that they've worked for?

efficient ghost-writer. can and will (to disastrous effect) mimic voices in writing like a motherfucker.

excellent - trained - poker face.

4. what things are they bad at?

most anything requiring physical endurance. his aim's not great for someone equipped with a firearm. genuinely bad depth perception, which isn't his fault but DOES affect his ability to turn corners efficiently when he's in a hurry.

5. what is their most impressive talent?

bullshitting. can and will lie through his teeth if it will make his life or even just day the slightest bit easier.

basics

1. what is their hair color?

mousey brown, curly and unkempt. absolutely in his eyes at all times.

2. what is their eye color?

hazel

3. how tall are they?

5'8"

4. how old are they?

28

5. how much do they weigh?

150ish - willowy build

comfort

1. how do they sit in a chair?

casually, in public. legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle or one crossed over the other at the ankle or knee. privately, like a pretzel. if he's comfortable around you he's gonna sit like an idiot - legs draped over the arm of a chair or tucked up under him.

2. in what position do they sleep?

curled in a ball, knees to chest. v vulnerable, v bad for his back.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

just sleepin. maybe reading, maybe a lil questionable background music. maybe MAYBE baking bread, which takes time he doesn't usually have but is something he enjoys.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

tea isn't food, but it's in having time to make it properly and then having time to sit and drink it that's comfort more than the thing itself.

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

loaded question - he can be distracted, sure, but comfort isn't really something he's equipped to accept from anyone, even someone he's ostensibly close to. not gonna confront whatever has him upset in a meaningful way, so the comfort is equally meaningless because he's convinced himself he doesn't need it.

decoration

1. how would they decorate their house?

comfortably - textured fabrics in layers, as much natural light when possible, muted artificial light. hardy plants (doesn't have the time for difficult ones) and jewel tones. warm but impersonal - some art, mostly indistinct modern pieces. no photos.

2. how would they decorate their child's room?

he has no interest or plans to have children, and wouldn't consider it.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

it's just a bed. not where he spends the most time, so it's not especially personal. queen-sized bed because he doesn't like to feel lost in it. fluffy comforter + knit and crocheted things for texture variation. three pillows. blackout curtains because he used to be unable to sleep if there was any light, but he's started to struggle with absolute darkness as well so they're usually open.

4. what types of clothes or accessories do they wear?

layers. big fan of loose jackets or cardigans over simple shirts in subdued colors. straight-legged slacks or skinny jeans. he's got one pair of leather brogues that he spent way too much money on like ten years ago. his glasses are understated - narrow silver half-frames. he's recently added a glasses chain to his repertoire, because losing those motherfuckers is a real bitch.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

not especially.

external personality

1. does the way they do things reflect their internal personality?

more than he cares to admit. not quite as stoic as he thinks he his, but you're not gonna hear him admit to experiencing an emotion in a thousand years.

2.do they do things that conform to the norm?

it’s easier that way, but a mother fucker is also stubborn. if he stops feeling like rolling easy you’re gonna know about it.

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

he’s not particularly interested in trends such that he’s not gonna be aware that he’s picking up on visual styles that are happening around him, however he does instinctively blend in.

4. are they up-to-date on internet fads?

he’s seen the memes, but does not say them out loud. he’s got like. very few principles, but he’s got principles.

5. do they portray their personality or let people figure it out on their own?

ya boi is just a stack of masks. masks on masks on masks on masks.

fun

1. what do they do for fun?

what in the fuck actually is fun? not sure. maybe open to finding out, though.

2. what is their ideal party?

booze, music, rooms full of people he doesn’t know and can get lost in.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

frankly, folk he doesn’t know and doesn’t expect to know - no expectations, the freedom to behave however the fuck he feels like behaving, with temporary consequences.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

sure? does he? probably not.

5. do they go out a lot?

eh. going out in a small community means a familiarity he’s not real comfortable with.

gorgeous

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

his eyes are v pretty, even though they don’t work. rare laugh lights up his whole face.

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

determined (sometimes beyond reason); surprisingly compassionate.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

ride or die. will blackmail a motherfucker for you in a heartbeat. 

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

very skeptical of his own motivations - he trusts himself as much as he trusts anyone else, so not at all.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

ease in relationships

heat

1. do they prefer a hot or cold room?

cold

2. do they prefer summer or winter? 

winter

3. do they like the snow?

he’s only seen it once, and it was mostly gross and dirty. very much likes the idea of snow.

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

walking is good - you won’t get him in a car in the summer if he can help it. in uni he played a lot of frisbee.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

does wearing big sweaters count as a winter activity? walking while carrying tea. 

in the closet

1. what is their sexuality?

bi

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality? 

thought he might be strictly gay for a bit; isn’t.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

no.

4. would/was their family okay with them coming out?

he straight-up has no idea, the conversation hasn’t and, probably won’t, happen.

5. how long did it take for them to come out?

university; there wasn’t much dating before that so he never felt it necessary.

joy

1, what makes them happy?

rain, loose-leaf tea, watching other people enjoy themselves, when someone he doesn’t care for has to change their behavior as a direct result of his petty bullshit.

2. who makes them happy?

people who listen to him for his own merits, lil kid shenanigans.

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

if it’s a bop he’s down.

4. are they happy often?

he’s not unhappy often?

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

kill

1. have they ever thought about suicide?

when he was very young - would tell you he only ever considered it out of spite, but he was also very lonely and confused and afraid and had no real help parsing a world that felt like it was out to get him, personally. that’s a lot on a kid, or anyone.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

academically, sure - practically couldn’t actually bring himself to do it.

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

probably he’s a little afraid that he could kill someone without consequences, and he’s deeply uncomfortable with that.

4. who would miss them, if they died?

his mother would miss the idea of him, which he feels hardly counts. colleagues - he’s easy to work with and mysteriously well-liked for kind of being a little shit.

5. who would be happy if he died?

... possibly the mayor.

lemons

1. what is their favorite fruit?

nectarines, pomegranates - inexplicably fruit you have to work for.

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

bananas. texture b a d.

3. are there any foods they hate?

anything textured like a banana.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

not that he knows

5. what is their favorite food?

fried egg and cheese on the flakiest fucking croissant.

maternal

1. would they want a daughter or a son?

no children at all, thank you very much.

2. how many children do they want?

none.

3. would they be a good parent? 

no. mostly because he would be absolutely paralyzed by the prospect of ruining a child’s life. if he could pull his head out of his ass long enough to get over the fear, maybe. knows enough of what it means to be a bad parent that he’d do the most possible to Not Be That Thing.

4. what would they name a son? daughter?

moot point.

5. would they adopt?

no.

never have i ever

1. what would they never do?

never is a permanent sort of word he prefers not to use. however. forgiving his mothing in a meaningful sort of way is pretty far down the list of things he’s interested in doing.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

just fuckin. disappear into the aether, no forwarding address. can’t be controlled if the controllers can’t find you.

3. is there anything they can’t believe people do?

trust implicitly.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

can’t be embarrassed in you don’t give a shit. he is, however, starting to give a shit, and THAT’S embarrassing as fuck.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

the uh. policing side of law enforcement wasn’t really on his radar until he was forced into it.

optimism

1. are they optimistic or pessimistic? 

neither, particularly. tends to take things as they come, ‘cause they’re gonna come one way or another.

2. are they openly optimistic, thrusting it on others?

no.

3. are they good at giving advice?

he’s good at sounding like he’s giving good advice. take it with a grain of salt.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws their optimism on them?

too many, probably, but he’s not fussed.

5. were they always optimistic?

as a child the world felt very unsafe, unsure, and hostile, so he learned not to trust before he learned that not everything was out to get him.

personality

1. what is their best personality trait?

adaptability; it’s not that he adjusts to adapt to the world so much as he’s so skilled at code-shifting in any situation that even drastic change is just one more step - maybe forward, maybe sideways, but as long as you’re still standing and moving it’s fine.

2. what is their worst personality trait?

can he adjust to any situation in a way that benefits him? yes. does he? often, no. one stubborn, petty bitch, and often in ways you won’t realize until they crop up later to bite you in the ass.

3. what of their personality do others love?

capacity for unexpected empathy and compassion.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

being unmoved by a world that seems determined to kick his ass on the regular. whether that’s stubbornness or determination or actually a weird twisted sort of optimism, outwardly he appears resilient af.

5. do they hate anything about their/others’ personalities?

quite frustrated by folk who use their/other’s positions to get out of the consequences of their actions - irony certainly not lost on him.

questions

1. do they ask for help?

no. very much to his detriment.

2. do they ask questions in class?

yes, might as well take advantage of expertise while you’ve got the opportunity. 

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

nah. took like eight levels in deflection.

4. do they ask weird questions?

if it feels necessary.

5. are they curious? 

not especially. takes everything at face value, because digging tends to get you nothing but trouble.

rules

1. do they follow rules?

ish. when not doing so will hurt someone he gives half a shit about. otherwise the rules are pretty bendy.

2. would they e a strict or laid-back parent?

laid-back. couldn’t imagine imposing order on a tiny agent of chaos when he’s at best an average-sized agent of chaos.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking the rules?

their entire life is currently the consequence of (mostly academic) rule-breaking.

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

only personal rules. mixing your business relationship with your personal relationships probably not the best. regret, yes, but whether he’s learned from his mistakes is another thing entirely. (he has not.)

5. do they find any rules they/others follow ridiculous?

most of them, frankly.

streets

1. are they street-smart?

yes. he wasn’t like a big-time criminal, but he flew under the radar for a stupidly long time for someone as public about plagiarism (... and drug sales) as he was.

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

sure

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

not on purpose, but you know. shit happens when you have a big mouth and little to no self-preservation.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets? 

apart from getting kicked in alleys behind clubs a few times, not really.

5. are they cautious when out?

more than he used to be, for sure.

truth

1. are they honest?

when it benefits him.

2. can they tell when someone is lying?

takes one to know one, and he spends a fair amount of time lying through his teeth. can have a bit of a blind spot when it comes to people he likes, though, less in that he can’t tell when they’re lying and more that he thinks he’s not that hurt by it because he expects everyone to lie. if he genuinely cares for someone, though, he doesn’t guard against it.

3. is it obvious when he’s lying?

depends on who he’s lying to and what he’s lying about. lies constantly, but if he really cares about something his poker face dies and goes straight to hell.

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

no. shit happens and regret gets you nowhere.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

almost went to prison for it.

underdog

1. have they been bullied?

yes. he was a shy, under-socialized child, and an easy target til he got wise. and petty. very quickly developed thick skin and a bit of a nasty, stubborn streak when it comes to folk who are cruel just for the sake of being cruel.

2. have they bullied anyone?

prone to bullying bullies.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

he’s mouthy, and not great at shutting up. so yes. 

4. have they ever been doubted?

for good reason. tendency toward unscrupulous behavior - mostly when it comes to risking himself, but no man’s an island etc. possibly too smart for his own good.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

police work, and literally everyone is a bit shocked by this fact.

vomit

1. do they vomit often?

only if he’s drinking. if he drinks at all he gets smashed - not because he’s a lightweight, but because he has very little self-control. like. blackout drunk, wakes up in a bathroom somewhere (ideally his, sometimes just a bar somewhere) with his head in a toilet. otherwise not if at all possible.

2. do they get a lot of stomach aches?

stress makes him nauseous, but otherwise not particularly.

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

no. mysteriously he’s much better with emotional comfort - he’s the kind of person who will be ill sympathetically.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

touch, company, but on god do n o t ask him how he’s feeling.

water

1. do they drink enough water?

probably not - when he remembers. he does not remember.

2. have they learned to swim?

enough that he probably wouldn’t drown if he fell in a lake. no guarantees in sketchy water, though.

3. do they like to swim?

enjoys the sensation of floating. eyes closed, listening to his heart beat in his ears, just feeling the weight of his blood forging through his body. active swimming, though, not so much.

4. can they dive?

yes - has good form for someone who doesn’t spend that much time in the water.

5. can they swim without holding their nose?

yes

xylophone

1. what is their favorite genre of music?

he’s one of those people who can (and will) listen to anything - one-hundred percent will listen to genuinely bad music out of spite if and when someone gives him shit about something he’s listening to on accident. will just listen to the radio, or put all of his music on shuffle and go.

2. do they have a favorite song?

no, but if pressed will list the first abba song he can think of off the top of his head.

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

no

4. can they sing well?

can carry a tune and doesn’t have a bad voice, but he’s definitely prone to singing badly to make a point.

5. can they rap?

god no.

zebra

1. what’s their favorite animal?

aesthetically, snakes. practically animals are weird and confusing and if he were ever confronted by an actual snake he may very well climb the nearest wall.

2. do they like animals?

in theory, sure. in practice? what is this? what is it doing? should not be trusted with your pets for extended periods of time. comfortable around cats and most dogs, but if an animal is unpredictable it’ll make him nervous.

3. cats or dogs?

probably cats, but it’s a lot of staring uncomfortably.

4. what’s their dream pet?

maybe a fish. a few lil schooling mofos, but he doesn’t really have the time or the patience or the fortitude? to regularly care for a tank.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

no

[bidean-byedean]

new piece on AO3

xvi. family 

Day 16 of the SPN advent calendar (not festive)

There’s something deeply absurd happening here. You feel it when you first visit and you realise. Pulling off of a hunt in nowhere middle America, aching in your bones and, depending on what you killed, your heart, and you remember that Dean Winchester - yeah, that Dean Winchester - opened a bar around here.

You stop for the night.

Rated: G // Tags: second person POV, outsider POV, finale denialist, post-canon/canon divergent, bar owner Dean, everyone is alive and in love, domestic fluff // Ships: Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen, Claire/Kaia // Word count: 5.6k

The bar is unassuming, gentle, welcoming. Tucked away but easy to find, if you’re looking. It’s still the midwest after all. Dean knows how much it looks like the old haunt; some of it deliberately mimicked, some of it inevitable features of the genre, some of it only became apparent in certain lights, like a ghostly apparition in a foggy bathroom mirror. These things that were hidden until Sam laid eyes on the place for the first time, or an old regular froze in the doorway, or after hours when Dean is cleaning up and swears he heard Jo’s soft giggle. 

When this happens, he pauses. Braced against the reclaimed wood of the bar, desperately straining his ears into the nothingness, begging for one more note. It’s only when a warm hand settles on his shoulder, always his left, somehow always, that he realises what he’s doing. There’s only one place that his prayers echo out anymore and all they do is remind Cas of all the things that Dean has lost, of all the parts of Dean’s life that he did not know, that he cannot restore. But at least now the old Hunter does not flinch at his touch. His body relaxes into the large, steady hand; grounded, brought back to the present where Jo’s laughter is an eternal echo that makes it neither real nor unreal. If their lives had taught them anything, the distinction is arbitrary. 

Cas helps him collect the last of the glasses, stacking them into long, precarious towers. Not as tall as the ones Dean makes; he’s not as easy in his body, not as used to being observed, and he hates the sound of shattering glass, hates the silence afterwards, hates that moment of momentum when the breaking is about to happen and is happening and has happened. For angels, it’s always about to happen and happening and happened. Or, it used to be like that. When and so it is written meant something. Before, when it was Castiel and Dean Winchester, not now, in the after, when it is Cas and Dean. 

There’s something deeply absurd happening here. You feel it when you first visit and you realise. Pulling off of a hunt in nowhere middle America, aching in your bones and, depending on what you killed, your heart, and you remember that Dean Winchester - yeah, that Dean Winchester - opened a bar around here. It’s already ridiculous, considering the things you’ve heard. Only half of them can be true, mostly the half that you can reconcile with your understanding of the truth. 

John Winchester’s boy? Haven’t you heard? 

Haven’t you heard he has a face you’d pay twice the going rate for? Haven’t you heard he’ll take it? Haven’t you heard he’s the best Hunter of his age? Haven’t you heard he sold his soul? Haven’t you heard an angel brought him back? Haven’t you heard he lost it again? To John? To the devil? To God? Haven’t you heard he was the most feared monster in Purgatory? Haven’t you heard losing his soul was nothing compared to losing his brother, to losing his angel, to losing his angel again, and again, and again? 

Haven’t you heard? They’re in love. 

So you roll up to the door of the bar and it just looks like a bar because the warding is painted beneath the sign holding the name, and the devil’s trap is in the shadows of the ceiling, and hex bags are stowed inside of the cushions of the stools, and a silver rosary consecrated by softly sung blessings, murmured by the human mouth of an Angel, sits in the water tank. Even if you know, you do not know. But you feel safe here, that is the point, the commandment of the space; welcome and be welcomed. And maybe you sit at the bar, tired and alone and lonely, surrounded (for the first time?) by people with whom you can speak freely and you realise the weight of speaking in code, always hiding, bearing a burden that sears into your soul until you’re not sure you have one anymore. You hear they burn out, that you can use them up, and then what are you?

But tonight you’re safe behind the warding and in front of a bar with a surprisingly pretentious beer menu and burgers that come with avocado and the word seasonal in front of some of the offerings. But there are people you’re familiar with, even if you don’t know them, you know them. Their faces hold the same weariness, their clothes practical or incongruous by design, masks and costumes and performances, all finally relaxed. So relax. 

Maybe you haven’t seen him since before John died, or before he went to Hell, or before he killed God(?), but that doesn’t matter. Maybe you read the books, enjoying being in the know, enjoying that you enjoy them differently from all the other people that enjoy them, for better reasons. Maybe his name is a myth passed from Hunter to Hunter, monster to monster, or between the two (is there a two? You try not to think about this too much). Older now, so much older than he could’ve ever hoped for. Masculine in every way you hope to be masculine, if you really understand what it means, but by hoping and understanding you fail. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and wears a flannel shirt over a band tshirt and dishtowel over his shoulder, and his jaw is sharp and hard and stubbled, and his eyes framed by deep crow’s feet; he sees you and you feel seen. His forearms are too tanned for the season, but you’re distracted by how they flex under the skin, and his hands are big and rest on the wood in front of you, just hands now, but they might as well be an armoury for all the death they’ve caused.

So, maybe you’re suddenly afraid because the things you didn’t want to be true? Suddenly reality has shifted and not only do they reconcile with the truth, they are immutable from it, it is more impossible that impossible things don’t happen to this man. 

Then he smiles.

“What can I get ya?” 

His voice is so low it’s like traffic from a highway just out of sight from your motel room, that when you lie in the dark becomes part of your body, as essential to your existence as the thudding of your heart and the huffing of your lungs and the buzzing from the dying lights in the walkway outside. It’s atomic. It’s celestial.

Wasn’t the other one supposed to be an angel?

You don’t know. You’re not used to having choices. Simple choices, selfish ones, luxurious ones: if you want fries or steak-cut chips, American or Swiss, IPA or stout or lager, light or dark, or spirits. It embarrasses you, how difficult it is, in the face of meaninglessness, how do you fare?

“Just a beer, man.”

“I gotcha,” he tips his chin understandingly and gets to work. 

Probably gets this all the time, an understood consequence of stepping outside of the comfort zone. Your comfort zone, not his, you realise. This is his domain, his playground, his paradise on Earth, as was the promised bounty for fighting on humanity’s side in the war. The one no one else had to fight in because he did. 

Did he still have the sword? 

‘German pilsner.”

“It’s good.”

His smile seems genuine and so is your surprise. 

“What you here for?”

You keep your eyes on his, if you blink, you’ll see it again. “Shifter. Of a sort.”

“Mmm.”

“Then home.”

That catches his interest. “Where’s home?”

“Iowa.”

Then he opens the ground beneath you: “Who’s home?”

“Whoever’s left.”

He grunts appreciatively, his gaze flickering over his shoulder. You notice the bands on his fingers. Silver, you assume pure, but it catches the light in a way that isn’t quite right, you stare at it. He twists it with his thumb, an unconscious habit, a soothing touch, a comfort. Even a Winchester needs comforts. It’s a comfort in of itself. 

A young woman, her blonde hair half-braided and threaded with metal, slides over the top of the bar, her leather trousers giving her enough slip over the wood. Her heavy boots thud onto the ground and she grins manically at his frown.

“What have I told you about-“

“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too, old man.” 

She kisses him on the cheek, he rolls his eyes, but leans into it, his mouth quirking upwards at the corners. Another woman appears, dark skinned and soft-eyed, she walked around the bar, civilised and grounded. The blonde throws her arm over her shoulders, you remember who they are: Claire and Kaia Nieves. The daughter of an Angel and a Dreamwalker. You heard they spared a family of werewolves on the West coast, you heard there’s a network for them, monsters who are not monstrous. You don’t like to think about what that means for you. The things you’ve done. 

“Where is he?” He gestures to the back and they disappear. He looks after them, his face soft and open; you can’t imagine him torturing souls in Hell. 

There are pockets of people throughout the bar: loners like you, pairs and trios quietly nursing their sustenance, groups crowding round tables, pulling chairs from elsewhere or standing when there are none free. They’re loud and joyful and free. Is it better to have a crowd? Is it enough to be adjacent? You’re not sure you have the energy to socialise, to make nice, maybe next time.

Someone enters and everyone’s heads turn, he’s called over to different tables, dropping by to say hello to everyone who calls his name: Sam fucking Winchester! He’s tall, made even taller by the short woman by his side, and their hands move animatedly as they talk, too precise, too many deliberate gestures to just be physicality. He watches her when she speaks, her voice is rounded and deliberate. Eileen Leahy. A Deaf Hunter. You remember someone telling you she was eaten by Hellhounds, dragged into the pit, and brought back by Sam, his magic, his love, willing to transcend the boundaries of life, upset the balance of the universe: all for her.  You feel ashamed for wondering how she made it far enough to meet the Winchesters.  It’s a fair question of any Hunter, the answer the same: in their own way. No one survives because they have all the makings of a Hunter, a preset list of requirements that they meet; you survive because you face the job with what you have and you do what you have to. 

Dean salutes her playfully, she smiles so wide it looks like it hurts. You can’t remember the last time you smiled like that, the last time you felt pain that didn’t hurt. She sits at the bar and Sam sits next to her, towering and gentle. You remember him. The Boy King. No longer a boy, his throne abdicated. Does he really have demon blood coursing through his veins? Hell is closed up now, sometimes a demon pops up here and there, but not like before, when the world was full of them, when all you did was exorcise and pray and holy water became a currency and left most of the community ordained ministers from variously dubious sites of divine origin, consecrated ground became the last stronghold against the end of the world. The future placed in the hands of Sam Winchester. Now you know the face. You struggle to imagine the Devil in his eyes, not when you’ve seen true evil. 

The Winchesters are not similar enough to be clocked as brothers. But there’s something in the tilt of their shoulders and their hazel green eyes and the cadence of their voices that suggests kinship, brotherhood, forged in the fires of Hell and gilded by the light of Heaven. They’re just men, you realise. Earthly and solid and real, no more myth than the one you beheaded just the other night, it’s blood as real as the blood that marks them Winchester. Just like anyone else. 

“Isn’t Claire supposed to be helping out?”

Dean sighs. “She’s upstairs. Giving her a minute, she hasn’t been around in months.” You think he sounds upset. “Typical.”

“It’s a good thing, Dean,” Sam pushes. “Her and Kaia are doing a hundred times better than we would’ve.”

“We?” He snorts. “At their age you were smoking oregano with your bougie friends. I was actually saving people.”

Sam pulls a face. “You’re such a jerk.”

“And you’re a bitch,” he signs it big and deliberate, winking at Eileen. “Hey, want another?”

It takes a second for you to realise he’s talking to you, by then all three of them have their attention on you, openly appraising you. You wonder what they read in your posture, your face, the way you’ve ripped a paper napkin into tiny shreds. 

“Any other recommendations?”

“Got a new dark in, like dessert in a glass.” He looks at Sam: “Finally found an apiarist to work with.”

“Apiarist?” You venture.

Dean looks towards the door that leads to the mysterious back. “Bee keeper. My-“ He pauses abruptly. “He likes bees.”

My. He. 

Perhaps you don’t mean to, but you eyes flicker to the rainbow flag over the doorway. You notice more stuck in glasses on the shelves, some of them rainbow, some of the blue-purple-pink bands, some of them orange-white-pink. What is it like? You know what people say behind his back, what they’ve always said, the people in the know. The men who had paid for a moment with Dean Winchester, the men who had gotten one for free, the men who had hoped for either, for anything. They still call him names. If only John could see him now. John always knew he was a disappointment. Wouldn’t be like this if John were alive.

That doesn’t seem fair. You didn’t know John Winchester, most people didn’t. He died so long ago and Hunters have a quick turnaround, reblooded often, rarely more than a decade of history able to be told first-hand. Dean watches you and your eyes and you wonder what he’ll do, if you became a threat, how does he eliminate threats now? You shiver at the thought. You let wistfulness seep through. You try to convey the kinship. The I see me in you and you in me. The you fascinate me the same way a shadow does. The show me your throat and I’ll show you mine. The secret language you’ve learnt to speak. The other one. Hidden even beneath the Hunter’s code. The more forbidden one. The one of monsters like you. Like us. 

It must work because he softens. He pours the dessert in a glass even though you didn’t order it and places it in front of you, next to the glass he places something small and shiny, he doesn’t wait for you to acknowledge it. It’s a metal pin. The silver knotted into a symbol you don’t know, impressively intricate for the size, and when you hold it, it feels unusually warm. You remember the way Dean’s ring caught the light, throwing it more than it should, almost giving off its own light, almost glowing. Whatever it is made of, this is its sibling. You pin it to your jacket, on the left lapel, the proximity to your heart neither deliberate nor indeliberate. It pleases him. You pleased him.  

The drink is good, better than the last. Truthfully, you don’t like beer that much, but it’s easy and universal and unassuming. This isn’t beer, not in that way. It’s smooth and creamy and sweet, it rolls around on your tongue, asking to be tasted, not to be drunk. The honey has that sharpness of real, pure honey, the slight antiseptic burn you get from eating it straight from the jar. You remember eating honey from a jar, a chunk of comb suspended in the golden substance. You didn’t know it meant so much to you. 

“Finally!”

“Get off my dick,” Claire bats back.

“Who the fuck taught you to be so rude?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no sense of upset between them. “What do you want with me?”

“Glasses.”

“Ughh, are you serious?”

“As a werepire.”

“There is no such thing as a werepire,” a new voice cuts in. It’s grumbling like Dean’s, somehow more gravelly; do they communicate in earthquakes? “Stop trying to make werepire happen.”

Castiel. 

You gasp before you can stop yourself. An Angel of the Lord, walking on Earth, living above a bar instead of Heaven. He’s nothing that you expect. Tall and commanding, but different from Dean and Sam, the same, but somehow very not. His eyes are bright and intense, as blue as the deepest sky, the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, a blue that you never thought possible until right this second. You feel as if you should look away, as if seeing beneath a hair covering, something sacred and prized, something that is not for public consumption, only God’s eyes. Only Dean Winchester’s eyes. What is the difference now? Is this bar paradise? Where is the divinity in craft beer and crude hunters, clawing out a life on the edges of society, wading through the horror in the hope of retaining peace, but not for yourselves. Nothing is for yourself. 

Except they have claimed each other. You heard Dean is branded, a scar of a handprint seared into his skin, a memento from when they met. They met in Hell. Castiel touched his soul and raised him from Hell and fell in love with him, literally fell. Who would love you if they had seen your soul? Seen the personal realm of Hell you curated? Can you even love yourself?

Doesn’t it leave you breathless? 

And then the picture shifts. Castiel turns and you see a child, old enough to walk, but small enough to get away with demanding not to. It’s balanced on the Angel’s hip like it belongs there, like his body (is it his? Who did it belong to? Are they still there? Did they ask for this?) was made to hold it there. Dean ruffles their hair, their ambiguity is intriguing, refreshing for the Hunting community. Youth is a clean slate, you are never more full of options, full of potential, which slowly seeps from you as your choices narrow, as life demands decisions, assigns decisions, weighs you down with expectations and being perceived, an object for perception rather than existence. 

You’ve heard about the child. A nephil. But no one knows the details. No one is brave enough to ask. 

The child reaches for Dean and is pulled into his arms, plastered against his chest, small and content and belonging. You wonder what their life will be like. Will they be a Hunter? You doubt it, you doubt the doubt. How do you choose to bring life into this life? It’s too hard, too sad, too lonely, too destructive. Not even dandelions grow through the concrete paving of a Hunter’s solitude, of their broken soul and heart, tings you drag along behind you like a yoke, reminding you that you must keep going, that one day, you will not be able to keep going. The baggage. How do you inflict that on a child? When will this creature’s heart be torn out of its chest and put inside a box and chained shut, only to be your greatest weakness and source of strength?

Or will it be happy?

“You need to go to bed, buddy,” Dean says quietly, his voice so steeped in affection it makes your chest yearn. You can’t help being in earshot. That doesn’t make it right. “Want me? What’s wrong with your Dad?”

The child murmurs something silently. 

“Okay. I got you,” his arms seem to tighten. “Cas? We’re going up.”

Cas. It rolls off of his tongue so easily, the repetition of a thousand, a million, making it more at home in his mouth than his own name. An Angel of the Lord called Cas because he stands on Earth, because he is not part of Heaven, because he is of Dean, not of God. He touches the child’s face gently, tenderly, motherly, and you ache for such simple, all-consuming affection, for someone to look at you with the reverence of worship at the altar of a god that speaks back. Castiel’s (because Cas is not for your mouth) hand runs down Dean’s arm, his fingers trailing, prolonging, and when it drops away, Dean leaves. 

You’ve nearly finished your dessert in a glass without even realising, it’s good. Too good. You could drink it all night, but you shouldn’t. The list of shouldn’ts is getting too long. You can’t remember anything left that you can do, that doesn’t conflict with an imperative for self-restriction. Where do you have to be? Who is expecting you? What is your next move? Why are you even questioning it?

He notices you. 

“Ah, Sweet Dreams. How did you like it?” He tilts his head, a little more than most people would, reminiscent of a puppy, of the velociraptors in that film, assessing your prey potential. You’re aware of his magnitude. You’re aware of your insignificance. 

“Very smooth. Filling.”

“That is the problem, but Dean humours me.” 

“With the bees?”

He nods seriously. “They’re dying at an alarming rate, you know.”

“I did.”

“Have you been here before?”

“First time.”

“Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

“You look tired. Are you staying the night? We have rooms.”

 “Uh-“

“That’s not a proposition,” he adds quickly. “Dean tells me that I sound like I’m hitting on people when I say that.”

You smile at his humanness. “I didn’t feel propositioned.” Would you like to? “I- I usually stay in my car, to be honest.”

His smile falters. “I wouldn’t advise that, it’s very uncomfortable and you’re much safer in here. The warding is some of my best work.”

“You never actually asked if I was a Hunter.” Hoping he’ll smite you?

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I didn’t have to. I know Hunters.”

“You must know everything.”

That catches him off guard. “Not as much as I used to.”

“What?”

Another head tilt. This one is more amused. “I guess news doesn’t travel as fast as you think. I am depowered,” he uses his fingers to make air quotes around the word. He laughs, but it’s a grating, sad sound. “Fallen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs. “So, a room?”

You somehow agree to stay. The rates are reasonable and the weather turned recently, so you know that even if you get some sleep in your car, it’ll be fraught and restless, and a warm bed in the safest place in the US is hard to turn down. You wonder if they’re both always this attentive or if its you, if you’re really that pathetic, if it rolls off of you like a stench, trails after you like blood, someone else, yours. You accept the insistence of kindness from the Angel, former, no, current; he says otherwise, but you see divinity in his eyes, in his smile, in the way that he touched Dean, in the way he held his child.

“Was-“ You swallow and finger the pin that Dean gave you. “Was that your kid?”

Castiel nods happily. “Jack.”

“And Claire?”

Castiel looks across the bar at Claire, laughing loudly and talking in big, dramatic gestures with a group of Hunters. “Yes.”

He doesn’t offer clarification. You feel stupid for wanting some. All of the impossible things you’ve seen, why do you care? Why do you need to know the details? Why does it matter that they are together? That they created a family? Do you think you can too? Do you think you’re as special as Winchester? 

He leans on the bar. ‘Claire is my vessel’s daughter. I took her father from her.”

“That’s intense.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“And Jack?”

“He-“ He pauses. “He chose me. You know how are nephil are.”

“Sure…”

“God, he is too good at that.” Dean interrupts loudly, pressing his face into the back of Castiel’s shoulder. “I always fall asleep putting him down.”

Castiel pats his head. “He’s spoilt.”

“Yeah, well, gotta make up for tryna shoot him, huh?” You and Castiel share a look. You do not ask for clarification. “You stayin’?” You nod. “Awesome. Another drink?”

The room spins gently around you, but you’re content to watch the show. It’s not one that would be on TV, but it should be, warm and carefree and soft, it’s the show of a family. They move around each other in a practiced dance; Sam and Eileen and Claire and Kaia and Castiel and Dean. So many of them. All alive. All in love. So much love. It’s hard not to watch Dean and Castiel, they’re captivating. Beautiful. You notice the magnetism, how they’re constantly touching, brushing, holding, pressing, it seems so easy, it would seem so easy if you weren’t watching, but you are, and you see how Dean watches the room, the way he look out before he does something deliberate, the way he pauses, the way he checks himself and checks himself checking himself. Dean tells a joke you don’t catch. Castiel responds by kissing him. You feel like you shouldn’t be watching. Your heart won’t let you look away. They talk an inch from each other’s faces. You wonder what it feels like to love someone like that. 

Once you save the world, you can have it too.

God, you’re so tired, it’s a tired that sinks you into the ground, that makes you blood slow and your heart sticky and blinking a dangerous game. You want to see the end of the episode though. You don’t want to miss a moment. 

Thud. 

“Game over kiddo,” Claire comments when you sit up suddenly. “Past your bedtime.”

“I’m older than you,” you say, or slur, or think.

She laughs. “Sure. You got a room? I’ll show you up.” She frowns. “That’s not a proposition.”

You laugh. “Like father, like daughter.” 

Her eyes slide over to the pair. “In all the ways that matter.”

The room is small and cosy: a double bed and thick duvet, a jug of water on the dresser, a small plate with cookies on it. 

“Dean makes them,” Claire says as she watches you examine the room. “Don’t tell him I told you, if you remember that is.”

“Not tha’ drunk,” you protest, but the world spins when you close your eyes. 

“Uh-huh. If you need anything just, uh, deal with it? This isn’t the Hilton. My D- Dean gets up pretty early, but if you wanna get away there’s like a key box and stuff. Night.”

The door clicks closed and you’re left alone. Your head feels fuzzy and full and empty at the same time, and you wonder how you got here. You wonder it a lot. Every time you’re searching for a hunt, driving to one, checking your weapons, reading the lore, tracking down a creature that has no right to exist. 

That has no right not to exist.

For the first time in… well, you can’t even think about it, you sleep well. As soon as you crawl into bed, curled under the heavy duvet, surrounded by warmth and softenss, it creeps into your brain and takes away the tension from your body. You don’t even think to check the room for warding or make an escape plan, the assurance of safety here is like the knowledge that the sun will rise tomorrow, to doubt it seems like an insult to you and the universe. Maybe there is gentleness in the hunting life, a tender hand of comfort and understanding that will offer quiet and healing and rest, between the blood and guts and bones and death. Life. 

You have dreams you don’t understand, but they don’t scare you. Nothing hunts you in the dark corners of your mind, you are not lost, you are not running, you are safe. Bathed in blue-white light that feels like sunshine and makes your lips tingle. It’s pure and divine and you do not feel worthy, but the feeling does not last, the self-loathing is soothed, washed away like a baptism of permission to see the way you try, how hard you fight, how hard you live. 

Like any seasoned Hunter, the dawn brings consciousness, even though you definitely haven’t had enough sleep, yet you feel rested. More rested than you have in years. The ache in your bones that keeps you awake too late and forces you from shitty motel beds too early seems like a distant memory, one from a life you’re not sure you actually lived, like a reoccurring dream that permeates you waking days, but the relief, that’s real. Like the shower you take, the water almost too hot, the water pressure almost too hard, but it purifies you in a way that you thought was no longer possible, not after the things you’ve done, the things you’ve seen. 

Packed and ready to go, you linger by the door, wondering, briefly, what the rush is. Why do you need to leave today? What is really waiting for you at the other end? 

But this is not home. (Nowhere is home.)

Being in a bar in the morning feels wrong, the grey light filtering into the room that’s already too lit, too exposed. Somehow it feels inviting though. A couple of people are already in the room, sipping out of big mugs with plates piled with toast and pastries and even cooked food. Who’s the chef here?

“Mornin’! How’s your head?” Dean grins brightly from behind the bar. He’s wearing a stained apron that says lord of the pies and the way he looks at you makes the floor feel soft underfoot, so you forget that he actually asked you a question. 

“No complaints yet,” you quip, daring to make a reference that exposes you both. Your fingers find the pin on your jacket, still oddly warm, already a comfort. 

He allows a small smile. “Breakfast?”

“Coffee, please, lots.”

“You’re speaking my language.” The coffee smells good, expensive, something that you would pay $7 dollars for because you know what you’re really buying is the chance to sit somewhere beautiful and put together when you are anything but. “Milks and sugar just there.”

Although it feels like sacrilege, you forgo the pancakes he tries to convince you on; you’ve never had much of a stomach in the mornings, but especially not this early, after drinking, with such a long drive ahead. You’ll regret not eating in a few hours, but you’ve never been kind to your future self, why start now? You watch and sip your coffee and let the day seep into your brain, acknowledging that you have to live today, get on with it all. Again. 

Three cups in and it’s time to go. You were hoping to see Castiel again, but he hasn’t appeared. Disembodied hands produced Jack through the doorway, but you couldn’t tell who they belonged to, maybe Castiel, maybe Claire. The toddler is more awake, he follows Dean around behind the bar, babbling nonsense that Dean replies to in a gentle, but grown up tone, always acknowledging his sentences, even when there’s no real answer to give. He’s a father. Embarrassingly you imagine him as the father of your children, however that would happen doesn’t matter, it’s a fantasy. A fantasy of security and domesticity. The only knives that Dean Winchester yields now are the ones in his kitchen; the only flesh he cuts through is whatever is on the menu, already slayed and butchered; the only fights he has are bickering with his family.

Family.

Your family is somewhere, out there, maybe where you left them, what’s left of them. Dean picks Jack up and they dance to the song on the radio, some sugary pop song that makes Jack laugh in that infectious toddler way and you get to witness the Dean Winchester sing all the words, perfectly. This isn’t the Dean that ruled Hell or Purgatory or Earth, that was the Hunter and the bow, the sword to Castiel’s shield, that fought the Devil and God and the every other cosmic entity. Could this Dean Winchester have saved the world? 

But maybe this isn’t his weakness. If you do not have a soft underbelly then why do you need to have claws? If you do not have a reason to fight then what drives you to win? Dean bares his throat to the world to show it that he has something to protect, and that is what makes him so dangerous. What do you have? Where is the kink in your armour? What are you fighting for?

The bar disappears into the distance, shrinking in your rearview mirror the way a dream slips through your memory like water between your fingers as consciousness takes over. The roads are all the same, the towns are all the same, but you are not. The dread in the pit of your stomach is no longer a knife holding you hostage, but a knot attached to a rope, pulling you back, anchoring you. For all the time spent fighting it, the magnetic pull to a place you felt you could no longer love, people you could no longer have if you wanted to survive. They are what convinces you to survive. You think about the way Dean and Castiel looked at each other when the other wasn’t watching, you thinking about the way Sam never stopped smiling when Eileen spoke, you think about how Claire became a teenager again in Castiel’s arms. 

On the second ring, your phone connects.

“I’m on my way.” 

[hellbentwidow-moved]

--–   CHARACTER STUDY.

LAYER 001 :    THE OUTSIDE.

NAME  :       sadie jane adler

EYE   COLOUR  :      dark hazel

HAIR   STYLE   /   COLOUR  :      dirty blonde,   wavy 2b hair type. reaches to her mid-back in most verses. typically always tied into a strong braid. far cry and fallout sadie has shoulder-length hair (see: bri.e larson in cap.tain marvel) but it grows up to its canon length later on

HEIGHT  :      5′5

CLOTHING   STYLE  :    typical cowgirl attire. boots with loud spurs, high-waist boot cut jeans, button-ups. always wears her hat, a bit torn and dusty. bounty hunter/rdr1/fallout sadie is a bit more flashy--  shiny, expensive belts, lots of weapon holsters, pricey and weather-resistant and super heavy duster jackets made out of genuine leather. several rings if she’s not wearing gloves, but she typically is wearing gloves since it helps with rope burn

BEST   PHYSICAL   FEATURE  :      she’s got an unfairly nice facial structure. sharp jawline, prominent cheekbones. her lips are full and feminine too. her overall face is nice to look at in my opinion, though some are turned off by her laughter lines. they make her look older than she actually is. (also her a++++ ass obviously).

LAYER 002 :    THE  INSIDE.

FEARS  :      losing someone she cares about again. she lost jake, arthur, john and abigail. she craves romance but she’s terrified of having history repeat itself with her so she tries to avoid it. she’s not very good at it though.

GUILTY   PLEASURE  :     sadie is pretty damn shameless and doesn’t feel guilty about anything she enjoys. when starting a relationship with someone she’ll be a bit embarrassed to admit to her uhh kinks, since she does like things on the rougher, meaner side, but once she warms up enough, she’ll open up about it. 

BIGGEST   PET   PEEVE  :      she has a lot because she’s a very irritable person but people mistreating/abusing innocent people, taking advantage of the poor and all other things revolving around that are her #1 pet peeve

AMBITIONS   FOR   THE   FUTURE  :     honestly once she gets her revenge on the o’driscolls... she doesn’t really have one. she wants to be free and wants to go on adventures but she also wants to settle down with someone and have a normal life. she doesn’t know what she wants the most. she’s a bit aimless and if you ask her this she’ll say “whatever my next job requires me to do”

LAYER 003 :   THOUGHTS.

FIRST   THOUGHTS   WAKING   UP  :     usually she thinks about what chores she has to carry out, or what her current job requires her to do. she will also always think about how she misses jake though it’ll dull down once she gets to wake up to someone again

WHAT   THEY   THINK   ABOUT   MOST  :      uhhhh revenge.......  also money, and what she can do to help her friends/significant other

WHAT   THEY   THINK   ABOUT   BEFORE   BED  :      what she has to do the next day, if she locked the door (always gets up to go check because she’s paranoid) or if she chose a safe enough spot to set camp for the night. also about how tired she is.

WHAT   THEY   THINK   THEIR   BEST   QUALITY   IS  :     ask her and she’ll snort and say none, but her determination to get shit done and her fierce, unwavering loyalty to her friends without a doubt

LAYER 004 :    WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE   OR   GROUP   DATES  :      for the first couple of dates, definitely single. once they know each other very well then group dates would be fun, but she still prefers single

TO   BE   LOVED   OR   RESPECTED  :    respected

BEAUTY   OR   BRAINS  :      brains and brawn

DOGS   OR   CATS  :      dogs because they’re loyal and also very useful in a farm

LAYER 005 :    DO THEY…

LIE  :      usually not. only does it to protect someone else, be it their integrity or their safety. she also lies to avoid further questioning on say her well being or something relevant, but it’s never with malicious intent

BELIEVE   IN   THEMSELVES  :     oh yes. she knows she can do whatever she sets her heart to, even if it may seem impossible to others. it ties into her stubbornness but she is very confident in her skills

BELIEVE   IN   LOVE  :      100%. she was madly in love with jake. he was the love of her life and she still loves him. for a long time she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to love anyone ever again. she does eventually fall in love again (with who depends on the verse lmao) but she’ll never stop loving jake. he was her first love and he truly was the love of her life and her soulmate but that wouldn’t invalidate her future significant other

WANT   SOMEONE  :      it depends on the verse???? most of the time it’s a sexual want before a romantic want but it ends up developing into romantic since sadie isn’t a “no strings attached” type of gal, unfortunately for herself

LAYER 006 :    HAVE THEY EVER…

BEEN   ON   STAGE  :      she has not and doesn’t want to

DONE   DRUGS  :      no, she’s just into cigarettes and alcohol

CHANGED   WHO   THEY   WERE   TO   FIT   IN  :    no. she’s a blunt, rough around the edges woman and she’ll never change that about herself to make someone feel more comfortable. it’s made her fight a lot of people (pearson, micah, bill) but she knows who she is and she’s not going to let her sense of identity be taken away

LAYER 007 :    FAVOURITES.

FAVOURITE   COLOURS  :      hmm she really likes yellow and red but not together. for clothing she always wears something black but dips into those two colors a lot

FAVOURITE   ANIMAL  :      horse, no hesitation

FAVOURITE   BOOK  :      honestly even though she CAN read, she’s not a big reader. she enjoys Frankenstein bc it’s fun and super creative

FAVOURITE   GAME  :      five finger fillet and dominoes..........

LAYER 008 :    AGE.

DAY   THEIR   NEXT   BIRTHDAY   WILL   BE  :     i haven’t established this LEAVE ME ALONE

HOW   OLD   WILL   THEY   BE  :      uhhhhhhhhhh like late thirties/early fourties?

LAYER 010 :    FINISH THE SENTENCE.

I LOVE  :     “My job.” (bounty hunter/mercenary)

I FEEL  :      "A bit worn out,   but nothin’ some sleep and a cold beer can’t fix.”

I HIDE  :      “Ain’t got nothin’ to hide.”

I MISS  :      "Jake.”

I WISH  :      "...For that cold beer to be brought over t’me.”

TAGGED BY :  stolen from @grandzealot​ TAGGING :    take it and @ me cowards

[noonachronicles]

Everlong Pt. 2

Kwon Jiyong/ G Dragon X Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mildly vulgar language.  

Genre: Hades/Jiyong. Greek God AU. Fantasy.

A/N: Thanks everyone for your patience, while I was off galavanting with GOT7 this weekend. Update Tag: @kathrynwynterbourne

Moodboard by bae, @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

It wasn’t very hard for you to admit that you didn’t like a lot of people. The bar you had set as far as your expectations of others, you thought, was low. Yet people always found a way to disappoint you. It was because of this that you didn’t really keep a lot of friends and you didn’t waste time with acquaintances. You’d remember the names of your regulars and maybe a key point or two about their lives to ask about, but that was really only because it made for better tips. You never shared information about yourself in return, nothing much beyond your name anyway. Even your coworkers knew very little about you.

So it came as a bit of a shock to you that when Jiyong continued to show up at the cafe you weren’t entirely annoyed by his presence. In fact, you began to look forward to it. Most of the guys that would come around all the time were creeps that wanted to make a pass at either you or your coworkers and they were always less than subtle about it. Jiyong was different, he didn’t actually seem to want to make a pass at you or anyone else at all. You’d started to notice he never even made conversation with anyone.

He’d come in, usually in a tailor fitted suit or some other outfit that he’d likely paid too much for. He would order his big mug of just espresso shots and a different dessert than he’d gotten the time before. Then he would sit at either a table or the coffee bar, cross one leg over the other, and open his little leather notebook. Sometimes he’d just sit there for hours, mug after mug of espresso shots, flipping through his notebook or watching the other customers curiously. Never saying anything to anyone unless they spoke to him first.  

The first night he’d come in he had tried talking to you for sometime. You gave him your name. Told him how long you’d worked at the shop and what your favorite drink was to make. Though he suspected that was a lie. He could tell easily that you didn’t want to reveal too much about yourself. That you weren’t immediately as interested in him as much as he was in you. In response he decided early on that he’d have to change his approach with you. 

Instead of pressing you into communicating with him he left you to yourself. He didn’t ever say much to you after the first night. At most a kind greeting and a thank you when you gave him his drink. Your coworkers found him especially charming and would often come by to where he was sitting and ask him how his day was or what his plans were for the weekend and he’d happily tell them. On more than one occasion he caught you watching those conversations with the slightest hints of longing and jealousy on your face but when you saw him looking at you they were quick to disappear.

At one point, nearly a month after he’d started coming into the cafe, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You were itching with anxiety, wondering why he didn’t seem to want to talk to you but apparently loved talking to everyone else. On a very slow night he was sitting at one of the tables with his leg crossed over the other flipping through his notebook, which you would swear you’d never once seen him write anything in, and you decided it was time. 

Casually leaning against the other chair at the table he was at you asked him what he was up to and if he needed anything. He politely said declined and then went back to his notebook. Unable to stop the urge you stomped your foot on the ground like an ignored child and asked him why he didn’t want to talk to you. With pure amusement glistening in his eyes he looked back up at you and said he’d wanted to talk to no one else this whole time. Then asked you to take a seat.

Before you knew what was even happening you were telling him your entire life story. Little did you know, as you started your story, that he’d already learned all about you.

Growing up you had a father that you’d never met and a mother who was somehow around just as much even though she was technically considered your legal guardian. Which left you to be raised by your grandmother who you thought was actually pretty wonderful. She made sure you were always healthy, always worked hard at your studies, and that you knew the difference between good and bad. Or how she crudely put it between puffs from her cigarette, “how not to be a piece of shit.”

Unfortunately, she died when you were still fairly young, just ten years old. The only consistent and positive influence in your life, gone. Despite the massive change to your life your mother refused to change hers. Instead of spending any time with you she had set you up with caretaker in the form of your pedofile neighbor, who of course had offered to watch you free of charge. Growing up your grandmother had warned you enough about him for you to know you never wanted to be alone with him. Instead of going home after school you would spend your nights tucked away in libraries until they closed and then wandering around the city until you thought it was safe enough to sneak back into the apartment without being bothered.

Among many things she had wanted for you, your grandmother had always told you she didn’t want you to let the cards you’d been dealt make you hard. She didn’t want your absentee mother to be your only example of love and affection. You had tried, when you were young you tried often to open up to others and were often left discouraged by the people you placed your trust in. That was why as an adult it had become very rare for you to get close to people despite your grandmother’s wishes.

The only person who’d been successful at keeping you, as a friend or otherwise, was your boyfriend. You’d known him for years. He’d been the cousin of a girl you met in high school. Though he had only graduated a year before you were set to he had already moved out of his parents house the second he hit eighteen. It was something you admired as it was what you’d been planning on doing for years. He would always let the two of you stay the night at his place when you got too drunk to go home after those friday night parties. Then after high school you stayed hanging around his place, even when his cousin stopped coming around.

Finally one day he had asked you flat out if you were homeless. When you told him no, that you were just comfortable there he had given you a key and offered you your own space, letting you call it home. After you’d collected the last of your things you never went back to that old apartment. Your mother never reached out to you and you weren’t keen on keeping in touch with her either.

One rainy afternoon you had sat perched on the counter in the kitchen watching him make sandwiches for lunch. You’d been telling him about your latest dating mishap when he looked up at you and very simply said, “You’re really fucked up.”

“Jeez, aren’t you astute.” you’d replied swinging your foot hard into his leg.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked as casually as if he’d just asked if you wanted mustard on your sandwich.

“Sure.” you answered with about the same enthusiasm.

He handed you a finished sandwich and smiled, “Cool.”

~

“You know,” Jiyong said one night after another one of your long complaint sessions about the boyfriend that you’d loved so much. “Yours may just be the most romantic love story I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You rolled your eyes hard at his sarcasm, “Maybe we’re not Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, nobody is perfect.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know...what is wrong with you?” you asked genuinely and then shook your head, “Fine, who do you consider a good love story?”

He hummed thoughtfully and after a quiet minute he said, “Orpheus and Eurydice. I think they were a nice couple.”

“Wasn’t that a tragedy?” You asked trying to recall the details of the tale from when you’d learned about it in school.

“It had the potential to be a wonderful love story with a happy ending.” He shrugged, “There’s the double love story if you consider that Hades even agreed to let Eurydice go at the behest of Persephone in the first place because he cared so much for her.. even if she never really cared for him... but he’s probably over it. Old news.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Sometimes I forget how desperately whipped for her he was.” You missed the look Jiyong gave you as you started to really remember the story, “Sucks Hades had to be a dick though and take Eurydice back.”

“It’s not Hades fault that Orpheus broke their deal!” he argued.

“Please.” You scoffed, “would you really have trusted Hades enough to not look back?”

“Yes, of course. Hades is, if nothing else, a god of his word.” Jiyong said so defensively you found it amusing.

“Bullshit, Hades is manipulative. He probably has some backdoor loophole out of every deal he makes with everyone just so he can get out of them without feeling guilty.”

“That’s just not true. If you think it is, you don’t know anything about him.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as he pouted into his nearly empty cup. Feeling bad that you seemed to have turned his mood so sour you stood up from the table and moved around to the espresso machine. You called over the counter “I guess you’re right. The mythological, Greek god of the underworld? I don’t know much about him. Only what I’ve read in books.”

“You’re mocking me.” It was hard not to think Jiyong was cute, even if he was being a grump. Maybe especially when he was being a grump.

“Lighten up, Ji,  it’s not like I was talking about you. Hades doesn’t even exist. If he did he wouldn’t care what a nobody like me had to say about him.” You shrugged as he sat down at the counter and handed him fresh mug of espresso and a biscotti as an apology.

“Yours would likely be the only opinion that mattered to him.” he muttered to himself as he dipped the biscotti into the fresh espresso.

“What was that?” you asked turning back around from the sink, but he shook his head, “Would it make you feel better to make fun of my boyfriend some more?”

“Yes, actually, I think I might like that.” he said, finally with a smile.

“Oh, give him a break. Give me a break. He was the only one that was there for me during some of the hardest parts of my life. He knows how messed up I am and still sticks around.” you said trying to credit him with something.

“Or he found you in your most vulnerable state. When your expectations of love and respect were at their lowest level, and showed you the bare minimum amount of respect a person deserves. Which for you then placed him on a god tier level pedestal. Gaining him your undying, and quite frankly, undeserved loyalty.”  

“Ouch.” you said placing a hand on your chest to indicate exactly where his words had hit you. He thought for a moment that he had gone too far, finally said too much, but you just smiled, “You don’t seem to like him very much.”

“The only things I know about him are what you’ve told me,” And his entire life’s history… Jiyong thought to himself, drumming his fingers on top of his notebook. “It’s not as if you share his most redeeming qualities with me.”

“That’s not what friends do.” you said matter of factly, “Friends vent to each other. We don’t gush about how perfect our lives are. That would be so boring.”

“Well, do it now. Tell me something good about him.”

“He…” you hesitated, suddenly unsure of any of his more positive qualities and blaming it on being put on the spot. “He makes me happy.”

“Does he?” Jiyong asked with a surprised expression.

“Yes!” you confirmed, landing a backhanded smack against his arm. “That’s all I need.”

He squinted at you curiously, “You’re saying that his only redeeming quality is that he supposedly makes you happy?”

You shrugged, and leaned against the counter. “I think that’s enough. Being with someone who makes you happy. Don’t you?”

“Maybe if I thought he was actually any good at it.” Jiyong said taking a sip from his cup.

You raised an eyebrow at him and tried not to laugh, “Savage, Ji.”

“No, I’m just being honest.”

With a sigh you stood up and stretched out your sore back, “What am I supposed to do? What would you suggest? I just leave him?”

He gave a half shrug. “To start with, yes.”

“And start this whole process over again? Trying to find someone who is patient and understanding enough to tolerate me?” you groaned at even the idea of being single. You had female coworkers, you’d heard about the struggle.

“You’re not as fucked up as you think you are, as he’s made you believe. Trust me.”

For a moment you fell quiet. Processing his words made you feel uncomfortable so you shook your head as if to clear the thoughts and looked back up at him with a small, ingenuine smile, “I don’t really want to talk about me anymore, tell me more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have a family? A girlfriend? What do you do for work? You know all this shit about me and never tell me anything about yourself.”

He took a long, deep breath trying to think of what to tell you and how to tell you. The delicate art of telling someone you were the god of the underworld wasn’t something he’d ever had to know before. Luckily for him a roar of hunger from deep in your belly, saved him from having to answer. You realized that you’d gone nearly all day without a bite to eat. A blush rose in your cheeks as you realized from the small, amused smirk on his lips that Jiyong had heard it too.

“I’m not supposed to, while there’s customers,” You began, “but would you mind if I ate something?”

“Sounds like Cerberus in there....” He leaned back on the stool casual as always, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

With a sense of relief you opened the back of the small display case. Instead of one of the predominantly displayed treats that you’d offered him earlier that evening you pulled out large pink box that was typically reserved for people who purchased several baked goods to go. A smile spread across your face as you dropped it on the counter and grabbed a fork.

“I’ve been waiting all day for you.” You whispered as you opened the top and dug your fork into your treat.

Jiyong watched, incredibly entertained, as you devoured each bite with a sense of euphoria. Finally he asked what had been eating at him, “I have to know what's in the box?”

You blushed slightly, embarrassed to admit it, “Persephone’s Kiss.”

“Excuse me?” He choked out in surprise.

“It’s a new recipe I’ve been working on, and I think I finally got it. It’s a pomegranate cake.“

“You’re joking?” You shook your head. Jiyong chuckled, which suddenly turned into a genuine laugh. The action took you by surprise. He typically kept a straight face or would muster a grin or smug smirk at most, which meant that you never really noticed that he had such a beautiful smile. It was gummy and big, almost childlike. He patted his bulbous cheeks with the back of his hand as he calmed himself.

Once composed, Jiyong went back to sipping his coffee humming with laughter every once in awhile. After you’d devoured a significant amount of the cake you looked down at it and pursed your lips thoughtfully. “Would you like to try it? I think it’s my new favorite, but maybe you could try it and let me know if it’s good enough to share with the boss. Good enough for the menu.”

“Would I like to try Persephone’s Kiss?” You could see the laughter in his eyes again as he asked. “You’d share your favorite treat with me? I’m practically a stranger.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, “I meant it earlier when I said we were friends. I thought we were acquaintances at the very least.”

“You really consider me a friend?” He asked raising his perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Sure, why not? I see you like everyday. I talk to you more than I’ve talked to my own boyfriend in the last week. You know more about what’s going on in my life than my other friends.” You pushed the box towards him and offered him the fork by its handle. “Have some cake, friend.”

You watched him as he pulled a small piece onto the fork and brought the cake to his lips. A dozen things went through his head as he pulled the prongs of the fork from his mouth. One of them being the realization that the fork he’d just used was the one that you’d been using and that part of the magnificent flavor that lingered on his tongue was your essence. The same essence he would experience if he were to kiss you. And he absolutely wanted to kiss you. He could have choked when he looked up to see you watching him diligently.

“Well? What do you think?”

He blushed lightly, “Better than the real thing, if you ask me.”

Your forehead creased as his words sunk in and then you just laughed, “Jiyong, you say the weirdest shit sometimes.”

[the-mykie-show]

Learning Experiences (Negan x virgin reader)

When you agreed to be Negan's wife there's one thing that you didn't tell him, you're still a virgin. Thankfully he's more than willing to show you the ropes when the truth comes out.

Gif not mine full credit to the maker. 

This fic was not requested or asked for, it just kinda happened and I figured I would share it. 

This will be a series with each chapter being a new sexual experience between Negan and the reader. Message me if you want to be tagged. 

*Rating* explicit 

*warnings* loss of virginity, fingering, mutual masturbation, some comeplay, dirty talk, virginity kink, Negan's potty mouth, smut. 

They were doing it again, all the wives ever talked about was sex. As of right now they were discussing the best sex they'd ever had, Negan made their lists in every category, usually at number one.

You wished you could melt into your chair and disappear from this conversation. You couldn't admit to them that you were still a virgin. You just couldn't.

You'd joined the wives about two weeks ago, out of a combination of struggling to earn enough to points to live off of with your depression and anxiety constantly getting in the way, and partly a genuine attraction to Negan. He offered, you said yes, and then the little fact that you'd never gotten past second base came to haunt you. Negan had yet to ask you about sleeping with him, he said you could take all the time that you needed to be ready, and he wouldn't pressure you. Of course he wanted sex from you, it was part of agreement and a big part of why he had wives.

It wasn't that you didn't want to have sex with him, you were attracted to him, you always had been from day one at the Sanctuary. You were just nervous. What would sex feel like? Would it hurt? Would you bleed? What if he didn't like what he saw once he had you naked? It was all so nerve wracking.

The other wives are now swapping stories of their best time with Negan, and you decide you should leave before they ask you to share.

You rise from your seat and drop the magazine you were reading on the table, hurrying to your room, you hear the click of high heels behind you before you're even in your door, and hear a soft knock on the door frame.

It's Frankie, leaning her slim frame against the wall.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” she asked, twirling a piece of her bright red hair around her finger.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm all good.”

“I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable with all the sex talk, sometimes we forget our…. lifestyle is a little unconventional, especially for this world, and it takes some getting use to.” One of things that surprised you most about the wives was how supportive they were of each other, they were never catty or jealous with each other, never fought over Negan's time or who he wanted when.

“I appreciate that, but it's all good. I don't care if you girls want to talk about sex, I just don't really want to share myself.”

She nods “Noted, and that makes sense.” she waited by the door, as if she knew you had something on your mind.

“Hey Frankie… what if, hypothetically, I told you that I've never had sex before?” You watched her face, waiting for her to laugh at you, but the only emotion that crossed her features was surprise.

“Well, hypothetically, I don't see it being anything to worry about. As long as you're honest about your needs, Negan has enough experience I'm sure he can handle it.” you only have a moment to be grateful that Frankie doesn't seem to care enough to say anything to the others, even though you know that she knows it isn't a hypothetical situation because a familiar deep voice speaks from the hallway.

“Handle what?” Negan himself appears in the doorway behind Frankie, leather jacket open over a white t-shirt, Lucille propped on his shoulder, and his signature smirk in place.

“Oh I would tell you, but you know Sherry’s rule, ‘what we talk about when you're not here is none of your business’ she'll be pissed if I share.” Frankie says.

“Suit yourself then. I need a minute with Y/N, you mind leaving.” shit, how much did he overhear?

Frankie nods, shooting you a look of sympathy on her way out the door.

“Okay, how long were you standing there?” you ask him.

“Long enough to know your little hypothetical situation ain't hypothetical at all, is it sweetheart?” you shake your head, looking at the floor.

“Virgin huh?” he smirks. Then he sees the way you're looking at your feet.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of baby, there's nothing wrong with waiting if you aren't ready.” his hands lifted your chin to look at him.

“And of course you can wait as long as you need to, but I'm not gonna lie, knowing that I'm the first man who's gonna get to touch you like that, to fuck you, is hot as hell.” you have to admit that you agree that is hot as hell. You feel nervous.

“What if I'm never ready?” you blurt out.

“Well then nobody is going to make you, least of all me, but I think you will be eventually. Can I ask you a personal question?” you nod.

“Why haven't you had sex?”

“I guess I just never met the right person, never felt like I was ready. And then the world ended and it was no longer a concern at all… Until now. And I was always such a nervous person, even before all of this, the idea always scared me.”  his hand strokes your cheek softly.

“What is it that you're nervous about?” he asks.

“I don't know… Pain I guess, I'm scared it will hurt, and there'll be blood. Does it hurt?”

“Maybe a little at first, but it really shouldn't, not if you're relaxed and turned on. Most of the time when it hurts it's because the guys’ an asshole who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, you'll be in good hands with me.”

“Have you ever done that before?” you ask.

“Taken a girl's virginity? Yeah, a couple of times. It's really not that big of a deal. Society puts too much pressure on virginity in general, the bottom line is whether or not you've had a dick in you or not doesn't really mean shit at the end of the day. It doesn't define shit about you.” the reassurance and lack of judgement from Negan eases some of your nerves, but doesn't completely satiate them. Your fears are still there in the back of your mind.

Without the internet to turn to like in the old days before the world fell, you do the next best thing and find some old magazines and start flipping through them for some sex tips. When you are ready you don't want to be a disappointment in bed, you also start materbating, learning about your body and what you like.

The first time is awkward, you don't really know what you're doing and you don't have an orgasm.

The second time you're more confident, more comfortable, laying back on your bed wearing the sexy little nightgown you'd taken from the last batch of lingerie Negan had brought to the wives, you run your hands down over your body, and squeeze your breasts, and softly pinch your nipples.

It feels good, you like it. It sends little tingles down your body directly into your core. While one hand squeezes your breast the other slides down your body to the hem of your panties, slipping under the fabric to tease yourself.

Just then your door swings open and a familiar whistle echoes through your room, your hands freeze and Negan’s whistling choked into silence. He stares at you, clearly shocked but turned on by seeing you like this.

“Are you playing with yourself, honey?” he asks, even though he clearly knows the answer. You nod, withdrawing your hand from between your legs.

“Are you thinking about me touching you instead?” he asks, and you nod again.

“Have you made yourself come like that baby?”

“No.” you admit.

“Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you want, but mind if I stay and watch?” he sees your apprehension and immediately offers reassurance “only if you're comfortable with it, and I won't touch you. Just watch and offer some help if you want.” you finally nod, Negan smiles and locks your door behind him.

“Atta girl, now show me how you turn yourself on?” he sits down in the chair at your desk, spinning it to face the end of your bed and flopping down. You awkwardly reach for your breasts, rubbing your nipples until you feel them swell and the warm heat spreading to your core. You can feel his eyes on you, it makes you a little self conscious.

“You nervous?” he asks.

You nod “A little, this is only my second time doing this. I feel a little weird about this.”

“I can leave if this is too much, it's never too late to take back consent.”

“No, no I want you to stay.” you take a deep breath and let your hand slip lower, reminding yourself that this isn't anything Negan hasn't seen before, and he was here because he wanted to be, because he thought it was sexy.

You lay all the way back, spreading your legs, you feel a little strange and vulnerable under his stare, but you like it.

Your fingers slip back into your panties, and some of your confidence returns when you feel the little shock of pleasure when the tip of one finger brushes over your clit, you tease it again making your hips buck against your hand.

You make eye contact with Negan while you let your finger circle your entrance, you slowly slip it inside for the second time in your life, you're a little surprised at how much wetter you are this time. Is it because Negan is watching you pleasure yourself this time?

You slip another finger inside yourself, and slowly begin to stroke your walls, learning what feels good and what doesn't do much for you.

“That's it baby girl, just do whatever feels right.” he reassurances you.

You keep stroking one spot inside you that feels really good when you touch it, but you don't feel an orgasm coming on yet. Your moans turn from pleasure to frustration after a while.

You can feel yourself ache for release, but you can't reach it.

“What's wrong baby?” Negan asks after a few minutes.

“I can't um…” you trail off awkwardly.

“Come?” he asks raising his eyebrows. You nod.

“Do you want me to help you?” part of you wants to say no, but the other part wants the throbbing ache in your core to be satisfied.

“Okay, I want help.” you finally relent.

Negan stands from the the chair, sitting down on the end of your bed, he gently pulls your hand out of your panties and to your complete surprise raises it to his lips, slipping the fingers that were inside you into his mouth to suck off your juices.

“Just lay back, and try to relax. There's nothing to be afraid of, if anything makes you uncomfortable just tell me and I'll stop okay?” you nod and his hands gently spread your legs.

“Most women can't come from just being fucked, you might just need a little more simulation.” he says, moving your panties aside. His thumb softly circles your clit, and your eyes roll back in your head. Dman his touch feels good, and something so erotic about knowing his fingers are the only ones to have ever touched you there.

“Feel good?” he asked, letting his thumb keep circling your clit and drift lower before going right back up.

“Yes!” you moan, it becomes hard to keep still and you wiggle your hips against his hand.

“That's it, do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?” his thumb stills on your clit, making you whine with frustration.

“I want it.” he uses one hand to hold your hips still and you feel the foreign but definitely not unwelcome feeling of his finger at your entrance.

“There you go, just relax and let me make you feel good,” your hand automatically grips his wrist when you feel his index finger slide inside your heat.

“Oh!” you let out with a little surprised breath as your walls clench around his finger, he gives you a moment to adjust before he adds his middle finger, you feel a little stretched but it isn't painful.

“Still feel good?” he asked, you nod. He gently strokes your walls until he finds the spot that makes you withre against his hand. His tumb begins to circle your clit again at the same time.

“Damn babygirl! You're so tight.”

You take his other hand that isn't between your legs, gripping it tightly.

“You like that huh? You like feeling me fuck you? If you think this feels good wait until you feel the real thing.” you squirm and move your hips against his hand, desperate for more friction.

“You gettin close?” you nod, feeling a coil of pleasure building in your core.

“Just let it happen baby, come nice and hard for me.”

“Negan!” you moan loudly when you feel the coil snap, waves of pleasure wash through your body, making your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl, your back arches, pushing his fingers deeper.

His fingers don't still inside you until the last trimmer of pleasure leaves your body.

It felt even better than you thought it would, your whole body feels loose and relaxed, and everything is tingling with aftershocks.

It feels like Negan scratched some itch deep inside you that you didn't even know that you had until it was gone.

Negan gently removes his hand from between your legs and you open your eyes to see its soaked in your juices. You feel a little embarrassed until he licks the fingers that were inside you clean again.

He gently cleans you up with a tissue and puts your panties back. In place, pulling your nightgown back down to cover you as well.

He lays down next to you, kissing your forehead.

“See? Nothing to be nervous about.”

“Yeah, I feel and idiot now. I could've been enjoying this for years if I hadn't have waited. I'm glad my first time was with you though.” you touch his face.

“I am too. Fuck that was hot, knowing I'm the first person who made you come.”

He moves against you just right and you feel his erection, it makes you remember he needed release too.

“Should I take care of you now?” you ask tentatively.

“Only if you want to, if not it's fine, I can do it myself.”

“Can I watch?” you ask sheepishly.

“Fuck yeah, you sure as shit can.”

He rolls onto his back, tugging his pants and boxers down to free his erection. He was big, it makes you a little nervous again that he won't fit inside you when the time comes.

You watch carefully as he spits in his hand and starts to touch himself. Running his hand up and down his shaft, stopping only to rub his tip where beads of precome form every and now then, learning how he pleasures himself.

You watch his face too, the way he squeezes him eyes shut, the way he groans when he rubs the tip, how a vein in his neck bulges and jaw clenches when he gets close to his orgasm.

It doesn't take long for him to bring himself to the edge, not as long as it took you. You figure it's experience working in his favor.

He lets out a deep moan as he pushes himself over the edge, his body spasming with pleasure as yours did moments ago. He keeps jerking himself until his erection softens, and his hand stills, covered in his come.

It's your turn to take his hand and lick his fingers clean, sucking them into your mouth like he did with them moments ago. They taste bitter and little salty, but you don't mind so much.

“Fuck baby, I can already tell the sex is gonna be great with you.”

“How?”

“You might be innocent right now, but there's a dirty little girl underneath it all. Trust me on that.”

[forgenotes-archived]

                           𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂

                         bold what applies to your muse. italicize what sometimes applies.                                                                       repost, don’t reblog!

tagged by: stole off @pocketknlves​ : / tagging: @shotblanks​ nd like. everybody else i turned my brain off i love u 

                                𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

                                 𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips / internalized rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

                                𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

                                 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

                                 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

                                 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

[streetsteel]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂

bold what applies to your muse.

italicize what sometimes applies.

repost, don’t reblog!

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts /  mountainside meditation  /  empty ski lodges  /  calm before storms / electric charged air  /  lighthouses  /  road trips with no destination  / desert skies /  summer breeze through a cottage window  /  cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season  / wind-chimes  /  big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away  /  a wolf howling in the distance  /  fingers dancing along spine /  a hug from an old friend  /  afternoon tea  /  wild flowers off abandoned highways

𝐑𝐄𝐃

wine soaked lips /  internalized rage  /  blood on knuckles  /  four poster beds  /  barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes  /  lipstick marks  /  murder mysteries  /  old barns with hay lofts  /  mouth full of weapons  /  possessive love  /  dark chocolate  /  apple orchard visits  /  handwritten letters /  fresh strawberry fields  /  cherry flavored chapstick  /  soft candlelight  /  vintage pumps  /  tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖

community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍

marshy swamps / cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / labored breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grottos / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theater productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊

crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theaters / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

tagged by: @drakenskies​ said ‘you’ and turns out it was me tagging: how bout tag me if you do it? :3

[icequeenoriginal]

New Super Sarcastic Bros.

Pairings: Logicality and Prinxiety

Note: Me? Still obsessed with @sugarglider9603‘s Mario Au? More likely than you think. This was so fun to write so I did get a bit carried away. I hope you still enjoy it

Trigger Warnings: Deceit, kidnapping, tied up and gagged, knocked out, unconscious, hurt/comfort, manipulation, slight panic attack, fighting, swearing (I’m trying to get better at tagging triggers)

“You saved me, Lo!”

“It’s what I do.”

“You did awesome Virgil!”

“T-Thanks Ro. Let’s get you home.”

Bowceit rolled his eyes as he sat under the rumble of his once grand castle. He waited for the plumbers and the princes to leave before he got up and wiped the dirt off of him. Another plan had failed. He had lost to Logan and Virgil yet again and had neither Patton nor Roman as his husband.

Bowceit walked around, picking up the unconscious danger noodles from their various spots in the debris. He instructed the magikoopas that were still alive (and trying to flee) to rebuild the castle. He flopped into his throne as he watched the walls rise up once again around him. His decorations and lava were put back into their proper place. Slowly, his children woke up and choose to wait outside their rooms for them to be rebuilt. Leaving their father to sulk in his chair.

Once the castle was completely rebuilt, Bowceit made his way over to the kitchen. Pulling his favorite mug down, he turned to see one of his faithful Koopas making him a big pot of coffee. It was his tradition that after he lost to the Sarcastic Bros., he would drown his sorrows in coffee. His daughter had banned him from eating ramen noodles out of the coffee cup anymore.

Bowceit sighed as he took a sip. He was so exhausted. Every week he’d kidnap one of the princes, only to be defeated by the pesky plumbers. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many different plans he came up with, nothing worked.

He silently contemplated giving up. He could continue being a single dad to his eight wonderful children. He could focus on running his kingdom instead of fighting. His stuff wouldn’t be broken as often as it was. Maybe, just maybe, he should stop.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the castle’s door. Finding that odd, Bowceit walked over. Upon opening it, he was greeted by a young woman. She was wearing a red dress and a red hat. Her eyes and hair were chocolate brown.

Bowceit would have found her beautiful if he wasn’t gay.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Hello there!”

“Hello” he replied deadpanned. He had noticed that in one of her hands was a red suitcase. He figured she was there to sell him something. He hoped the danger noodles would stay in their rooms or he’d lose a lot of coins fast.

“I hope I’m not bothering you but I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the Mushroom Kingdom.”

Bowceit raised an eyebrow and raised the coffee to his mouth. “The Mushroom Kingdom? What business do you have there? Visiting the prince?”

The woman smile fondly “Oh nothing like that. I’m visiting two friends of mine. I doubt you know them.”

“Try me. I have a lot of...business...in the Mushroom Kingdom.” Bowceit took a sip of his coffee.

“Their names are Logan and Virgil” Bowceit immediately spat out his coffee and had a coughing fit.

The woman jumped and patted his back “Are you alright?!” She patted his back in an attempt to help him.

Suddenly, Bowceit straightened up “Yes, yes, I’m alright. What-What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, my name is Valerie. Do you know Logan and Virgil?”

Bowceit suddenly smiled and his confident demeanor returned. He straightens up and even fixed his leather jacket with his free hand. “I do. They’ve…done some work for me. How do you know them?”

The woman now known as Valerie replied “Oh we go way back! We’re longtime friends. Plus they…Oh, you probably don’t want to hear me ramble.”

“No please, I need to draw up a map anyway for you. Come in, come in.” Valerie was impressed by this man’s kindness and followed him into the castle.

“Would you like something to drink or eat as we talk?”

Valerie shook her head, wanting this visit to be short. She told Bowceit the basics, figuring the boys wouldn’t want a random stranger to know. This was more than enough for the villain. He concluded that the brothers have enough history with this woman to care about her wellbeing. Care enough that they would definitely come and try to rescue her.

Valerie tugged on his arm to pull him back into reality. “So, may I have that map now?”

“Map? Oh yes, the map! Excuse me for a moment!” Bowceit walked off and rubbed his hands together maniacally. Oh, how perfect this was! This was a sign that he mustn’t stop being a villain. He is one level pull away from trapping this woman. She will make perfect bait for the Sarcastic Bros while he can marry any prince of his choosing.

Bowceit suddenly stopped walking. A thought crossed his mind.

The princes.

The same princes who make no secret of how jealous they can get. Roman was more outward and Patton was inward but it was still apparent.

The princes who have never met this woman.

The princes who he wants to punish for helping to ruin his plans.

Bowceit smirked and quickly drew up a map. He walked over to her, forming his new plan with every step. “Here you are, my dear.”

Valerie popped up happily and took the map. “Oh thank you! It was nice meeting you.” Bowceit waved as she left.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

~

Prince Patton groaned as he rubbed his face. This was the worst week of the year. It was nothing but non-stop work and meetings. Usually, he would go as slowly as he could so he wouldn’t fry his brain. But now that he had Logan, Patton wanted to get it out of the way as soon as he possibly could. That didn’t make it easier.

Logan was a god’s sent for the past few days. He constantly checked on Patton, gives him neck and back messages and makes sure he sleeps and eats. Patton was currently distracted by Logan making him tea, so much so that he nearly fell out of his throne.

Logan walked in, carefully holding a  teacup. “Here you go dear, take a quick break. I’ll look over some of those papers.”

Patton stood up and took the drink gratefully. He was clearly exhausted. “Thank you, love. You’re amazing.” Patton took a sip and felt the peace run down his throat to calm him down. Logan sat on the throne and began looking over the plans Patton had for building stronger houses for the Thomases and Talyns in the event of a Bowceit attack.

Patton smirked and sat innocently on Logan’s lap. Logan didn’t look up from his work, only wrapping his free arm around Patton. Patton leaned into the embrace and began to gently kiss Logan’s ear, cheek, and neck. Logan’s face progressively got redder by the minute and his focus figuratively jumped out the window. He turned his head slowly to captured Patton’s traveling lips.

They were interrupted by a sudden squeal. They both turned to see a very delighted Valerie. “Omg, Logan!”

Logan was shocked to see his old friend but no less happy to see her “Valerie!” He quickly picked up Patton and put the prince in his throne before running off to hug her.

“It’s been so long!”

“My, have you’ve grown!”

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

Patton felt his heart shatter as he witnessed the exchange. Who was this beautiful woman hugging his boyfriend? Logan has certainly never mentioned her before. Was she his ex…? No…Logan told him he never dated anyone before. He wouldn’t lie...right…?

Patton took a deep breath and walked over with the most genuine smile he could. “Hello there.”

Valerie curtsied “Hello your majesty.”

“Please, call me Patton.” She talks his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “And you are?”

The woman smiled “My name is Valerie.”

Logan patted her shoulder and spoke proudly “She is a dear friend of mine. We go way back!”

“Dear friend? Honey, I’m your best friend! Virgil’s too!”

Patton’s heart began to break as he watched the exchange between the two. They were so close, in a whole different world. A world Patton wasn’t allowed in.

Valerie tugged on Logan’s arm “Come on! You must show me around.”

Logan didn’t hesitate “Of course!” They ran out of the castle, leaving the prince with nothing but his work and a slowly growing pain in his chest.

~

Virgil sat bored outside Roman’s meeting hall. He started hitting his legs to create a beat. He figured he could start writing a new song. One for Roman so he wouldn’t stab himself out of frustration. He felt so sorry for his boyfriend. Virgil could barely handle the small amount of paper required for when he was a plumber, he could never imagine what mountains Roman has to climb as a leader of a kingdom.

A Talyn ran up to his with a newly acquired cell phone. The plumbers had them installed mainly so that the princes could communicate easily or if the plumbers needed the other’s help.

“It’s your brother.” Virgil nodded and took the phone, a silent thank you.

“Hell? Hey Lo, what’s up? Seriously? No way! I’ll be right there!” Virgil put the phone down and went to knock on the door that separates him and Roman. He shook his head, he couldn’t possibly bother Roman while he was doing serious business. He didn’t want to get in the way. Smiling to himself, Virgil took off. He figured Roman wouldn’t mind.

~

An hour later, Roman exited the room, feeling accomplished. He got a good amount of work taken care of which met he could spend time with Virgil. As Roman began to fantasize about what they could do, he saw that the chair that Virgil was occupying was empty. He had to ask several different Talyns and Thomases before finding the one who gave Virgil the phone.

“His brother called, your majesty, and then he took off.”

“Thank you.” Roman went to his room and scooped up all the documents he could and placed them in a bag. He figured Patton had been kidnapped again and Logan called Virgil for his help. He hopped into his carriage and hoped the Mushroom Kingdom was alright. Upon seeing everything too peaceful in the kingdom though, Roman began to wonder if there was another reason Virgil left.

As Roman walked into the castle, he barely dodged the flying bowl thrown his way. A few Talyns and Thomases were worried as they clean up after their angry prince. They practically pushed him into the kitchen, begging him to calm Patton down.

Roman could almost laugh at what he was seeing. Patton and his kitchen were covered in flour and dough as Patton angrily stirred in his bowl, sending the ingredients all around the room. Roman grabbed a cookie before stealing the bowl from Patton with a smirk.

“Yo Pat! What did the bowl do to you?” Roman’s smirk dropped when he saw Patton look down at ground instead of reply. Roman gently lifted his chin and saw that tears were forming in his eyes “What’s wrong?”

Patton tried to blink away his tears. “A woman…”

“A woman?”

Patton nodded “A woman came by…she said she’s Logan’s best friend…he never told me about her.”   

Roman was shocked, Logan was so open with Patton, and a sinking feeling developed in his stomach “Best friend?” “Yeah, Virgil’s too…”

“WHAT?!”

Patton pointed to the window and revealed to Roman the woman hugging Virgil.

Who the hell does she think she is, hugging his man?! Roman balled up his fists and was ready to march right over there and deck her if Patton hadn’t physically restrained him. Roman didn’t fight it, opting to give Patton a hug. He rubbed circles into Patton back and Patton let himself cry.

Roman gave him a soft smile “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Roman grabbed a rag and began to wipe the food and tears off of Patton’s face. This allowed Patton to catch his breath and let more tears fall.

Roman got to Patton’s arms when they noticed their boyfriends and that woman were headed towards the entrance of the castle. Patton abruptly turned and began to wipe his eyes roughly to stop himself from crying. He grabbed the closest sponge and tossed it to Roman. “Start cleaning, please.”

Roman nodded and started wiping the wall. He imagined himself running at Virgil and tackling him to the ground. Not to attack him, just to aggressively make out with him to show the woman needed to back off. He never got the chance though, Logan called out for Patton and Patton shouted back that he was in the kitchen.

Logan and Virgil walked in with big grins on their faces as their boyfriend scrubbed away their sorrows.

“Hey honey, I’m back!”

“Ro! I didn’t know you were here!” Roman nearly threw the sponge at his head. He really wanted to yell at Virgil for leaving without telling him but Roman also wanted to yell at Logan for making Patton cry.

Logan gave Patton a side hug, oblivious to the pained expression of the prince’s face. “Since we’re all here, how about the five of us talk over tea?”

Roman turned his head to him bewildered as Patton hide his expression behind his bangs. “Five?”

Virgil gently took Roman’s arms “Yeah! We want to introduce you guys to Valerie!”

Roman looked at Virgil and his heart ached. Virgil looked so excited to introduce him, how could he say no to that?

Both Princes nodded their heads. Patton even told them to take Valerie to the common room so the princes could make the tea. That allowed the princes to regain their composure, however fake, especially after the punch to the gut of their boyfriends running off too quickly for their tastes.

Roman gripped the sink as Patton started up the kettle “We’re going to join them, aren’t we?”

Patton sucked in his breath “Yup.”

“Wonderful.”

~

Patton’s teacup was shaking in his hands “S-So, h-how did you guys met?” Patton took a sip to calm himself down. Tea always helped.

If anyone noticed that the prince was acting strangely, no one voiced it. Virgil decided to start the tale “Lo and I used to live in New Donk City, where Valerie is from.”

“Thanks for telling me about that.” Roman thought bitterly.

Logan continued “But we didn’t know each other. The day we really met was when we rescued Valerie from this crazy monkey who climbed up the tallest building in the city, the one we happened to be working in.”

Patton felt like he was going to throw up “I thought I was your first rescue…”

“It was nothing Valerie,” Logan replied

“Nothing?! Without you two, my city wouldn’t have its mayor.”

Both Roman nearly choked on his tea while Patton’s cookie missed his mouth. Patton gently put the cookie down and whipped his face before answering “Y-You’re the mayor?”

“Oh yes! I forgot to mention that.” The princes sighed. Great, she was basically like them. There was nothing to top it.

Roman wasn’t going to give in that easily “So what happened next? Did you two date or something?” He gestured between Logan and Valerie, not wanting to even think that Virgil was a possibility. The three city folk erupted in laughter. Valerie regained her composer first. “No, no! One of them would have to be attracted to women for me to date them. No, we’re just great friends.” Valerie smiled and leaned over the table, taking a hand from each of the princes. “I’m so happy my boys found such great guys like you.”

Once she let go, the princes exchanged a look that screamed: “She’s a keeper.”

And yet, that didn’t make it hurt less. The princes had never seen their boyfriends smile like this. They seemed so happy spending time with her. They weren’t bogged down with the responsibility of protecting her, they could be normal adults with her. They looked so relaxed, a calmness neither prince could ever remember providing.

It didn’t help that the princes weren’t being included in the conversations.

Roman gave up right away, watching the tea leaf float in his teacup. He couldn’t look at Virgil. He couldn’t watch someone else light up his eyes. He couldn’t accept the fact that someone else made Virgil happy before Roman ever met him and continues to. Roman felt so unneeded, he just wanted to lock himself in his castle so that he didn’t have to face the fact Virgil loved someone else.

Patton tried to jump into the conversations, but it involved inside jokes and memories Patton would never know about. Patton’s eyes fell on Logan. Logan…who is forced to save Patton every week while he only had to save Valerie once. Was that why Logan ran off so eagerly? To have a taste of life without having to put up with him? Patton’s heart shattered. Maybe Logan secretly hated him and was only still with Patton because he was a prince.

Valerie sudden straighten up with a look of realization on her face, snapping the princes’ out of their depressing thoughts. “I almost forgot! I wanted to visit the cafe Talent! .I’ve been told it’s a must do when you visit here”

Roman interjected before either plumber could speak, “O-Oh, you could go to that, or y-you could come and watch the tennis game Pat and I were about to put on!”

Both Virgil’s and Logan’s faces became red fast. A tennis game meant their boyfriends were going to wear their sports outfits. The brothers were not ready for that. They each grabbed Valerie’s arms and lifted her up at out of her chair. “We’ll see you guys after the game!” They ran off quickly, telling Valerie stories of their adventures to block out their fantasies.

“O-Oh okay…” Patton tried to stay positive as he watched them leave. “You kiddos enjoy yourselves while we have fun…playing tennis…right Roman?” He got no reply. He turned to see Roman walking off. “Roman?”  

Roman walked over to the lake, eyes closed and hands folded. Once he made it to the edge, he abruptly opened his eyes and blurted out a huge scream of pure anger. The scream was so powerful that his people all the way in Sarasaland could hear him. Thankfully, (or unfortunately, if you are Roman) Virgil was walking in the other direction and lost in the conversation so he was unable to hear Roman.

Thomas and Talyn hide fearfully behind their equally terrified prince. Roman walked back over to Patton and smiled “Shall we?”

Patton just nodded his head and followed Roman back into his castle to get changed. In the distance, Bowceit was happily enjoying the spectacle. He threw his head back, almost choking from the laughter. He quickly realized he had finished his popcorn.

“Well, time to get this party started.”

~ They never made it to the tennis courts.

Once they arrived in Patton’s room the change, the princes flopped onto Patton’s bed. They are on different sides of the bed, heads meeting in the middle. Roman gently taps his feet against the headboard before kicking it in anger. He kicked it so hard that he moved so that their shoulders were next to each other.

“Who does she think she is?! Being all perfect and taking all their attention?! She’s hasn’t been around them like we are!” As Roman continued to rant, he waved his arms to strengthen his point. Patton listens intently to avoid giving attention to the aching feeling in his chest.

“And how can Virgil be so comfortable around her! He’s barely comfortable around me and we’re dating! Not to mention living together!” Roman covered his face with his hands “And I can’t even banish her since Virgil likes her so much.” Patton chuckled as Roman turned his head to him “We could kill her.”

Patton hit his arm playfully “Roman Marigold of Sarasaland! What would your mother say?”

“She would say” Roman straighten up and make his voice sound snooty “Roman, as a prince, you must be a host and you must be kind to all. We do not wish ill will onto someone.” His voice changed back to normal “And then she’d tell me to sit up straight or something.”

Patton laughed, that made him feel better. It’s been a while since the two of them were able to have a happy moment like this. They were children again, with no fear of Bowceit and no jealousy plaguing them.

Roman sighed “I can’t blame her though. It’s all me. I’m insecure about our relationship and I’m so afraid of losing him that I act like this but it’ll only result in me pushing him away.”

Patton did a double taken. “Woah, where did that come from?”

“...I’ve been hanging out with Picani too much.”

Patton smiled and gently bumped their heads together “Don’t worry about it, it’s not just you.”

“You?! But you and Logan are perfect together!”

Patton looked away “Perfect? I never heard of a perfect relationship that involves needing weekly rescues?” Patton shook his head and curled up into a ball “I’m so scared he’s going to become sick of rescuing me and he’ll just leave and I’ll be forced to marry Bowceit--”

“Hey, hey.” Roman caught his attention “That’s never going to happen. Sarcastic bros or not, you’re never going to have to be forced to marry that snake. I’ll make sure of it.”

Patton smiled “Thanks, Ro. You’re the best.”

Roman shrugged “It’s what I do.”

They laid there a little while longer, finishing off the cookies made by a stressed Patton. They continued to gossip and complain, just to past the time. Eventually, Patton tapped Roman and said: “Come on, we have work to do.”

Roman whined “No! I don’t want to!”

Patton pulled on his arm “We have to. We both have a bunch of individual work, plus we have to re-establish our alliance.”

Roman sat up. “Fineee. Hey Pat? Are we still each other’s best friend?”

Patton let out an offended noise “Of course we are! Why would you even need to ask?”

Roman dodged the question by continuing with: “So, because we are best friends, we would want our kingdoms to be allies?”

“Yes.”

Roman clapped his hands together “Great! Meeting’s over, let’s go back to complaining about our boyfriends.” Roman flopped back onto the bed.

Patton pulled him off the bed “Get up Roman, I know you don’t want to do this but we have to.”

Roman laid on the floor in protest “No, what I have to be doing is cuddling with Virgil in my bed with the door lock, keeping all my problems outside.”

Patton dropped the papers on him “Up, now.”

Roman sighed and gave in. They both sat on Patton’s bed as they read through the different files. Both of them let out a groan once they got through one packet in half an hour.

Roman looked up at the window and shouted “Hey Bowceit! If you’re planning on kidnapping me, now would be a great time!” Both princes began to laugh until they heard the sudden sound of running feet.

Patton suddenly became terrified “Could it be?!”

Roman shook his head but moved so that he was between Patton and the door “No way. He’s not that stupid to a) stalk us and b) actually listen to anything I say.” Still, Roman had a bad feeling and he reached down for his sword.”

The door bursts open, revealing an out of breath Logan and Virgil with a slightly frustrated Talyn. For a second, Roman wonder if they heard him and he was about to get yelled at.

Talyn pointed at the princes “See? I told you they were fine.” That didn’t seem to be enough for the plumber. They practically threw themselves at their boyfriends. Patton melted into the touch as if he had never been held before even though he was in Logan's arms hours before. He needed this so badly.

Roman was just very confused. He still returned the hug though.

Logan kissed Patton’s head before speaking “Thank god you’re alright.”

Despite all that, Patton was the first one to pull away. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Logan looked down, ashamed “We were taking Valerie to the cafe…”

Patton grabbed his hands so he would continue

“And then Bowceit showed up in his gigantic ship and attacked the town. We fought him off but once the smoke cleared, Valerie was gone. We looked everywhere.”

Patton frowned and Roman shook his head, that villain would never give up.

Virgil continued “We were going to go straight to Bowceit’s castle but we stopped to check on you guys.”

The princes' heads snapped towards him as Logan nodded: “Yes, and when we saw that you guys weren’t at the tennis courts, we feared the worse.”

The princes exchanged a look. Did he say what I think he said?

~

Valerie woke up with a headache and with no idea where she was. She looked around the dark room and saw nothing. Her arms were tied to the arms of a chair and her legs were tied to the legs of the chair. She swore she could see a shadow watching her but when she called out, no one replied. She pulled on the restraints but it was no use.

Suddenly, the shadow moved into the light and she saw the man with the strange face from before. She needed answers now. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

Bowceit smiled “Pardon my rudeness my dear but I did tell you a bit of a lie. Several actually. I felt bad so I brought you here. Let me start over. My name is King Bowceit.”

Valerie tilted her head “King Bowceit? Wait a minute, I know who you are! You’re always kidnapping princes!”

Bowceit scoffed “That’s what everyone one says now thanks to those two jerks you call friends. What really happened was I was supposed to marry one of the princes but those pesky plumbers got in the way. That forced me to use…different methods.”

“So kidnapping princes.”

“You say kidnapping, I say proposing.” “You’re insane!”

“Thank you.” Bowceit walked back into the darkness and flipped on the lights “But really, that’s beside the point, I brought you here to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Valerie was flabbergasted.

Bowceit smirked, “Yes, because, by the time those idiots are done saving you, I’ll be a married man.”

~

Logan turned to Virgil “We should get going.” He looked back at Roman and Patton “you two stay here.”

Virgil nodded “We should get some of the power-ups we have stored here, to make the trip faster.” The twins ran out of the room and to their makeshift armory. Roman got up from his spot on the bed. Roman stood up and his eyebrows pressed together.

“We were an afterthought.”

“Roman…” Patton didn’t want the fighting to continue. Even if he felt the same way as Roman. He gripped his chest, his way of trying to physically stop his heart from breaking.

“We were an afterthought Patton, they were just going to leave. And you know it too. I can tell by the way your holding your chest.” Patton didn’t reply, Roman knew him too well.

Roman groaned “These are our heroes, why can’t someone else save her…?”. Patton looked at the door before verbally agreeing with Roman. He didn’t want Logan to know he felt this way, not yet anyway.

Unbeknownst to Patton; Logan and Virgil had already returned and heard what was said. Logan sighed “They’re angry with us, but we really must go. We should fix this now.”  

Virgil nodded “Right and we have to do this delicately.” Virgil walked up to the princes “You know, Valerie was our first rescue, so she kinda deserves it more than you guys.”

Patton once again had to physically restrain Roman.

“Excellent job Virgil,” Logan stated sarcastically.

“Oh like you could do better”

“I can, and will.” Logan went to cup Patton’s face but Patton moved away from the touch, he did not like being spied on.

“Why does it always have to be you? Why can’t you let anyone else do it?” Patton’s voice dripped with venom. He wasn’t angry at Valerie nor was he angry at Logan, he just had so much pent up emotions that were fighting to escape him.

Logan pulled back. The only other time Patton was ever this hostile was when he was possessed by the Shadow Queen. That’s a time Logan never wanted to revisit. He turned around, his eyes dark “Let’s go, Virgil. We’re wasting time.”

“We’re coming with you.”

~

Bowceit walked out of the room, satisfied with himself when he ran into the danger noodles. “Kids? Is something wrong?”

“Is she going to be our new mother?” Roy asked curiously, the other danger noodles nodded to indicate that’s what they all wanted to ask.

Bowceit smiled sympathetically “Sorry kiddos but no, she’s only the bait.”

Wendy perked up “What, you’re doing something different!”

Bowceit pressed his lips together for a moment “Okay, first, rude. And second, I guess so?”

Wendy started to bounce happily “Can we have a new castle?”

Bowceit was taken back “A new castle? Why do you want a new castle?”

Larry nodded “You’re doing something different, therefore we should have a new castle or at least a new theme.”

“This castle’s look is a bit boring anyway,” Iggy commented

“...I clearly spoil you, children, too much. BUT! You have caught my attention. Did you have any ideas in mind?”

“CASINO CASTLE!” They all scream in unison.

“Casino castle?” Bowceit smiled “I like it. MAGIKOOPAS! COME HERE NOW!”  

~

Logan swirled around, clearly frustrated “What did you say?”

Roman’s arms were crossed by his chest was puffed out “I said, we’re coming with you. Patton and I.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose “And why do you want to come?”

“As the prince of a country, I don’t have to answer that.” Roman step forward and got in Logan’s face. As much as he could since Logan was the tallest.

Logan glared down at him, frustration taking over. There was so tension in the room that Patton found himself holding his breath.  “No,” Logan uttered simply.

Patton winced, Logan sounded so angry. Roman would not back down, he grabbed Patton’s hand and walked out of the room.

Roman and Patton gave off one emotion each as they walked to Roman’s carriage. Anger and Sadness. Hot and Cold. Two opposites, yet they gave off the same amount of energy. An energy that terrified the people to not even blink at them. Though the Talyn who drove Roman’s carriage had to force themselves to ask where the princes want to go, not questioning why they both said ‘Bowceit’s castle’ simultaneously.

It petrified all. All except the plumber who could control it.

The plumbers jumped into the carriage directly after the princes. The couples sat separately from one another. Roman stared out the window, arms and legs crossed. Virgil, who was sitting across from him, looked down. He wanted to look into Roman’s soft eyes. He didn’t mean to snap. Patton looked directly at Logan, longing for forgiveness that wasn’t needed. Logan’s eyes were shut, he was hoping when he opened them, he would be in bed and the day would reset so he could make up for his mistakes.

Patton and Virgil locked eyes and silently agreed to end this fighting. Patton figured the best approach would be to switch spots. Not because he was planning to throw himself onto Logan, don’t be preposterous. Patton pointed at himself with one hand and Virgil with the other then switch them, hoping that it would convey his thought process. He got a confused look in return. Patton looked around before gesturing to Roman then Virgil. Virgil made an “oh!” face and nodded. Patton sighed of relief, Virgil knew exactly what Patton meant--

“Hey Ro!” Patton facepalmed, Virgil understood nothing.

Roman said nothing, he didn’t even turn. The only motion he made was to lift up his umbrella and pull down a curtain that cut the carriage in half with the handle. Mission failed.

Virgil sighed “Lo, my boyfriend’s mad at me and I don’t know what to do.” Virgil didn’t care who heard him, he just missed Roman. He looked at the unmoving curtain. If the princes were listening, there was no indication. Roman was but he was still staring out the window. He was lost in anger.

Logan shook his head “Roman is acting irrationally and is an overall stubborn person. This will eventually pass and everything will be fine.”

Both Patton and Virgil waited for Roman to stab Logan through. He didn’t. The curtain stayed still. Patton didn’t even have to hold him back. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink, the prince was quiet. The prince was quiet. That wasn’t a good sign.

Virgil began to panic “Great, just great. Roman is now never going to forgive me, I’m going to be banished from his kingdom and lose the best thing that has ever happened to me!” Logan rubbed his back and instructed Virgil to breathe. He didn’t notice though. He was focused on a certain sound. A familiar sound. A pleasant sound. It was faint, nearly a whisper. It was Roman’s singing. Roman sang to help Virgil calm down from a panic attack. Virgil was sure he was just imagining it.

He had no time to find out because the carriage suddenly stopped and sent the princes flying forward.

The sudden weight caused the curtain to rip off the ceiling of the carriage, involuntary catching the princes. Roman immediately sat up and fixed his hair. He then turned to check on Patton. “You good Pat?”

Patton nodded and tried catching his breath “Yes, I landed on something.” Patton patted the ground and his eyes suddenly widen when he felt it was uneven. He jumped back, he knew what he landed on. Logan got up from under the curtain and rubbed his head. He looked over Patton for any injuries but when he came upon Patton’s eyes. They were filled with fear and staring back at them. Was Patton afraid of him? He pulled the hand he had reached out to touch Patton back and looked away. He didn’t want to frighten him more.

Patton’s heart shattered. He made Logan upset. Logan thought he was being irrational in his jealousy, he had only said Roman’s name but Patton knew Logan was talking about him too. He was so scared that he would make Logan hate him. Now he didn’t even want to touch Patton. Patton was crushed.

Roman pulled Virgil up and even fixed his hat. Virgil smiled softly but Roman looked away. He was still angry, he wasn’t going to be the one to apologize again. Roman let out a “Hmph!” and made his way to the door.

Logan grabbed his arm and pulled him towards Patton “Stay. Here.” Logan grabbed Virgil and left before Roman could protest. The now damaged carriage was surrounded by Bowceit’s minions. The twins saw this as an opportunity to get their anger out. The enemies were dealt with very quickly, to say the least.

Roman glared at the shut door, he wasn’t planning on sitting around. He grabbed his umbrella and Patton’s hand and they walked out. He didn’t even have to drag Patton this time. Patton wanted to prove to Logan that he was worthy and to win his love back.

They spoke to the Talyn and informed them to keep the carriage there. The princes instructed Talyn that they should call some other Talyns to help fix the carriage but do not wait for the princes. They were going to finish the journey on foot.

The Sarcastic Bros actually didn’t notice the princes were following them until Roman jumped over Logan to get the flag at the end of the world. For Roman and Virgil, it became a race. A race for Virgil to close the distance between them and Roman to lengthen it. Roman wasn’t ready to talk yet. For Logan and Patton, it was like a game of ‘Hide and Seek’, where Patton did the hiding and Logan did the seeking. Patton wasn’t necessarily trying to hide from Logan, it was just that Patton wanted to show off his strength without any help

Despite all that, they actually made very good progress on getting to Bowceit. It was shocking how well they worked together, even when they were this emotional.

~

A Hammer Bro. sheepishly walked over to Bowceit. Bowceit was being fitted for a silver glitter suit with matching silver top hat. He looked happy. Crap.

“M-Master!”

Bowciet turn to it. “Yes? What is it?”

“Patton…was not in his castle…”  

“What?!” The hammer bro jumped back, brought its hands up as if it was praying.

“W-We check the entire castle. We even attacked the kingdom, but he wasn’t there.”

Bowceit rubbed his temples “So why would you come here instead of going to get Prince Roman?”

The Hammer Bro. bite its lip “W-We did, also nothing.”

Bowceit clenched his teeth. Those plumbers weren’t smart enough to hide the princes, were they? “Find them. Now. I have a wedding chapel and no prince to get married in it!” The Hammer Bro ran off as Bowceit Jr. slithered in.

“Dad! Dad! You’ll never guess what I saw when I was in Ice Zone!” The danger noodle was practically dancing as he spoke.

Bowceit smiled and rubbed his son’s head “What did you see?”

“Mr. Roman and Patton were there! They were fighting and everything!”

Bowceit raised his eyebrows. This certainly was a different day. He sent Bowceit Jr. to join his siblings in the playroom. Bowceit pondered on what to do. If the princes were fighting, then they weren’t as affected by jealousy as Bowceit previously thought. Or maybe they were.

He wanted to find out.

~

Patton was exhausted. He was drained physically and especially emotionally. He wouldn’t stop, Logan was too important to him. Logan took notice of the prince’s slumped shoulder and yawns and forced the group to stop. “We should make camp.”

Everyone looked at him, bewilder. “Camp? Since when do we make camp?” Virgil asked

“Since we have two monarchs with us.” Patton looked down and hugged himself. Logan was frowning. Logan had his back turned to Patton. Logan was angry at him. Patton walked off and sat on a rock. Only Roman seemed to notice.

Logan used the mostly intact curtain and an array of sticks to craft a makeshift tent. “It can fit about two people maybe. Roman, Patton, you two take the tent. Virgil and I will be fine out here.” Logan was facing the tent, hands on his hips. Oblivious to the situation unfolding.

Roman stormed up to him, stared straight into Logan’s eyes and threw his sword into the tent. “Congratulations, you are now one of the only two people to ever make Patton cry. You should be so proud.” Roman walked off but in the opposite direction of Patton.

Logan's stomach flipped as he slowly turned to face Patton’s spot. To his horror, Patton was curled up into a ball, shaking. Logan couldn’t hear him but he knew Patton was crying. Logan slowly walked over and wrapped his arms around Patton. Patton’s head shot up but he otherwise didn’t move. Logan buried his head into Patton’s shoulder and pulled the prince close. Patton action turned Patton into butter.

“I’m so sorry for upsetting you, my love. The thought of you crying makes my mind go dark but to be the cause of it, there’s no greater crime. Getting your cold shoulder worse than frostbite. Your scorn is worse than the heat of any star. To earn your wrath, I must have done some heinous. I don’t know what I did to make you angry but I apologize for it. I hope you will forgive me.” Logan said softly, muffled by the prince’s garment. That didn’t make them any less perfect. It was exactly what Patton needed to hear. He only had one question.

“Oh, Lo…who said I was mad at you? I thought you were mad at me!” Patton exclaimed

Logan picked his head up, looking into Patton’s eyes to see if he’s joking “Darling, why on Earth would I ever be mad at you?”

Patton looked down, fixating his gaze on Logan’s lips. “It didn’t seem like you wanted me here or around, generally…”

Logan frowned “Patton, the day I don’t want you around is the day I’m dying so I won’t see you mourn.”

Patton bit his lip doubtfully “It didn’t seem like it, especially after Valerie arrived. You looked so happy spending time with her and you never asked me to come, so what was I supposed to think? You never told me she even existed!”

Logan cupped Patton’s face. “Patton-cake, were you jealous?” Patton nodded and moved closer to Logan. Logan smiled softly. “Oh my love, I’m sorry you felt that way. You have nothing to fear though, my love for you is unending. I apologize for not asking you to come, I didn’t want to distract you from your work.” The kiss they shared was as magical as their first one.

Once they pulled away, Patton yawned. Logan kissed his head and smiled “Get some rest love, you need it.”

Patton nodded and kissed Logan’s cheek. He walked into the tent as Logan used the spot Patton was occupying to sketch the stars. Patton climbed into the tent carefully to avoid knocking over what Logan had made for him.

He noticed that on top of Roman’s sword, there was a small ball shaped object on it. Knowing how much Roman cared about his sword, Patton flicked it away. Suddenly it started to let out a gas that was trapped inside it. Patton felt his eyelids become heavy and he passed out almost instantly.

For a few seconds, there seemed to be no explanation to what had happened to the prince. That is until two Buzzy Beetles crawled into the tent and shoved themselves between Patton and the ground. They slowly carried Patton out of the tent, making sure to go unnoticed. It was slow and painful for the minions, one wrong mistake and Logan would be crushing them. As soon as Patton was inches away from the Flying Koopas, they picked him up and flew away as quickly as they could.

Once again, Logan didn’t notice.

~

Virgil watched Logan embrace Patton for a few moments, he was proud of his brother. He turned and gulped, ready to face Roman. He planned on doing the same as his brother since it seemed to work.

Keyword being planned to.

Once he got a few feet from Roman, the prince turned his head sharply. Roman was wearing a glare. It was enough to make Virgil raise his hands and slowly back away.

Roman turned his head back “I thought you were Logan…”

Virgil sighed of relief “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Roman looked up at the stars. “Not disappointed”

Virgil stepped closer “Then what?”

“Frustrated, angry, a little bit sad.” Roman slowly turn to face Virgil.

“But why?” Virgil took another step towards Roman.

Roman frowned “You left.” Roman stood up “You left and didn’t tell me you were leaving.” Both Roman and Virgil took a step forward. “You did all that to spend time with someone who you are very close to. Someone you’ve never told me about.” Roman took another step forward.

A million sentences ran Virgil’s head. A million apologizes. A million ‘I love you’s. A million explanations. A million cynical remarks. A million jokes.

But all that could come out was: “You’re jealous.”

Roman rolled his eyes. He couldn’t tell if that was a statement or question but he was too stubborn to ask. The couple turned their backs to one another. Roman slumped his shoulders, he really didn’t want to keep fighting, but he couldn't’. It was his nature to just fight, fight, fight until the bitter end. It was who he was. It was who he had to be.

Virgil rubbed his arm absently, that didn’t work. He needed to choose his words carefully. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Roman, you always get jealous…with other guys…and I…can’t take it anymore.” Roman whipped around, ready to plead with Virgil when a hammer hit him directly in the back of the head and rendered him unconscious. Before Roman could hit the ground, a Magikoopa used its magic to not only muffle the sound of the hammer but also to catch Roman. Virgil didn’t turn, he was working on what to say next. “I can’t take seeing you sad and suffering. I want to fix it, I want to help you.” Virgil smiled “So what do you say?” Virgil turned to see nothing.

Roman was gone.

Virgil sucked in his breath. Had Roman left before he finished? Did Roman think he was mad at him? Did Roman misinterpret what he said? Did Roman not want to accept his apology? Had he pushed Roman to run away?

Virgil ran to the camp, frantic. “Logan! I fucked up!”

Logan arched an eyebrow. “In what way?”

Virgil paced back and forth as he spoke “I was trying to make up with Roman and now he’s gone and I think he’s mad and now I don’t know what to do and now you’re giving me a look and…” Virgil began to pant, he had run out of words and energy.

Logan pulled him into a hug and rubbed gentle circles into his back. “Breathe Virgil. Remember, 4-7-8.” Virgil nodded and eventually calmed down. Logan gave him a small smile “Let’s wake Patton and find Roman, okay?”

Virgil smiled and nodded, he liked the sound of that. Logan poked his head into the tent slowly so he wouldn’t startle Patton. He frowned when he saw nothing but Roman’s sword. “That’s odd.”

Virgil tilted he head “What’s wrong?”

Logan stood up straight and pulled out Roman’s sword “Patton is missing as well.”

Virgil sighed of relief “Oh thank god. He’s not mad at me, just kidnapped.” It took a moment before Virgil processed his own words “Oh crap, Roman’s been kidnapped.”

Logan groaned “Most likely along with Patton. Wonderful, now we have three people to worry about.”

Virgil began to hyperventilate “Make that four.”

~

“...Ro…Rom...Roman!” Roman’s head jerk forward suddenly, a big mistake as it worsen the splitting headache he had he had. Roman attempted to get up and groaned when he found himself chained. Not this again…

Patton felt the relief wash over when he felt Roman stir behind him. He was shocked when he awoke to see he was no longer in his tent and it only grew worse as he slowly realized what had happened. He just hoped no one was hurt.

Roman wanted to ask Patton if he was alright, but the words died as the reached his tongue. Roman’s head was still blaring, but not from the injury. The argument with Virgil kept playing over and over, make Roman sick to his stomach. The guilt consumed Roman. He had truly screwed up, and there was nothing he could do about it now. Patton

Suddenly, spotlights turn on, blinding Patton and Roman. They now could see that they were chained to the wheelhead of a gigantic roulette wheel. The pockets were pink and orange, the princes could only imagine what it meant. Looking up at the balcony, they could Valerie trapped in large prize ball, looking terrified. Bowceit stood beside her, in his shiny silver sequin suit and holding a cane.

Roman burst out laughing “HAHAHA!! YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS!!”

Bowceit groaned “Oh great, Roman’s awake. Wonderful. Just what I needed.”

Roman smiled proudly “I live to serve.”  That made Patton giggle.

Bowceit groaned and did something so extra, it even impressed Roman. He climbed off his balcony, climbed into the roulette wheel, and climbed up the wheelhead, all to slap Roman across the face.

Bowceit walked back to his spot, his wicked smile returning. “Now I’ve heard from a little birdy that you two think I’m not very fair.”

Roman narrowed his eyes “No you didn’t. You heard it from us, to your face, said among other things.”

“Roman, I swear to god, I will slap you again.”

Roman smirked “By all means, do it. Take your time even.”

“I’m not falling for that again.” Bowceit mumbled

Roman leaned forward “What was that?”

Bowceit groaned but took a deep breath, ignoring Roman to continue his speech. “Well, I want to let you both know that I am going to fix this. Instead of me picking who I marry, this handy-dandy roulette wheel will.” Photos of the princes appeared on screens behind the pockets. “And to show just how good I can be, I’ll let Valerie go with the prince who isn’t picked. Now, isn’t that just so nice of me?”

All three hostages voted no.

“WELL I DON’T CARE, LET’S START!” Bowceit pulled a lever and a large white ball appeared. There was a pause as a giant plunger,  a thing you would normally find on a pinball machine, pulled back like on a pinball machine and sent the ball flying, round and round the roulette wheel.

Roman began working his way out of the chains, noticing what a sloppy job Bowceit had done this time. As Roman pulled his leg up to stand, he noticed that his photo slowly turned into Patton’s. Roman immediately sat back down and the picture turned back to Roman.

Patton’s eyes widen “Ro, did you see that?”

“Yup…”

Patton bit his lip “What should we do?”

Roman looked up, the ball was getting closer and closer to the pockets by the second, they needed to act quickly. “I have an idea pat. On three, we get up at the same time.”

“Got it.”

“One, two, three.” the princes both hopped up, keeping the same weight on the sensors. Per Roman’s instructions, they managed to get themselves out of the chains, each movement perfectly timed to be done at the same time. However, there was one more challenge, Bowceit had them chained  on a small platform attached near the top of the wheelhead, it was very high up. The ladder was small enough for only one of them to go down, meaning whoever went first was dooming the other. Not to mention Patton was terrified of heights and didn’t seem to be moving now.

The ball was very close to the pockets now, they were trapped.

Virgil wants to break up with you because of how jealous you get. He never told you about this important person in his life. Does he really love you? Roman shook his head, he wasn’t going to let his panic thoughts takeover now.

Patton began to hyperventilate, he had no idea how they were going to escape now.

An idea popped into Roman’s head and he gulped. He turned his head to Patton “Patton?”

“Yeah Ro?”

“Forgive me”

“Why would I--” Patton was cut off by his own screaming. Roman kicked him off the ledge and sent him flying to the ground. Once Patton was in the air, Roman immediately jumped off the ledge. He hope that because neither man was on a sensor, the pictures would go back to blank.

Roman’s plan almost worked.

The only problem was that he waited a second to make sure Patton was off the ledge, that secure his picture on every pocket. It didn’t matter that he jumped, it didn’t matter that he was currently climbing out of the roulette wheel with Patton.

The ball landed on a pocket with his picture. He was chosen to be Bowceit’s husband.

Bowceit’s booming voice sent a shiver down his spine “Congratulations Roman! You are tonight’s winner!” A claw suddenly grabbed Roman and dragged him to Bowceit. Patton grabbed Roman’s hand and tried to pull him away but it was no use. Patton went tumbling backwards and Roman was struggling against Bowceit’s grip. Bowceit Jr. used his tail to press a button and the ball that held Valerie went tumbling towards Patton. It open once it was right in front of the prince and open. Patton quickly helped her out of it.

Bowceit chuckled “It has been a pleasure playing with you but we must be going!” Bowceit paused and exchanged a smirk with  “Oh what the heck, one more game.” Wendy pulled a level and the roulette wheel disappeared. Suddenly, three walls appeared around Patton and Valerie. The walls got close enough that the prince and the mayor were touching shoulders. The walls began to move and pushed them towards the edge. Patton ran to the edge to see what their doom was only to jump back.

Apparently Bowceit decided that they would be trapped on a mechanical floating island, high above the ground.

Patton pressed his back against the wall, panic swelling up in him again. This was his worst nightmare come true.

~

Bowceit dragged Roman to the chapel, Roman noticed that it definitely had been moved. Bowceit placed him in the back of the church where there were chains waited for Roman.

Roman rolled his eyes ‘You sure had everything planned out, didn’t you?”

Bowceit laughed “Of course I did! I had a partner. Lady Luck was the integral part to my plan.”

Roman raised an eyebrow “And what does that mean?”

Bowceit locked the chains around Roman’s limbs “You see, I was expecting you to escape as quickly as possible and Patton would be chosen. But, I should have expected that you would sacrifice yourself. It was a 50/50 chance really.”

Roman was shocked “Y-You really didn’t know…?” Bowceit smirked “It’s called a gamble my dear.” Bowceit ran to the front, extending Roman’s chains so that they reached the other end of the chapel. He pulled out a pair of dice “I lied before, this is the final game.”

~

Logan and Virgil arrived at Bowceit’s castle as there was only about three feet of flooring under Patton and Valerie.

Logan was horrified “PATTON! VALERIE!”

“LOGAN! VIRGIL!”

“YOU TWO ARE GOING TO HAVE TO JUMP!”

Patton shook his head “Jump?! Are you crazy?!” There was two feet left when Patton patted his his sides out of nervousness. It was then he felt his umbrella was, after everything that happened, still attached to belt. Feeling it in his hands, his confidence returned. Opening it, Patton took Valerie’s hand and jumped. The umbrella caused them to float down slowly. Patton locked eyes with Logan and suddenly got an absolutely crazy idea in him mind.

Patton spoke softly “Valerie, could you please take the umbrella?”

Valerie nodded. Once she got one hand securely on the umbrella, Patton let go entirely. He found himself smiling. He wasn’t scared, he was excited. Within seconds, he was safely in Logan’s arms, like he knew he would land.

Logan pressed his forehead against Patton and whispered “That was crazy.”

Patton giggled “people do crazy things when they’re in love.”

Logan gently placed Patton on his own two feet. “I hope this means we are, as the kids say, ‘officially gucci’?”

Patton laughed and kissed Logan’s cheek. “Of course.”

Virgil made sure Valerie was securely on the ground before running around, looking for Roman. Patton moved away from logan and spoke sadly ‘Roman was taken by Bowceit.”

Virgil paused his pacing. ‘What direction?”

Patton pointed to the balcony and that was all Virgil needed. He used the flying Koopas as makeshift stairs that lead him straight to the chapel.

Logan found a hiding spot for Patton and Valerie before following Virgil. Patton and Valerie only had to exchange a look before they ran after the brothers to help them save Roman.

~

Roman was truly in hell. Bowceit didn’t even let him go down the aisle on his own accord. With each roll of the dice, Roman was pulled forcefully towards the altar, the chains digging into his wrists. It took Bowceit rolling an 11, a 15 and a 5 to get him to the altar. Clearly the dices had been rigged.

The Koopa who was being the priest began to speak. “Dearly beloveds, we are gathered today in the presence of these witnesses to join this king and this prince in Holy Matrimony. If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Both Bowceit and Roman looked at the door. They waited a few moments but nothing happened.

Bowceit threw his head back in joy “Ha! Looks like your little hero isn’t coming! Looks like he really like that girl more than you.”

Roman growled but looked down, he wasn’t going to allow himself to be tricked by Bowceit’s words once again. Though, he couldn’t just ignore than aching feeling in his chest. It was so loud, he could barely hear what the Koopa was saying.

“And now for the rings.”

Virgil kicked open the chapel down “RING, RING! GET AWAY FROM MY MAN BITCH!”

Roman sighed happily, hearts practically forming around him as he cupped his own face. Bowceit rolled his eyes “THAT DIDN’T EVEN RHYME!”

Needless to say, the fight ended just as Valerie and Patton appeared at the chapel.

Virgil undid the chains and looked at Roman, slightly unsure of what to say or do. “A-Are you okay?” Roman responding by tackling Virgil and kissing him passionately repeatedly.

~

Once Roman released Virgil from the onslaught of kisses and apologizes, Valerie embraced the princes.

“I’m so glad you two are alright, I can’t believe you guys go through that on the weekly.”

The princes happily hugged her back. “It’s nothing, we’re sorry you got dragged into it.” Roman spoke confidently.

Patton nodded “And if it’s any consolation, we would like to spend some time with you, to get to know you truly.”

Valerie wrapped her arms around each of their shoulders “I would love that. In fact, I have plenty of embarrassing stories to tell you two about your heroes.”

Patton and Roman exchanged smirks much to their boyfriends’ dismay. She truly was a keeper.

~

Tag list:

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[jbbarnesandnoble]

Forever and Always: Part 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to date, until someone got in between you two. After a year without seeing him, he pops up in your life again, and old feelings with him?Harsh words can never taken back, but can they be forgiven?

Chapter Summary: You go out for coffee with an old friend/Thanksgiving day

Word Count: 3,567 (wow, This is the most I’ve ever written for this fic)

Warnings: None really:)

A/N: I’m pretty happy with this part, not gonna lie. I did want to split it into two parts. Because I wanted Thanksgiving to be a by its self. But then I thought about it and was like ‘screw it’ I’ll just leave it as one. Also, the writing gets kinda messy/bad towards the end. I worked on most of this part today and found myself just wanting to be done with it. I hope you all like this part! Please leave some feed back. If you want me to tag you in this series please feel free to let me know!

Autumn has always been your favorite season. You love the way the trees turn from green to orange, yellow and brown. The way that everything smells like cinnamon, apples and pumpkin. It made you feel happy and warm inside.  

When you and Bucky were still together, every Fall he would ‘surprise’ you by taking you apple and pumpkin picking afterwards he would take you to get hot apple cider at your favorite coffee shop, to warm up from the brisk Autumn air. He did it every year, even before you started dating. It was little things like that, that made you fall so hard for him.

You glance at the calendar placed on the small desk in your room. Thanksgiving is only a week away. You used to love the Holiday, but now it only brings back bitter memories from a past you would much rather forget. 

You used to spend it with Bucky and all of your friends, laughing and having a good time. But last year you spent the day with Nat and Wanda. Peggy was with Steve and Bucky of course.I think she apologized for about a month after that.The thought makes you chuckle a bit. 

Everyone else either spent it with their family's or at Steve and Peggy’s apartment. As for your family, you didn't feel like hearing their complaints about you breaking things off with Bucky. They all loved him as soon as they met him. He has that kind of effect on people. Another thing that made you love him, is his charm.

Still feeling quite tired, so you decide to take a hot shower to wake yourself up. You're not sure how long you spend in there, letting the hot water soothe your sore muscles and your mind from the events of last night.

~~~~~~~~~

“It's your turn to cook dinner tonight.” you huff

“But I cooked last Saturday.” your feisty roommate crosses her arms. 

“Takeout doesn't count as making dinner.” she raises a perfect eyebrow at you.

“Fine, I'll make dinner.” you put your hands up, letting out a laugh.

While you cook Nat watches some crappy reality tv show. When your phone chimes “Hey, Y/N. Your phone!” Nat shouts from the living room. 

“Can you check it? I'm elbow deep in spaghetti sauce.” she shouts something back in response that you don't quite catch. You wait a while, but she still hasn't said anything else. 

“Nat?” sighing, you quickly rinse your hands. 

“I know how riveting those reality shows are, but that doesn't mean you can just ignore your best friend.” when you walk out your small living room you find Natasha staring at your phone, mouth slightly open.

“What's wrong.” you let out an awkward laugh, the one you use whenever you're nervous. She turns off your phone. 

“Here.” She holds out your phone. If she notices your nervousness she doesn’t show it. Which you appreciate, her calmness always manages to calm you down too. 

“You need to see for yourself.” you make your way over to her. Before quickly taking it out of her hands. You turn on your phone. 

“Why’re you so serious, it can't be that bad-” suddenly you fall silent. Frozen by the name on your screen. 

“It’s Bucky.” you say even though you know she already read the message from your ex. “He.” you start slowly, “Wants to meet up for coffee.”

~~~~~~~~~

When you finally get out of the shower, Nat is already awake and in the kitchen. 

“Morning.” she nods to you in response, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. 

For as long as you have known Natasha Romanoff she has never been a morning person.

You don't feel like putting energy into making yourself breakfast this morning, you settle for cereal instead. 

Your redheaded roommate finishes her coffee in one big gulp before turning to face you. 

“Hey.” she starts slowly. 

“I was thinking, maybe this year we can spend Thanksgiving with everyone. You know, like how we used to.” Setting down the jug milk, you look up from your cereal and at Natasha, listening intently. 

“I just think it might be time, to finally make things right between you and Bucky and Thanksgiving might be a good place to start.” grabbing your bowl of Lucky Charms you settle next to Nat at the counter. 

“You know I really want to. But, I don't think Thanksgiving dinner -with all of our mutual friends there- Is the time or place for it.” Nat uses her spoon to steal a few colorful marshmallows from your bowl. 

“Then you could always accept his offer from last night. Besides if you makeup now, it is just in time for Thanksgiving.” she smirks at you. You know deep down that she's right, no matter how badly you don't want to admit it. 

“Fine, I'll think about it.” smiling, she pats your back,

 “But before I agree to anything, let’s go do something.” hopping off the stool she was sitting on, Nat shoots you a weird look. 

“No no no, First. You have to agree to meet Bucky at One. You’ve been ignoring his text since last night.” rolling your eyes at her you take a bite of your breakfast. You let out a groan. 

  There isn’t much point in arguing with her. When Nat gets like this she doesn’t change her mind very easily.

“Ugh, Fine.” she hums happily -the way she always does when she gets what she wants- walking away.

‘12:55’ you check your watch for the tenth time since you have arrived at the small coffee shop you and Bucky used to always go to. You realize that you haven’t been back since before you broke up. 

You’re about to check your watch one more time when you see him walk in. He’s wearing his usual leather jacket, dark jeans and a light blue button down shirt that brings out his impossibly blue eyes. 

You only realize you’re staring when he waves at you, noticing your place by the window.

“Hey doll.” he says taking the chair next to you. Unexpectedly, you find yourself feeling a bit nervous. Letting out a quite ‘hi’ in return. 

Neither of you say anything at first, you’re both too unsure of what to say. Until Bucky breaks the slightly awkward silence. 

“Do you remember the last time we came here together? It was after you insisted that we go apple picking even though it was twenty degrees outside.” Bucky shakes his head at the memory 

“What?” you giggle 

“I didn't want to let the weather ruin a perfectly good tradition.” you defend yourself. He lets out a loud laugh 

“Yet you were the one who didn't bring a jacket.” you narrow your eyes at him 

“I brought a jacket!” that only makes him laugh more 

“Asking to borrow my jacket doesn't count as bringing your own.” that makes you both laugh this time. 

Falling back into a much more relaxed silence

“I assume reminiscing on old memories isn't the reason why you invited me here.” you take a sip of your coffee, the bitter and milky flavor wash over your taste buds, waking you up a bit. 

He doesn't answer you right away, he’s focusing intently on the busy world outside of the small cozy shop. 

“I want to make things right between us.” he finally says, looking at you. 

“I feel like I left things on a bad note with you… with us.” you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a scoff. 

“If you left things on a bad note with us, I can’t even imagine how I left things.” he looks at you, a bit if shock evident on his face. 

“Look, I appreciate you reaching out. But you don't have to apologize for anything. I was so terrible to you when we broke up. The things I said-” your mind flashes to Bucky's hurt and betrayed face from the day you broke his kind heart. 

The memory makes you feel incredibly guilty. 

“I was horrible, yet here you are. Wanting to apologize to me. When I should be the one saying ‘sorry’ not you.” you can't look at him. You don't want to see what he's feeling. Instead you choose to look at your hands. 

“I was no angle during our relationship either, Y/N. I messed up so often, yet you always forgave me in the end. I don’t know how you put up with me for so long” he smiles sadly at you. 

“It’s because I loved you so much.” You murmur. Your mouth always seems to get ahead of you, just now being no different. You cover your hand with your mouth. 

“Sorry.” you force out. 

“It’s fine.” he smiles at you warmly. 

“I want to clear the air between us. I miss how we used to be, you know, before we started dating.”

No matter how much you both wanted to get back to that. The truth is, you know you can't. Not when you were both so in love, not when you're still so in love with him. 

You hoped that Bucky had the same thought, but you know him better than anyone. He doesn't think like that. Even though you know it's next to impossible to get back to where you were. 

You don't tell him that. You want to work things out too and saying how you feel isn't going to help anyone. 

“I want that too, Buck.” he smiles at you again, this time his smile is genuine, bright and happy. You offer him a small smile in return. 

“Thank you, doll.” Bucky lets out a sigh of relief.

You thought about telling Bucky the real reason behind your break up. But seeing how happy he is knowing that you're going to try to fix your friendship. You don't want to take that joy away from him. You don't want to hurt him by digging up old, painful, memories, and for what? To get rid of your own guilt?

The next week is slow, which you appreciate. Slow days mean you can finish up and head home early. You and Nat have been able to have a proper dinner together almost every night this week. Neither of you have been very busy the last few days with Thanksgiving tomorrow. 

“Hey, did you end up making that pumpkin pie that Sam loves? Wanda wants to know.” you yell to Natasha from your place on the couch. 

“How mad do you think she’ll be if I say no?” you laugh loudly at her question. 

“I don’t think she’ll ever be as mad as she was last year. Besides, at this point she probably expects this from us.” you somehow manage to get out in between laughs. Remembering the pie fiasco from last Thanksgiving. 

“Knowing Wanda, she has probably already made five different kinds of pie anyway.” Nat yells back. You can't help but smile. 

Wanda has always likes to be prepared. Her readiness has saved your butt more times than you care to admit, and tomorrow will most likely be no different.

----------

You and Natasha arrive at Steve and Peggy's apartment at exactly 12:00 am the next day. It feels like forever since you've seen everyone -aside from Peggy, Steve and Wanda of course- Nat is helping Peggy and Sam in the kitchen. 

They said that they have everything under control so you make your way over to the living area where Steve, Tony, Wanda, and Clint are gathered around the tv. The boys are in a heated argument about something football related. You take a seat on the couch next to Wanda. Tony is the first to acknowledge your presence.

“Hey, Y/N. I'm glad you decided to join us this year. It just wasn't the same without you last year.” Tony smiles brightly at you. 

“Me too, last year was so weird for me.” you let out a small happy sigh, 

“I missed you guys.” he pats your back firmly 

“We missed you too kid.” that’s when you notice that Tony's wife is nowhere to be seen. 

“Where's Pepper?” you and Pepper were never the best of friends, but you always enjoyed her company every once in a while. She was kind of like the big sister you never had. Even though she's only a few years older than you are. 

“She's with her family today, they had some issues that need to be sorted out and I didn't see it fit that I go.” you roll your eyes at him, 

“Admit it, you just didn't want to get in the middle of their problems.” you poke your index finger into his shoulder. 

“No… I just want them to work out their differences.” he puts his hands up in weak defense. 

“Mhhm, and raccoons can talk.”

Just then Bucky walks into the apartment. Looking as handsome as always. As soon as he steps inside Steve is already making his way towards his best friend. He greets him Steve with a huge smile. The one you that made you fall so hard for him. 

“Did you know he was coming?” Wanda asks, breaking you out of your trance. 

“Oh... yeah. I did. It’s just that seeing him is still kind of weird for me.” Wanda takes your hand in hers and gives it a small but reassuring squeeze. You turn to pay attention to the conversation, though you find it hard to concentrate when your ex-boyfriend of three long, wonderful years is standing behind you laughing. 

“Hey Y/N. Get your lazy butt over here.” Nat yells from the kitchen. You sigh, 

“Her Royal Highness beckons.” you stand up walking over towards the kitchen. 

That makes Tony, Wanda and Clint snicker. You can’t help but smirk at their reaction.

You make your way over to the kitchen. When you notice Bucky and Steve standing in the hallway by the door talking. 

“She’s visiting her family today, she told me to tell you and Peg hi.” You catch part of their conversation as you pass by. Bucky must be talking about his girlfriend. As you walk by, Bucky meets your eyes. 

“Hey doll.” He waves at you. You whisper a hi in response. Before Nat suddenly drags you into the kitchen. 

“What do you need help with Nat?” she looks at you a bit concerned. 

“I don’t.” she admits. 

“I just wanted check in, how’re you doing with Bucky?” you can’t help but smile at her concern. 

“Are you, Natasha Romanoff, worried about me?” you chuckle, she lightly hits your arm. 

“I’ll just assume you’re fine then.” you laugh as she walks off shaking her head.

Since no one needs your help you decide to get some fresh air on the balcony. It’s a bit cold out, the Autumn breeze making you shiver a bit. The sky looks engulfed in flames from the orange and red sunset with hints of pink and purple. 

“Hey.” you look behind you to see Bucky walking over to the railing, resting his elbows on the cold metal. 

“Here, I figured you might be thirsty.” he says handing you a beer. You look at him a bit shocked by the kind gesture. Smiling you happily take the cold bottle from his hand. 

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” you sigh, matching his position. 

“I think it’s refreshing. Besides, it’s a bit loud in there. What about you?” He looks at you, noticing your slight shivering.

“You’re cold.” he reaches to take his jacket off, you put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine, really.” he sighs putting his jacket back on. 

“If you’re sure. I thought you might want some company. For as long as I have known you, you never liked being alone. And you’re right, it is really loud in there.” he laughs. 

“I missed this.” you finally say, 

“I missed hanging out with everyone.” he looks off towards the crimson sky. 

“Me too.” he closes his eyes. You can’t help but stare at him. The way the sunset lights up his handsome face, the way his nose is the slightest bit pink from the chilly fall air. The way he smells of beer and cologne. It makes you heart flutter, he makes your heart flutter. 

You aren’t quite sure why, but in this moment you suddenly felt like you want tell Bucky that you still love him, that you never wanted to break up with him. But that his mom blackmailed you into it. Even if it mean losing him forever. 

“Hey Buck.” He looks at you again with his amazing blue eyes. 

“What is it doll?” You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. 

“I know we just worked everything out. But there’s something you need to know-” but you don’t get the chance to finish. 

“Hey Bucky, we need you in here.” Clint shouts from inside. He looks at you clearly annoyed. 

“You should go.” you take a sip of your drink. 

“Are you sure? You wanted to tell me something-” You cut him off, realizing the huge mistake you almost made 

“It can wait. Go, it looks like they need you for…” you stop, looking inside to see them playing an intense game of charades. You can’t help but laugh. 

“A very important game matter.” he laughs at your sarcasm. 

“We’ll talk later, I promise.” he says before stepping inside.

Not long after he leaves, Peggy steps outside. 

“How are you doing with that?” she points her chin towards Bucky. 

“Better than I thought honestly. Does it still hurt? Of course, he was… is, my first love. But as much as I miss him, I miss our friendship more.” you don’t want to lie to Peg, but you don’t feel like being lectured. She puts her arm around your shoulders. 

“I’m proud of you.” you lean your head on her shoulder. 

“I’ve been hearing that a lot recently.” you joke. 

“What did you two talk about just now?” she rubs your arm 

“Nothing really.” you feel bad lying to one of your best friends. But no matter how hard you try, you can never keep a secret from her. 

“I wanted to tell him everything, Peg.” she looks at you, a bit of shock and confusion on her face. 

“His mom, my feelings for him, everything... and I almost did.” Before she can answer, Steve comes out. 

“Hey, you two okay?” you both snap your heads towards him 

“Yep, all good out here.” you laugh awkwardly. 

“I just came to let you know that dinner is ready.” he nods his head inside towards the smell of delicious, mouth watering food. 

“If we don’t go now Sam’s probably gonna start complaining about not getting his pie.” you say walking past Steve and into the warm apartment.  

After dinner everyone heads home. Except for You, Nat, Sam and Bucky. You decide to help Peggy clean up. It’s a lot of work, but it’s also an excuse to avoid Bucky, after your talk earlier this evening you having been avoiding him like the plague. 

“Oi, Y/N. can I ask you a question?” Sam rests his elbows on the counter top. 

“I don’t know Sam, can you?” he laughs sarcastically at your dry joke. 

“Do you think Bucky is as good at poker? He says he’s amazing at it, but I’ve played with the man before. He sucks.” you turn around to face him, putting your hands on your hips. 

“If you consider him losing to me every week for a month, then yeah, he is amazing at it.” you try hard to stifle a laugh 

“I don't think I made dinner for two months after that.” to no avail, you and Sam both burst out laughing. 

“He sucks at poker.” you say pointing a finger towards Bucky. 

“Hey! I thought you would be on my side.” you have to put a hand on the counter from laughing so hard. 

“Sorry Buck, I’m with Sammy on this one. You have a terrible poker face.” Steve walks into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates, 

“They’re right Bud, you suck.” all he can do is shake his head in defeat. 

“While we’re on the subject of poker, we should play a round.” Sam says casually. 

“I don’t think we can, grandma over here says she has work in the morning.” Natasha points a finger in your direction. 

“Boo, why are you even going in? You are literally your own boss. You can do whatever you want.” Sam complains. You and Sam start bickering about work. Before he can have another try at convincing you to stay for poker night, Bucky interrupts. 

“It’s getting late, I should probably get home too.” he walks over to Peggy and Steve to say bye. 

“You’re just running away, you don’t want to prove to us that you actually are terrible at poker.” Sam jokes. 

“Whatever you say, Sammy.” Bucky loves to tease Sam with the nickname I gave him back in college. 

“You know I'm right, James.” Sam fires back at him. 

“We should get going too.” Nat winks at you. 

“Bye guys.” You and Nat both yell before heading out the door. 

“Bye doll.” Bucky quietly says as you walk past him. 

“Bye Buck.”

Part 5

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