#but the title hopeless fits my life

[sefinaa]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐒𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞.❞

What is your future spouse’s aesthetic?

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Pac Summary!

🍊Your future spouse's aesthetic.

🍊How they feel about it in the future or in the present moment.

Moodboard | Divider

Pile I

Your future spouse's aesthetic. 

As I was shuffling, nothing came out. So I went with the assumption; perhaps they are lost with who they are. They are trying different aesthetics and seeing what makes them happy. I believe having a title like an aesthetic can bring us down if we don’t know what makes us happy, and that is the same with your fs. They are struggling to see what fits their standards of aesthetics.

Reversed nine of wands.

The reversed nine of wands confirms my thoughts. Right now, they are struggling with everything. They remind me of the tower tarot card. This is seen as something negative, but I see it as a breakthrough in life. Because if there isn't a negative situation, then you can never become uncomfortable or grow from the experience. You need those negative emotions for growth even if it’s sabotaging yourself. You become self aware throughout and teach yourself to not be your own enemy. I’m still feeling hopeless energy with your fs. So right now, the aesthetic is baggy clothes. They are struggling to become comfortable with their skin and what they like. They have tried fancy and luxurious suits. They have tried the swag or baddie aesthetic. They have tried sexy dresses, etc. They keep going for materialistic outfits, and intuition says you will meet them in a month or two and help guide them out of that hell hole. So when you do meet, I see them going for a flowy or relaxing aesthetic. It reminds me of a bit of boho and a soft aesthetic. And those who are into men, I see them actually painting their nails. Now, I've seen people associate nail polish on men with the LGBTQ+ community, alternative/emo/punk, etc., but no. Nail polish is about expressing yourself like makeup; the same goes here. 

How does their aesthetic make them feel in the future?

I kept shuffling the cards, but wasn’t able to get anything. Then I realized they wouldn’t feel much about it. I don't see them caring about how other people perceive them because of you. You were able to guide and heal them in a positive manner that made them realize they don't have to try so hard to impress others and that impressing themselves is more important. And you also taught them that materialistic aspects won't last in the long run; appreciating the small things you have in life is important. Beautiful life lessons; thank you for sharing those with them and elevating them into someone they love. So there isn’t a feeling here, but more of a thank you note from them to you.

‘’Thank you for showing me something that I thought was lost. Thank you for being there for me when I struggled and put money, charm, and looks on a pedestal. It was because of you that I realized that those weren’t important. What matters is the inside of us, our soul, and how we actually do things for other people. Without you, I wouldn't be able to understand who I was—I wouldn't be self-aware of the flaws I had, nor would I understand the struggles I put you in when I was so self-absorbed in the fashion world. Forgetting how toxic the industry has been. So thank you for being by my side and allowing my wings to flutter open as I escaped hell and finally met you in heaven. In our heaven.’’

Masterlist.

Pile II

Your future spouse's aesthetic. 

I was seeing a dark, winter night. The wind is flowing around the dead but beautiful trees. Beautiful white snow is raining down from the clouds, and there is a haunted house. Well, that is how the rumors spread, but in that house was a single father with his sweet daughter, trying hard to survive in the winter. Though it was hard to survive time to time with rumors being spread, people coming to throw hate, and such, the only thing that helped them cope was the love they had together. Before, I check what the card is. Intuitively though, they give me the aesthetic of gloomy winter. That softness that comes from the winter days, the excitement that comes out when it’s winter break, and when you want to go to the fireplace and have a nice cup of hot chocolate while being sneaky and adding marshmallows for yourself. The darker days of the winter as the moon glistens over a river. Or when the days become cold you must isolated from your friends. This is what your future spouse’s aesthetic. It’s complex but that’s the beauty of it. They allow people to spread false judgments while they express what they love, their aesthetic. They portray softness while appearing rough, a contradiction that works beautifully like dead trees allowing the snow to pile on top of it. Eventually the tree grows back and blossoms once more. That’s the irony of your fs.

Reversed four of wands.

A smile appeared on my face because the energy matched. Even though it is reversed, it’s a siren (bird form) on an apple tree, as weapons, i believe arrows, are pointing at her and targeting her. Do you see the resemblance? The weapons are the rumors. The siren are the people in the house, or in this case, your fs’s house. And the apples are the love shared with the family. The tree is what your fs holding their family together. Their family has accepted what your fs change in their traditions/culture which has made them happy. Thus causing them being comfortable with themselves and wearing the aesthetic they like despite it being frowned upon. I am getting a conservative family with them, but the family was able to heal because your fs took the stand and changed their views. I heard the family had no idea of the pressure given to their children before everything went down.

How does their aesthetic make them feel in the future?

The first word that popped up in my head was refreshing. The biggest weight came off their shoulders; it will be so rewarding. Everything they wanted has already come their way, and to top it off, you will be their last reward. Their wishes are coming and you are the last wish. They are manifesting for someone like you; you are their dream person, and the thought of being with someone like you makes them go nuts. Think of the craziest TV show character you know and amplify it by 3-5 times. That’s the excitement I feel with them, but with a healthy mindset. It’s just something they have been dreaming about for so long, since their childhood or teenage years. 

Reversed seven of wands.

Yeah, so with the reversed seven of wands, this is about a turning point that will lead to a positive situation occurring in someone’s life. And you are their positive aspect. If they didn’t stand up for what they believed in and speak with such vulnerability and power, then you guys wouldn’t be meeting in three to four months. Everything would’ve been delayed. And as I channeled this, I kept hearing soulmates. I know all (other than the 3-4% who believes it) of you don’t believe it, but that’s what I am hearing. So if it’s not soulmates for you, then it’s a relationship that is meant to be.

Masterlist.

Pile III

Your future spouse's aesthetic. 

Two of wands.

Your future spouse’s aesthetic is daring. They like to try new things, always getting out of their comfort zone. Sometimes, they enjoy pissing other people off because they live in a traditional area. Wearing something that is provocative or very showy bothers the people around them, but for them, it’s similar to adrenaline. I see someone riding on a skateboard wearing ripped jeans, showing their bruised knee. A grin is on their face as they are wearing a crop top, accentuating their curves and body. People look at them with disgust, but all they can see is their reactions. People record them to make fun of them and yet, they do not care. This is your future spouse’s energy. They genuinely don't care what other people think of them unless it comes to you.

Their fashion is fun and bold. It makes you think about them as they stay on your mind. In terms of aesthetic names, I get punk and emo vibes and lots of tattoos or piercings. Someone has vampire teeth, or they add them in. For some, your fs loves wearing spiky boots or making their ponytail in a spiky motion. Others, think of alternatives mixed with cyberpunk. Very wild and bright colors too. They know what they want when it comes to life and their fashion taste, and they are very straightforward about what they dislike too. So when there is a communication issue, they will be upfront about it and you both can resolve it quickly. 

How does their aesthetic make them feel?

Ten of pentacles and queen of wands.

Honestly, they feel blessed that they are wearing what they love. When you live in a traditional area, it’s hard to wear the outfits or do the things you enjoy, but they were able to push past their fears and become confident. Their outlook on life changed drastically, and they became comfortable with their real selves. They also feel thankful for how you will accept their fashion. They felt hesitant around you because they assumed you wouldn’t like their fashion style.

Masterlist.

Pile IV

Your future spouse's aesthetic. 

When I was shuffling your cards, a card flipped by itself, and then it became lost. At first, your future spouse kept changing their aesthetics constantly. They didn't know what looked best with their facial structures. They have a mother who is into cosmetics, so they know how to work well with fashion, but the idea of being perfect has affected their mindset. ‘’Perfectionism is my downfall; I know that, but I am working on it.’’

Reversed strength and reversed the high priestess.

Their mother has always been strict with them. Always putting their imperfections on their child because they couldn't handle their insecurities. So your fs has absorbed what they said onto them, thus causing them to become a perfectionist. The high priestess reversed is focused on trust issues and a lack of personal harmony. Their mother pressure has caused a strain in their relationship, and the amount of projection has made your fs doubt their fashion style. That is why the card disappeared and became lost. That is their energy right now. Their aesthetic is kind of like piratecore mixed with richness. It’s very attractive and will make you feel flush. I see them wearing a corset tank top with a white blouse top, showing their breasts slightly, or they will show their chest and torso in a laid-back way. They will have black pants that are tight to accentuate their body and to match their eyes. They will wear a black steampunk or some type of long jacket with buttons resembling a pirate’s captain. It’s going to fit very nicely. They will leave their hair loose to create that effect. And I am also seeing that sometimes they will switch it and wear a suit while still allowing their chest to show. I'm getting a strong nonbinary aesthetic too. They don't focus on what is feminine or masculine; whatever appeals to them and makes them look attractive in their eyes is what matters. 

How does their aesthetic make them?

Reversed six of wands and the empress.

There is already a huge cliff between their mother, and their fashion focused on piratecore and rich/luxury has drifted them a bit. Their mother isn’t noticing their hard work to find what they like; they are supposed to be into only classy outfits. Everything must be hidden and modest, and they break that. So that has pissed off their mother. The six of wands reversed is about a temporary setback and a lack of recognition for achievements. In the future though, I don't see much of a difference between them so meeting their mother isn’t a likely occurrence. On the bright side, they love their aesthetic, which makes them love themselves more. They are able to rebel against their mother and find comfort in this. The amount of changing things up to fit their mother’s standards killed a part of them, and to be able to gain it back and become resilient is something they are thankful for. They have a strong connection with themselves, and it makes them want to learn how to make their own clothes or design them. But no, this is a hobby and not their major or what they want to have as a career in the future. I also hear that they find themselves to be beautiful now, and a huge weight is off their shoulder. In a way, they are their own mother now (accepting their feminine side and taking care of their inner child), and when you meet, they will prorate a nurturing and mother-like nature. Tranquility is what appeared in my mind; you will feel peaceful around them. A true gemstone amongst the fake ones. 

Masterlist.

[killshotbabe]

Title | Acquainted

Pairing | billionaire!Jaehyun x bodyguard!reader ft. NCT

Warnings | minors dni! slightly rude!Jaehyun, Jaehyun and reader “don’t get along”, use of swear words, brief mention of a bad injury (not to main pairing) sexual tension, solo masturbation, voyeur tendencies, fingering, face riding, choking, smut, slightly rough, unprotected sex (please wear protection!) creampie, slight breeding kink?

Word count | 4k (Got carried away oops!)

Song(s) | My All - Larissa Lambert (cover), Hopeless - Always Never

A.N | This was so goddamn long than originally planned but enjoy!

//

“Maybe you should leave.”

He suggested, cutting you off mid-sentence as you were explaining why it would better for him to take another route you’ve spent some time going over with the private personnel.

It had gone through the approval of your chief in charge as well having to have earned his full trust in the past but what you didn’t expect was for Jaehyun, your current boss in flesh, to reject your entrance and exit plans for the upcoming 50th charity ball he’s going to be attending in a few in two weeks.

The charity ball that was supposed to be tended by his father but after suffering what happens to be his third stroke, he made an ultimate decision to pass his head of position down to his only son, Jaehyun, who’s going to eventually earn it anyway by the time his father succumbs into old age and eventually die and be buried six feet under but due to his worsening health, Jaehyun officially took over.

Not one blinked an eye after such huge announcement has been made.

Some would say it’s a bit “pre-mature” you think, but it was the only right thing to do.

After all, no one wanted the Jung Empire to crumble into its last feet and from what you heard, Jaehyun is quite popular despite being the youngest from the line-up of old, obnoxious balding men.

It wasn’t like as if he preferred to live a different life — he had the option to do so, but he’s always wanted to follow his father’s footsteps since the very young age. He went from eavesdropping to his father’s meetings behind the door, and sometimes he would bring his toy cars into his father’s study and sit on the plush carpet as his father spoke to the phone, ball point always on-hand, glass of wine to the side. Jaehyun did this for as long as he can remember until they began to fit him into custom tailored suits to wear when he goes to his father’s meetings with him or without him which he had been tending to for the past few months, so this was not something new to him.

The new thing, though, was you being appointed his new private bodyguard due to the increasing tension coming from the outsiders who are threatened by Jaehyun’s sudden take-over. From what you do know, they have been keeping an eye on his father since the news of his illness (which the private sector has tried to keep in the shadows) leaked to the press, spiking gossips and rumours from nobodies. This also caused a major rift, threatening the future of the company Mr. Jung has been taking a great care of for decades, and even if he may be the nicest person in the world of business — he’s more prone to having enemies waiting for him to fall apart and now that Jaehyun has begun his long journey as the new head of The Jung enterprise, a new target has now been placed on the back of his head.

All was left is for him to try and dodge the bullet with your help, of course.

But that wasn’t going to happen easily — not when he’s not been a good sport to you.

At first, you thought he was just getting used to being the new chairman so you decided to back off and let him take a breather, but soon you find out he does have a rather mean streak and preferred to be alone and do everything alone. He doesn’t really speak to anyone at home too. You would see him chat with the head maid from time to time and maybe greet the security and other staff guarding his home but that was about it, he had no close relationship with them even if they worked with him and Mr. Jung for a while, which you find quite sad, but it was still none of your business.

You’ve only been here for around two weeks and you do reside in his home as well, but it did feel like you lived else where.

His luxurious house — composed of a total of four levels, shiny marbled floors and expensive hand-picked art adoring the wide plains of the black tourmaline walls felt rather strange to you. It was often quiet whenever you walked into the hallway at the dead of the night with the occasional swoosh from the french windows gracing your sharp hearing. You’ve only spent an ample of time doing security checks around his home but you haven’t been to any specific rooms even if you do memorize the entire floor plan and know which room is which, including the hidden underground bunker built into the house which you hope you wouldn’t end up using at all if shit does hit the fan.

Other than yourself, the security and the rest of the morning staff do not reside in his home but in a separate complex nearby so technically, it was just you and Jaehyun confined in such a huge space.

Mr. Jung lived somewhere else which you have been once or twice but compared to your first impression to both, you’d rather stay at Mr. Jung’s just because it felt like someone was actually living there and you don’t really mind the smell of tobacco. Here, at Jaehyun’s however, didn’t feel like that at all. You wouldn’t even know if he’s at home if the cctv didn’t notify you of his arrival (and your phone too because you can actually track his whereabouts) or until you see a faint light from his study or anywhere else really.

Jaehyun didn’t like keeping bright lights on so his house appeared to be more eerie and colder when the sun is no longer in the horizon. You got used to it rather quickly though. It was peaceful, maybe too peaceful for your taste but it’s better than sleeping at your old apartment where the next door neighbours would often fight, their harsh words penetrating your thin walls, and plus, the head chef and maid cooks great food. You couldn’t complain about that when you have been given the chance to not worry about any groceries anymore to keep you alive and kicking.

You like to think you’ve hit a jackpot since accepting this newly-appointed job: to be Jaehyun’s second eyes and iron shield and you thought it was simple but things were never simple.

Life didn’t work like that but at the very least, you’re alive and breathing.

At least I’m alive and breathing.

You chanted like a mantra as you forced a lump in your throat, still holding your ground in front of Jaehyun who made no effort to even took at you in the eye.

“Jaehyun.”

You try again, stressing that he needs to approve your plan before you can fuck off the premises which you’ve been wanting do the moment you stepped a heeled foot into his spacious study. If it wasn’t for the low murmur of jazz playing softly from the turntable close to his mahogany desk, you would’ve yelled at him by now but you chose not to.

You pride yourself as his main bodyguard and you didn’t want him to treat you like some doormat.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” He flipped through a couple of pages from a stack of papers he’s been reviewing for God knows how long and there was more, but he kept it tidy and very organized, and yet you can’t help but feel his mind may not be the same right at this moment. “I said no.”

“You could end up in a bad situation. Had you not realize your enemies are trying to threaten you lately?” You say, tone coming off stern than how you’d like it to be. “Have you not been noticing the extra security we’ve been adding for you this past week?”

He paused, sighing and you think you may have won a little but if anything, you just pissed him off even more.

“Just do whatever the fuck you want, alright? Your job is to protect me so take it upon yourself and move. No need to run it by me.”

You fought not to grit your teeth, composure still straight. “Well, you could’ve just said yes to begin with. Easy as that and I would be out the door.”

“Your plan has too many unnecessary changes.” He began to type on the keyboard, still not sparing you a glance. “I don’t like it but whatever makes you sleep at night.”

“I’m doing this for you.” You reminded, ready to turn your back to him and out. “A simple “yes” would’ve been easy and I follow a protocol which involves me to ask you for an approval first. Like it or not, this is in my contract and you, out of everyone else here, should know. Have good evening, Sir.”

You found yourself out of his study just like that and made your way to your room wanting to take a cold shower after your useless exchange with Jaehyun.

When you were gone, all he did was lean his head over his leather seat, eyes fluttering close with an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.

For the next week ahead of the charity ball event he’s sponsoring as one of the main ambassadors, you stuck by him always walking three steps ahead to clear the area before it’s deemed safe for him to move. You and your team stayed alert and hot on heels, especially when there have been a surge of crowds garnering for him and it did nothing but bring stress to you and your team. Not only had the threats against him and his family empire had gone worse, but his own “fangirls” as well.

You thought it was over once you and Jaehyun make it back home until you found two young girls that couldn’t be younger than eighteen taking pictures of the car he has used on the way back from a meeting.

The meeting was short and it was his only schedule this afternoon so you didn’t tag along but still dispatched two personnel from your team to be with him so you can finish your annual report your chief wants you to complete before the end of this week. It was by chance actually — you typing away with the security panel on your other screen when a lone taxi drove by the gates two times. Anything more than that was deemed suspicious you had to watch carefully and soon enough, you found yourself outside with girls’ camera on your hand which you had confiscated.

You recognized one of them as one of the socialite’s daughter which you do consider as a major threat — The Chois were just as powerful but they haven’t been on their A-game lately especially when they’re competing with Jaehyun.

You drummed your hand on top of the taxi’s roof, peering closer to the girls who are now blinking owlishly at you. One of them looking like they’re about to pee their pants after seeing your gun holstered to your belt loop.

“Are you girls here to see Jaehyun? He doesn’t give autographs.” You joked, other hand sifting through the gallery of their DSLR. “Do you guys work for some damn magazine I don’t know about?”

“No—um we,” The bleached blonde one stuttered as you deleted all of the shots they got of Jaehyun’s. “We’re fans of his…”

“Well, what do you know about him?” You raised a brow, satisfied with your neat work but refused to give it back to them yet. “Last time I checked he’s just some really powerful billionaire dude… Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

The brunette smacked the blonde’s one knee, attempting to stop her from responding to you and further reveal why they’re here to begin with. She did know who you are and you being a total cutthroat by your poise and how you held yourself whenever you’re with Jaehyun and she was scared of you, truly.

“We… won’t be back here anymore. I’m sorry.” She begged, round eyes trying to make you feel pity even if you already know the way she behaved whenever she’s there on sight when she’s not supposed to. “Please give the camera back to us…”

But you didn’t make it easy. If it’s not for their family then it’s possible that they’re working with whatever media outlet is after Jaehyun too.

Nonetheless, you decide to give the camera back considering it wasn’t chipped or anything which you checked before you cleared all of Jaehyun’s pictures.

“If I see you two out here again, you better stop what you’re doing and if you’re working for someone, put an end to it.” You tossed them the camera with a glare. “I’ll let you go this time but I won’t next time, then you’ll wish you never met me at all.”

The girls nodded quickly, blood draining off their faces as they begged for the taxi driver to floor it. You wait until they’re out of sight before heading back, meeting Jungwoo, one of the security personnel, on your way in to the foyer.

“Just some girls.” You shrug. You do make a note to do some more research about them later though. “Is he upstairs?”

“Yeah. He said he was going to sleep so I’m leaving now and rot out there. Don’t tell him I stole an orange from the kitchen.”

He grinned, showing you the round fruit in his palm.

Jungwoo was a new addition too, but you do think he built a better relationship with Jaehyun considering the fact that you caught them joking around at one point and you think that wasn’t fair.

You couldn’t blame Jungwoo though. He’s super chill and smiled a lot unlike you with your permanent scowl embedded in your face. It did bother you from time to time, but your relationship with Jaehyun has gone to shit since the beginning (for a reason you don’t know) and you think it’s because he just doesn’t like having a tail following him around even if the nature of his work required one.

To this day, you have already accepted your fate when it came to him. You were here not become his friend after all, and you can tell he sure he feels the same way.

Work was work and you had a contract to fulfil until then. You weren’t here for the sake of having your feelings involved.

“Bold of you to assume he’d notice.” You smiled, sending him away. “Just help yourself whenever!”

“K! Have a good rest of the afternoon! Mark also says he’ll be late for security check!”

“Got it!”

Once you heard the front doors shut, you climb back upstairs and back to you room to resume where you left off. By 7:30 pm, you find yourself waking up from an accidental nap you took in the middle of conducting your report. You cursed and planned to do your finishing touches but not without a cup of newly-brewed coffee on your side so you find yourself in the main kitchen, helping yourself up when the head maid padded down the hall, calling your name upon seeing you.

“Have you eaten yet?” She halted just beside you as you stirred a spoon into your coffee. “You can’t be drinking that without eating anything? I made mushroom soup for dinner. Made steak too with potatoes.”

“Maybe later I will, thanks.” You smiled sheepishly as you take a sip from your mug. “I just had a snack so…”

“You could’ve just joined Jaehyun earlier.” She whispered, teasing you with a pinch on your elbow which caused you break into a sudden yelp. “He looked really tense…Almost felt bad for the steak.”

You shook your head, placing your cup on the counter, folding your arms to mimic the head maid.

“Isn’t he always?”

“True, but he just looks lonely being alone there I keep wondering why you two won’t just eat together.”

You could only shrug, the visual of him sitting alone eating dinner in a huge table wracking your brain.

“We don’t get along.”

“Oh c’mon…” The older lady rolled her eyes at your predicament. “I’m getting real sick of watching the two of you avoiding each other like the black plague unless you’re out to chaperone him. We thought you’d would work especially when you’re around his age, and I know he can be a pain in the ass but why not try with him? This house is too damn big already.”

“You know I’m just here for work…” You murmur, letting her words affect you a little anyway because she was the only one who could sense how you really felt no matter how many times you voluntarily plunged yourself in denial.

You remember the first time they introduced you to him just a couple of weeks go.

It was on sunny day and the start of fall. You always liked fall because there’s always a positive shift in the air even if it slowly got colder. You like to think of it as letting go of the dead things you can no longer care, or hold closely to your heart that you’ve wanted to get rid of as your life went by.

From your old position to becoming Jaehyun’s bodyguard did raise a lot of new opportunities and new surroundings as it required you to move to his place. You were giddy and quite excited, wanting to leave you former apartment situated in busy area from not-so-good side of the city. The raise was also splendid— you think if you keep this position for one year you’d be able to buy a better apartment elsewhere and have a whole space for yourself and you know you will eventually get there.

But what you didn’t really expect was how rude Jaehyun had treated you since the beginning.

When you were introduced to him by your chief, all he did was nod and went on his day with you tailing after him as you shadowed his old bodyguard days before they were to be dispatched overseas permanently. It was nice when the bodyguard was there until you woke up in his shoes, now calling all shots and leading the whole team which had been exhilarating at first, but you knew your capabilities and thought highly of yourself, even if Jaehyun doesn’t really acknowledge or has ever initiated a conversation when you’re alone in a room with him.

You can’t really pinpoint what his deal was — you thought he might be misogynistic but that wasn’t the case. There were women in your team and he treated any woman no different like how he treated the rest, at least from what you noticed. You didn’t want to confront him about it as well seeing that it might just sound dumb and too far-fetched but your gut have been telling you there’s more to it. You just didn’t know how to approach him about it, not when he’s too busy and has other priorities to tend to than listen to what you have to say concerning your feelings.

He doesn’t even like the plans and changes you make for him regarding his entire safety, what more about how you really feel?

But you were still a human being and you know you will be treated as such so eventually, you’ll bring it up but not today, not anytime soon at least.

“And work it is…But try to get along, okay? I may not be here all the time but I can sense the sour atmosphere whenever I clean up.”

You chuckled, leering close to her. “Maybe it’s just the dead souls buried under the house trying to get your attention…”

“Hey, don’t say stuff like young lady! You know how superstitious I can get.” She backs off you, not liking the fact that you just brought up “ghosts”. “…Maybe I’ll sage the entire house the next time you guys are away again! Don’t want Jaehyun to smell it and complain.”

“I don’t think he’ll care. He hasn’t been to anywhere else but his floor lately.” You laugh, placing your hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “So do it anytime. I like the smell of it.”

“Fine, I will. Just because I like you like that.” She pats your hand, thanking you for your little massage before sending you off with your coffee. “And don’t ditch dinner!”

You make sure to eat around midnight, completely lost in you report.

You ate more than you could possibly take in one sitting but didn’t care if it was going to give you a stomach ache which you had attempted to sleep off, but around 3 am, you find yourself unable to go back to bed so naturally, you sat upright and leaned against your headboard, laptop on-hand and see if you maybe watch one of those scary indie games on youtube.

You found them weirdly comforting and often watched them but before you could put one on and have it lull you back to bed, the live footage of Jaehyun’s dim-lit room suddenly flashed into your screen in full-size.

You can’t help but panic a little since you were not supposed to watch him at such ungodly hour. You were given this specific access from hours 6-9 pm. That was the arrangement, but it didn’t mean your master access would disable the live feed during after hours. You have full control of it so it was all up to you, and it’s not like someone is actually keeping track of how many times you’d watch him, not when his room is only for your eyes and nobody else’s.

You were just about to hover your mouse to the top right corner of your screen and exit out of the window when he stirred in his sleep, calling your attention. Not even a couple of seconds later he, too, sat up and leaned against the headboard, mimicking your current position.

You raised a brow, feeling a little intimate with the current situation — he’s literally sitting there with his eyes closed and he had no shirt on, showing you what was hiding beneath his usual suit jacket.

You blinked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before you found yourself peering closer, unable to take your eyes off him and his bare skin riddled with great abs. You knew he did work-out but still…

“What the fuck am I doing…” You shook your head in utter disbelief, feeling like a total creep now. “I should probably go to sleep.”

You smack yourself on the cheek and tried to exit out of the window when your peripheral vision caught him slide his hand under his blanket, palming himself with closed eyes, a serene look on his face.

You suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Your pupils practically quivered when he parted his pretty lips just slightly so he could spit on his hand before rubbing his bare cock with it again and again for you to see, instantly making you snap your thighs together as you became more hyperaware of what he was doing in front of you. You tried so hard to look away from the screen, shut your laptop close and forget this ever happened but you simply couldn’t look away — not when he just pulled the comforter down to his knees, revealing his hard cock — standing upright, hypnotizing you to come closer and see which you did, jaw going slack upon realizing he was, in fact, big too.

You watched him give himself a few generous pumps before he laid back down, a half-grin on his face as he continued to fuck himself in his fist. You like to think he’d made a sound from what you’re seeing and it only did nothing but make you wet, your arousal already soiling your underwear as you forced yourself not to do anything about it at all. You think you should feel any ounce of guilt right now, having to watch a very private moment, but your head had gone to mush and you just couldn’t bring your hand to exit out of the feed.

He was too beautiful, fucking himself into his fist like that with a lazy smile gracing his face — the type of smile you’ve never seen him do in person.

Oh, you wished you’d be the one making him feel good like that..

As he rutted himself into his fist, on the way to reach his peak, you found yourself snaking your hand between your legs now spreading it wide in front of the feed. You swore at how incredibly sensitive and soaked you’ve become as you moved your thong to the side, biting your lip when you smeared your wetness all over your aching pussy before eventually sliding two fingers in, your eyes blown with nothing but pure desire as you watched Jaehyun attentively, slowly pumping your fingers inside you in the same rhythm he was going.

When he eventually did come, rewarding you with spurts of his cum landing on his toned abs, you did too, with your hand clamping around your mouth to prevent yourself from moaning too loud.

He went back to bed like that, his expression so peaceful as you tried to catch your breath, your own wetness slipping out of your cunt and on to your bedsheet between your trembling legs.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The morning hours before the commencement of the charity ball, you begrudgingly delivered Jaehyun’s three piece navy suit to his study thinking he wasn’t inside but at the rooftop pool.

Much to your horror, however, he was in fact inside his study and he was shirtless with just some grey sweats hanging low to his hips, jet black hair combed backwards and still damp from the shower he just took. You almost dropped the neatly-wrapped black box onto the floor when he advanced to your side to retrieve his phone from his desk. You cleared your throat, backing off. “It’s from Prada.”

“Yeah, and you were supposed to pick them up, right?”

You stopped on your heel, halfway his wing already. You didn’t think he’d catch on to be honest. You knew you were supposed to pick it up for him but because you didn’t get any sleep, you ended up sleeping in for a couple more hours until Mark, one of the night personnel, knocked on your door to pass you his daily report after he couldn’t find you somewhere in the ground floor.

“I’m sorry. I just missed my alarm.”

You lied, hoping he would just let it go. You didn’t even think he’d care about it at all. It’s not like you overslept the entire day and completely forgot about your tasks today.

You thought about him last night again, a flush of warmth creeping on your cheeks but you fought to push those sinful thoughts away.

“Well, don’t be late next time then?” He turned his back to you so he can open the box and examine what’s inside.

You scoffed, trying to look away from his nicely-sculpted back muscles and proceeded to be on your way out when he suddenly called your name for the first time since the first day you’ve been appointed to be his bodyguard.

It caught you off-guard for a second there but you refused to provide him with any type of reaction when you spun around and met his eyes.

He has an unreadable expression on his face — something you couldn’t quite read but it did nothing but make your heartbeats pump faster than normal.

He leaned his hips to his desk, lean and muscular arms perched behind him to the flat surface.

“You have a good eye, do you?”

You raised a brow, trying so hard not to cast your gaze from his neck and down south, his grey sweats mocking you. It was the same one he wore last night.

“… Maybe?” You trailed off, not that confident like he presumed you to be with your chin high, eyes almost as dark as the evening sky and your signature red lipstick painted perfectly on your lips.

You somehow didn’t have that on today like the usual and your long black hair, always pinned and tied, just flowing smoothly on your back.

He sensed there was something off, but he liked the look you sported today. It made you look younger and innocent-looking.

He wasn’t going to lie, it did tickle his fancy.

“Then come by later and help me choose what looks good.”

You feel his wondering eyes scrutinize you for the first time, and you couldn’t help but stay still, not breathing at all until he turned around and disappeared into a corner of his study, leaving you stranded in the middle of it all.

For how many times you wished he’d learn to acknowledge you, you now sincerely hoped he never did because with the way he was looking at you just now, you couldn’t help but feel there is something else in those dark brown eyes.

Whatever it was, you think you wouldn’t be ready for it.

//

“We’re taking my route.”

You announce as you got on the passenger side with Jungwoo behind the wheel.

You’re on your way to the charity ball right now with Jaehyun on his phone, conversation seemingly boring but you still listened, taking notes.

He’s put on a patterned suit jacket instead of the navy one Prada brought for him and he looked too gorgeous in it like he always did but today, you think this might be your favourite look of his so far — jet black hair pushed back with a strand falling on his forehead, his neck adorned with a dainty silver necklace accentuating his regality… You were quite bummed you didn’t end up choosing anything for him due to an emergency meeting he had to be a part of when he was getting ready too so you chose to take your time getting ready instead, picking a total of three outfits you’ve laid to your bed before eventually gunning for the satin number in ivory.

You like to think you didn’t do so bad yourself too. If not, this has been the most dressed you’ve been for this type of occasion. You think you could get used to this at some point but it was still a little overwhelming for you.

You didn’t like being a part crowds reeking of nothing but money and gin, and chatting with any socialites at all even if you had to just because you’re Jaehyun’s bodyguard. You wished you had Jungwoo’s or Johnny’s post, only situated up the corridors hiding from plain sight to watch for any suspicious and unusual activity. You had to be more alert for it, but at least they stayed in the shadows unlike what you’re going to be doing once you and Jaehyun arrive to the ball.

“Don’t keep a long distance but stray closer to him, alright?” Your chief instructed at least two days before the event. “Just received a note from the sector and said someone from there might try to harm him, so be on the look out. I’m sending more back up in case.”

Saying you’re not that nervous might be an understatement.

You practically shivered on your way out of the car, cursing at the lack of clothing you wore for the event. You did have an option to wear slacks, but you wanted to wear a dress this time around since slacks was your regular uniform, and you wanted to look like you’d blend into this type of crowd as well, not wanting to stand out like a sore thumb (which you already do) but least you could do is pretend.

Pretend that you’re a socialite for once and what chief said, “Act like his equally rich girlfriend.”

“I’m off. Rendezvous in…three hours?” Jungwoo hummed as Jaehyun took off, leaving you with Jungwoo by the staircase. You scoffed. “And…he’s off. Ugh, tell him not stay here for more than three or i’ll eat my fucking fist.”

“Make it two and a half. I hate shit like this.” You sighed, waving him off. “See ya. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Ay-ay Captain!”

Midway into the charity event, you started to yawn as you watched Jaehyun having a pleasant conversation with a group of older men, some of them without an arm candy or if they did have one, they were from the overseas — all tanned and blonde with a variety of luxurious brands all over their outfit.

You thought they were rather tacky so you looked away, reaching for another flute of champagne to get rid of the nasty taste of some fancy snack you tried earlier. Something about an “escargot,” which caused Jungwoo to cackle devilishly from your earbud before translating what you just ate.

You felt like gagging, hating the thought of snails being digested in you right now but since you couldn’t leave Jaehyun alone as he continued his rounds to mingle with every damn guest in the room, you had no choice but to suck it up and hope the champagne can help get rid of the taste.

You could only stand there, watching everyone like a hawk before your gaze eventually fell on Jaehyun who was casually smiling to a girl dressed in dainty blue chiffon, accentuating her slim build.

She was cute, couldn’t be younger than him and she’s patting him on the chest now, getting a little brave with her manicured hands.

“Butter knife just arrived.”

You cupped the earbud plugged in your ear, still keeping an eye on Jaehyun.

“He’s here? Jungwoo, is he alone?”

“No… wait— Johnny says there’s one more coming from south. White van — fuck, it’s Sanchez!” There was a harsh whisper on the other side. “You have to get Jaehyun out of there.”

“He’s fucking surrounded with girls, I just— continue reporting to me I’m getting him out now.”

You suppress the panic surging through your veins as you slowly approach Jaehyun now being flocked around by female socialites right in the middle of the ballroom.

“I don’t think anyone is suspicious in the ball right now — Yuta said but just, yeah get him out. Chief found Sanchez being a part of the Amos cartel. He’s a fucking traitor.”

“Yeah, I know. They’ve been on the radar for days. They’re invited aren’t they?”

You stop by your tracks before you proceed, finding a small gap between several bodies you can snake through and hopefully get Jaehyun out of there soon.

“Yeah. They’re under that old bastard, Brekker, so leave. Jaehyun did his talk part anyway.” Jungwoo snapped. “Mark is waiting right in front of your exit, right behind Centennial. Go.”

And so you did, now latching a hand around Jaehyun’s wrist, pulling him out of the growing crowd and into you.

“Sorry, ladies. Judgment calls!”

He waved, a little tipsy as you dragged him towards your left exit and into the hall, not letting him walk on his own without you tugging his hand.

You whipped your head around, noticing Jeno one of the back-up posted up far away from your left. You share a brief nod before you proceed to one of the shortcuts which led to a narrow dim-lit hall, dragging Jaehyun behind you, his hand now clasped around your wrist.

“Wait, wait— slow down!” He half-yelled, unable to catch on.

“No, we keep going and I’ll tell you after. Just let me do this, okay?” He was about to say something else when you called Jungwoo, using your free hand to tell him to shut it. “Jeno’s on watch. Is Chenle okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that kid. Are you almost out? Should take you no more than two minutes.”

“Yeah,” You walked hastily as Jaehyun jogged beside you. “I got Jaehyun with me. Will be out soon.”

“Okay, okay great you’re almost there and — what? Who?” There was a murmur and a static noise interrupting you conversation which caused your brows to furrow but you kept going, the sight of one of the unused doors just a couple of steps ahead of you.

“Shit! Hey, you guys keep going. I’ll call you later.”

You blinked rapidly, free hand fixed to your earphone. “What? No — what the hell?” You grumbled but let it go as you made it out of the building with Jaehyun who’s now looking at you, noticing your worry but decided to leave it be until you found yourselves on the backseat of Mark’s car.

“Jungwoo just ditched me and I don’t know what the hell is happening inside.” You pushed Jaehyun to the side, your arm fixed to his lap as you spoke to Mark, now exiting the back alleyway and into a different route avoiding the main street. “You got any updates?”

“They’re saying one of Amos’ people got into the corridor.” Mark said, eyes focused of the road. “Chenle found him but he wasn’t alone. He should be fine though, I trust him.”

“But who’s on that floor? We made a last minute change just earlier.”

“Renjun — hey, strap yourself up though I’m about to speed so we can get off the intersection. Don’t worry about the guys.” He said rather sternly to try and get your mind off the gutter but something felt wrong and you can feel it in your gut — and you were always right.

“You have to tell me when Jungwoo’s on.”

You sigh in defeat, still quite tense when you felt Jaehyun tug your seatbelt for you, coaxing you to slide it without saying anything on which you eventually did. You were so glad he didn’t even bother interjecting but kept quiet, letting you and Mark talk and fill in the creeping silence.

You muttered a “thanks” to Jaehyun but made sure to stay alert until Mark gets any updates or maybe yourself, but for some reason you had a feeling it wasn’t going to come to you.

//

“There has been a break-in the corridor. Surveillance team are okay, and Chenle’s in the ER. Cops are on site. Had to get everyone out of there but no one sustained any bad injuries. Chief’s on duty and says you did a good job. They will control the press when this gets out.”

Mark closed the door behind him, eyes on his phone. You swore under your breath and started to pace around of the hotel room you had booked in advanced when something like this takes place.

You thought of Chenle and clenched your jaw, glaring at Mark.

“It’s not your fault. He just miscalculated. Assailant went for his leg.”

“With a knife?” You exhaled and sat back down, Jaehyun just on the other bed, gaze falling on you and a slightly nervous Mark who couldn’t help but loosen his tie. “Please tell me it was a damn knife and it wasn’t deep.”

“Yeah, a little deep but he’ll live. Hey.” Mark squatted now as he levelled with your gaze with his. “I promise I’ll update you but I’ve gotta meet up with Jungwoo and Johnny and check surveillance around the compound, alright?”

“Yeah… Go, I’m sorry but please, please update me about Chenle, okay?”

“Will do. I know he’s your fave just because he’s the youngest. He’ll be okay. Yeah? Mark smiled, tapping your knee attempting to sooth you. “If he finds out you were so worried about him it might get to his head so simmer it down and try to get rest.”

“Okay…”

You watched Mark leave into the hallway as the door automatically closed, trapping you and Jaehyun in a hushed silence.

It didn’t fully sink in that you were alone with him in one room until he voluntarily broke the silence, tiredness in his deep voice so evident.

“Who was it this time?”

You slowly twisted your torso to face him.

“Brekker.”

“I trust that he’ll soon find himself behind the bars by you, right?”

His eyes remained closed as you slowly found yourself tracing the outline of his black slacks and all the way to his patterned suit jacket, and finally, his peaceful riddled face — the exact one you saw through the live feed last night as he gave you a slice of heaven.

A scarlet hue spread on your cheeks. He looked like he just jumped out of photoshoot whilst you sat there, looking a little out of it, dress semi-wrinkled and with your lipstick drying out into the cracks, eventually making it ooze out some blood. You rubbed a finger across it, flinching from the sting.

“We’re working on it and trying our best.”

You say a little quietly as your ear perked up to his relaxed “hmm”.

You attempted to distract yourself from the sheer worry coursing through you, so you decide to get up and head to the en suite bathroom to wash the minimal make up from your face and only slipped out after a quick bath, wearing a spare night wear as you darted back into the now dim-lit room, seeing Jaehyun had already fallen asleep in the same clothes.

You could only exhale, feeling like you’ve been holding your breath for so long.

You gave him a slow glance as you occupied the other bed adjacent to his, sliding yourself further to the other side of your bed before you switched your phone on to read two new messages from Mark. Chenle was still okay, but he will have to be confined in the hospital for a few days due to a nasty blow he endured by the ribs requiring immediate treatment.

You sighed, texting him back and Jungwoo before you placed your phone back on the bedside table, leaving the yellow glow from the lamp next to you, gradually lulling you to sleep.

You woke up at 3 am, all parched so you went for a drink then back to bed. You couldn’t go back to sleep, however, which resulted in a series of rolls and turns trying to find a position you’d be comfortable sleeping at.

“Can’t sleep?”

You gasped, back fully turned from a sleepy Jaehyun lying somewhere in the darkness.

Was he awake this whole time watching and hearing you struggle?

“I think.”

You pulled your comforter over your shoulder, now awake, glazed eyes staring up the ceiling. You traced the victorian details on the ceiling above you as you hear Jaehyun move.

From your peripheral vision, you can see the outline of his arm, his long sleeve now rolled up to his forearm, making you clench your jaw.

“You’re still thinking about Chenle?”

There was a genuine concern on his tone, which surprised you, but after what happened today, you knew he couldn’t afford to make you feel like you want to shoot yourself in the head, and if he hadn’t, you’re not sure if you’d even let him sleep. You could fight him if he did try to frustrate you more but this wasn’t bad — the calm was good. It soothed you even if you felt like you were about to cry earlier because of what happened to Chenle, though you did keep in mind that this was your first.

Just as long as they’re safe…

“A bit.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “He’s the youngest… I think I’d go crazy if something happened to him.”

“But he’s okay. And that’s all that matters, right?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed a lump in your throat, your back still facing him.

You could feel him stare at you now and it did nothing but send goosebumps all over your skin.

There was a suffocating silence that seemed to last for eternity and you thought you’d be able to just force yourself back to sleep somehow until you hear Jaehyun talk again.

“You did a good job today.”

His words alone made you blink owlishly.

You thought you were going to melt right there and then and you, so badly, want to hear him say that again than deal with his usual condescending tone but you couldn’t be greedy.

“Do you hate me?”

You asked out of blue, seeing as this might be the only right time you could have a heart-to-heart with him. The both of you are stuck in one small space after all.

You didn’t need to find him and vice versa, so you went for it after a sudden bravery shot up into the surface.

But he didn’t answer.

You were about to repeat yourself again when he cut you off.

“Maybe.”

“Really?” You scoffed, tongue poking to the side of your mouth. “You never really acknowledge me, you know?”

He was quiet as you tensed up, continuing on with your little rant anyway now that you had suddenly developed the nerve to try to find out what his deal was and why he seemed to not be fond of you at all.

“Since the day we met… We don’t eat together…We live in one house and yet—“

“I don’t think you want to know.”

Upon hearing him say that, you pulled yourself up from your bed, fists falling to your side as you stared at him in the dark. You could make out his face and everything else. It didn’t even seem like he moved any muscle at all, so you allow him to bask in his short-lived peace before you stood by the foot of his bed, fury embedded in your eyes.

“Don’t you have some basic human decency?” You try not to lose it. “You treat every body else nice but when it comes to me…”

“Don’t start.” He warned, still laying down but he’s now staring back at you, his dark eyes penetrating yours in an endless battle you drew upon yourselves.

“I want to know why and you will tell me.” You declared, not taking what he said as a warning. “Right. Now. Jaehyun.”

“You really want to have this conversation right now?” He was back on his feet now, towering over you as he inched closer to you, a bite of sheer frustration and anger in his next words. “You just piss me off. I didn’t want you.”

“Did I even do anything to you for you to hate me?” You barked back, chin up high as you attempt to stand your ground but you soon found yourself backing away as he continued to advance, threatening to trap you. “I don’t get you at all! I’m the best from the recruits and I don’t care if you have little faith on me—“

“I don’t care if you’re the best.” He jammed a hand just above your head, caging you against the cold wall. “But your chief shouldn’t have given you to me.”

“Why not? God, just stop being fucking cryptic and tell me!’ You yelled, one hand pushing him off by his chest only for him to grab your hand and spin you around, your cheek meeting the wall with a small gasp knocked out from your chest as he locked your arm behind you.

“You’re a lot. Fiery and always held your chin high no matter what. Makes me want to mess you up a little.” He rested his chin on your tensed shoulder, his next words in a light whisper, and yet it had venom, poisoning your bloodstream. “Calling all the shots, bossing me around, trying to fight me while you look like this?”

You let out a wanton gasp when you feel his callused hand run up and down your inner thigh, his intoxicating, manly warm scent invading your senses.

You think you might have blacked out for a moment when his warm hand made its way to the curve of your waist, the soft material of your camisole being lifted by his fingers as he rubbed your bare skin, his darkened gaze attentive to the pleased expression you made for him.

“Jaehyun—“

“Do you understand now?” You feel his plush lips brush your nape, his hand snaking all the way up your skin. “I thought I could get rid of you without having to do anything, thinking one day you’ll just walk out and leave but you stayed. Then I catch you touching yourself in your room a couple of times because you couldn’t be bothered to shut the fucking door close. You know I’m home.”

You feel your pussy throb as he proceeded to grope your bare breasts, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. “You keep doing it so many times I was starting to think you’re fucking crazy.”

You genuinely thought he wouldn’t be able to find out knowing he doesn’t lurk in your floor — but now you know he does and maybe, there was always this sick fantasy you kept to yourself, thinking that one day he’d catch on and have it all figured out. It was only a matter of time until he can pin you to the wall like now, and have him ruin you when he hates you so much, might as well use that to intensify the obvious sexual tension between the two of you with no romantic feelings involved.

Or…was there?

“I think you want to pursue this for me to fuck you like I hate you, yeah?” He chided, a low chuckle gracing your ear. “Answer.”

“I—“

“What happened to being confident?” You let out a small whine as he palmed your clothed cunt. “If I find you wet, you lose sweetheart.”

He didn’t even let you speak as he slipped his fingers into your underwear, rubbing your clit in circles. You can feel the sudden rush of wetness ooze out of your pussy, soaking the fabric and you couldn’t help but groan, your face heating up.

“Jaehyun… Please…”

You moaned, struggling with the way he has pushed you further down, back arched for him as he continued to play with your pussy, the hard ridge of his cock in his slacks grinding on your ass.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes…” You huffed, any ounce of anger being replaced by pure arousal surging through every part of your body. You don’t even think you could say anything as you attempt to tighten your legs around his hand, not wanting to come right there and then when he hasn’t even plunged a finger or two but he didn’t waste time, cutting you off as he eventually pumped a finger into your pulsating cunt, earning a matching groan of relief from the both of you.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He grinned deviously as you cried onto your arm, muffling the loud moans trying to escape from your throat. “Bet you can come without me fucking my cock into you.”

“F-fuck!” You screamed, eyes clamped shut when he rammed his fingers into you faster, building a steady rhythm until your legs started to shake under your weight, already about to reach your peak when he noticed, cursing at the way you would repeatedly squeeze your walls around his fingers.

“Do you wanna do me a favour?”

He kissed the side of your jaw as you shuddered beneath him, mouth hanging open but no sound threatening to spill out. You thought he has successfully rendered you speechless as your gaze started to blur, teardrops sliding down your rosy cheeks from how good he was giving it to you.

“Sit on my face.”

You almost came on his fingers after he said that if it wasn’t for how fast he slid his fingers out of you to drag you to his bed.

You literally collapsed on his chest as you weakly spread your thighs a part, his strong arms helping you out as he urged you to hover on top of him before he slipped your clothes and underwear off, letting it fall on the carpet.

Once you braced your hands on the headboard, a pinch of hesitation wracking your nerves, you feel him raise his head willingly and push your bare pussy into his waiting mouth, sucking and licking your surging wetness from your pussy, feeling like you’re about to explode.

“Jaehyun— f-fuck, right there…”

You hissed, knuckles turning white on the headboard as he slipped his tongue inside your hole, fucking you with his jaw flexing, hands tight around your waist you were so sure he was going to leave a mark. You fucked his face ruthlessly, him being the most eager one who kept pushing you down and down until he his tongue jutted in and out, licking your slick walls before he lapped onto your clit, ultimately bringing you to the brink of an intense orgasm about to knock you down.

You came in his face in no time, a loud cry leaving your lips as you shuddered violently, wanting to get off his face due to over-sensitivity but he forced you to sit still, his plush mouth tasting the mess you’ve made for him, his free hand cupping his hard cock in his slacks.

You clutched your chest, unable to contain how fast your heartbeats were as you tried to calm down, sliding off him. He unbuttoned his dress shirt, eyes on you, his now moist mouth where your pussy has been, spreading into a contented smile which you lazily returned. You sat there, mouth agape as you watch him unzip his pants, palming his cock right in front of you.

“Come here.”

You crawled to him, his hand reaching out to trace your jaw, thinking he wants you to taste him but he shook his head, his dark brown eyes blown with nothing but carnal desire. He was going to give you the chance to suck him off, but he just couldn’t wait to fuck you, so he urged you to sit, hand positioning the pink head of his cock for you to sink into as you begin to tremble, getting more soaked at the sight of his cock being offered for you to use.

“I want to feel you,” He groaned into your ear as you lifted your ass and brushed your pussy on the head of his cock, letting it rub some off dripping wetness all over your pussy before you carefully sank in, whimpering just halfway in. “Good girl… You can take it.”

Once he was fully in, Jaehyun sunk lower to his pillow, bringing you with him so he could fuck you relentlessly in this position, disabling you from doing anything else but rest on his toned chest and have him fuck you hard as he pleased. You arched your back, one hand fixed to the headboard as Jaehyun thrusted into you, causing you bounce up and down of his cock, his sweet mouth latched on one of your breasts, sucking and biting your nipple ever so lightly.

“H-harder… Fuck, Jaehyun-n!”

You drove your fists to his pillow as you and him shared an intense gaze after he sucked onto your breast and let go. He bit his lip, in complete awestruck with the way you were losing it for him like a good girl. You almost cried yet again from how fierce he was looking into your eyes when he reached out to grab the base of your throat, lightly pressing to the side and choking you as he drove his cock harder and faster, simultaneously hitting your g-spot too to bring you into another mind-blowing orgasm.

“Fucking cum.” He said between gritted teeth as you tilted your head backwards, tears sliding down your face, his cock disappearing in and out of your cunt, the muffled loud noise of lewd squelching between your bodies bouncing off the walls, disrupting the quiet at such ungodly hour. “C’mon pretty girl…Fuck yourself on my cock just like that, yeah? Good, good— fuck you’re so good to me…”

You rode Jaehyun harder, panting as you met his own thrusts, nearing to the edge until you felt something snap in you.

You screamed into your open palm, free hand locked around his wrist choking you when you came for the second time, trembling around his cock, squeezing him until he pulled out, about to ask you where you’d like it when hastily slipped his cock back into your pussy once again, leaving him no choice but force him to spill inside you.

“On pill.”

You chuckled breathlessly, feeling his cum slide out of you and into the base of his cock.

You watch him arch his back with a deep groan, his hands flexing on your waist as you slowly lifted yourself off him only to leave a trail of open-mouthed kiss down his toned abs until you’re just inches away from his cock. You didn’t even let him stop you when you licked the leftover cum from the base of his cock, not wasting any drop which caused him to grab you back up, his thumb wiping some off your lips and slipping it into you mouth for you to swallow.

“You’re fucking nasty. I guess I do like you.”

“Makes the both of us, don’t you think?”

You feel him circle a hand around your waist as you laid there with him, naked, eventually joining him under the covers.

“I agree. What do you think the head maid would say if she knew?”

“That her manifestation worked…? Jaehyun you should know this things. She’s into crystals, for God’s sake.”

//

“So far, it’s all clear. We’ve enhanced the security everywhere so I think it’s okay. It’s up to Jaehyun though if he’s good with staying at one of the rotational houses within the perimeter. Of course, you’d have to move with him too but you can take one of the personnel with you. We’re gonna have to suspend his public schedules for now until they finish the investigation. “

“Great.” You sighed as you padded down the white-washed hall with Mark, getting sick and tired of the strong antiseptic scent of the hospital. “Watch out for Chenle, too. He looked like he wanted to pluck his IV drip away and fuck out of here.”

“He did want to try it many times, but will do, and hey?”

You spun around as Mark gave you a brown envelope. You tucked it into your purse as he scratched the back of his neck, lips all pursed.

“What.”

“Make sure you don’t have the earbud activated when you’re alone with uh…Jaehyun.”

You blinked, a little confused until you felt your face go in flames, swearing at Mark and then playfully whacking him on the shoulder.

“Whatever!” You rolled your eyes, starting to bolt into a different direction to catch the elevator as Mark broke into a high-pitched laughter, giddily waving you off.

“I won’t tell chief! But I think you gotta buy Jungwoo some condolence wreath!”

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

love songs | skz

pairing... bf!skz x gn!reader (separately) tags... headcanons, fluff, super soft, song recs!, incredibly self-indulgent 😊

stray kids members as my favorite filipino love songs

wc... 1.3k words a/n... hi sorry i'm super obsessed with romantic filipino songs and i wanted to share them with you!!! i translated the titles but i heavily recommend looking at the translated lyrics if you plan on listening to the songs bcs theyre so good i melt every time i swear! i hope you're able to enjoy and share my appreciation for my native language 🫂🫂🫂 (let me know if you're interested in a f2l version cos i've got some ideas brewing haha)

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ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° CHAN → when i met you - apo

this song is from the 80s and it’s a classic! the whole song is in english and it’s about how one’s lover opened their eyes to a beautiful romance

i once saw a tiktok saying chan is so “first love trope” coded and i AGREE. he gives first and forever vibes. your love is just so pure and overflowing with meaning yk?

i feel like he’s so used to taking care of others and when he meets you the tables are turned cos all of a sudden you’re the one smothering him with love and care and he’s like 😮

you redefined what love means for chan and that’s what made him fall so deeply in love with you

he has a newfound appreciation for life and he’s always looking forward to tomorrow because another day alive is another day with you. also, each day he finds himself loving you even more than the day before

♡ you gave me a reason for my being and i love what i’m feeling

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° MINHO → tahanan - adie

tahanan is tagalog for the word home, and this song fits minho because you are his home

this song is about one’s lover being the brightest aspect of their life and i definitely believe that’s how minho would feel about you

everyday he looks forward to going home, not to the literal physical structure, but to you. he feels safe and so so so loved when you’re right by his side

minho is a big softie on the inside, and he shows it to the public sometimes, but it’s 100% out on display when he’s with you. like he’s so smiley and giggly and lovey-dovey when it’s just the two of you it’s insane

he’s actually sooooo clingy like he’s attached to your hip pls. he’s constantly pulling you into hugs honestly. and he loves them so much it makes his heart feel so fuzzy and warm

labis ang ngiti kapag ika’y ka-harap ♡ i smile the most when you’re in front of me

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° CHANGBIN → paraluman - adie

the word paraluman refers to someone with indescribable, god-like beauty

this song is about love at first sight and being completely engulfed in one's beauty

and you can see that from changbin through how he looks at you with literal heart-eyes 😍 no matter what you’re doing. you could quite literally be doing your skincare and in the reflection of the mirror you see him smiling at you with admiration painted all over his face.

changbin holds you above everything and everyone. you are the sole reason for his existence like every fiber of his being belongs to you.

he literally praises the ground you walk on. he’s so drunk on your love like he will do anything and everything for you. you are his muse, his inspiration, his god.

namumukadkad ang aking ligaya sa tuwing ika’y papalapit na ♡ my happiness blooms whenever you’re near me

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° HYUNJIN → mabagal - daniel padilla, moira dela torre

mabagal means slowly, and this song is purely about one wanting to slow dance and cherish every moment with their lover

hyunjin wants to cherish every single millisecond with you. and dancing happens to be one of his favorite ways to do so.

he will randomly pull you from wherever you're sitting and lead you in a slow, loving, passionate dance

he's such a hopeless romantic, he's a goner. he falls in love with you all over again whenever you have your hands on his neck and his hands on your waist. you’re just gazing into each other’s eyes and talking in hushed tones.

your conversations while dancing hold so much meaning for the both of you. you could talk about something lighthearted or deep, either way it always ends with you expressing your deep love for each other once again

hawak kamay, pikit mata, sumasabay sa musika ♡ holding hands, closed eyes, in sync with the music

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° JISUNG → uhaw - dilaw

directly translated, uhaw means thirsty

and lord this boy is THIRSTY for your attention (but it in the best way possible!) he hopes that you think about him as much as he thinks about you

this song is about being head over heels in love, and that's how jisung feels about you. the way you talk, the way you smile, the way you show kiss him. he’s obsessed with every single part

he wants to know everything about you, he wants to be around you 24/7, he wants to be the one you rely on. honestly, he just wants you

the chorus is like i’m so in love with you but i don’t really understand why. that’s jisung. he isn't exactly sure why his heart yearns for you to the point it sometimes hurts, but he doesn't care as long he gets to spend his whole life with you

bakit uhaw sa’yong sayaw, bakit ikaw? ♡ why do i thirst for your dance, why for you?

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° FELIX → unang sayaw - nobita

in english, unang sayaw means first dance and this song is about the happy memories of falling in love

felix gets so giddy from everything you do and this song captures that perfectly. his heart does cartwheels every time you look at him and he smiles so wide when you’re with him that his cheeks ache

sometimes the feeling of love overwhelms him so much he just needs to let out a little scream HAHAHA like he needs to let everyone that he’s yours and you’re his 💞

usually, he would tell you that the sun reminds him of you. but one time, he told you that you shine so brightly that it surpasses any star in the whole multiverse and he melts every time he’s with you

he doesn’t mention it, but every time he recalls the journey you’ve gone on together, it ensures him more and more that he wants to marry you one day.

sa ilalim ng kalawakan, pangalan mong isisigaw ♡ under the galaxy sky, i will scream your name

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° SEUNGMIN → mundo - iv of spades

the song mundo emphasizes the importance of pure, committed love. mundo means world and it has two uses in this song

for one, it’s used in a way to call one’s lover their whole world. i fully believe that that’s how seungmin sees you. you are his whole world, his everything

and for two, it expresses forgetting everything else except each other; forgetting the whole world around you because what matters is the love that you share

seungmin wants to be your shield. he will protect you and listen to all the problems you have, making sure that you know that he’s by your side every step of the way. you'll never be alone as long as he's alive

he’s not very big on words so he shows his love through actions, and i think that’s very fitting to the meaning of this song

limutin na ang mundo nang magkasama tayo ♡ forget the whole world when it’s just the two of us

ɞ° ‧₊˚ ◡̈° JEONGIN → come inside of my heart - iv of spades

idk if many people know, but this song is in fact by a filipino band! come inside of my heart is about reassuring one’s lover that they are the love of their life, even if they don’t always express or show it very well

jeongin is big on quality time and subtle acts of love and he doesn’t really use his words to tell you how much he loves you. because of this, he sometimes worries that you think he doesn’t love you when that’s not at all true

instead of “i love you,” he prefers to send you playlists of songs that remind him of you. or maybe he’ll leave some of his hoodies at your place so that you can wear them without asking him.

there are times when jeongin wishes you could see inside his mind and his heart so that you would understand how much he loves you (a LOT)

you’re constantly plaguing his thoughts and his heart. he genuinely believes that his life revolves around you because you’re just that significant to him

♡ come save me ‘cause you’re the only one for me

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taglist: @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[theetherealbloom]

NO COMPLAINTS | JOEL MILLER

No Complaints | J.Miller One Shot

Summary: In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age-Gap (Late 20s - Early 30s) Angst, Hurt-to-Comfort, soft!joel, suicide ideation, Almost SA (dw nothing gets that far), Assault, Abuse, Blood, Injury, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Slavery, Ellie and Joel had talked through their problems and everything is ok so no golf =D

A/N: This fic by @familyvideostevie titled “the meaning of it all” inspired me to write again after a long-ass writing slump. Literally, go read all of her fics cause they're just THAT good. Tbh, I’m not sure if this was even good to post since I’ve been out of practice. This one is a little darker than my usual writing, idk how it happened… it just does… so remember the trigger warning ya’ll!

Song: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

MAIN MASTERLIST

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You always thought that you’d find peace in never being awake long enough to feel anything. You lay there staring at the red marks on the hillside and the sharp grooves in the bark of the trees, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got to be in this desolate spot. Your feet, which were now exposed and rough, bore witness to a difficult journey.

All you knew is that one moment, you were fighting for your life from a group of raiders a few miles North, and you ended up where you lay. Had it been minutes? Hours? You weren’t sure as your vision was blurry and hazy, only saw the bleak white winter sky, you could hear crows cawing in the distance as you were freezing, and the snowflakes were on your lashes as you lay there in the snow.

Memories were a blur, time a mysterious riddle. One second, you had been immersed in a life-and-death conflict with savage captors who had enslaved you many kilometers to the South. In the next, you were in this desolate, snow-covered setting, with no clear explanation for how you had arrived. You saw the world through hazy glasses, your eyesight clouded, and all you could see was the stark winter sky, pure and cruel. As you lay there, a lonely soul in the middle of the cold wilderness, the eerie cries of far-off crows provided a haunting tune to your frost-chilled daydream. Each snowflake rested sweetly upon your eyelids.

A ghostly mist danced in front of your eyes with each breath, a whispered reminder of life's fragileness. You tried to relish these fading moments with every exhausted breath out. You felt tired and under pressure from having survived for a long time. You had endured the storm for a long amount of time, seeing pathetically as those you loved died, leaving a thick veil of grief, guilt, and unremitting agony in their wake.

You ached for relief, an end to the never-ending agony that had become your daily existence. During those last seconds, as your eyes closed like a curtain shutting on a world of hopelessness, you heard the muted voices of a group of strangers and the distant sound of galloping horses. A lone figure towered above you, their voice a beacon crying for assistance, while the warmth of your own tears blended with the chill on your cheeks. 

“Please… make it stop,” you gasped, the words escaping your trembling lips like fragile whispers, hanging heavy in the frigid air. "I just want it… to stop." And with that, at that very fragile moment, you gave yourself up to the gentle embrace of the gathering darkness.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

How you awoke unfolded gradually, like the faintest of whispers. First, a parched throat and chapped lips stirred you, and then the sensation of the plush pillow cradling your head, the yielding mattress beneath, and a soft blanket cocooning your form.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you hesitantly blinked awake, and an immediate panic surged within you, constricting your chest. The world around you was unfamiliar, and a gnawing uncertainty clawed at your psyche. Was this a new iteration of hell on Earth?

A relentless drumming, your heartbeat, echoed in your ears, and your vision swirled with chaos as you scanned the alien surroundings. You used your forearms to hoist yourself from the bed, your chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of your breath.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a man in a pristine white doctor's coat, clutching a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake," he began, but your question cut through his words like a knife.

"Where am I?" you demanded, urgency coloring your voice.

"You're safe," he assured, though the reassurance felt as hollow as an echo.

Driven by an instinct you couldn't fathom, you sprang from the bed, the IV drip yanked free from your left hand, a sharp sting preceding the rush of cool air against your skin. Barefoot and resolute, you pushed past the doctor, racing down the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty, sterile corridors.

With a beating heart, you reach the end of the dimly illuminated corridor and see two enormous doors. With bated breath, you lunged forward, pushing them open and preparing yourself for whatever horrors could be behind them. You expected to be in another harsh and terrible location where the only things that remained consistent were torture and cruelty.

To your astonishment, you found yourself in a simple, wintry town. People of all ages populated the snow-covered streets. Elderly residents chatted quietly on porches, and children giggled and played, their rosy cheeks contrasting with the chilly air. The adults turned in surprise at your unexpected arrival, their faces mirroring a mix of curiosity and concern.

From behind, the approaching doctor and nurses shouted, their voices filled with alarm. In the midst of your confusion and disarray, a strong pair of arms encircled you, causing your instincts to scream in fear. 

"Let go of me!" you cried out, struggling in the grip that held you captive.

A soft, heavy southern accent whispered gently in your ear, "You're okay... you're safe here. Ain't no one here gonna hurt you, darlin'."

Your fear intensified as you flailed and cried inside the confining hold. But you didn't notice the abrupt, stinging prick on your neck because you were too caught up in the chaotic mayhem. The environment around you became blurry and black in a couple of minutes.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The patrol had begun like any other routine, just another day in the relentless grind of survival. The plan was straightforward: coming across a few Clickers and eliminating them like they were just annoyances to be removed. What he had not expected, though, was to stumble across a lady who was on the verge of dying of hypothermia. 

“Please… make it stop,” you begged in a voice so soft and fragile, "I just want it… to stop."

Joel couldn't ignore the desperation in your pleas. He'd been there before, when the world had crumbled into chaos, and he'd lost his daughter. Back then, he saw no point in carrying on, until he'd met Ellie and endured the hardships alongside her. He found her, protected her, and now, he cared for her as if she were his own.

Joel stood there, just across the street from the clinic, his weary eyes and gruff exterior a testament to the countless trials he'd faced. Those brave enough to ask for the details of what had transpired a few days earlier, who he had discovered, were met with curt, direct responses, followed by an icy, hard stare. 

He'd assumed that Maria, Tommy, or whoever had been entrusted with integrating newcomers into Jackson would take care of you. So, for the past few days, he went about his life as best he could—patrolling, teaching Ellie how to play the guitar, constructing new homes, and restoring old ones.

But as he made his way to assist Tommy with yet another task, he saw you in the middle of the street, awake and in a state of panic, clad in your medical gown. His chest constricted with a sudden, unexplainable urgency, and without a second thought, he was sprinting towards you, clutching you against his chest in an attempt to ground you.

Now, you were back in the small room of the clinic, asleep due to the sedative they had administered. Joel sat in a chair beside your bed, patiently awaiting your awakening. He couldn't quite comprehend why he felt drawn to be by your side, to ensure your well-being. He closed his eyes, pressing both palms to his face, contemplating the reason he felt so adamant about your recovery.

Maybe it was the way he had glimpsed the hopelessness in your eyes, a reflection of his own prior misery. The way you had pled, already having given up on yourself, touched a chord within him. He understood that sensation all too well. Despite the plethora of sins he had committed, perhaps aiding you was a chance for atonement, a way to make amends for everything he’s done.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You stirred from your slumber, feeling the haze of grogginess envelop you as your weary eyes fought to open. Gradually, your vision sharpened, and you found yourself in a familiar place. This time, you weren't alone.

Across from your bed, a figure sat in a chair. His countenance was rugged, marked by the passage of time, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with the stories of his life. His presence exuded a rugged handsomeness, even as he raised a quizzical eyebrow in your direction.

In a deep baritone, his voice resonated through the room as he uttered the words, "You're awake."

You shifted uneasily on the bed and looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His piercing look was enigmatic; you didn't know how to respond, so you decided to be quiet, entangled in a fog of uncertainty.

With a soft hum, he introduced himself, "The name is Joel… Joel Miller. What's your name, ma'am?" His voice carried an air of gruff kindness that gently nudged you to respond, yet you found it hard to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted everywhere but his, and you said your name in a shy whisper, leaving it hanging there like a delicate secret.

Joel's voice wavered as he began, "I'm... I'm not exactly supposed to be here, but I—" 

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes squinted with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as you interrupted, "Then, why are you here?"

His words stumbled and faltered. "I... I don't—"

Frustrated with the lack of a clear answer, you turned your gaze away from him, your attention drawn to the frosted glass window on your left. Joel fell silent, respecting your need for space.

After a brief pause, you nodded toward the outside, your voice soft, inquisitive. "Is it real?" Joel waited for you to elaborate, and you continued, "There are kids playing in the street, no FEDRA, elderly being taken care of... it all seems so..."

"Normal," Joel finished your thought, and you snapped your head back to him, watching him nod in agreement. "Yeah, I couldn't quite believe it myself, to be honest," he admitted, clearing his throat. "Jackson is a safe place, a good community. They've got real food here."

A weary, exasperated chuckle escaped your lips as you felt a lump form in your throat, and your eyes grew watery. You hugged yourself tightly, seeking comfort in your embrace as you confessed, "I... I don't know what to do."

"We'll figure it out, darlin'," Joel reassured you, his words infused with a tenderness that pierced through his rugged exterior. It was a kindness you hadn't expected, a gentle ember igniting a glimmer of hope within you. Maybe, you began to believe, that life wasn't supposed to be a never-ending punishment after all.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Solidarity was something you thought was long gone ever since the beginning of the apocalypse, where the Infected had taken what they wanted, and the remaining people who survived will always be at war with each other rather than fighting the common enemy.

It took more than a few tries, but eventually, you got the hang of things, thanks to Maria and Tommy, and especially Joel and Ellie. Bits and pieces intertwined with time got you to understand them better and sometimes made you feel less alone. Your mind sometimes wonders how Joel and Ellie met, when Joel practically adopted Ellie as his own, or how they got to Jackson.

You’ve got a house that you have made your own, a bed, and a kitchen. You help give back to the community in ways that you can. You helped in the greenhouse, and the stables, and when you were finally ready, you went out patrolling with the group when you were up for rotation.

Initially, you kept to yourself, often skipping breakfast, lost in a peculiar silence that enveloped you like a shroud. It was a protective cocoon, a way to conceal yourself as if you were an isolated island adrift in a sea of people. The presence of others had always unnerved you, a lingering fear that refused to release its grip.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Taking charge of the stables for the month had its perks, especially when it came to tending to the horses—an undertaking that ranked high among your favorite chores. While two other residents were technically assigned to work with you, the majority of your time was spent in the solitary company of the majestic creatures.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, just before the crucial handover to the patrolling team, you busied yourself ensuring the horses were well-fed and prepared. Running your fingers through Scout's mane, one of the older stallions, you continued the rhythmic task of brushing his coat, a tranquil hum escaping your lips.

"S'cuse me," a voice interrupted, and you jolted at the familiar sound. Turning your head, you found Joel, surprisingly up and about at this early hour. Mouth slightly agape, you greeted him breathlessly, "Joel, hi."

"Up early for patrol today... so... was wonderin' if you needed any help," Joel's gravelly voice broke through the quiet serenity of the stables.

You tilted your head, a subtle quirk of curiosity. The unexpected shyness emanating from Joel piqued your interest. Scanning him up and down, you suppressed a smile before nodding, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fluttering in your chest. "Um, sure... Could you feed the rest of the horses over there?"

He nodded in acknowledgment before moving with seasoned ease to attend to the horses, his hands moving confidently as he handled the feed and navigated the familiar routine of caring for the animals. As he worked alongside you in the quietude of the stables, the bond between caretaker and horses, and perhaps something more, unfolded in the soft morning light.

"How are you settlin' in in town, darlin'?" Joel inquired, his voice dipped in a gentle southern charm that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. The term of endearment he used left you feeling a sweet warmth spreading throughout your body.

You shrugged, a subtle smile playing on your lips. "Jackson is good, quiet, and peaceful. Never thought a place like this could still exist after... everything."

Joel's gaze lingered on you, and he couldn't help but note, "Well, it's got its charm. People here look out for each other. You included darlin'." His words held a quiet sincerity, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Your eyes shifted around, a flutter of nerves settling in before gathering enough courage to meet Joel's gaze. You licked your lip nervously, and the words tumbled out, "Joel, I... I never apologized when I... um... first arrived here in Jackson. I'm sorry."

Joel looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and a softness overcame him. He offered you a sympathetic smile, "Nothin' to apologize for."

"You must have thought I was crazy," you lamely laughed, and Joel shook his head, his voice gentle, "No, not at all, just someone who's hurtin'."

You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling a phantom fear of tragedy as if he could see through you, still aware of any negative tendencies you may have. It evoked a sense of helplessness and vulnerability.

Then, a flicker of something in his gaze—a fire, a subtle intensity that caused warmth to spread across your face. An unspoken connection kindled in the quiet space between you, creating an inexplicable but undeniable bond.

Unable to hold his gaze, you looked away, clearing your throat, and tried to hide your smile as you continued to brush out Scout's mane. Joel smirked, watching you duck your head, proud of the way he made you react with just his gaze. The unspoken words hung in the air, a sweet tension that hinted at something more than apologies and simple conversations.

“So… what’s today’s patrol route?” You asked, trying to move the conversation, Joel walked over to you and finished feeding the horses, he stood in front of you and sighed, “Should be a quick one, makin’ sure there aren’t any infected or raiders nearby.”

Time flew by in the hypnotic flow of discussion with Joel before you realized it. His patrol partner eventually arrived, signaling the end of your stolen moments together. As you handed over the reins to Joel, a subtle thrill coursed through you when your hand brushed against his. A soft smile graced your lips, and you whispered, "Stay safe out there, Cowboy."

In response, Joel's steely exterior softened, and a rare, small smile played on his lips. He nodded, meeting your gaze with a warmth that transcended the casual camaraderie. "I will, darlin'," he affirmed, the endearment lingering in the air like a promise.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The kitchen at Jackson bustled with activity, and you were focused on the mundane task of chopping carrots for the evening's stew. Gemma, a fellow resident assisting you, had stepped outside to discuss some news with an acquaintance. The day seemed ordinary, a haze of familiar routines in the post-apocalyptic town.

But then, it happened. A deafening crash of the door bursting open shattered the tranquility, causing you to jolt in fear. Instantly, you were transported back in time, your mind torn from the kitchen and thrust into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped.

In an instant, you weren't in Jackson anymore. Instead, you found yourself in that dreadful place, that sinister basement that still haunted your darkest memories. It was as if the chains that once bound your ankles were clinking and dragging across the worn wooden floor again, just as they had back then. The echoes of your fellow captives' whimpers and cries resonated in your ears, the cacophony of despair down the hall of that wretched basement.

The room seemed to whirl around you, and a frantic panic welled up inside, a chilling flood of memories surging through your mind like an unstoppable tide. It was as if the past, a nightmare you believed you had left behind, had come crashing back into your reality. 

Your throat constricted, and tears welled in your eyes, blurring the faces of the people and the clatter of the fallen knife in the kitchen. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't pretend that everything was okay. You couldn't ignore the haunting echoes of the past any longer.

Without a second thought, you dashed past the bewildered onlookers in the kitchen, their voices fading into a distant, indistinct hum. Your pounding footsteps carried you through the dining hall and out into the crisp, autumn air.

Outside, you continued to run, propelled by an inexplicable urge to escape. The scene before you spun as you sprinted past, driven by an overwhelming need to distance yourself from the nightmarish memories that had clawed their way back to the surface.

Reaching the stables, you sought refuge by pressing your trembling hand against the cool, aged wood of the railing. It was a familiar anchor in this moment of turmoil, offering some semblance of support as your chest heaved, each breath drawn in ragged gasps. Your other hand clung to your racing heart as if to prevent it from leaping out of your chest.

Overwhelmed by emotions too powerful to contain, you eventually collapsed to your knees on the straw-strewn ground of the stables. There, amid the scents of hay, horses, and leather, you allowed yourself to succumb to the tidal wave of anguish. It was a cathartic release, an outpouring of pent-up pain, as you wept for the horrors of the past and for the insidious trauma that still gripped your very soul. The weight of the past was crushing, and a foreboding sense of its unending presence gnawed at you.

Amid the silent stables, in the hushed serenity of the autumn afternoon, your sorrow reverberated through the air. The horses nearby snorted and shifted, sensing your distress. Through your blurry vision, you made out the form of your own horse, Spirit, a palomino, whinnying and restlessly pawing the ground. Even he could perceive your distress.

With a heavy heart, you surrendered to the overwhelming emotions, curling into yourself. You buried your head in your arms, seeking refuge from the maelstrom within.

Time was elusive in that moment of vulnerability, and you couldn't gauge how long you remained in that cocoon of pain. It was the gentle touch of someone's hand on your shoulder that finally roused you from your anguish. Startled, you jolted and flinched backward, your tear-soaked eyes locking onto the familiar figure before you. 

It was Joel. He knelt on the stable floor, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, a silent assurance that he meant no harm. His voice, as gruff and comforting as ever, reached out to you with reassurance, "Hey, sweetheart, it's just me. Nothin's gonna hurt'cha."

You felt yourself wrapping your arms around Joel in a vulnerable moment as if motivated by an unsaid desire for comfort rather than condemnation. He hesitated for an instant, but then he threw his powerful arms around you and held you close to his chest. Tears poured easily into his flannel, his hold's warmth providing a haven from the cold.

His hand moved with a soothing rhythm on the small of your back, a gesture meant to calm the storm raging within you. In that quiet corner of the stables, amidst hay and the comforting scent of horses, you let out the pain that had long been buried.

Word had traveled through the residents about the outburst you experienced, reaching Maria's ears. Concern etched on her face, she went to check on you, only to discover your broken state in Joel's embrace on the stable floor. A shared look between Maria and Joel conveyed an understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the solace he provided. Without a word, Maria nodded in appreciation before quietly walking away, leaving you in the tender care of Joel's comforting arms.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Funny how it all fades away, the chaos of the world and the turmoil within, the very moment you surrender to Joel's arms. It's as if the universe aligns with the comforting embrace, reshaping the way it spins. You find yourself rearranged, your mind shifting, holding on a little tighter in the safety of your old age.

Your past, a fragile tapestry of pain, remains untold, hidden away from prying eyes. No one had ever asked, and the memories were not something you carried with pride.

Before you knew it, tears had given way to exhaustion, and you had surrendered to the solace Joel provided, falling into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Joel, unable to disturb your tranquil rest, gathered the strength to lift you with a gentle grace. Carrying you across the farmhouse they called home, he navigated the familiar halls with the kind of care one reserves for something precious.

In his bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking you in with a blanket. You slept soundly, undisturbed by the world outside. Closing the door with a soft click, Joel rested his head against the wood, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of concern.

A voice sliced through the quiet, shattering Joel's contemplation. "Watcha hidin' in there?" Ellie's words caught him off guard, and he jumped, a whispered curse escaping him, "Fuck! Christ, kid, you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, her eyes studying Joel's worn expression. "Who's in there?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair as he said your name, "She needed someone, kid. Don't worry, she's asleep now." He could see the questions forming in Ellie's eyes, and he continued, "She didn't need to be alone, not tonight."

Ellie's gaze softened, her understanding silently conveyed. "Need any help?" she offered, the bond between them speaking volumes in the unspoken connection.

Joel shook his head. "Nah, I got it covered. Get some rest, Ellie."

As Ellie retreated to her space in the garage, Joel turned back to the closed door, a silent vigil for the fragile peace within.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As you deeply inhaled, the scent of soft cotton sheets enveloped you, and the plush mattress cradled your form. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, causing the curtains to sway gracefully. Blinking your eyes open, your eyebrows knit in confusion as the unfamiliar room unfolded before you, a stark contrast to the one you had meticulously crafted as your own.

As you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a scene that painted a portrait of the person who occupied this space. A guitar stood propped up next to a box of records, hinting at the melodies that might have filled the room. A clock, perched on the wall above a small bookshelf adorned with a multitude of books, ticked away the moments. The window, adorned with a closet nearby, allowed soft daylight to spill into the room, casting a warm glow on the carefully curated details that made this space unique.

Exiting the bedroom, you quietly padded towards the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aroma of breakfast and a faint hum in the air. As you entered, Joel came into view, focused on the morning task of preparing a meal. You said his name, but he tilted his head to the side, as if catching a subtle sound in the stillness. Eventually, he turned around, and a small smile graced his face, revealing the hint of a dimple.

"Oh, you're awake. Good mornin', darlin'. How'd ya sleep?" Joel greeted, his eyes warm and the kitchen bathed in the aroma of breakfast. The worn, well-loved kitchen table held evidence of countless meals, the scent of brewing coffee enveloping the space, and a charming clutter of ingredients spoke of a morning routine crafted by familiarity and care.

“I… I’m–”

“Before you start to apologize for shit that you can’t control, don’t,” Joel interjected, a wry smile on his lips.

Deciding it was too early for arguments, you settled for a small nod, and Joel mirrored it with an agreeing one, “Alright, good.”

You began, “Uh, then I should… uh, see myself out then um–”

Joel shook his head, “Not with an empty stomach, you’re not.”

“But I–”

“Let me take care of you, please?” Joel's request carried a certain weight, and you found it hard to resist. Politely nodding, you ventured, “Is there anything I could help with?”

Joel shook his head, “Just have a seat over there by the dining table.” You complied, the chair scraping against the floor before you settled, observing Joel expertly preparing a spread of plates.

The front door opened, and Ellie walked in with a bright smile upon spotting you. "Hey! You’re still here and Joel hasn’t scared you off yet?”

You began to reply, but Joel scolded Ellie, placing down plates and glasses on the table, "Ellie!"

With a sheepish smile, you told her, "Quite the opposite actually."

Ellie shot Joel a cheeky look as she stuffed her face with food, “Wow! Look at you, when did you become such a social butterfly?” Joel sighed, shaking his head, while you shared a chuckle with Ellie, finding yourself welcomed into the heartwarming banter of their unconventional family.

You three had a nice supper together in quiet companionship. Ellie finally got up from her chair and announced that she was going to hang out at Dina's apartment. Never one to pass up a chance, she gave Joel a playful glance and puckered her lips into a kissy face at him while you were busy with the dishwashing.

By the time Joel was done drying the dishes with a towel and setting them on the drying rack, you picked at the loose skin on the edges of your fingernails, nervously waiting for Joel to ask the question you knew was coming.

“Let’s go sit out at the porch and enjoy the good weather, watcha’ say darlin’?” Joel asks and you bring yourself to look at him and you just nod as you follow him outside. He opens the door for you and gestures to the seat that you take, Joel moves the table around and moves his chair closer to yours.

You inhale deeply, finding solace in the delicate dance of silence and the caress of a spring breeze that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Have ya talked to anybody?” Joel's voice breaks the quiet, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and kindness in his eyes.

“What?” you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Y’know, made some friends around town?” Joel elaborates gently.

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Your quizzical tone hangs in the air, and Joel huffs, “Well, you ain’t answerin’ the question, honey.”

A sigh escapes you as you weigh the words in your mind. Finally, you admit, “I like being alone.”

“Must be why you’re talkin’ to me so much,” Joel remarks with a smirk.

You meet his gaze, the warm sun highlighting the depths of his brown eyes as he looks at you. Shaking your head, you say, “That’s why I knew you were different. Because, for the first time ever, I wanted someone else’s company more than my own.” The vulnerability in your words hangs between you, suspended in the soft glow of the sun.

Joel's weathered hand envelops yours, a gesture that carries the weight of shared pain. "I’ve had 'em, the um, panic attacks," he admits, his voice a low murmur that echoes the haunting specter of those moments. "Feels like all the air in your lungs is gone, and you begin to feel like you’re drownin’.”

“I see her sometimes,” Joel continues distantly, his gaze lost in the depths of memory. You wait, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. “Sarah, my daughter. I lost her on outbreak day. She was only twelve.”

Your eyes well up, and you squeeze his hand in silent solidarity. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel shifts his gaze to his broken watch, a relic that marks the day and time when his world shattered when he cradled Sarah in his arms as she bled out.

“I got Ellie now, and she’s…” Joel trails off, the weight of his feelings for Ellie impossible to articulate fully. She's his everything, the reason to press on in a world that often feels desolate.

“I know,” you say, nodding in understanding.

“Talkin’ about it helps, y’know. Learned the hard way, almost lost her.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the raw vulnerability in Joel's words resonates with your own pain. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” you gasp, the ache in your chest palpable. “It hurts, Joel.”

“What happened out there, darlin’?” Joel asks, his voice breaking.

With a sob, you reply, “Nothing good. Nothin’ good, Joel.”

Then, the floodgates open, and you begin to tell an account laced with patches of short-lived joy and a frantic search for any opportunity at a better life. You spoke about the day of the breakout, the terror of seeing your parents die, and the passing of your siblings. You were taken prisoner by deranged and vicious raiders who took you to a basement filled with the deafening screams of violence.

You consider yourself lucky, spared the physical torment, yet the anticipation of it looms, a shadow of dread. "They should've just killed me then and there," you choke out, laying bare the scars that time can't erase.

A surge of anger courses through Joel's veins, an incandescent rage that echoes through his chest, resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The simmering heat in his head intensifies, a visceral response to the mere thought of anyone causing you harm. Every protective instinct in him flares up, urging him to mount a horse and embark on a ruthless pursuit, to track down those who dared lay a hand on you and unleash a torrent of violence upon them.

Yet, a rational part of Joel prevails. He recognizes the urgency of your need, the necessity for his presence here and now. Despite the molten anger that simmers beneath his skin, he restrains the impulse to act immediately. For your sake, he remains seated, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, locking away the fiery wrath that threatens to consume him. It's a fierce battle within, between the protective warrior ready for vengeance and the caring soul determined to offer solace. In this moment, he chooses the latter, for you.

The weight of your dreams presses upon you, vivid and haunting, every detail etched into your consciousness. "I've been remembering my dreams, more vivid than they've ever been, every detail and little thing. Every time I think about going back there to save the others I just… I can’t,” you admit, the guilt seeping through every fiber of your being. Joel kneels in front of you, a pillar of support, placing his hand on your knee.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart,” Joel suggests, his voice a gentle anchor. You nod, allowing him to guide you back inside. Both of you settle on the couch, and Joel scoops you into his arms, a comforting embrace that shields you from the harshness of your own thoughts.

Sniffling, you pour out your heart, “I know I should have gone back for them, but I saw the opportunity, took it, and fought. I fought hard, and then I ran.”

Joel hums, a soothing melody that allows your tears to flow freely. “I thought… I was okay with the idea of dying, right there, in the snow, and then–”

“I found you,” Joel interjects, his voice a soft murmur.

You look up at him, eyes filled with uncertainty. “You found me?”

Joel's voice drops to a low register, his gaze steady on yours. “I found you during the patrol, freezin’ to death. Thought I didn’t make it in time.” The admission lingers in the air, a symbol of the frailty of beating the odds and the silent connection that kept you from falling apart.

You both stay quiet as you try to calm yourself down while Joel holds you, unable to form any response to the revelation that Joel saved you. You know you’re supposed to be grateful, but at the same time, you don’t feel that way. So you settle closer to him and Joel squeezes you a little tighter as if he knows what you are thinking, and there is no judgment, just pure empathy and understanding.

Eventually, you settle down and softly say, “I don’t know what to do,” Joel rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, “We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Then for the first time in years, that's when you could finally breathe.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the seasons wove their tapestry of change, so did the fabric of your life, threading moments of lightness and warmth. Having shared the weight of your past with Joel, he became a steadfast presence, an anchor in the shifting tides of your existence. Ellie, too, became a companion in the shared journey of growth.

On a particular day, amidst the vibrant greenery of the greenhouse, you found yourself potting plants and tending to the garden alongside Ellie and another resident named Tris. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the symphony of laughter as you engaged in the simple joy of gardening.

Joel, clad in his worn yet beloved flannel, entered the greenhouse, his eyes inadvertently catching the scene of camaraderie and playfulness. He watched, a subtle smile gracing his lips, as you and Ellie exchanged sweet banter, a dance of words that resonated with laughter.

Ellie couldn't resist a playful pun, and you responded with a burst of laughter, the sound harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the hum of nature. The moment encapsulated the genuine connection, the shared language of laughter, that had blossomed between you and Ellie.

There had never been a label given to the unwritten relationship between Joel and you. It was a wordless understanding, manifested in the tender attention he paid you and the evenings you spent finding comfort in the round of his arms. There was a promise in the air as he held you tight, "I'll keep you safe, sweetheart." The words were genuine and reverberated through the unexplored areas of your connection, a song of love and safety that didn't require any further explanation.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The morning proceeded as usual, and the break of dawn illuminated Jackson's sanctuary with a hopeful glow. There was a small party of new arrivals, an expected but unusual sight, and the customary welcoming committee was called upon to assist them in becoming adjusted to the way of life in the community.

You and a few others started the annual task of welcoming the newcomers into the communal room that serves several purposes. A mixture of wonder and expectation pervaded the air as the newcomers experienced Jackson's regularity and warmth—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world.

You did your duty without thinking as the new faces moved into the shared dining room, where a shared meal was waiting. But at the doorway, something stopped you cold, a pause that went against the normal flow of the greeting.

And then, you saw him.

Recognition struck like a bolt, the back of his head triggering a flood of memories—the cadence of his voice, the grimy shirt clinging to his frame, the dirt-encrusted hands that bore the stains of a past you had fought hard to escape. Time seemed to fracture as you stood there, immobilized, your mouth agape and dry, eyes widened in sheer terror.

You could feel the weight in the pit of your stomach, a concrete representation of the eerie memories of abuse and torment. This could not be real. He was not allowed to be here, breaking into the safe sanctuary you had taken refuge in. Previously perceived as a haven of security, the shared area now seemed to evoke images of suppressed anxieties and bad dreams.

His eyes lock onto yours, and a malevolent grin creeps across his face, revealing a set of teeth that seem to glisten with wicked intent. The sight sends shivers down your spine, and an overwhelming sense of nausea threatens to consume you. In that moment, Maria's reassuring grip on your shoulder serves as a lifeline amidst the storm of dread that surges within you.

Her voice cuts through the dissonance in your mind, “You okay? You look unwell,”, her concern accentuated by the chaos unfolding around you. Yet, it's her inquiry that acts as the catalyst for your unraveling. A surge of panic propels you out of the scene, your movements fueled by a desperate need to escape the looming threat.

The world blurs around you as you sprint through the town, a disorienting juxtaposition of familiar faces and judgmental gazes. The echoes of a haunting déjà vu accompany your frantic run, amplifying the weight of your terror. Tears stream down your face, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as your throat constricts, a relentless grip tightening around your airways.

Staggering, you struggle to maintain composure, but the relentless onslaught of fear takes its toll. The corners of your vision blur, and in a secluded moment, away from the prying eyes of the community, your body rebels. The gut-wrenching sensation overwhelms you, and you bend over, retching as the trauma resurfaces in both memory and physical reaction. The ground beneath you bears witness to the aftermath of a confrontation with the haunting specter of your past.

As you slide down the cold, unforgiving wall, a shiver courses through your body, amplifying the stark reality of the present moment. The cool surface offers little solace as you fold into yourself, desperately clutching your knees as if they could shield you from the impending storm.

The air around you thickens with a stifling heaviness, a cruel reminder of the past that refuses to release its grip. Curling into a defensive ball, you hug yourself tight, as though this simple act could ward off the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you.

With your head buried in your arms, the world outside the fortress of your limbs becomes a distant, distorted canvas. The minutes unravel, each tick of the clock echoing the pulsating rush of blood in your ears. The simplicity of the moment clashes with the complexity of the emotions swirling within.

Seventeen again, caught in the clutches of an awful, horrible place that has become an indelible scar etched into the tapestry of your existence. The pain is not merely a memory but a living, breathing entity, clawing its way back into your present, rendering the passage of time meaningless.

The walls around you seem to close in, their echoes carrying the weight of your history. It's a stark reminder that the past, no matter how desperately you've tried to escape it, remains an unwelcome companion, haunting the recesses of your soul.

You feel the air thicken as he draws near, his presence casting an ominous shadow that seems to devour the feeble rays of sunlight. A cold shiver races down your spine, a chilling prelude to the encroaching darkness. His footsteps echo like ominous drumbeats, each one resonating with an unsettling promise.

"You thought you could escape, huh?" The words slither from his lips like venom, his voice a malevolent symphony that pierces through the ambient sounds of the surroundings. His gaze, filled with a malevolent gleam, locks onto yours, trapping you in a macabre dance.

Despite your mind screaming at your limbs to flee, a paralyzing fear roots you to the spot. The weight of your past sins, haunting and relentless, manifests in the figure before you. His form, etched with the scars of your shared history, now looms with a menacing intent.

"Did you really think you could hide here? With these people?" His tone drips with disdain as he gestures to the community around you. The tendrils of his threat extend beyond mere words, reaching into the very fabric of your newfound sanctuary.

Your breath catches as his words morph into a menacing promise. "I can take it all away, you know. Everything you've found here." His gaze shifts to the people you've come to love, their laughter and camaraderie now tainted by the looming specter of his return.

Nathan. A name, almost lost to the recesses of memory, surfaces in your mind – a cruel reminder of the scars he etched upon your soul. In this ominous confrontation, the echoes of your past reverberate with the sinister intention of reclaiming what he believes belongs to him.

Nathan's grip tightened around your arm, and you let out a scream, thrashing wildly to break free. As your nails clawed at his face, Nathan spat out a curse, "You fuckin’ bitch, I’ll kill you!"

In desperation, you tried to stand, but he grabbed your ankle, dragging you mercilessly across the floor. Your knee aimed at his face was thwarted, and his hands closed around your throat. The air in your lungs dwindled, and you kicked and screamed in a futile attempt to escape.

Feeling the switchblade in your pocket, you willed yourself to grab it. Flipping it open, you cried out as you stabbed him in the neck. Joel stormed towards you, anger etched across his face, but before he could intervene, you pulled out the switchblade, attacking Nathan with a frenzy of stabs.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you cried, each word punctuated by a vicious thrust of the blade. Tears streamed down your face as you unleashed your rage on the man who haunted your nightmares.

Joel, realizing the danger, moved swiftly. He pulled you away from the blood-soaked scene, shushing you and grabbing your wrist. The switchblade fell from your grip, staining the grass, and Joel held you close, shielding you from the aftermath of the violent confrontation.

Amidst the chaos, Joel's voice cut through, reassuring and protective. "Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're safe now." The echoes of your cries mingled with the distant sounds of Maria, Tommy, and others dealing with Nathan.

Maria's gaze shifted towards you, concern etched across her features. She turned to Joel and gave a decisive order, "Go and make sure she’s okay." Joel's response was a firm nod, an acknowledgment of his responsibility.

There was a hint of irritation in Joel's eyes as he escorted you home with an arm around your waist. It was an aging-related displeasure with himself for not being fast enough. But he was driven by desire to take care of making sure you were safe, and he brought you home with a strong sense of protectiveness. The atmosphere was tight, with echoes of Maria's instruction that spoke of the need to protect you from the horror that had recently occurred.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

In the quiet confines of the bathroom, Joel tenderly cleans the cuts and blood on your skin. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as he carefully tends to your wounds. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh memories that still lingered.

Joel glances at you while he works, capturing your attention. Through the difficulties you've undergone together, you've built a mutual understanding and a silent bond. The air changes, as trust and frailty meld together at that one instant.

Joel stops and meets your eyes for a brief period. There is a tangible tension between you that none of you can deny. The air seems heated. He places the first aid kit aside and reaches for your face with his hands.

Without a word, Joel leans in, closing the gap between you. The touch of his lips against yours is a gentle reassurance, a promise that you're not alone. In that tender kiss, there's a quiet acknowledgment of the strength you've found in each other.

As the kiss lingers, the weight of the past starts to lift. It's a moment of solace, a testament to resilience and the possibility of healing. Joel pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

And in the quiet bathroom, amid the wounds of the past, you find a newfound feeling of hope, grounded in the connection established through endurance and the compassion of Joel's care. Joel smiles softly and says, "You deserve to be happy, darlin'. Let me take care of you."

As Joel continues to care for your wounds, a sense of calm settles within the small confines of the bathroom. The sting of antiseptic is a tangible reminder of the present, but you find solace in the fact that Joel is here, offering comfort and care.

He finishes cleaning the last cut, his hands lingering for a moment before he retreats. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a silent agreement that this moment marks a turning point. The ghosts of the past may linger, but the present holds a promise of healing.

Joel's gruff voice breaks the quiet, "You're a tough one, you know that?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a rare sight that warms your heart. You manage a small smile in return, grateful for the unexpected bond that has grown between you.

Leaning back against the bathroom counter, Joel lets out a sigh. "You've been through hell, and here you are, facing it head-on. I've seen folks crumble under less. You're stronger than you think."

The atmosphere shifts as Joel's gaze meets yours again. There's a question lingering in the air, one that goes beyond words. You realize that this moment is a crossroads, a chance to choose your path forward.

"You're not alone in this," Joel reassures, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcends the scars of the past. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage, a newfound strength that emanates from within. The pain of the past begins to lose its grip as you accept Joel's support. The familiarity of the bathroom transforms into a sanctuary, a symbol of resilience and the possibility of rebuilding.

As you rise from the seat, Joel watches you with a quiet intensity. You get closer as the uncovered pull between you becomes stronger. This is a turning point in your life when you realize that you are now in control of the two worlds you have battled to survive and are determined to rebuild.

Joel's weathered hands find yours, a comforting embrace that symbolizes the connection you've forged. The tension that once lingered now gives way to a shared understanding, a silent agreement to face the future together.

In the hushed bathroom, among the fragments of the past, you lean in, closing the distance between you and Joel. The kiss that follows is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of the strength found in vulnerability. It forms a bridge between the hope of the next day and the scars of yesterday as it becomes deeper. 

Joel pulls away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Instead, he finds a glimmer of determination, a spark that signals a new beginning. With a whispered promise, he says, "We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

With Joel right there beside you, you walk into that tiny, quiet room, ready to tackle whatever the world throws your way. Strangely enough, the weight of the world feels lighter with him around. No complaints from you—just a sense of readiness for whatever comes next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

End Notes:

tbh, I blacked out while writing this--- so UH if there are any inconsistencies let me know! :>

[xandermatthews2290]

The Final Secrets Theory

With Chapter 2 starting back up again in about..8 hours, I’m gonna make my last prediction with the information currently available

So just taking the entire motive and murder at face value, we have 14 secrets, and if somebody isn’t dead in 4 days they are getting revealed

The logical step is then gonna be that the culprit must be among the group that still hasn’t had their secrets revealed, gonna include some visual aids

So far: Arei, Ace, Nico, Eden, David, Charles, Rose, J, Whit, and Arturo have had their secrets outed at the point we’ve left off at

that’s 10 people hypothetically out of contention, but as Rose never checked her secret, Whit actually cannot be included in that group of 10 leaving us with just Levi, Teruko, Veronika Whit, and Hu as potential culprits

Also it is worth noting that prior to the trial being started: Eden, Ace, David, and Arturo’s secrets were not public knowledge

Ace and Eden’s get revealed with very little fanfare

And one of the last points of contention, the dead students secrets, outside of Xander’s depression and potentially suicidal thoughts , the only thing we learn about Min is that she may have killed someone to earn the title of Ultimate Student

The 5 of them at the start of the case, Levi and Teruko are cooperating and reveal they got Arei and Rose’s secrets

Veronika, Levi, David, Hu, and potentially are all looking suspicious now but really what secrets are left

“You’re a murderer and you hold no remorse”

“You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun.”

“You were quite the hopeless child, dying once wasn’t enough, so you attempted suicide 3 times”

“How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you’ve done in your life is worth killing for. This killing game is your fault”

The above secret was credited to Xander, however it is not clear if the dead students were included in the swap, along with another secret mentioning survivor’s guilt, however it is still possible that Levi or Hu’s family could be dead

“Your mom is dead. You always omit that truth”

So just looking at them, I’d say Teruko not being able to tell which is hers is pretty messed up.

But otherwise which of these is worth killing for? The murderer one is of course terrible, but killing someone now will just reinforce that point, this secret seems most likely to be Levi’s given the limited suspect pool, Teruko and Hu are far from emotionless though it is possible it’s Veronikas though 1 other fits her better

Only took your talent to distract yourself from self harm? The most popular theory is that this is Veronika’s following her scene in the movie theater

Though it is possible that Hu could have this secret, Veronika is much more likely, by extension Levi is also out for this secret as we can actually see most of him, and Teruko didn’t take up her talent at all

Hopeless Child, 3 suicide attempts, I lean towards this being Hu’s out of the secrets remaining, she seems to be a bit of an outsider, going by a different name to fit in.

This could easily be Teruko’s as she openly knows she can’t die and that failed hanging attempts are extremely painful, however David has also been openly more suspicious of her this chapter so it’s most likely he has Teruko’s secret, that being her being the reason the killing game exists, likely to test the ultimate luck

The mom one is probably Whit’s, which kinda undermines the theory that he’s lying about it but really? This doesn’t fit Teruko who’s an orphan and would recognize it immediately , Veronika has never acknowledged her life outside of the academy

Looking at Levi, he isn’t close to his family at all making this secret less likely to be his, it could be Hu’s but I’d still say it’s a reach

So now onto the meat of this theory, the culprit is most likely Eden or Levi based on the information available

The motive doesn’t end at your secret being revealed and while some people have claimed that certain secrets are not worth a murder, we’ve seen Charles and Arturo do complete face turns and Arturo himself nearly slit Eden’s throat in a moment of panic

Charles nearly had a breakdown and is now questioning his entire life’s view, he might not kill for what he hears but he might kill to find out what really happened with Elliot, unlikely this chapter since he’s the most active trial investigator but Arei’s bloodless death is certainly unnerving

So take Eden’s innocuous secret: “Ever since you kissed her, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships”

her secret is basically that she is a lesbian, or bi, who am I to say. Everyone’s else’s secret dives into deep trauma and fear, their crimes, their deteriorating mental states. Not that her secret isn’t valid but it’s also extremely mild, it also could be the first time we hear of Mai Akasaki, she’s hasn’t shown up at all and her role is still unclear.

Having her be related to Eden’s secret and subsequent murder would be a way to semi-naturally introduce her to the story

Now onto Levi the other most likely culprit, he’s been shown to snap relatively easily threatening Ace’s life the first trial after just being an arrogant annoyance

So the main trigger for this was Ace calling Levi a coward something he openly isn’t able to take nearly as calmly. He also barely acknowledges Mom’s violent execution, claiming it was simply “too absurd for words”

Yeah does anybody really think that Arei could have had a talk with Levi about his secret and not have brought up something similar

it’s also why several pieces of evidence don’t seem to go anywhere, the rope under the carousel, the milk jugs, the fish

It wasn’t used for anything, Levi was strong enough to break her neck, something Eden likely wouldn’t be able to do, and strong enough to hang her with no assistance however with Xander now dead it’s important to make it seem like somebody that wasn’t jacked could have killed Arei

So it it’s with that that I conclude my last pre CH2 part 2 theory, the culprit is Eden or Levi, though I lean towards Levi as he was my first suspect when I watched it so I’m committed.

Whit is also my crackhead theory but I’m at the point where I feel the evidence stacks up nicely but still leaves a lot to desire, though I would still like to be right so here a mini theory to go with this brick of text

In the words of Charles they fucked up, Whit is somebody to not only have an alibi with Charles but to also have taken credit for a secret that can’t be validated

He also did something a fair bit more damning:

He’s the reason David went to the relaxation room, Arei does say that she snuck a peek at Whit’s secret but isn’t it also possible that Whit simply told her and coordinated their meetup that night?

He’s not overly suspicious but sometimes there’s beauty is simplicity

Now for the short wait and to hope all these theories don’t get nuked the second part 2 starts

[firefly--bright]

september coffee

jean kirstein x reader, modern au

summary ; september feels alot like the start of the year. jean brings you pastries while you make coffee, and september feels less daunting than january. warnings ; none! a/n ; im sorry for the last atrocity. please enjoy this domestic slice of life and forget i ever wrote the last one. thanku. also this is just me revealing my mocha recipie. enjoy :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿

middle tile art creds ; @ppushable !

september feels a lot like the start of the year. more than january, a better fit. maybe it's the air, maybe its the cool breeze, maybe its the fact that your hair falls a little better, maybe its the fact that your coffee tastes like how you know how to make it, or that your music fits the occasion of the leaves falling on the ground. orange, a little soft still, littering the entrance of your apartment building.

or maybe it's none of those. maybe you're reading too much into it. the wind holds your face with its coolness and you think it's okay to breathe a little better. you think it's better to forget you were ever fourteen. its okay if your bedside table is lined with coffee cups, a dark band running on the inside of them, indicating that it has been used well enough to know it isn't forgotten. youre barely there but its okay because the year is just starting - nine months in.

or maybe it's him. his hands in his pockets, waiting outside your door with a brown bag holding croissants and some cheese. the good one, he says, holding a grudge against everything that doesn't meet his taste. his coffee is black and made by you, just how he likes it, sitting on your kitchen counter patiently, cooling down.

maybe he just happens to breathe life into the september's stillness to make it a little fuller. which is an important title to give to someone, akin to god, being the one your risky and dangerous hopes are pinned on, an unknown specter.

he balances his coffee on his laptop, carrying the both of them - dangerous, risky, hopeful. places both on top of the kitchen counter in front of your quarter-made coffee. it's barely starting, the brew of your present concoction being only planned out and the mug is empty when he peers into it, curious.

"what's it gonna be this time?" he asks, taking a sip from his cup with gentle breaths, knowing just how hot the coffee is going to be. this is not hope. no, its the fullness that comes with being with him. being with him is to feel september around you, semi-crunchy leaves on the ground being forgotten by everyone else but you even if you're in your home making an iced mocha.

"you'll see." you say, speaking about hope. he'll see. you'll wait.

he nods, slowly, twice, uncalculated movements that you have somehow counted and known since you'd met him. "show me." he says. this is also not hope, and you dare not to mix the two - his voice isn't a command but its a plea. not a hope, because he knows you enough to know you'd comply. its certainty. not risky, not dangerous. safe and sound in your home, cup of quarter-made coffee, marbled floors, september air, his voice. safe. easy.

you've been too focused on stringing hope together. beady rocks of what people describe as a glimmer. you'd describe it as something more of a small weight. beads. something that required effort to be collected together once they scattered away. hope came with the dangerous of risk and its own existence, a mapped road that you had been down to several times, hoping against hope. but this was good. the little shine in his eyes, looking at you without expectance.

"two spoons of coffee." you start, taking your shitty pack of instant coffee, crumbled at its zigzagged edges, cut unevenly. jean's face scrunches up at your choice, something you cant show you agree with. "why this one?" he grumbles, and you spare him a glance from the corner of your eye.

"its backup coffee." you say, shrugging. the plastic crinkles under your fingers as you slip a spoon inside it.

"backup coffee?" he asks, pushing the cup closer to your spoon - things that dont go unnoticed by you. its not about actions being added up in the end, you think, because you were always taught that it was the sum of all your actions that determined if you were good or bad, but its not. in this moment, you decide that everything - little or big - that he did made your heart feel like it actually mattered. every thing had its own consequence.

"my actual coffee's finished. this is the one i use when i have to wait for the next grocery run to buy the good stuff." you answer, and he hums, his hands folding themselves over his chest, nodding, attentive, certain. You turn your attention to another cabinet – the one containing the sugar and cinnamon – and jean’s attention rests on you. the music sounds different, you think, clearer. another thing about September stillness. Another thing about the normalcy of hopelessness. Despite how big and scary the word sounds; hopelessness isn’t a curse. It doesn’t have to be, not when jean’s eyes are on your hands and the way you turn the cap of the sugar jar, careful, certain. Hopelessness is certain. It’s a favour. it’s the lack of hope, the lack of the blood-curdling risk that comes with it. It’s the lack of the expectation for something to be perfect, you keep thinking, take one spoonful and dumping it on the coffee powder in your less-empty mug.

Another spoon. Your mind shifts - you're going to add chocolate syrup in this, that’s going to have sugar too - you shake some sugar off the spoon and back into it’s jar, grains falling in-between the space of the jar and the mug, spilling on the counter. Hopeless. Jean snickers. “shut up,” you say with a smile of your own, capping the lid back on before moving on to the next step.

“cinnamon?” he asks, tilting his head. You nod, flipping the lid open to the part with tinier holes than the other side and sprinkling some in. “how do you know how much?”

You shrug, but your moves are decisive. “just eyeball it.”

he rolls his eyes, hopeless. “I need measurements.” He says. you scoff. “and you’re going to actually make this?” “yes.” He says as if its obvious, “for when you want it but cant make it.”

Little things. You were always taught about adding things up to make them count more, but this counted just as much. You pause, taking a breath to take in the fact that he admitted to the act of loving you. admitted to the fact that he’d love you into routine.

September air breathes a little more into life.

“just… trust your gut.” You say, a little hopeful, you think, because your heart’s beating a little bit faster. Risky, dangerous. pearls of hope are scattering away from you. in the silence where you don’t speak, jean seems to have made up his mind, giving you a deadpan expression when your eyes meet his. “don’t give me that bullshit.”

“what? I trust your gut. Why cant you trust your gut?” you challenge, closing the lid, placing the bottle on the marbled counter, turning your face towards his. He runs one hand through his hair, shaking his head. “my gut cant even digest lactose.” “and yet you eat blocks of – what is it you got?” “gouda-“ “gouda with wine.” “yeah that’s because…that’s my duty.” You laugh in affectionate disbelief. “then its my duty to drink how much ever cinnamon you put in my coffee.”  

The same silence spreads across the room again. Contemplative, comfortable; an unsaid recognition of your own version of a confession, just as his was. And jean thinks about how you claim you don’t know how to talk about things in a way that make sense and have shape, but then you do. You always somehow find a way to make everything into a prayer, into a sentence that hopes to be something more than itself. And then he thinks about how comforting it is. The fact that he’s the only one that can decode your false bait into its much more real, much scarier reality. Each phrase hoping to be an “I love you” that only jean can hold, seeing it to be something akin to a scripture rather than three countable words.

A duty to make coffee for his beloved; a penance, an act, a confession. And then the duty to drink the coffee if it turns out worse than promised; a recognition, an act, a confession.

You move to get the milk from the fridge. Its half empty, half full, and you pour just enough for the milk to cover the powdery mix in your mug, filling up around one-third of the glass.

“hmm. Milk. Right after you made fun of my disability.” He says. you laugh. It’s a ritual. “being lactose intolerant is a curse, not a disability.” He waves his hand around in dismissal. “whatever,” he says, just as you place your mug in the microwave. The action catches his attention more than the rest of your actions do.

“microwave?” he asks, tilting his head again, a strand of hair falling over his forehead. Your hand reaches forward, brushing it back, your fingers tangling in his hair. His eyes flutter, cheeks tainting a watery red.

“helps the sugar melt faster.” You say. You watch his adam’s apple bob, his eyes opening to meet yours, your hand still in his hair. He hums, and you're almost afraid he’s going to fall asleep – standing up, leaning against the marbled kitchen counter, with your hand where its supposed to be, soft strands against your fingertips, just where he’s supposed to be, the slope of his shoulders relaxed, calm, only moving with his breath.

The microwave dings. Once, twice, and you open it before it reaches it’s last beep. Another ritual. The song changes, playing another soft tune, and jean’s shifts his weight from his left foot to his right, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his stupid blush from you even though you’ve already seen it and taken pride in it. You’ll grant him the illusion of having gotten away with it. Just this once.

placing the mug on the counter again, you stir the sugar into the milk and coffee and cinnamon. “how do you know if the sugar’s dissolved?” jean asks. He leans back to his left foot, shifting closer to you. his chest is against your arm, just enough space to let you mix the liquid, it’s warm scent filling the room, taking up space, mixing with your breath. September air lulls – its all just shitty instant coffee and cinnamon now, and the old, burnt-out candle on your coffee table not even three steps away is long forgotten.

“chocolate next.” You say. Jean nods, moving off of the counter to the cabinet beside him, and you try not to focus on his movements too much. It proves to be hard when his forearms flex with little effort and his face lights up subtly when he spots the bottle of the syrup, reaching forward to grab it. Another confession, you think, that you didn’t ask him for this. You didn’t ask him to come to your apartment just to watch you make your coffee, you didn’t ask for him to waste his time while you could ramble about the day you spent without him. He didn’t ask for you to look at him as if he was doing you a favour, but he was. Is it a favour if you didn’t really ask for it? You didn’t ask him to open the bottle for you, you didn’t ask him to squeeze whatever was left at the end ontop of your warm coffee. And you mumble out a “thanks” anyway, because what else can you do?

“I kinda… stab the cup? With the spoon? To feel the bottom…if there are any grains left, id feel it though the spoon.” You say, demonstrating exactly what you were saying. Your spoon hits the bottom of the mug, and you feel a crystal of sugar through the tip of your spoon. “complicated,” jean whispers from beside you and you try to stifle a laugh.

“not really. Youre stupid.” “im not.” “sure.” “im not.”

Pearls of dangerous hope string themselves together without your say in the matter. You breathe out and watch as the remaining ribbon of smoke from the heat of the coffee distorts around your exhale. Jean’s hand rubs the flesh of your arm, the un-asked for warmth leaving it’s traces on your skin. You didn’t ask for this. His hand is on your shoulder now, and you cant help but enjoy it. You stir the chocolate into your concoction, and jean leans forward to place a small kiss near your collarbone without prior notice. But you don’t flinch from surprise, relaxing under his lips. He pulls away before you can start wondering again, and your mind lulls.

“I just followed some video at first and then I hated it. And then I just fucked around and found out. my first coffee was with my cousin sister when the lights went off. We all went to the grocery store because that was the only place with the a/c still on, and she got a can of cold coffee and I had a sip and now my only goal in life is to make coffee that was exactly like the shitty can of coffee we had then.” You said, overexplaining while the ice in your now full mug of coffee melted slowly. Jean took a sip of it, nodding to your story. His brows lift in little surprise after taking a sip, shaking his head in appreciation. “don’t know if this counts as shitty,” “you like it?” you ask with a smile, and jean pretends it doesn’t affect it as much as it does. The coffee settles in his stomach as do the butterflies. He nods.

You love him. there are no favours to ask for. After making sure the chocolate’s dissolved, the colour of the coffee changing from what it was before, small bubbles gathering at the edge of the liquid, you move to the fridge to get some ice. Jean’s eyes follow your figure, glued to your face as you reach into the freezer, prying the ice cubes out, holding them in your hands.

“you could’ve just got the mug near you,” jean says, watching you pour the handful over the coffee. “and I’m the stupid one?”

“shut up.” You tell him with a smile in defeat, unable to come up with a clever response. You wipe your now damp hands on your pants, and jean grabs the milk, pouring it over the ice, knowing just how much you’d like. A couple of the cubes float to the top, just as he stops, and now its your turn to lean on the counter beside him, hands resting on the marble as he stirs the coffee.

“if this were a glass mug-“ you say, and he looks at you with a soft smile you cant quiet place, “-you could see the layers of the coffee and the milk and it looks really pretty,”

he hums in response. “when did you find out you liked it like that?”

“its good. Sweet,” he remarks. You tilt your head knowingly, “you pretend to like black coffee but I know you’d tear up a frappe,” “I would not-“ “literally last week.” “that was different.” “how?” “I bought that for you!” “and you drank all of it before I even knew you got it for me-“ “I was tempted.” “sure, jean.” You say, laugh laced in your words. Jean pushes the mug towards you as if to prove you wrong.

You take a sip. The song changes again, and jean’s hand finds its way to the small of your back. With your lips still touching the cup, his lips touch your cheeks. His stubble tickles your chin, but you don’t flinch. September air is calm, quiet, there’s little breeze. Jean kisses your cheek. “how was your day?” he asks, ready, quiet, calm.

you breathe a little better, turning your face to his and pecking a kiss to his lips. He unwraps the pastry he bought not too long ago while listening it you, hopped up on the kitchen counter with a cold iced mocha in your hands, jean’s eyes on you. pearls become a necklace, and the string is stronger than before because he’s here. His eyes are on you.

[jeonstellate]

spaces between us

you never want to cross paths with seungcheol again but, as it seems, the universe has other plans.

๑彡 choi seungcheol x afab!reader

๑彡 secret baby!au, post-break up!au — angst

๑彡 paragraph format — 1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from one direction’s spaces (whose lyrics fit the ‘past’ that led to this story, albeit it was not explicitly told here).

๑彡 this is quite impulsive, actually. i was reading through my old fics in my drive a couple days ago && thought i can tweak this one a bit to change the ml . . .

You were surrounded by an enormous amount of cuddly plushies and breakable action figures. Everywhere you looked, your eyes would land on a face you grew up watching. Every single character played an important role in your childhood, whether you admired them or not. As far as your younger self was concerned, you were in heaven.

But then . . . you weren’t.

In the flood came — strong, unwavering, and without any warning.

All you could see was smoky quartz. Dark and light all at once. Akin to whiskey and honey whenever there was an eternal sun shining upon them, addicting and melting you right in. You could hardly believe that there was a time when they were utterly comforting to you, instead of just reminding you of a seemingly endless pain.

You had always appreciated the color brown. It was the color of soil — where life always had a chance to begin. It was the color of cocoa, too — a main ingredient in making the world sweeter. For you specifically, it symbolized a never-ending list of possibilities and opportunities.

Then, there came a time when the color itself signified something else entirely. It promised a happily ever after you never purposely sought, but was granted by the heavens anyway. It promised to cherish and to love you always. It promised you forever, lasting until the end of time. With the hopeless romantic ideologies that surrounded you as you grow, you willingly believed in those promises.

Yet, apparently, forever only last for seven years.

Brown, as rich and magical as it would remain, had its enchantments fade. Promises were broken. Smiles were rare and deceptive. A home gradually turned into a mere flat. A shadow eventually turned into a ghost. Life, once full of animation, had become utterly silent and still. From that moment on, dark crystals signified neglect, abandonment, and . . . regret.

You did not think you would be able to forgive those morions, much less forget. Yet, with time, they began to symbolize hope; a new beginning.

You never meant for it to. But these new dark crystals were so pure . . . so innocent . . . and so full of life. They were everything you thought it would be, if that shade was given humane features. Rather instinctively, just as soon as you caught a glimpse of them for the very first time, you knew you must protect those gorgeous hues from any evil — and so you tried your best.

Despite being an exact replica of the former, you instantly loved the new smoky quartz with all your heart — even more than your own life.

Once the flood had calmed, you found yourself in a situation that you had been dreading for the past few years. You did not expect the inevitable encounter for at least several more years, thus not even the comfort of childhood assisted in composing your racing heart.

"Seungjae." You found it quite difficult to act indifferent around a presence you used to know so well. "Why don’t you explore the princesses’ section? Your Uncle Jonghyeon told me Sarang likes Mulan." It was not like you could blatantly ignore him, either. All you could do was get Seungjae as far away as possible in case a confrontation spark ablaze.

"Okay!" Seungjae was enthusiastic as always, just like any other toddler who never seemed to run out energy. They turned to the man next to them, an appreciative smile on their face, "Bye-bye now, Mr. Seungcheol, thank you!" They then turned back to you, holding out their hand, "Let’s go?"

"I’ll follow you in a minute, love, okay?"

"Okay!" Seungjae remained oblivious on the thickening tension between the two adults. They walked away while dragging a plushie behind them by the ear — somewhat ecstatic to leave and explore on their own.

By the time the toddler was out of earshot, but still within your watchful eyes, you had finally settled on the best way to approach your current situation. "Thank you for helping Seungjae reach that plushie. Heaven knows what stunt they would’ve pulled just to reach it."

"[Nickname]," Seungcheol dismissed your gratitude, almost out of breath, "it’s been four years."

You did not quite appreciate how he easily dismissed your effort to keep your conversation civil, so you decided to quickly put him in his place. "Call me [First name], you lost the right to call me that when we—" You suddenly stopped yourself, realizing that it might catalyze something you were not mentally ready for. So, instead, you opted to redirect your chat in a more civil route, "How’s life treating you, Seungcheol?"

"How old are they?" Once again, he flat-out ignored you. As it seemed, while you were determined not to discuss what happened four years prior, that was the only topic he was interested in. "How— how old is Seungjae?"

You were left with no choice. If you answered, he would know, naturally. If you did not answer, he would still know, anyway. "They’re turning three this summer."

As confident his stance might have been, you watched it crumble in a millisecond after reality hit him with full force. "You should’ve— I should’ve—" When he regained enough of his senses, he seemed to realize that it was not a conversation you should be having in a children’s store. "We should probably talk elsewhere."

However stunned you were in seeing him so broken (something you had not witness in your seven years together), you were quick to dismiss him. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"[Nickname]—" Seungcheol instinctively grabbed onto your wrist when you began to walk away, but quickly dropped his hold when he realized that he might have crossed the line. "[First name]. Please."

You sighed. You did not plan on letting him off the hook easily (not that you thought of anything beforehand, anyway), but the fact that he did not even question the truthfulness of your words — like he still trusted you with all his heart . . . like he just knew that Seungjae could only be half of him — made you second guess your initial decisions.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . you would spare him from knowing your main reason for departing without a goodbye.

"I already forgave you."

[nightcolorz]

you’re so right Mitski is so Armand i would listen to you explain this for hours but for now here are some songs I consider very armand

-Liquid Smooth (I'm liquid smooth, come touch me too, And feel my skin is plump and full of life, I'm in my prime) Just very armand feeling though his worth is directly linked to his beauty, but also feeling like he doesn’t own his own body because of this, feeling the need to have other people always validate this belief by wanting him for his body and his beauty

- I Don’t Smoke (So if you need to be mean, Be mean to me, I can take it and put it inside of me) Of course this is very armand and I know you know that from your fic title, and it does fit loumand particularly well in the books or in the show, its just very them

- Bug Like An Angel (When I'm bent over, wishin' it was over, Makin' all variety of vows I'll never keep, I try to remember the wrath of the devil, Was also given him by God) Not only the Angel symbolism that’s brought up so much with Armand, but this passage in particular is so heartbreakingly armand, in relation to both his religious beliefs and connections, and his sexual trauma

- Working for the Knife (I used to think I'd be done by twenty, Now at twenty-nine, the road ahead appears the same, Though maybe at thirty, I'll see a way to change) This song gives me very show!armand vibes as feel like the desperate hopeless of the song really fits with his own self sabotaging behaviours, it very much feels like a song about trapping yourself in a prison of your own making. Plus, the “working for the knife” is so Armand doing everything for things that will only destroy him. Also, the passage I chose is soo show Armand to me, with him being in his late 20s. Wishing he would have been “done” (dead) by 20 when he was Marius’ slave, to feeling in the same position at 27, though having been 27 for 500 years so he will never reach 30 and find a way to change. ;(

- Me and My Husband (And at least in this lifetime, We're sticking together, Me and my husband, We're sticking together) This song gives me very show loumand vibes, in the way that Armand knows it is built on lies and nothing, but still feeling that desperate need for companionship, sticking with Louis even if there is no love or if his love is not reciprocated.

- Your Best American Girl ( You're the sun, you've never seen the night, But you hear its song from the morning birds, Well, I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star) + (And you're an all-American boy, I guess I couldn't help trying to be your best American girl) I think this song fits very well with both Devil’s Minion (with Armand desperately wanting to learn about the modern world of America from Daniel) and Armandstat (with Lestat as a fledgling vampire showing himself off to the world, when Armand has been hiding himself in the cult for 300 years, but Armand’s darkness and knowledge and beliefs about vampirism not being enough for Lestat)

I could really keep going but some others i think are very armand include A Pearl, Goodbye My Danish Sweetheart, I Bet On Losing Dogs, Brand New City, Townie, and Washing Machine Heart

BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY THAT LITERALLY ALL THESE SONGS (sans townie and working for the knife, which bcus of u will now be included) ARE ON MY ARMAND PLAYLIST ‼️‼️‼️this is the best thing ever ughhhh ur so right ur explanations r perfect. My top Armand song of all time is brand new city loll thank u for shouting her out ‼️‼️ the other mitski songs that I heavily associate with Armand that u didn’t mention r Real men, first love/late spring, Eric, Abbey, Crack Baby, and Francis forever

[deerhillsniperservice]

From the Vault to the army (Don’t mind my obsession with snipers)

Since I was a child I saw them leaving the vault. I was there when the overseer gave a speech about America and serving the Enclave before opening the door. Those big kids never mentioned the wasteland up above. So where were they going?

For all my life, I’ve considered a life in a vault the most predictable thing to exist. You’re assigned a role. You do the job. Nothing more nothing less. Not until I took the general test and the result turned out I wasn’t ideal for their vault. Same goes for some kids in my class. There were around 20 of us. Ranging for 10 to 15. I was 13, one of the younger children who was told to stay after class for “extra homework”. As much as I love this place, I still fear for what I have to do to fit in. I had to sit still til everyone else left. Late noon with other 19 kids with no clue. I saw Rupert tapping his finger to some kind of tune, Alice throwing a hissy fit, and that one jock kicking Rupert’s chair. I remained calm as I was afraid. Did I fail the test?

The door clicked shut. Our attention was all drawn to the teacher in front of our class who proceeded to tell us about how our vault remained protected for the last centuries while the others were raided and destroyed from the inside. It was no secret that the overseer had made a deal with the outsiders. A necessary agreement to keep us safe. And as a payment, they have us trained for combat. Like an actual soldier. So one day we will be sent outside and join them to continue protecting the next generation.

I never knew a gun could be that heavy until I held one. The recoil hit me like a punch to my shoulder. I knew I couldn’t catch up with the rest of the children my age with my stamina. So I had to stay behind and try not to be seen by the opponent. In that class, I learned how to be stealthy and stay undetected. Years later, the gun wasn’t so heavy for me. It was a BB gun. But It was modified to make you feel like the real one. I even got a long one with a scope. Looks and feels cool. And by the age of 18, We finished basic training. Finally ready to face the real world.

Came the day I become the one standing in the line with a sealed document in my arm, listening to the overseer wishing all 20 kids luck. We were granted the title of little soldiers of Vault 35. And now it’s the outside soldiers’ turn to take care of us. Who I always expected to be the former vault kids. But when I thought I already knew everything, it turned out to be barely a piece of the whole puzzle.

Behind the big gate, we were taken by men in power armor. Forced to walk through a dark tunnel with only beams of light emitting from their pre war looking metal helmet and laser rifles behind our back. Comply or die, they say. The faded stars surrounding the “E” logo on their chest piece told me they were no rookie mercenaries. It gives a familiar feeling of the American flag. I kept walking, feeling the rumbling ground and unstable cave walls. Hours passed and no casual chit chat to keep my ears company. And after we reached the exit, for the first time in my life I saw a starry sky.

Hearing nothing but the sound of Vertibirds landing, the army men grabbed us by the arm and dragged us up the birds. I couldn’t sleep the whole night. The night was bright enough to let me see what the view below looked like. A barren wasteland as far as eyes could see. Hopeless and pitiful.

I glared back at the soldier in the armor. I saw the reflection on those glassy eyes. A young girl, loosely tied dark hair and defeated void black eyes reflecting back. Skin yellow pale from lack of touch with the real sunlight. Too naive, too pure for the real world. I was scared, Yet I remained calm.

We landed in the morning. Dust, everywhere. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. The rocky hills surrounded the area like a big wall with only one road down and all cliffs. I stood there, bending over to see the whole thing and was almost thrown to the ground when the soldier jumped off and tilted the floor I was on. The rest of the class gathered in front of the gate with me behind all the tall folks. It was rather cold so I was eager to get inside. By that point I wasn’t surprised when it was revealed to be a hidden military base owned by the remnants of the US government. It did not take long to get in but a while to get our document sorted. The one that I carried out of the vault. They’re my personal information and my training result.

Within the same week, I was sent to their official training course and finally learned the organization was called the Enclave. Despite the experience in the vault, I was no match to the soldiers that were already here. Took me a few more tries to get a grasp of how they actually do things here. Even started learning their slang in my lunch break too. The first six months were adapting to a new environment. The rest of the year was reserved for mastering the art of marksmanship. I could only thank myself for paying attention to the classes. The next year, I set a goal for myself to get into their sniper school. Something I thought I might be naturally good at.

I was 18. New kid in the army. No respect given and no skill to prove them wrong. Other kids went to different units. I was the only one in the sniper school.  I wasted another several months trying to pass the school. But despite the fear, I remained calm. I left with no goal of my own. Only the one they set for me.

On my first patrol in winter. I was given nothing but a tight bodysuit with ghillie cape and boots. It was thick enough to handle be slashed but not the cruel wind. I caught a cold that day and was left at a small station with only a young officer and few soldiers. The officer looked so determined with his piercing sage green eyes. He had a heat lamp by his desk which I had to get close for warmth. And to my surprise, he noticed me shiverind and gave me the lamp.

We met a few more times during patrols. I learned his name and he learned mine. We even ate lunch sometimes. He's the first human to even treat me as another being. I found comfort in his presence.

Months passed, and I found myself wearing his old jacket underneath my cape. He got himself a new coat. Our relationship remained secret. Since he's an officer and I'm an enlisted. He would get in trouble for that. The only solution is to get a proper marriage.

It was just a simple paper stuffs. We both have plain matching gold rings and a promise to be there for each other to see the day America is restored.

[screamsofanoutlawbrain]

Soo,, I've been watching some of the witch's castle lore (thank you Royal Mike) and I just can't get this idea outta my mind..

The First Counsel of Everything AU

(In this AU, Witch's Castle came before Kingdom, and the gingercrew are basically stuck in a cycle of being rebaked as normal cookies until the counsel is needed again.)

The Counsel members (the gingergang) bellow the cut.

Gingerbrave - The Happy Emperor of Shadows.

The ruler of all shadow and darkness! Even if some of his recent subjects may not know it, though the oldest shadows that knew his rule definitely hope for his return again! With such a smile and kind personality, he made the shadows and darkness just as safe of a place that the light was, such a contrast to what it sadly is today. Debatably the leader of the counsel.

Strawberry Cookie - Queen of Imagination.

The shy ruler of all creativity, imagination, and dreams. Beloved by her subjects in the land of dreams, as she herself understands the love and care that goes into every art, even the ones baked up in the mind! Her thoughts can blend and bleed into the world by portals, making her a power house among the counsel. What she reigns over may never be in danger, but she will always spring back in to aid her friends and counsel!

Wizard Cookie - High Wizard of Insight.

No doubt deserving of his title, this High Wizard is the head of all magic, magical beings, and the smarts, too. He never seems to get a spell wrong, nor forget a face! The ones who follow his teachings can't deny that he's fit for the head of all magic. After all, what's a better fit than the one who got magic into every cookies' hands and books! His return is expected, as magic is in everything these days, and he is undeniably the brain of the counsel.

Gingerbright - Empress of Harmony.

The empress of all connections and harmony! All who can live in peace and friendship or thrive in their life with a bond, those are her subjects. Spirits and ghosts await her return, waiting for the cheerful giggles and unhinged sneers of command to lead them and the ones without leaders to whatever or wherever she will go. She is as kind, clever, and sweet as she is as threatening, and all who made an enemy of her sweat and tremble at the thought of her return. She seeks fun and adventure, and with her unity and harmony under soon threat, she no doubt will be with the rest of the counsel to stop the overflowing havoc to come.

Gingerdozer - Soft Emperor of Light.

Appearing the least, but no less one of the most vital, this is the ruler of light and divine. Few of his subjects know of him, but he is loved by those of his subjects who do. The boy's smile was said to have been able to bring light to a dark room and hope to the hopeless. The unity between light and dark came from his bond with his brother, and he kept the light in balance with the shadows. With how his divine light has changed for the worst, he is bound to wake and return the sharp, overwhelming light back to a soft, warm glow. Just as the counsel's second in command should!

I love them all so much plz feel free to ask literally anything about them.

[alatushours]

☆ ENCHANTED, featuring xiao — you were enchanted to meet him; and he was too.

contents. fem implied reader but can be read as gn, reader is referred to as “big sister” and “miss,” fluff ! ! , xiao is kinda ooc, cringe tbh >_< a chance encounter leads to so much more ♡ word count. 2.1k.

notes. welcome to my first ever writing post on tumblr !! i ofc had to start off my debut with my favorite person in the whole wide world, xiao ♡ this took awfully long to write ( and is an awfully long piece of writing itself ) so i apologize for the delay; but i hope that you will enjoy! :3

i was enchanted to meet you. it was your favorite sentence in your treasured childhood storybook, titled 'the heart of qingxin.' written by an author from qingce village, it was about a princess who fell in love with an adeptus after he saved her. 

as a child, your favorite stories were ones about the adepti, and about falling in love. they were your two biggest wishes in life; you've always dreamed of meeting one of the illustrious, illuminated beings some day, and experiencing the feeling of being in love. you longed to journey out from your hometown in order to find the love of your life, just like in the stories. it was safe to say that you were, quite frankly, a hopeless romantic. 

unfortunately, it wasn't that easy to live the fantasy life. for one thing, your job at the bubu pharmacy meant that you were often stuck behind the shop counter; and for another, you've never actually met anyone that you deemed fit to fall in love with… you were also quite picky when it came to love. 

but those troubles didn't stop the loom of fate to weave your future. for one day, not long ago, you ran into a small accident that may have led to a newfound friendship; and perhaps, in the future, that friendship could become something so much more. 

the first time you met the vigilant yaksha was like something out of a fairy tale.

it was raining that one november morning; the fateful day that doctor baizhu asked you to accompany qiqi along on an herb-gathering expedition. you adored the little zombie girl, finding her quirkiness cute; plus, it meant that you could finally go out and explore the world! at least, part of it… either way, of course you accepted. 

although, halfway through the journey, things went sideways. firstly, you’d forgotten to bring rain gear with you. qiqi offered to lend you her jacket, but it was too small anyway; so you just smiled and told her you’d be alright. unfortunately, you ended up catching a cold… secondly, as much as you love your little zombie companion, qiqi was absolutely terrible at directions; and you, having never been in the area before, didn’t know where to go either. 

but the worst part of it was, the two of you just somehow managed to run into a group of treasure hoarders. 

qiqi fended them off as best as she could, and though you tried to help her, you were just a healer; there was nothing quite else to do except toss a few poisonous concoctions at them. it worked for a while; but soon you were getting tired, and the treasure hoarders just kept coming. 

“sorry, i think we’ve bit off more than we can chew with this one…” you muttered. 

just then, a flash of green light sparked in the corner of your vision. you turned your head to see a figure shrouded in a dark aura, fighting off the treasure hoarders. you were mesmerized at how well the person fought; it was out of this world, supernatural almost. as if that person wasn’t really a human, but rather some sort of celestial being. 

soon after, the treasure hoarders, scared out of their wits, scattered, leaving only you, qiqi, and the mysterious figure behind. with his back turned, the man removed some sort of mask from his face. 

“i-i, thank you, sir,” you began, not sure what to say. “my companion and i, um, really appreciate your help…” 

he didn’t answer. as you were about to go on, you suddenly felt a bit dizzy. you stumbled and had to lean against qiqi for support. the zombie girl was confused. “is big sister… okay?” 

“i’m not feeling very well…” suddenly your vision spun, and a pair of golden eyes were the last thing you saw before you blacked out. 

the sun was low in the horizon when you awoke. blinking, you slowly scanned your surroundings. you were laying on a bed in what seemed to be a hotel room. confused, you sat up and tried to pull back the blankets. 

“woah there, take it easy, dear.” 

you turned around with a start. sitting in a chair by the window was a young woman with brown hair, smiling softly at you. 

“h-hello,” you stammered. “where am i?” 

“you’re in wangshu inn, in the dihua marsh,” the woman replied. “my name is verr goldet, i’m the boss here. how are you feeling?” 

“fine, thank you. my head hurts a little, but other than that i’m alright. um… is qiqi doing alright? and do you know what happened to me? i don’t remember much..” 

the brown-haired boss paused, then replied, “the adeptus who brought you here told me that you collapsed shortly after a scuffle with the treasure hoarders. it seems that you were possibly poisoned- but don’t stress, it’s been extracted from your system. and your companion is perfectly fine. the little girl is helping with some tasks downstairs.” 

“oh, okay…” you glanced down at your forearm, which was wrapped with a bandage. then your head popped up in surprise. “wait-! did you say an adeptus? was it the green-haired man? do you where he is?” 

verr goldet chuckled. “ah, i do. he’s up on the roof’s balcony right now, if you’d like to go see him. just be careful, he can be a little… reserved around mortals.” 

"i see… thank you for the warning. maybe a gift might make me appear more friendly?" you wondered out loud. "m-miss goldet, do you know what his favorite food is…?" 

she laughed in reply, “as a matter of fact, he surprisingly has quite a sweet tooth. he loves almond tofu, to be particular. you can ask our chef downstairs to make a plate of it for you.” 

“r-really?! thank you so much, miss goldet!” getting out of bed, you shook her hand, slid your shoes on, and hurried out of the room. 

a while later, after discovering your way around the inn, you managed to find the kitchen. chef smiley yanxiao, a gruff but quite friendly man, prepared a dish of the sweet dessert for you to bring to the adeptus. with a rushed thanks, you couldn’t help but walk as fast as you could up the stairs to the roof level of the inn. 

the moment you stepped on the balcony, you saw him. 

turquoise-streaked hair, flowing in the wind. traditional liyuan clothing with ornamental details; sleeve of white silk on one arm, an intricate green tattoo on the other. the horned mask hanging from his waist; terrifying, yet awfully mesmerizing at the same time. everything about him was just that. 

you couldn’t see his face from where you were standing behind him, but you imagined him to have a soft, handsome face. timidly, you approached him. “h-hello again…” 

the man turned around, and you almost dropped the plate. 

simply put, he was beautiful. strong, yet not too masculine facial features, a tiny purple diamond in the center of his forehead, and his eyes. oh, those eyes. they were a glowing shade of gold, like rays of sunlight peeking out from the clouds, or a rare piece of cor lapis found amidst the stone.

those amber eyes blinked at you before he replied, “oh, it’s you. you’re awake.” 

“yeah, it’s me!” you grinned at him, suddenly not shy anymore. “i wanted to thank you for your kindness in saving me earlier,” you held the plate of almond tofu out to him. “chef yanxiao and i made this for you, i hope that you’ll enjoy it!” 

there was a moment of hesitation before the man tentatively took it from your hands. “…there's no need to thank me, but i appreciate it.” 

you laughed and turned to look up at the sky, where the sun was slowly fading into the night. “hey, you’re an adeptus, right? specifically, you are the yaksha guardian of dihua marsh, the conqueror of demons?” 

“hm. i’m surprised you knew.” he muttered in reply, swinging a leg over the railing as he moved to sit. “what about it?” 

“nothing bad, i promise!” you shook your head. “it's just that i, um, have read a lot of fairy tales about the adepti before… i never thought i'd meet one in person! and especially the conqueror of demons! you’re, um, one of my favorites from the stories. so, uh, apologies if i get overexcited around you, i'm just a bit in awe, ehe…"

"..." 

"oh no, did i say too much? sorry, i’ll shut up now…" you covered your face with your hands, embarrassed. 

it was silent for a few moments before he replied with an amused chuckle, “nobody has ever said that about me before. out of all of the humans i’ve met, you’re certainly the strangest; but i suppose you’re not all that bad, mortal.” 

you weren’t sure what to say to that. “t-thanks, i guess? b-but anyway! like i said, i’ve read a lot of stories about the adepti, and, um, one of my favorites has an adeptus that reminds me of you…” 

“mm.” was all he said in reply. but he scooted over a bit from where he was sitting on the balcony railing, inviting you to take a seat next to him. 

all was quiet except for the rustling of the autumn leaves in the wind. 

"have you heard the story of ‘the heart of qingxin?'" you asked him softly. 

"the title sounds familiar, but i don't believe so," the adeptus replied. "go on, enlighten me. i'm curious to know what it is about this story that reminds you of me." 

despite only knowing the man for barely a day, you were already feeling so happy talking to him. it was comfortable to know that he was willing to have you around. it seemed verr goldet’s warning wasn't quite true, after all.

“well, the ‘heart of qingxin’ tells the story of a kindhearted princess,” you began with a small smile. “she was just as beautiful as she was kind, and the kingdom adored her. one day…”

soon enough, you were reciting the entire story by memory. an hour felt like minutes, and before you knew it, the moon was already high up in the sky by the time you had finished telling your heart out. 

"...and then they lived happily ever after!" you announced the last sentence of the story with a laugh. “so? did you like it?” 

you turned to face the yaksha, who was still staring softly at you. he seemed at peace, something that you hadn’t seen in him before. perhaps it was the story? or maybe… the one who told it? your heart did a little butterfly flutter at the potential thought. 

“i apologize, i’m not the best at expressing my emotions,” the adeptus started, fidgeting with the fork in his hand. “but… it was a beautiful story. i suppose i realize what it reminded you of… the adeptus who rescued the princess, it’s like how i saved you this morning, am i correct?” 

“mhm!” you blushed. “sorry, i’m a little bit of a romanticist… my friends always tell me ‘you’re such a hopeless romantic, y/n-!’…” 

that was when you realized that you had never introduced yourself properly to him. “oh-! i’m sorry, i never told you my name! it’s y/n. and you are?” 

“you can just call me xiao,” the yaksha replied. 

“xiao,” you repeated to yourself. the name felt perfect rolling off your lips. “it’s nice to meet you, xiao!”

for a second, you swore you saw him smile. “if you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door… call out my name. adeptus xiao. i will be here when you call.” 

“and… if i ever just want to talk to you? will you be here?” 

“why would you… oh. you want to repay me for saving you, is that right?” xiao sighed, turning away. “look, you don’t owe me anything. saving mortals from the hands of darkness is my duty. but, if you really just want to 'talk to me,' i suppose spending some time with you once in a while wouldn't be so bad." he leaned closer as he said those final words.

then, with a cloud of green mist, he was gone. 

you were left standing there on the balcony, staring up at the moon, with the moments of this fateful night lingering in your mind. you would never forget the memory of his golden eyes, the softness of his voice as he wished you goodbye.

i was enchanted to meet you, indeed.

ending notes. rereading this makes me realize just how bad i am at writing 😭 i cannot do dialogue. like at ALL. next few posts will just be short little drabbles bc i am never writing anything this long again… but if you read until the very end, i hope you enjoyed! i tried my best </3

© alatushours 2023. please do not copy, modify, or translate my work in any way, nor upload to any other platforms. in the meantime, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and consider leaving a follow! it helps a lot ♡

[overthemoonx]

The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn’t a Guy at All: An Offbeat Romance

❌No Spoilers❌

I say no spoilers because this can all be found in the series description and first chapter. If you want to go into this series completely clean, not knowing what it’s about at all, then stop reading and go for it!

Anyways.

For a brief synopsis of the series, picture this: You’re a popular, fashionable girl who fits the stereotypical “preppy” title in some sort of way (or gyaru if you will). But you stand out from the rest. Why? Maybe because you have Aerosmith or Skid Row blasting in your ears as you’re finding an old MTV music video to watch as your friends are talking about the latest drama.

And before you’re all like “Pick me! She’s a pick me!” Don’t even. Aya, the girl I was just describing, is anything but. She’s just a fashionista with music taste that doesn’t align with her style, or the style of anyone around her. And with that in mind, it’s no surprise she’s at least a tad bit lonely.

But this loneliness is short lived once she finds her way into the life of a cute CD store worker, who shares the same music taste as her. Just like that, a crush is born!

Aya can’t help but rant to her friends at school about this new person in her life. Her rants catch the attention of Mitsuki, a girl with a striking resemblance to the guy Aya’s interested in…

My goodness, I binged this series in an entire day. This series perfectly captures the whole “falling for a girl for the first time” feeling in such a fresh way. The characters are extremely well written and fleshed out, especially the main duo.

I find Aya the most relatable to me because she’s just such a hopeless romantic, I love her. And yes! Expect many music references, you’ll be surprised. Not to mention probably the most iconic moment in history (chapter 26).

If you like music and lighthearted romance (that can be real when needed to be), give this one a shot! Btw, on Twitter, the author Sumiko Arai posts many cool doodles of the series!

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 16

Summary: Frankie's well-being your one and only concern, you've decided to go 'home' to Paris, taking your secret with you. Frankie doesn't quite agree...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞🔞🔞🔞 (I blame the meds)

A/N: Please, be kind to my girl. She's had it tough all her life. I am so, so nervous about this one, it's hell. Thank you to every one who stuck with me (and them) this far, and for patiently waiting for my anxiety to lift and let me write again 🧡 Ily 🧡 Also, jfc they're filthy, I blame the meds. That shit is unbeta'd, you've been warned.

Word count: 6.5k (I blame the meds)

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Chapter 16: Plainsong

Once upon a time, there was an orange bedroom, its light kept burning through young lovers’ hearts, long after hurt and rain had turned it blue. 

Once upon a time, there was a fire escape, a bed with white linen, and a Brooklyn bathroom. There was a book, its title cast a spell; lips of red, purple bites, and golden hues. 

Once upon a time, there was him, and there was you. The outside world ceased to exist, only to better catch up with you.

—

“Stay,” Frankie says, his lips on your lips. His splayed fingers on the small of your back keeping you balanced, his gentle touch on your collarbone softly saying, “you are mine.” 

It would be so easy for you to exist solely between his two palms. It would make you happy and content. It could be home, to you. 

Exhaustion washes you over and drowns your mind. You raise on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace, letting his scent take over your senses, your bodies sealed together. The soles of your sandals hit the tiles with a two-tone clapping sound when he circles your waist and lifts you.   

He’s twice as massive as he once was, and it’s twice the safety to you. His large, open hand carefully cradling the back of your head, he holds you like a newborn baby, as if you were frail and fragile, as if you could snap in two, and you find it so fitting, for he’s truly the only one who could ever break you. 

Others have tried and failed. You’ve been shunned, abandoned and let down, but you kept slipping between their fingers like running water seeping through cracks, flowing, imperturbable, in one direction and one direction only: to throw yourself into the ocean of him. 

“I’ve got you, baby, let me–” Frankie pauses at your whimper, the term of endearment only ever carrying meaning in his low, husky baritone, “I’m here.”

The loud, violent beating of his heart rattles inside your chest like it was your own. 

“You got me,” you acquiesce. 

The slight release of your embrace signals him to loosen his hold. Your chest slides down along his, and the tiles feel cool under your bare feet. 

You should go now, you think. 

“I should go now,” you say, and he doesn’t answer, his face closed and sullen because he knows you’re right, you should leave now, this much the two of you can agree on, so when you press your lips to his, you’re not sure whether he reached for you, or if you reached for him. 

It’s a chaste kiss, for a last goodbye. Frankie can almost feel the rising wind blowing litters around you on a Brooklyn sidewalk, and inside him, the tightly sealed lid is fractured, the damage irreversible.

At the light, hopeless pressure from his lips, his body tensing up, you open up, your tongue seeking his. And he’s inside you instantly. 

That taste he’s been chasing through dozens of other women, that taste is on his tongue, at last, and he swallows it all, tugging you flush to his body with enough strength to shatter your bones. Frankie is done pacing himself, he will have you now, and he will eat you whole. 

His hand slides up to your nape, his fingers grabbing your hair and tilting your head back, exposing the line of your throat to his hungry stare, while you span your hands over his sides, around the breadth of his back, up to his shoulders where they find purchase. 

“Tell me to stop, Gabrielle. Ask me to stop now. Because I will not go back.”

So close you can taste the cold beer on his breath. So quiet you can still hear the echo of his words when he asked you to follow him all those years ago.

He’s not asking you to bear the weight of this decision. He’s relieving you of it. He’ll carry it for you. 

“I want you,” you answer again, always. 

His mouth crashes down on yours in a messy kiss, teeth colliding, lips reclaiming. 

You can’t breathe and it is fine, you only need to breathe through him, for now, his tongue swirling avidly around yours inside your mouth makes everything easy and right.

A commanding tug from his hand angles your face to the side and he deepens the kiss, his left hand travelling down to the swell of your ass, giving it a hard, possessive squeeze, and you moan against his lips before he swallows that too. 

And he hasn’t had his fill, not remotely, not even close. The urge to taste you everywhere else is overwhelming, so he trails down your neck, under your ear, licking and kissing and biting your soft skin. The unfamiliar, tickling prickle of his moustache sends your mind in a lewd spiral, and curiosity makes you moan again.

You think you might be dreaming. You think you’ll wake up alone in your cold, empty bed, but around you, everything feels so real. Could he be the one dreaming you?

Your touch wanders underneath his shirt, seeking out the heat from his skin, where it is raw and unfiltered by the cottony fabric, and the contact sets your insides ablaze, your entire body wanting more. Your fingers dig into the firm muscles, their tremor a mirrored response to the slick pooling down your core.

Frankie senses your panic the very moment you reach the lumpy stretch of skin below the left side of his rib cage. Your surprise is audible, muffled by the imperious, desperate press of his mouth over yours. His hold on you tightens, but you’re pushing him away with both hands. When he yields and lets go of you, he hasn’t given up yet, but the alarm that widens your eyes tells him he’s already lost this battle.

“What is it?” you breathe out.

“It’s nothing,” he lies in that steady, even tone he has learned to master a long time ago.

“It’s not nothing, let me see,” you insist, your own voice having gone up an octave.

He doesn’t budge, nor does he answer, frowning in his resolve, so you reach for his shirt, which only prompts him to take a step back. He’s stalling for time, ignoring your pleading eyes, knowing full well he’s only delaying the inevitable. In a moment, he’ll have you naked underneath him, nothing will keep that from happening, nothing but you could stop him. 

And you just might, if he tells you the full story behind that fucking wound. 

His mind is racing as he tries to figure out what would kill him faster, if you left now or after. If he has it in him to take that choice away from you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask in a softer voice, approaching him carefully.

His jaw doesn’t move as he answers, “No. No it doesn’t.”

“Let me see?” The inflection in your phrasing marks the question, but you’re already lifting his T-shirt with infinite care, your eyes on his face, trampling his defiance. He lets you pull it over his head, following your movement. 

The sight of him, standing before you bare chest, has you swaying on your feet, and you forget to breathe for a moment. Broader, it seems, than he used to be, radiating warmth, solid and reassuring. The passage of time hasn't altered the recollection you have obsessively cultivated through the years. This part of his body you have mapped so meticulously is more familiar to you than your own. The pattern of his freckles on his golden skin, the small, brown circles of his nipples, the oval mark on the curve of his left shoulder are the landmarks of your desire. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, you lower your gaze to the raised scar, a shade darker than the surrounding skin. You brush the tips of your fingers to it, careful but thorough, and you ask again, “Does it hurt?”

Frankie struggles to keep his eyes open, moving imperceptibly closer to your touch. It eases a pain he thought had been long gone. He breathes slowly, lowering his face, and when he speaks again, his tone has softened to match yours. 

“It doesn’t anymore.” 

“But it did?” you ask in a quivering voice.

“Just a little,” he lies again. You look up at him, and he can tell you know. 

“Were you in a hospital? For long?” 

“A few weeks.”

“And your sister–” Talking around the large lump in your throat makes your voice sound eerily unnatural, “did your sister come to visit?”

“She did. I wasn’t alone.”

Frankie gently pulls on your wrist to draw you near, and the urge to wrap yourself around his body crawls up your spine again. You recall a medieval French poem about honeysuckle that grows intertwined with hazel, and how both wither and die if they are separated, and your eyelids flicker under the weight of your impending tears.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” he asks, cupping your face, “look at me. It doesn’t hurt anymore, you hear me? Nothing does.”

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing.” His certitude is vertiginous. It takes down all of your fears, and leaves you with nowhere to hide. 

You should leave now. But you’ve been so cold, for so long. And he should let you go, but your skin is still vibrant under his palm. 

In a few minutes, your naked bodies will touch thoroughly and fit into each other like a solved puzzle and none of this will matter, sixteen years sucked into an obliterating vacuum, minced into jagged pieces and scattered into complete oblivion. 

Frankie undoes the shoulder bows of your dress one by one, the fluid fabric flowing down your naked breasts and he hisses through clenched teeth, as if through pain.  

You bask into the untamed and unrestrained want darkening his eyes and brightening his face, you’ve never known a hunger like his and between your shaky legs, arousal leaks into your sensible underwear.  

With a mind of reclaiming what is rightfully his, he reaches for your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with deliberate strength, his thumbs rubbing the rapidly hardening peaks of your nipples, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You cover his hands with yours, his grasp over you never strong enough. 

You can’t hurt me, not like this.

“Lift up your skirt, baby.” His low, hoarse command is punctuated by a hard pinch to your nipple. 

Your mouth goes slack and you exhale slowly, a pointless attempt at slowing down your frantic heartbeat and keeping your balance. You can’t think straight for how violently you want him everywhere inside and around you, but your hands diligently move down to your hips, grabbing the fabric of your dress and bunching it up in your trembling fists. 

His tongue peeks out between his parted lips, his palm on your inner thigh, burning its way up towards your mound and he cups you there, roughly, an appreciating hum rumbling from the depth of his chest when his fingers find the dampened fabric of your panties, pushing it against your entrance. 

“Naked. Now.” His tongue hits the back of his teeth on the letter D, round and textured. So thick, you can almost touch it. It trickles inside your lower belly, shivers running down your sides from under your arms. 

You sigh in relief, numb fingers fumbling with the thin zipper on your hip, struggling to work it open. Unbuckling his belt, his deft hands still when your dress pools down at your feet. 

“Yes,” he growls, grabbing you by the waist to pull you flush to his chest, and you think your skin might combust at the contact of his. Your feet shuffle on the hallway carpet as he walks you backward to his bedroom, his cock pulsating against your belly, his hungry mouth nibbling the lean column of your neck. 

He has you disoriented, moving too fast for you to register anything outside of his hands and his lips. When he releases his hold, you fall sitting on the edge of a large bed. Instinctually, you scoot to the middle of the mattress while Frankie toes off his boots and undresses to his black briefs. 

“That too,” he says, nodding at your panties, standing tall and mighty over you, palming his erection. You comply immediately, smacking your lips in hunger. Time has blunted the sharp edges of his silhouette, and his broad shoulders and tapered waist are an impressive sight to behold, one that has you thinking you might love his body even more than you did before. 

It’s calling to you, and you're calling to it. You’ve got new paths to map and years to erase, the kisses, sweat and come of women who should have been you but weren’t. 

He watches your gaze linger on the dip at the base of his neck before he takes off his briefs. You look so fucking pretty, and he can’t wait to make a mess of you. If there’s one thing he knows, one thing he’s never forgotten, it is how to undo you. 

Climbing on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, he positions himself above you on all fours. You reach for his hair, threading your fingers through the longer curls on his nape, these are new to you, you need the feel of it. 

“I don’t know–” he grunts in frustration, the ridge of his nose a drag over your temple, “I don’t know where to start, I want to open you on my cock but I want to eat you out before you taste of me.”

“Fuck me Frankie please,” you beg, bucking your hips upwards, his hard length sliding between your thigh. 

“Oh I will, baby, I will. I’ll fuck you until you can’t take it and then I’ll fuck you some more.”

You ruffle his hair in your reluctance to let go when he backs down and hooks his hands in the back of your knees, and when he spreads your legs open, when they open with a telling squelching sound, his eyes are alight with a fierce possessiveness, something dark and primal, something you’d be shrinking away from if this was any other man. 

But it’s Frankie. 

How many nights have you longed for his return? Never not waiting, dragging his absence beside you like a weighed shadow, wrapping yourself in your longing like a suit of lead. Like an armour. 

Tipping your head back on the sheets, you stare emptily at the ceiling, laughing without a sound, and for the first time since you stepped into his house less than half an hour ago, you take notice of your surroundings, of the luminosity. The only fundamental difference. It’s dusk, already. The setting sun casts a waning light through the bedroom curtains, and the room around you… it is blue. 

You gasp out of your thoughts at the drag of Frankie’s fingers along your slick slit; he’s teasing your empty cunt with the tip of them, directing your arching body like a conductor. 

Beads of sweat pearl on his forehead, his heart beats too fast in his ears. He can’t imagine ever wanting you as intensely as he wants you now, but he’s believed that before, nearly lost his sanity over it, and the attraction has never abated.  

Frankie bends down into you, and swipes a broad stripe through your folds, from hole to clit, with the flat of his tongue. The salty tang of you quakes his entire frame. He plunges his tongue into you and you choke on your moan, hand clasped over your mouth. 

He licks in leisurely, once, twice, before pulling out to ask you, “Lemme hear you, baby, you’ve no fucking idea how much I’ve missed you,” his words spoken straight into your cunt, where they belong. 

Your hand flies to his hair, harshly tugging his face back to your core and you feel his lips curl into a smile between your folds. 

He has just enough sense left in him to hook your legs over his shoulders, before his control gives out, before he gets lost in your taste. It is all that matters to him for now, his fingers digging into the dip of your hips, in a hold that is sure to leave your flesh bruised and mottled. 

He’s diving into you, drinking you up. His wandering days are over and you roll your hips into his mouth with increasing speed as the ridge of his nose rubs against your clit. 

The sounds filling the room are obscene, avid laps, rumbling grunts and high-pitched moans, and when he moves up to suck on your clit, because that’s what you like best, you get so close to come in his mouth. You’d warn him, but you know he can feel it too, his hands gripping you harder, until he suddenly pulls out and rasps, “not like this, around me.” 

You whine in frustration, but he unclasps your hands from his hair, crouching back between your thighs, and tension breaks through you in a breathless laugh, remembering your last night and wondering if the repetition is wilful or involuntary. 

Frankie quietly chuckles with you, sliding your body down the mattress and onto his lap, your back dragging on the sheet, your hair spread around your head like a dark halo, but his face drops and darkens when he lines up at your entrance. A droplet of sweat slides down his sideburns, and he asks, “You ready?”

Your laugh dies in a smile and a panting “yeah” is all you can provide, before he drives into you brutally. To the hilt. In one thrust. Your body pinned down by his hands on your waist, and you trash your head back at the blinding stretch with a cry, fingers scrambling over the sheet, a barely articulated string of “Thank you thank you thank you” spilling from you. 

Words are too small to express what he does to you. He’s rearranging you, putting everything back into place, annihilating all that came before him. 

He doesn’t move right away, he can’t, he might just lose his mind and dissolve into you. 

His eyes tightly shut, the crease between his brow deeper than it’s ever been, his grip loosens, and the palm of his rough hand comes to span the soft skin of your lower belly, where he’s sheathed inside you.  

“I can feel it. I can feel it, baby. Do you remember?”

“Yes Frankie, I remember everything.”

He bends down with fervour to cover your body with his, hooking your legs around his waist, and grinds down on you, both his hands hooked on your shoulders. You’re drowning in his musky scent, heat burning up your chest and neck, hitching your knees higher up on his sides, linking your ankles on his back. 

And when he starts fucking into you, he drills in with all of his strength, deep, rapid thrusts, barely pulling out, your tight cunt catching around the heft of him, his damp forehead pressed to yours, your body slippery with sweat, his, yours, and his words spill out into the blue twilight of the room, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry baby, I’m sorry.” 

Sorry for letting time and distance separate you, sorry for his waning faith, for all the other bodies, for not flying to Paris and laying the entire city to waste to find you.

Your nails break the skin of his back and you ask, “Harder, Frankie, I want it harder.”

He leans back immediately, briskly clutching your hips, rocking into you with a rage, narrow hips slapping your ass, and you dig your fingers into the muscles of his forearms for leverage, meeting him thrust for thrust, leaking onto his length at the sound of his growls. 

His damp curls form a halo around his face. Across his chest, a sheen of sweat glistens in the blue hues of the late evening light. Blue, your never-ending, cold and lonely nights. Blue, the strangers’ bodies that never felt right. Blue, the glimmer that flickers in your hooded eyes. Irrelevant, the place, the time, or the colour. 

Too soon, always too soon, he feels you clenching down on him, your belly pulled taut and your whole body arching up under his hold, reaching out for the reassurance of his skin and that’s all he ever wants to do, give you that. 

“Oh god Frankie, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you whine, and he lays down on you once again, throbbing inside your clutching heat, focused on the sounds and sensations he draws out of you as they ripple through him. He’s learned the hard way there are no other drugs that can give him that high. 

“Come on, baby, come on, give it to me,” he grunts through gritted teeth, and his name tumbles down your tongue and stretches in your mouth. You slip out of consciousness, you grow bright and disintegrate into a million pieces of light between his arms.

His voice, hoarse and breathless, brings you back to the bed in the room, reassembling the fragments of you, his face buried in your hair, his lips brushing your ear, “…you’re perfect, Gabrielle, you’re so fucking– so perfect–” 

The movement of his hips resumes with a plea, spoken after sucking in the smooth skin below your jaw, leaving his mark there, “I want another one, I–, I need another one, baby please, you need to take it, I need–” words like a fever scorching you raw inside and out. 

Your nails dig trails of blood on the plane of his back before you answer, “Take everything you need.”

His cock drags along your walls at a debilitating speed, his mouth pouring filth into your ear, promises to make you feel good in every possible way for the rest of your days, to wreck you and kiss you better in an endless blissful loop, “I’m yours, baby, you’re mine.” 

He roughly cups your jaw open and spits into your mouth, and at this you come hard with a broken cry, and he follows, so forcefully, so completely, you can feel his spend fill up your cunt, but he doesn’t slow down yet, and it’s a feral grunt before he says, “gonna fuck it deeper this time, gonna fuck it so it stays inside you forever.”

—

The midnight June has brought a cool breeze, wafting in through the large window, and in the spartan bedroom, the feeble moon casts a shy ray of light through the blue curtains. 

You sucked your taste off his cock into another release, taking him down your throat without breaking eye contact, and he came faster than ever before, at the sound of your heavy breathing. His fingers threaded in your hair, pulling you close to his base, his thumb brushing the tear rolling down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

He sat up and came on your chest and rubbed his spend into your skin without asking for permission. Lazy circles and light pressure applied with two fingers as you lied, weak and sprawled on your back, a question revolving in his mind, another one he could not push down. 

“Did you let him come on your skin?”

You covered your eyes with the heels of your hands, begging, “Please, don’t—” and when you moved your hands away from your face, you saw his soft eyes turning pitch-dark and his face twitching under the storm in his mind, his fingers pressing harder on your sternum. You watched the bobbing of his throat, the pebbled skin of his neck cast in the shadow of the waxing crescent moonlight. 

“I let him come on my skin, because I wouldn’t let him come in my mouth. Because I never let him fuck my ass, or fuck me bare. I kept waiting for you, even when I thought you would never come back. I never stopped waiting, Frankie. This you have to understand.”

His hand stilled, pinned down by remorse. Words failing him in his desire to atone. 

“Sit on my face.”

“I won’t be able to sit anywhere for a week, Frankie,” you said in a stern, albeit tired tone.

Bending down over you from where he lied at your side, he carefully parted your folds with his thick fingers, gathering his saliva on his tongue, letting it slide down and drip onto your swollen clit, shivers running up your spine that turned into prickling tears under your closed eyelids. 

He teased gently, delicately nudging and licking around your bundle of nerves with the curled up tip of his tongue, suckling on it until you came like a flower blooms, unfurling slowly at first, and then all at once, and he drew away from you, mindful not to take too much. 

He covered your entire body with revering kisses, from hips to shoulders and from head to toe, meticulous, repenting, thorough, a new smile on your grateful lips for each one of his “I love your skin.”

Now his spent cock is resting between your breasts as you’re lying on top of him, arms folded on his stomach, your chin propped on your hands because you can’t stop looking at him. 

A lock of your hair twirled around his fingers, his other arm folded under his head for support because he can’t stop looking at you. 

“And these curtains,” you say with a soft laughter, “these curtains were… I don’t know. They kept haunting me. Like they coloured my dreams, you know?” This ever present apology about your feelings, still, and his heart flinches in his ribcage. “Did you keep them?”

“Of course. They’re in a box in the garage.” His voice doesn’t give him away, steady and self-possessed.

“Oh, right! Your mother made them.” You tilt your head to the side so his fingers touch your cheek, and he lets you peck a kiss on his little tattoo. 

“Yea. Because of that, too.”

Your smile blooms in his chest. 

Lifting your head up to free your hand, you reach for the right side of his jaw and scrap your fingernails in his beard. 

“When did the grays appear, here?”

He takes a deep breath, and your body follows the rising movement of his belly. 

“I don’t know. I stopped shaving when I quit the Army two years ago, and it was there already. You don’t like it?” he asks. He can’t recall ever being self-conscious about the way he looked, not like he is now.

”I like it, I like it a little too much.”

You bob with the hearty laughter shaking his chest and tug on a streak of hair in reprimand. 

“Hey, don’t laugh, stop it!”

“Ok, ok I’m not laughing,” he replies, his shoulders still heaving. 

“There’s a bare patch here,” you press your finger to it, “and another one there.”

“Yea,” he’s not laughing anymore, and he lets go of your hair to scratch his beard, “it’s– I should probably shave.”

“No. No you shouldn’t, it’s perfect. It’s the exact same size as my lips. It’s like a target for kisses.” Your voice drops to a murmur. “And this one is… heart-shaped.”

You fall silent and he hopes you’ll come closer and kiss him there, like you said, but instead it’s sadness he sees playing across your face. 

“You’ll be turning 40 next year, right?” you ask.

“No baby, I am 40 already. This year. Back in March.”

You sigh heavily, blinking repeatedly. You let your hand slide to his side and lay your cheek on his warm skin. 

“Then I missed all of your thirties.”

His jaw ticks, guilt scrambling his mind. He feels useless again, helplessly contemplating your regrets. His voice is low and quiet when he says, “I know. I missed all of your twenties.”

“Not exactly,” you correct him, “I was twenty when we met.”

“Yea I know, that’s the point. What little I saw was really fascinating.”

You laugh unconvincingly. “No. No, it wasn’t very interesting. Lots of studying, lots of drinking.” You pause, hesitant. “Lots of bad decisions,” you finally add, very quiet.

Frankie frowns and closes his eyes. Unsure whether he wants to know what this entails. How much pain. How many other men. He’s registered the nearly invisible scars on the back of your arms. And remorse keeps burning through his chest.

A small dog barks in the distance. You span your hand over his side before lifting your head up again.

“But there’s more of you, now,” you tease with a cheeky smile, pinching his side. 

“Oh, alright,” he chuckles self-deprecatingly, and your face lights up at the sight of his dimple, more pronounced in his fuller cheeks.  

“I love that too,” you add in earnest.

Silence lingers for a beat, as he brushes his knuckles to your cheek. You look so young, when you look at him like that. 

“You— you haven’t changed,” he says, worship in his hushed voice. 

“Ha! Right!” you scoff, sitting up between his thighs.

“No, it’s true,” he insists, and you see it in his eyes, the way he perceives you, and it’s the most beautiful you will ever be. 

Your hand caresses its way down his belly, scraping the thin path of rougher black hair leading downwards. You circle his cock with feather-like softness, and you stroke him lightly in silence, watching his lips part, his response to your touch immediate. A bead of precome, leaking for you, and you press your thighs together in your kneeled position, resisting the urge to taste it.

“Why do they call you Catfish?”

His heavy breathing hitches. He doesn’t answer, shaking his head slowly to the left, to the right. 

You move up to straddle him, placing the round, blunt head of his half-erect length at your entrance, and sink smoothly onto him with an audible exhale you can’t control. 

You start rolling your hips languidly, both hands splayed over his chest for balance, for pleasure, feeling him grow thicker inside you with every swaying movement. 

“How many women have you fucked, Francisco Catfish Morales?”

He sits up surprisingly fast for a man his size, and the sudden change of angle makes you gasp. The flat of his hand finds the swell of your breast, and when he pinches your nipple between his index and middle fingers, your head drops limply on his shoulder. 

He takes over, roughly grabbing the meat of your ass, your flesh gushing through his fingers and the way he slides you onto his cock at a quickening pace, his hair rubbing at your clit, has you moaning into the crook of his neck, your legs twitching. When you’re flush against him and pliant in his arms, Frankie leaps for your forgiveness, and murmurs in your ear.  

“I was looking for you, baby. I was only looking for you.”

Your shoulders slump under the weight of his words. You pivot your head to the right, peeking your tongue out to taste the skin of his neck. And then you ask, “Will you come in my mouth, please?”

—

He left a new purple mark in the crook of your neck. Bit your hip with a mind to draw blood and you would have let him. Turned you around and laid you flat on your stomach to lick the sweat between your shoulder blades. 

And then he covered your body with his and breached your tight ring as deep as you could take him, snaking his arm around you to sink a finger into your cunt, then two, then three, the heel of his hand deftly applying pressure to your clit. Your lips catching on the white linen; you might have been drooling. 

He let himself go and came with you, mouthing his love against your nape in Spanish. 

Exhausted, engulfed, overwhelmed, you cried just after you came; silent tears soaking the sheet, your words barely coherent. 

“You feel so good,” you said, “I thought I made it up, what I remembered.”

He held you in his arms. 

—

He reluctantly left the room to go get some water, and you smiled to yourself at the long-lasting habit, giving you the opportunity to take a look around you. The bed, bigger than any other you’ve ever seen, let alone slept in, the chest of drawers on the opposite side, a few items you can’t make out scattered on the top, family pictures pinned to the wall above it. A large closet on the left that you had failed to notice. Two simple bedside tables with lamps, and books lying about that you have no strength to pick up and study. 

Quenched, sated, comfortably tucked up into his side, you’ve no desire to sleep but your eyelids have become lazy. The dark square of sky behind the blue curtains has turned into a lighter shade of night. You couldn’t care less about the time. 

Under the palms of your hands braced on his chest, his breathing is even, and his skin warm, the beating of his heart peaceful and steady. 

The pads of your fingers find his scar once again, and you feel him quiver. 

“How did it happen?” you ask quietly.

Frankie doesn’t answer. Not now, he thinks, please, please not now. 

But then, when?

“Frankie?” You tilt your head up to look at him. “When? When did it happen?”

He picks a strand of your hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. The tips of his fingers rest on your pulse point until he finds the courage to answer. 

“2005,” he articulates, his tongue heavy. 

You stiffen against him. The year sounds familiar, but you can’t replace it. Your tired mind swivels around something Ironhead might have said.

“Isn’t that when you met— when you met the guys?” you ask tentatively. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from a distance. 

“I met Pope back in 2001, and Redfly a couple years later, but— yea. That’s when I met Will and Ben.”

Benny’s name rings out in the dark, altering the silence between you. You've grown rigid, trying to control your breathing as the implications and consequences of what you’ve initiated dawns on you like iced water.  

“Second tour, in Iraq. For Pope and I. We were supposed to back up a ground unit, but the whole thing went… it was fucked up from the start. We got ambushed. They were waiting for us. We took on some fire, a rocket hit the tail rotor, and I lost control of the helicopter.”

“Oh god. You crashed?” 

You sat up as he talked, and in your pale, weary face, your eyes are immense. He straightens up after you, facing you, without quite meeting them.

“Yea. Bad fucking landing. I crashed the fucking chopper.”

You had thought, a few days back, that you had it all figured out. But now everything falls into place, glaring ugly under the crude light of hard facts. Your voice fails you, and you clear your throat feebly before you ask a question you’ve already guessed the answer to.

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

He looks at you with dim, beaten eyes that reveal his true wound. 

“Pope made it with an injured knee. Got ejected before the crash. The two other snipers on board died when the helicopter exploded.”

You wait for the end, the key information of what took place between the crash and the explosion. He delivers it in a low, monochord tone, not a glimmer of light in his eyes. 

“A piece of the cockpit got torn up and stabbed me. Benny— Benny was in the ground unit. He rescued me. Pulled me out of there before the explosion. Didn’t have time to go back for the others.”

An overwhelming urge to hurt yourself twitches your hands. You move fast, climbing into his lap, enveloping his body with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t return your embrace, and you fight off your tears. This is not about you. 

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, “baby, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

You repeat the words until you feel his clenched fists circling your back. You know you’re defeated. That he will never believe that. You hope he doesn’t hear you cry, and you grip him harder, until his shoulders sag under your hold. He feels so young, in your arms, like a boy, like a little child, hiding his face in your neck, and you wish for your skin to absorb all his tears.

Your next words feel like tearing your chest open to rip out your heart. 

“I can’t stay.”

“Don’t, please don’t.” You hear the ragged sobbing in his voice. 

“I can’t stay, I can’t stay Frankie, you know I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care.”

You disentangle your body from his and he glares at you as you get down the bed and put on your panties.

“I can’t stay, I can’t ask you to choose—”

“You don’t have to ask me to choose, I already chose, I don’t care about anyone else,” he argues, getting off the bed as well. 

“What about in a year?” you straighten up abruptly to face him. “Or five? Or ten? What if it doesn’t work out and you’ve lost all your friends?”

He comes to stand in front of you, towering over you, crushing you with his impressive silhouette backlit by the blue light of the early morning. The contained wrath in his voice raises the thin hair on your nape.

“Look at me, and tell me you don’t believe it would work. There’s no version of this in which you and me doesn’t work,” he accompanies his angry words with a back and forth movement of his index finger between you and him. “We work. You know we work. It’s the only fucking thing that makes any fucking sense.”

You turn away from him and exit the bedroom, walking hastily down the hallway toward the living-room and open kitchen, where you stood hours before and have no recollection of. Your dress is heaped on the tiles next to his t-shirt, and you proceed to put it back on, your trembling fingers utterly useless. 

By the time you’ve managed to tie the shoulder bows, Frankie emerges from his bedroom fully dressed and booted. He picks up his cap from the floor where it had landed the evening before and adjusts it on his head after combing his hair with his fingers, and you stare at him, dumbfounded.  

“What are you doing?” you ask in near panic, as he walks past you on his way to the front door.

“What do you think? I’m not letting you go back to your place on the fucking bus,” he snaps with his back to you, grabbing the car keys from the console.

“You know if you drive me back we’ll only end up fucking in your truck,” you retort, slipping on your sandals. 

His hand stills on the keychain, his entire frame stiffening under his denim shirt. You straighten up slowly, horrified. 

“Frankie, I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so sorry.” 

You run up to him, throwing yourself against his tall figure, pressing your forehead to his nape, to the scent of his hair. 

“I’m not letting you go back to your place on the bus,” he repeats, softer. 

“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” you plead, your hands grabbing at his chest. 

“I do. I forgive you. Let’s go.”

****

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[senashenta]

Horror High: Chapter Six

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid���newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: I am getting some feedback that Chuck is OOC and I am AWARE he is OOC, I was going for a Chuck that is somewhere between prophet!Chuck and initial nice!God!Chuck because Cas needed a father that wasn’t a) a hopeless mess of a drunk or b) a megalomaniacal child having a constant temper tantrum. :D

Pretty much just fluff and smut in this chapter, not much else. New chapter next Thursday or Friday, depending on my schedule! Can also be read over on AO3!

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter Six By Senashenta

The next day after school, instead of Dean walking Cas home, Cas walked with him back to the motel. They needed to upload the cocoon photos they had taken the day before to Sam’s laptop, and this way they could spend a little more time together before Cas had to head home. He called his father to let him know he was at ‘Dean’s place’ and would be home in time for dinner.

He and Dean, admittedly, made out a little before Sam got home from school, but no one was surprised by that fact. This time the door was properly locked behind them, so Sam had to knock, which meant he at least didn’t walk in on them like last time. It could have been worse.

Once Sam was there (and Cas and Dean had fixed their clothes), they wasted no time in uploading the photos, and then all settled in for a research session while Sam went over the pictures with a fine-toothed comb.

Eventually, Sam was laying on one of the beds, going through a pile of old books, while Cas and Dean sat at the kitchenette table, Cas also going through books and Dean reading articles on Sam’s laptop. Cas had left his own laptop at home, mostly because he didn’t want to chance taking it to school with him and having it broken—or stolen.

An hour and a half in, Dean disappeared from the room and came back with his arms full of cans of soda, bags of chips and chocolate bars—he had raided the vending machines in the motel lobby. They all helped themselves and continued to work, munching away quietly.

When it got close to time for him to be leaving, though, Cas’s attention began to pull away from the book currently in front of him and toward Dean because—

“Hey, Dean?” His voice came out hesitant, but Dean didn’t notice, too focused on the article he was reading on Sam’s laptop.

“Yeah?”

“My Father is going to be out of town this weekend. He has a seminar in Maine. Do you want to come over after school tomorrow?”

“Oh, sure.” Still distracted.

Over on the bed Sam faceplanted into his book and muttered, “oh my God,” under his breath.

Cas tried again, this time reaching to take hold of Dean’s arm. When Dean finally looked up, he cleared his throat and offered, “do you want to come over for the night?”

This time Dean got it. Realization dawned in his eyes, and he coughed, looked down, then looked back up and adjusted himself in his seat. “Yeah, definitely.” He managed, voice just a touch strained.

“Gross.” Sam protested.

“Watch it, brat.” Dean warned, ignoring the flush of red that was tinting the tips of his ears.

Cas squeezed his arm with a little smile and then returned to his own research. “We can order pizza.”

“Yeah ‘cause pizza’s what I’m gonna be worried about.” Dean muttered, making both Cas and Sam snort.

It was only a short time later that Cas had to excuse himself. It was a long walk home and he had promised his father he would be there in time for dinner. So, he packed up his things and headed for the door—only for Dean to stop him on the threshold and pull him into a kiss.

Sam grumbled, but Cas smiled against Dean’s lips and angled his head for another one—longer and deeper—before stepping back and giving the older teen a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” There was just a touch of nervousness in Dean’s voice.

Cas found it downright adorable.

-- --

[Cherry, I think. Why?]

Cas was fully aware that Dean had a thing for pie, and that night, while sitting in his room working on his homework, he had texted Sam to ask what his brother’s favorite kind of pie was. Sam seemed baffled by the question. Cas just responded:

[I want to make a pie for him. For tomorrow night.]

There was a long pause before Sam replied to that, seeming to understand now:

[OH. I get it. In that case, definitely cherry, but with chili peppers.]

Cas made a little confused noise to himself: [Chili peppers?] He questioned. He didn’t know much about cooking or baking, but that sounded… odd. Still, he trusted Sam, so he just waited for the younger boy’s answer:

[Yeah, like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers? It’s a hot-and-sweet thing they do with desserts sometimes. Dean loves it.]

Cas supposed that made sense. He knew people put strange food combinations together all the time, even if he didn’t understand it himself:

[Okay. Thank you, Sam.]

Now, Cas was of course not particularly known for the culinary skills. He had told that to Dean before on more than one occasion, and it was true, that was why he packed the same sandwiches for them every day for lunch at school. But he really wanted to at least try to do this for his boyfriend, so he grabbed his wallet, shoved it in his pocket, and headed downstairs.

“Where are you going? It’s getting late.” Chuck called from the living room when he saw Cas pulling on his shoes.

“To the grocery store.” Cas replied, “I’m going to bake a pie.”

Chuck nearly spit his coffee. He winced visibly (Cas couldn’t blame him), but in the end didn’t protest, instead just offering, “okay, good luck with that!”

-- --

After he got back from the store, Cas spent a good portion of the night attempting to bake a pie with minimal success (he set the smoke alarm off three times), and, after his final product was set to cool on the counter, locked up in his room doing research. The kind of research that he definitely didn’t want his father walking in on. The kind of research where he huddled in his bed with his laptop volume way down and his earphones in anyway, just in case.

Because. He had never done this before, and if things went the way he thought they were going to the next night, he wanted to know what he was in for. As much as he had tried to tell his father that he’d already learned everything from health class, that had been a blatant lie—because school health class only covered straight intercourse, and that was not what this was going to be. Like at all.

He had a general idea what was involved in sex between two men but didn’t know the details—or hadn’t. Now he did, and he understood why his father had shoved a tube of lubricant at him a couple days before. It made logical sense. It didn’t make it any less mortifying.

But even though all his research was, yes, mortifying, and at times confusing, it didn’t make him want it any less, especially since it would be with Dean. There was something about the thought of being that close with Dean—physically, emotionally—that made his stomach squirmy in a pleasant sort of way. Made him smile to himself, even though he was the only one in the room.

Assuming Dean wanted to, of course, which, judging from what had gone on between them so far, seemed a given, but he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, could he? Cas would just have to wait and see.

Sufficed to say that he didn’t get much sleep that night, and stumbled through his morning routine when his alarm jerked him awake at seven. He had fallen asleep with his laptop in his bed, his earphones still in from his forbidden and embarrassing Internet searches.

At least with little sleep there had been little time for nightmares, though he had still dreamt something vague about absorbing utter darkness into himself and then melting away into nothingness in a river. It had actually been one of his less distressing dreams, all things considered.

When he managed to get showered and dressed and make it downstairs, his father took one look at him and shoved a cup of coffee in his direction. He didn’t comment on the ‘pie’ on the counter. Cas downed the coffee like he’d been lost in the desert, and it was the first liquid he’d seen in a month.

By the time he had to actually leave for school he was feeling mildly more awake, and Chuck wished him a good day of classes and said goodbye, told him to behave and asked him to please not burn the house down—he would be leaving town while Cas was still in class.

The walk to school was long and arduous, and when he arrived at Caspar, Cas still felt partly asleep, but managed to locate Dean where he was waiting for him outside the building, regardless. He all but collapsed into the older boy’s chest, his head coming down against Dean’s shoulder. He yawned hugely.

“You look rough.” Dean observed even as he wrapped Cas up in his arms and tilted his head to kiss by his temple lightly. “Long night?”

“So long.” Cas agreed, stifling another yawn into Dean’s shoulder. He pushed back enough to look up at Dean, “I’ll be fine, I just have to wake up.”

Dean hesitated, then, “you sure you want me to come over tonight?”

But Cas shook his head immediately. He leaned in for a kiss. “I’m sure. Definitely.” Especially after all his preparation the night before. Between that and his father being out of town, it would be a waste. “I just need some caffeine.” Then, after a pause, “some more caffeine. I already had coffee.”

“Mm, I can taste it.” Dean smiled at him and kissed him gently again. “As long as you’re sure, Cas.”

Cas hummed and just leaned back against Dean again. “I’m sure, Dean.”

“Okay. Good. Because I already gave Sammy the whole lecture on Motel Safety since he’s going to be on his own overnight.”

A soft chuckle. “I’m sure he loved that.”

“Loved is a strong word.”

Another quiet laugh. Cas brought one hand up to pat against Dean’s chest, amused. For the first time in days, he wasn’t hearing the whispers that were surely going on around them. “Sam will be fine. He’s capable.”

“He’s thirteen.”

“And he was raised by you and your Dad, right? So, he’ll be okay.”

“I guess.” Dean allowed.

It was hard for him to think of Sam as anything other than a little kid, because he had practically raised him himself. Their dad had been there, sure, off-and-on, but he had been absent as much as he had been around, Dean had been the constant in Sam’s life. But realistically, Cas was right: Sam was growing up. He wouldn’t die just from spending one night in the motel by himself. Dean just didn’t like to admit it.

“If he rats me out to Dad about all this, I swear I’ll kill him myself.”

Cas gave a little snort and brought one hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, gentle reassurance even as he continued to rest his head on the older teen’s shoulder. “You will not.” He accused softly, breath warm at the crook of Dean’s neck, “you live for Sam.”

But Dean shook his head and tightened his arms around Cas slightly. “Not anymore.”

Cas’s fingers paused in Dean’s hair, then curled, tugging gently just once. He swallowed. “Dean, I—”

And then the first bell rang.

Cas jolted a little—and then sighed and pulled away from Dean, giving him a small smile. “You’re coming home with me straight after school?”

Dean reluctantly let him go, arms falling back to his sides, though he leaned close for one more kiss. “Yeah.”

Cas returned the kiss but didn’t deepen it, instead easing back to head inside. “See you at lunch, Dean.”

Then he ducked away and hurried into the building, leaving Dean to follow at a much more reluctant pace.

-- --

Lunch was spent quietly that day, the two of them just eating and sitting together, mostly in silence. Cas couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Dean was coming home with him—really coming home with him. And as much as he wanted it, there was a little ball of nervousness in his stomach, too. He wasn’t entirely sure why.

Dean seemed to be contemplating something himself, but whatever it was he didn’t share—and Cas didn’t ask. He never pushed Dean too hard. He knew Dean had his secrets, and sometimes it was better to let him keep them. Everyone was entitled to their own private thoughts, after all.

After school, Cas got out to the front of the building first, which was of course the typical way things went, and spent a few minutes fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt while he waited for Dean, perking when the other boy emerged from the school and headed over to where he was sitting.

“Up you come,” Dean reached down to take his hand and haul him to his feet, and Cas allowed it with a laugh. “How was your afternoon?”

“It was good. No cocoons in gym. Charlie says hi.”

“I don’t even know Charlie.”

“But she knows you.” Cas brushed off the back of his jeans with his free hand, his other hand still holding onto Dean’s. He picked up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then tugged at Dean’s hand gently. “Let’s go.”

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked as they stepped off school property and turned right. “You don’t look as rough as you did this morning.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, adjusting his backpack, and then looking sideways at Dean, “I feel better. Just had trouble waking up this morning. Long night on the laptop.”

Dean smirked a little. “I never would have figured you as one for porn, Cas.”

Cas flushed red. “Dean!”

Dean laughed and squeezed his hand. “I’m kidding!” And then, “homework, right? Sam sometimes spends all night working on homework too. Then he drinks way too much coffee for a kid his age. What class?”

“Uh,” Cas was still bright red, but to his credit he shrugged and lied, “ancient civ. I had and essay due today and I’d, um, really procrastinated over it. I had to cram most of it in last night.”

“’Procrastinated’?”

“You are very distracting, Dean.”

A grin and Dean leaned over to kiss by his ear. “You’re still blushing. It’s adorable. I’m sorry.”

Cas grumbled under his breath but didn’t have anything to say in response to that. He just turned his eyes to the ground, watching his feet as he walked and willing the blushing to go away. That was embarrassing.

“You mad at me?”

“…no. Of course not. Just… embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. It’s cute.”

“Saying that will not make the blushing stop, Dean.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

When they got to Cas’s house, the door was predictably locked, and Cas dug his key out to let them in. Once inside with the door closed behind them, they paused in the entryway to take their shoes off—his father may not have been home, but No Shoes In The House was still the rule—and Cas set his backpack on the little bench by the door. He would take it upstairs later. Maybe.

Then he turned to look at Dean, hesitated, and finally informed him, “I made you a pie. For tonight. To go with the pizza.”

Dean started to perk—and then stopped. “Wait, you made a pie?”

Cas nodded.

This was worrying for a few reasons, but mostly because they had established early on that Cas could not cook. He had once said he could burn water. Dean hesitated, probably too long, and then finally said; “sure, let’s have a look at it!” With as much false hope and enthusiasm as a person could possibly convey. Cas didn’t buy it for a second, but also didn’t fault him for it, either.

So, they made their way to the kitchen, where… something, certainly not a pie, was waiting on the middle island, practically radiating malevolence. It was lopsided for sure, but one half was burnt black while the other half was somehow still practically raw. Frankly, Dean wondered if he should be Hunting it or something. He was pretty sure if you poked it, the thing would utter the word “eeeeevil.”

Cas just looked down on it and deadpanned, “nothing went according to plan, Dean. I suspect I am not good at baking pies.” Then he looked back up at Dean and added, “you don’t have to eat it. I just wanted you to know I tried.”

Oh good. Dean nodded and questioned with morbid curiosity, “what flavor is it?”

“Cherry,” Okay, a respectable flavor at leas— “with chili peppers.”

Dean balked. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“You know, like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers.” Cas explained, as if the words coming out of his mouth made perfect sense, “Sam said cherry was your favorite, and that cherry goes with spice like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers and—and you are looking at me like I’m saying something stupid. I’m saying something stupid, aren’t I?”

Sam. Of course. Dean palmed over his face and muttered “that little shit” before returning his attention to Cas, reaching to pull him closer and leaning in to kiss him gently. “Cas, my brother was screwing with you. And me. This is one hundred percent a prank. No one eats cherry pie with chilis. And it’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers, they’re a band. Like music, not like pie.”

Cas frowned. “Apparently Sam can also be a jerk sometimes.”

Dean actually laughed at that, grinning at his boyfriend before going in for another kiss. “That’s what brothers are for.”

Cas hummed against his lips and decided, “next time I’ll just buy a pie.”

Another grin. “That sounds like a good plan. Also, I’m going to make you an essential music playlist, your lack of music knowledge is just sad.”

“If you must.”

“Oh, I must.”

-- --

They ordered pizza for dinner (pepperoni, sausage, bacon and extra cheese—no vegetables for Dean, it seemed, but that was fine with Cas, he actually found it amusing) and took it to the living room, taking over the coffee table with the box and a couple of cans of soda, and then flicking through Netflix, discussing what to watch for several long minutes until Dean decided on a movie Cas probably had no interest in. The younger teen didn’t mind, though, he was more interested in Dean anyway.

So, they ate their pizza sitting side by side in front of the television, Dean explaining the movie to Cas along the way because the other boy was (predictably) lost right from the start.

Once they were done eating, they sprawled out over the rest of the couch, Cas leaning into one corner and Dean stretched out on his back, his head in Cas’s lap and a little, content smile on his face while Cas stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair, just toying with the soft strands gently.

Neither of them was really watching the movie anymore. Dean’s eyes were closed over and Cas was looking down at him, not at the TV, but the film continued to play in the background, regardless.

“Hey, Dean?” Cas asked finally, tugging gently at a strand of his hair.

Dean hummed out a happy noise. “Yeah?”

“You should be kissing me.”

“Oh, thank God,” Green eyes blinked open again and Dean began to sit up, “I was going crazy trying not to touch you over here!”

Over here was literally in his lap, but Cas got the idea anyway, especially when Dean made a point of immediately dragging him over and maneuvering Cas into his lap so that Cas was straddling him, then pulling him into a kiss.

The next while was spent continuing to ignore the movie entirely, making out heavily, hands wandering, hips grinding and little, nonsensical murmurs between kisses until Dean began trailing them down Cas’s jawline and neck, biting gently, and Cas muttered breathlessly, “my Father says I have to watch out for you. You’re just another horny teenage boy, essentially.”

Dean grinned against the crook of his neck. “And what do you think?”

“I think… I think we’re both teenage boys.” Cas swallowed and licked his lips, then sat back a little and lifted a hand to tug at Dean’s shirt lightly; “and I think we should go upstairs.”

Dean paused at that before leaning in to kiss Cas again, just gently this time. “You sure about that, Cas?”

Sliding his hand up to grip in Dean’s hair, Cas bit his lip and rocked his hips firmly into the older boy’s, making it more than obvious how hard he was, as if it hadn’t been already. He nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sure.”

“Oh shit—” Dean swore, his own hips bucking upward in response, and panted softly, drawing Cas into another series of kisses, hot, deep, and hungry, “you’re incredible, do you know that?”

Cas laughed breathlessly and teased, “you’re just saying that because you want to get in my pants. As they say.”

But Dean shook his head. He bumped their foreheads together again and gave him another kiss, this time just brief and warm. “No. You’re incredible.”

Surprise. A blink. Cas tilted his head curiously, “but why? I’m not…” Trailing off, he glanced down, eyes shifting back-and-forth as he considered his words; “…special. I’ve never been special.”

“You are special, though.” Dean sighed, tightening his arms around Cas to pull the other boy even closer, and tilted his head to press soft kisses along his jaw back to his ear; “so don’t be stupid, you know I adore you.”

“I—” Cas leaned into the kisses, blue eyes closing over. “Same. But about you.”

Dean smiled against his skin. “Mm, I know.” Nipping by his jaw lightly, he sat back to give Cas another proper kiss. “Still want to go upstairs?”

“Definitely.” No hesitation. Cas smiled and began disentangling himself from the other boy so he could climb out of his lap and stand, “I did research. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Dean followed him up, brushing at his clothes once he was standing—but then stopped. “Wait, research?”

“Well yeah.” Cas shrugged, flushing just a little as he reached for Dean’s hand and then headed for the stairs, “it’s what I was actually doing last night, not homework. I’ve never done this before, so I thought I should know what I’m in for.”

“Oh.” Dean managed weakly. “So, you’ve really never…?”

A pause in Cas’s steps. He glanced back over his shoulder. “No.”

“Not even with girls?” He had known that he was Cas’s first boyfriend, but still.

“No… why? Does that matter?”

Dean’s face was getting progressively redder and redder. Cas just tugged at his hand to get him walking again. “Uh, what kind of research did you do?” He asked finally, voice just a touch higher than normal.

Another shrug as they climbed the stairs. “Just all kinds of things. Articles and videos and stuff. Most of it made sense. There was one video with a babysitter and a pizza man that was really… baffling, though.” (Most of the videos hadn’t been in any way logical, if he was being honest with himself.)

That made Dean laugh again, though. “I think I’ve seen that one.” He joked weakly—and then tugged Cas to a stop just outside his bedroom door. “Cas, I—” He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Are you—I mean, I know you said you were sure, but are you sure-sure?I don’t—it’s just—shit, man, I want this so bad, but if you’ve never…” Green eyes met Cas’s searchingly, “I just really don’t want to screw this up, that’s all.”

Cas just looked at him, ignoring the faint redness in his own face. “Are you nervous because I’m a virgin?” Dean sputtered an affirmative, and Cas gave a little half-smile, “but you’ve never slept with another boy either, right?” Another somewhat squawked agreeing noise; “so aren’t we in the same boat?” He squeezed Dean’s hand gently and offered; “besides, you… you won’t mess it up. I don’t think you could. And even if you did, how would I know? Anyway… I want it to be you, for my first time. Okay?”

Dean looked at him in astonishment. “Why—why do you want it to be me?”

“Because I—” This time Cas hesitated, but only briefly before turning around to face Dean properly. He sighed and lifted both hands to rest against Dean’s chest, feeling how hard his heart was beating under his palms. “Because you care. Because you can be so gentle when you want to be. You always are with me, anyway.” Glancing down, he shrugged one shoulder and added, “because I’m very seriously falling in love with you.”

And oh. Dean’s eyes widened and he paused to gather his suddenly swirling thoughts, swallowing and licking his lips before wrapping his arms around Cas and pulling him closer, tilting his head to press a kiss against his forehead. “You know how I feel about you, Cas. You’re the most important person in my life, along with Dad and Sam, and I…” He trailed off then, ducking to nuzzle into Cas’s neck warmly. “Cas, I…”

Cas brought one hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair and smiled fondly. “I understand.” Then, a little worried that he might have pushed Dean too far already, he murmured, “do you not want to have sex tonight, Dean? We could just finish the movie and cuddle. Make out some more. That would be nice, too.”

But as much as Dean was worried about screwing things up, he still really did want to go through with this—he did suffer terribly from being a Teenage Boy, it was true—and he laughed against Cas’s neck at the very idea of waltzing back downstairs and just going back to the movie like nothing had happened.

“Not a chance.” He grinned and reached to open the door to Cas’s bedroom, bumping it open and backing into the room, tugging Cas with him. Cas went along willingly, closing the door behind them—and then Dean crowded him back into the closed door, pressing close and drawing him into a series of heated, wanting kisses.

Cas uttered a muffled pleased noise, hands coming up to hold at either side of Dean’s neck. He returned Dean’s kisses in kind, holding him close even as Dean’s hands rubbed at his hips before sliding up his sides, under his shirt and the older boy slid a knee between his legs to grind against him.

“Oh, God,” Cas broke off with a gasp to let his head fall back against the door and Dean dove in to trail messy kisses along the curve of his throat, his hands still under Cas’s shirt and rubbing hotly along his skin. “Dean…”

“Mmh.” Was Dean’s response. He slid his hands around to Cas’s back, still under his shirt, and pulled him away from the door and over toward the bed, kissing along his neck the entire time.

Once they were across the room they basically tumbled into the bed, Dean settling over Cas easily, comfortably, and Cas reaching up to pull the older boy down for more kisses even as Dean pulled at Cas’s shirt, pushing it up as far as he could without the younger teen’s cooperation. Then he just made a soft frustrated noise against Cas’s lips, almost pouting.

Cas laughed breathlessly and pushed Dean back a bit, then pulled his shirt off and tossed it away. That was followed by bringing his hands up to grab at the front of Dean’s shirt. “Yours, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, sitting back and pulling off the long-sleeved flannel shirt he was wearing, discarding it before grabbing at the back of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. It was pitched somewhere on the floor, too.

Cas just looked up at his boyfriend for a moment, swallowing thickly. Dean was already reaching to undo Cas’s jeans, and suddenly this was very real. Cas took a shaky breath but lifted his hips up when Dean started tugging his jeans down, allowing them to be pulled away and discarded easily.

“Dean…”

Something in his voice made Dean freeze, halfway to having his own jeans undone. “Cas?” He let go of his zipper and carefully lowered himself down, this time next to Cas, pressed into his side, leaning to kiss him gently. “Is this still okay?”

“I—” It wasn’t that he was having second thoughts, he still wanted this, he just… “I think I just—realized. That this is actually happening.” Then a short pause and he looked sideways at Dean to tell him, “sorry, it’s kind of a lot.”

Dean gave a relieved sigh and relaxed, tipping his head to kiss by Cas’s jaw. “You still want to?”

“Mm.” Cas hummed at the kiss and closed his eyes for just a moment before opening them again, giving Dean a smile. “I really do.”

“You sure?”

“Dean.”

“Just checking.” Dean defended and then added softly, “I really don’t want to screw this up, Cas. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And I appreciate that, but still.” Cas lifted a hand up to card his fingers through Dean’s hair, tugging gently, and ordered, “take your pants off, Dean.”

A grin from the older boy. “I can do that.”

Dean climbed out of the bed long enough to shuck out of his jeans and boxers before clambering back onto the mattress, easing up against Cas’s side again. Cas swallowed a little again—and leaned in for a kiss, even as he reached with one hand to palm at Dean’s cock. Dean groaned against his mouth, muffled against his lips, and rocked his hips into Cas’s hand lightly.

But that wasn’t what the goal was, here, no matter how much they both enjoyed it. And it seemed unfair that Dean was stripped completely bare while Cas was still wearing his boxers… so Cas let go of Dean’s dick, placated him with another little kiss, then quickly stripped his own boxers off and pitched them out of the way.

Dean propped himself up on one arm to lean over Cas and ducked in for another kiss. “God, you’re gorgeous.” His free hand was wandering now, sliding hotly across Cas’s skin, along his chest and down to his abdomen—then lower.

Cas just whined at the compliment and arched into Dean’s touches, bringing one hand up to grab at the side of Dean’s neck and pull him closer again. “Dean.”

“I’m allowed to think you’re beautiful,” He was told firmly, Dean ducking to kiss down his neck to his chest, nipping there lightly, licking over one nipple. His hand closed around Cas’s cock and Cas bucked into it with a gasp. “Do you have condoms, Cas? Please tell me you have condoms.”

Blue eyes opened and he looked at Dean, gave him a little smile. “Yes.” Batting Dean’s hand away from his cock gently, he scooted over to reach into the bedside table drawer, pulling out the box of condoms and the tube of lubricant that his father had given him earlier. Then he returned to his place, tugging Dean down on top of himself again and holding the box of condoms up. “My… Father.” He explained embarrassedly, “insisted on giving them to me.”

Dean blinked, taking the box from Cas’s hand—then just grinned down at him. “What, really? I bet that was embarrassing.”

“You have no idea. He tried to give me the Sex Talk. Or at least the Cliff Notes version. When he told me he was going to be away for the weekend. He… assumed. This would happen.” One of Cas’s hands rubbed up and down Dean’s side restlessly. He shrugged. “I guess he was right. He also gave me this,” He held the lube for Dean to see. “Which we are definitely going to need.”

Another blink from Dean and he looked at the lubricant almost blankly. “Uh.”

“It’s different with guys, Dean.” Cas muttered, “you can’t just—I won’t get naturally wet, I—you have to prepare me, or you actually could hurt me.”

“Define ‘prepare’.” Dean said it as a statement, but it was actually a question.

Cas made a soft sound, half frustration and half embarrassment. His eyes skittered away to focus on the stars on the ceiling. “You won’t, um, fit. Unless you stretch me out first. That’s what the lubricant is for. If you don’t do that I—I mean. It’d hurt. A lot. I’d probably bleed. And that’s obviously not what I want from this…” Trailing off a little, he looked back at Dean again. “I’m sorry, we should have had this conversation earlier. It’s probably a turn-off.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then dropped the box of condoms down on the bed beside them and took the lube from Cas’s hand, adding that to the little pile. “Cas,” He said firmly, “first of all, we’ve already established that the last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way. So, this little talk is necessary. And second?” He grinned and leaned down for a kiss; “we’re currently naked in bed together for the first—and hopefully not last—time. There’s very little that could be a turn-off right now.”

Blue eyes blinked up at Dean in surprise. “Really?”

Another kiss. “Really.” And then a grin and, “you weren’t kidding when you said you did research.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Cas agreed. One hand reached to grab the lube again and he inspected it for a breath before he held it up for Dean to take. “So…?”

Dean chuckled and plucked the lubricant from his fingers. He kissed Cas again—then once more for good measure—before easing back and sitting up. He shuffled his way down the bed a little, then patted at one of Cas’s legs. “I think… if you have your knees up and apart, it’ll work the best.” He let Cas adjust himself accordingly before asking, “how many fingers?”

Cas bit his lip, feeling more than a little exposed at the moment. “Um, start with one. Obviously.” He said, hips shifting awkwardly and only half-hard now, “but the general consensus seems to be at least three. But. In stages.”

“Three.” Dean’s eyes flickered from his hand to between Cas’s legs and he swallowed slightly. “Okay.”

“Just… go slow and use lots of lube. I think.”

“Right.”

It started out awkward, with Dean using probably too much lube and then oh so carefully easing one finger into Cas’s body, slow and steady, then starting to carefully push it in and out of him. Cas swallowed thickly and flung an arm over his eyes, mostly to hide the flaming blush that had overtaken his entire face. Dean kept asking if he was okay and he kept assuring the other boy that he was, of course, it just felt weird.

Adding the second finger changed things. Suddenly there was a stretch and a burn—but a pleasant stretch and burn, one that flared up his spine and made his cock twitch and start to fill out properly again. Cas bit his lip to stifle a little groan—and Dean caught on that immediately, a pleased smirk stretching across his face. He started moving his fingers a little faster and a little deeper.

And then he accidentally brushed against Cas’s prostate for the first time, just slightly.

Cas jolted, and yelped out a shocked cry, his arm flying away from his face and down to grab at the bedcovers.

Dean looked up, eyebrows lifting, and grinned.

“Shut up.” Cas gasped out, even though Dean hadn’t actually said anything. “Don’t stop.”

Of course Dean kept going. Over the course of the next few minutes, he managed to work up to three fingers and reduce Cas to a panting, writhing mess and it was so. Goddamn. Satisfying. He was hard again, now, too, just from watching Cas, his own cock throbbing against his stomach. And he had a pretty good idea of where that spot was inside the other boy, now, he could reliably hit it most times he tried, even if he wasn’t completely sure what it was called.

Finally, Cas arched his back and waved one hand down toward Dean, pulling at the blankets with the other. “D-Dean—that’s enough—oh, God—you’ve got to stop or I’ll—please—!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Dean pulled his hand back and hurriedly grabbed for the box of condoms, pulling one out and ripping it open, rolling it over his aching dick. Then he settled himself between Cas’s legs—and paused, leaning down to bump their foreheads together. “Last chance to back out.”

But Cas just shook his head and tipped his chin to kiss Dean almost desperately. “No way.”

Dean gave a breathless laugh—and then pushed himself into Cas’s now-pliant body.

Both of them just kind of… stopped, once Dean was fully seated, each taking a deep, shuddering breath because—oh God, it felt so damned good. Then they were moving again, Cas to wrap his legs around Dean’s hips and Dean to start thrusting into the younger boy, hard and deep.

Dean buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, panting, and Cas did much the same, pressing messy kisses along Dean’s shoulder in between gasps and moans, his arms around his boyfriend, fingers digging little furrows into the back of Dean’s shoulders.

And Dean was good at this, Cas decided distantly as pleasure thrummed through him, flared up his spine and tingled in his limbs, made his vision go starry—meanwhile Dean was thinking much the same; Cas was fantastic, felt perfect against him, around him, with him.

It didn’t really last long, though, especially with Dean’s pace and Cas’s inexperience. Soon enough, Cas was grabbing harder at Dean’s back, throwing his head back against the pillows and crying out loudly as he came—and Dean followed soon after, his hips jerking out of rhythm a few times before he shoved deep and tensed, coming hard with a low grunt.

Then Dean slumped down over him, and Cas lowered his legs back to the mattress, loosening his grip on the older boy with a breathless little laugh.

“We’re laughing?” Dean asked, just as breathless, muffled into Cas’s shoulder.

“We’re laughing.” Cas confirmed and slid one hand up to thread his fingers through Dean’s sweat damp hair. “I just… wow. That’s all.”

Dean grinned against Cas’s skin and tipped his head to kiss at the crook of his neck. “Yeah.” He agreed, “that sums it up nicely.”

-- --

In the morning, Dean woke up to the sun streaming through the window, soft sheets, a comfortable pillow and the smell of perking coffee. Good perking coffee. Not the shitty motel stuff. It was like waking up in Heaven.

Then came the gentle touches against his back, fingers tracing the edges of his muscles and scars, a palm sliding warmly against his skin. A smile tugged at Dean’s lips, and he murmured something unintelligible before cracking his eyes open finally and rolling over onto his other side to face Cas, Cas’s hand dragging the entire way.

The other boy had his other arm tucked under the pillow, his head resting there, and his eyes were the bluest of blue in the early sunlight. Cas smiled at him with just the faintest edge of shyness—but when Dean leaned forward for a kiss, he returned it unabashedly.

“Cas, you…” The words were whispered like a secret between them, even though there was no one else in the room—or even in the house; “last night was incredible, I’ve never… I mean. I’ve been with people before. Girls. But you were… you are…” Shaking his head, Dean glanced down, almost embarrassed, “you’re amazing.”

“So are you.” Cas’s lips quirked and he admitted, “I saw stars.”

Dean laughed at that, “were you looking at the ceiling?” He teased.

But Cas shook his head, even as Dean was angling for another kiss. “No, it was all you. And before you ask? I don’t regret a thing.”

“You really are beautiful, you know.” Dean murmured against his lips, making Cas laugh softly and kiss him again. “What? I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” Cas brought his wandering hand up to cup Dean’s jaw. “But look who’s talking.”

Dean hummed and turned his head to kiss against Cas’s palm. “I guess you can have your opinions.”

“And you yours.” Cas agreed, then smiled again, this time almost shy once more; “I didn’t have nightmares last night, with you here. I…” Glancing down, he murmured softly, “you’re my dreamcatcher, I guess.”

Dean regarded him fondly and tipped his head to kiss against Cas’s forehead. “I’m glad.”

“Stay over every night?” Cas asked, only half-joking.

“I wish.” Dean leaned back and stretched until his back popped, making a satisfied noise afterward. “I haven’t slept that good in ages, either.”

Cas’s little smile widened, and he watched Dean quietly for a moment before reaching out to touch one of Dean’s scars, a small one by his clavicle. “What’s this from?” He asked softly.

“Got shot.” Dean shrugged, “about a year ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore or anything.”

“Who shot you?”

“Someone bad. Doesn’t really matter. I survived, that’s the important thing.”

Cas considered that for a moment before deciding to just accept it for what it was. Dean obviously didn’t really want to talk about it. So, he just changed the topic: “I woke up before you, so I made coffee. Do you want some?”

Dean perked considerably at that. “Oooooh yes, black as a moonless night!”

Cas snorted a laugh and shoved at Dean’s shoulder but climbed out of bed regardless. He was already dressed-ish from his foray down to the kitchen to get the coffee going, just a pair of boxers and—

“Hey, is that my shirt?” Dean pushed up on his elbows, regarding Cas with surprise.

The younger boy shrugged with one shoulder. He looked down at the AC/DC shirt he was wearing blandly. “I couldn’t find mine in the mess we made last night, so I borrowed it. You can have it back later. Why is your shirt about batteries, anyway?”

“Batteries?!” Dean sputtered, but before he could get any farther than that, Cas had already disappeared out the door, heading downstairs for coffee. He padded around barefoot, pouring two mugs of the stuff (an expensive brand his Father insisted on keeping in the house) and then doctoring his own with cream and sugar, though he left Dean’s black as requested.

Then he turned the coffee pot off and carefully made his way back up to the bedroom, where Dean had finished having his fit over the shirt, and bumped the door closed with his hip when he entered, crossing over and handing Dean his mug before gingerly climbing back into the bed with his own.

Dean obviously thoroughly enjoyed his first sip, which made Cas smile around the lip of his mug. “I’m glad you like it.”

“You have no idea the kind of crap I’m forced to drink on the road, Cas. No idea.” The older boy took another drink, humming out a happy noise, then paused, green eyes flicking up to Cas again, “so. You did the… research, right?” He asked, “that… spot. Inside you. That made you… jerk and moan the way you did…”

“My prostate,” Cas murmured around the lip of his mug, “or at least I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“What does it… feel like?”

Oh, God, how was he even supposed to explain this? Cas swallowed slightly and busied himself taking another couple drinks from his coffee, hedging for time. “It feels…” He trailed off before trying again; “it’s like electric pleasure, shooting up my spine. Like you’re touching some livewire inside me and—God, Dean, it feels—” Breaking off, he shook his head and managed, “it’s so hard to explain. I’ve never felt anything like it. It feels so good. So good it almost hurts.”

Dean was watching him, obviously fascinated, but a little surprised as well. “That good? Really?”

“Yes, I…” Cas nodded, eyes on his coffee now, “when I was looking things up online, it all said it would feel good, but I was not prepared for... I mean. Just. Wow. And you are really good at finding it.”

Dean gave him a little, self-satisfied smirk. “Natural talent?” He suggested.

Cas laughed softly, sipping at his coffee for another moment before asking, “hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

He hummed softly and lifted his gaze to look at Dean intently. “I think we should have sex again.” He informed his boyfriend, before continuing; “for science. To make sure it’s still as good as it was last night.”

Dean nearly choked on his coffee, sputtering a little. “Yeah,” He croaked finally, “we could do that, definitely.”

Cas muffled another small laugh and offered, “I think it turns out I’m ‘just another horny teenage boy’, too, especially now that I know what it’s like. I feel like my Father would be disappointed in me.”

But Dean was already setting his half-empty mug of coffee on the side table and reaching to take Cas’s cup from his hands to set it out of the way as well. “Pretty sure he’s aware you’re a teenage boy,” He informed Cas. “Now, c’mere.”

Dean didn’t get back to Sam and the motel until after dinner time. Sam would probably never let him live it down.

[ingravinoveritas]

(Not me finishing my first fic in two years?? So excited to have something new to share, and with huge thanks to you all for your patience...)

Title: The So-Called Blush Response Author: Me Pairing: Michael Sheen/David Tennant Rating: R Warning: Brief sexual references (nothing explicit), some language Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, 100% made up. Please don’t sue. Thanks. Summary: David is the warmth Michael wants to curl up in. Takes place in 2020, during the filming of Staged season 2. Author’s Note: Inspired by these outtakes from the Staged BTS video. So much gratitude as well to the lovely people who inspired and pushed me to finish this! (Also available on AO3.)

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“I like it. love a bit of sci-fi.”

Michael watched David playing with the beam of light, sitting across from him in that fucking leather jacket.

David had told him he’d be wearing it for the shoot that day, but he still wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready for how gorgeous it would look on him, slim shoulders and sylph-like chest fully on display. The long hair and David’s tendency to run his fingers through it had already been a distraction--in the best possible way--but the jacket only made matters worse.

Or better, if you were Michael and looking at what he was looking at.

“If I could get it over one eye it’d be great, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

How can one man get this much unadulterated enjoyment out of playing in the sun?

It wasn’t really the sun, though, stuck inside as they were. Things weren’t the same as when they’d shot the first series, a sense of hopelessness washing over the world like a tsunami. It was better now, in some ways, feeling the few trickles of light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel.

Life wasn’t normal--not by a long shot, Michael reckoned--what felt like forward momentum happening in fits and starts, his heart wearing thin from the uncertainty and false promises of seeing another face for the first time in ages.

David’s face.

They were due to film the last scene soon, in person, in the actual flesh. The thought that he’d definitely, unquestionably be seeing David again--”Wearing masks,” Simon cautioned, leaving Michael to levy a barrage of Welsh curses at Covid safety protocols--was nearly more than he could bear.

I can’t not kiss you. I can’t be that close and still be so far away.

He pushed it from his mind, focusing on the scene at hand. They were on their third take, no thanks to Michael forgetting his lines in favor of staring at David and the now-unfortunately placed beam of sunlight shimmering across his face.

“Kittenish” was the word that came to mind, even as Michael questioned whether it was acceptable to describe a grown man that way. Cats and their languid stretches reminded him of David--everything reminded him of David--both their backs arching with unearthly grace, both always managing to find a patch of warmth to curl up in.

He’d actually heard David purr once, thanks to his own carefully placed fingers and a flick of the wrist. It was a sound he’d never heard before, the gentle vibrations from David’s lithe body coupled with the look of utter need in his eyes leaving Michael wrecked and determined to hear it again every day for the rest of his life.

“Close enough,” David had said the first time they were on Zoom, apologetic. Hopeful. Always trying to make the best of things.

Wanking in a cold kitchen in the middle of the night hardly seemed to qualify, watching each other the way they had for months of filming, David’s half-bitten off moans radiating out from the laptop speakers. All of his senses were full of David, yet the room somehow felt even emptier with him on screen--there without being there at all.

Michael longed for the scrape of a chair leg, the clatter of dishes as David put them in the sink, the quiet laughter when he teased the other man for tidying up. A glass of wine in the garden after dinner, David leaning into the crook of his neck through a fog of hazy-eyed bliss, hands clasped together as they watched the sun disappear beneath the lush, sheep-dotted hills.

No, Zoom wasn’t close enough. Not close enough at all.

“Well, I’ll miss this.”

Another line in the script, another moment of genuine pathos later in the scene.

Simon writes what he sees.

Christ, he really would miss this. Not the tedious grind of filming, and certainly not the isolation of lockdown, but this. Seeing David take so much pleasure in something so small, letting go of all the unending worry Michael could never set down. He’d miss having David all to himself--even on a computer screen--for so many hours in a day, and he no longer cared if it was selfish to want more.

I love you.

Michael had nearly forgotten they were on camera and swallowed the last part, adroitly replacing it with the bit about sci-fi. He fidgeted slightly, lowering his gaze to just below David’s eye line, as if looking at him would’ve made it too hard not to say.

He was simply there. And without meaning to, Michael loved him.

The troublesome sun still hadn’t shifted angles. Simon was annoyed, muttering somewhere in the background about doing another take in ten minutes.

Ten more minutes of David in that leather jacket, of Michael trying not to think about leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck. Ten more minutes of listening to David giggle as Michael cracked a series of bawdy, Welsh-flavored jokes in quick succession. Distracting himself from a truth he could no longer avoid.

I don’t really want whatever comes next. Not without you across the way, in the light.

“I have to go.”

“I’m still not ready.”

Neither one of them were.

[krowjones]

Hello there, I´m really excited about this idea and couldn't help but wonder what are the answers for ⚔️ and 🍂

Aditionally, if both of you feel like it, what would the answer for 🤔 be?

⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS — do you have any skills that you are absolutely grateful you have and that mean a lot to you? how do you usually use these skills?

Teen Krow tapped his cheek as he thought. "Skills that mean a lot to me…" He smiled. "I was taught Lou Jitsu-style martial arts. I can throw a mean punch and a meaner kick," he boasted, puffing his chest out a little.

"Am I the best martial artist ever? No way. That title goes to the turtles and Splinter himself. But watching those training videos as a kid, and then sensei building on that during training, got me through the apocalypse. I'm grateful for that."

"And how else do I use those skills? To beat the ever-living shit out of the Krang!" he proudly declared with a fist in the air and fire in his eyes. "And maybe to stop some other crime along the way," he added more calmly.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

🍂 FALLEN LEAVES — how would you metaphorically describe your life and the journey(s) you've been on?

Old Krow thought for a bit, stroking his beard, and then smiled. "Like climbing Mount Everest."

After a beat, he elaborated. "I recently learned about this." Illustrating with his hands, he moved them higher and higher as he explained. "You start at the base of the mountain then move up to base camp. You have to get acclimated to the thin air at that altitude for a long time. Then you finally start your ascent. But it's extremely dangerous despite the help you get and even in the best conditions. People around you could die due to anything — stupidity, lack of fitness, lack of cooperation, bad luck. The environment is against you, sometimes an avalanche happens that people could get caught in. Or frostbite, or hypothermia. And you have to keep moving forward anyway."

He paused to collect his thoughts. "On Mount Everest, you can't really save people so easily. To be blunt, there's dead bodies everywhere. Maybe just out of sight, covered in snow and ice, but you know they're there and haunt the mountain. It can feel hopeless at times. And it's so hard to adapt to the harsh environment you're in." He shrugged. "But you can't be distracted by the death or potential death or how harsh things are. You have to adapt and use all you got to survive." His voice turned grave. "Your only goal is for you, and hopefully everyone in your group, to make it to the top and back down again — alive."

Old Krow let out a little sigh and sadly smiled. "But when you're finally at the top… hell, I can only imagine how amazing the view is. Must really be something. It's got to be incredible, for people to risk their lives for it."

He leaned in close to the camera, smile widening to a playful grin, and whispered. "Little Me doesn't know he's nearly at the top already." He winked. "Don't tell him, though."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

🤔 THINKING FACE — what three emotions tend to dominate your mindset? do you know why they do?

Teen Krow scrunched up his face in thought and bounced his leg.

"Ooh, that stumped him," Old Krow teased when the teen didn't respond for a long time.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," the younger one snapped, his leg bouncing more.

Old Krow chuckled. "How about anger?"

"Fine. Anger. Fear. And sadness," the teen finally answered glumly. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and cradle his cheek in his hand. "And probably because everything sucks even though everything's fine now. Except it isn't really."

Old Krow's brow wrinkled in concern over his younger counterpart's moodiness but did not comment on it. Instead he looked to the audience. "Our emotions are pretty strong and we feel them often, so it's tough for both of us to say. But I'll still try to answer the question."

He swayed in his seat and hummed. "Me, I think I'm pretty happy these days. Of course, I don't think my angry streak will ever leave me," he said with a small nod toward the younger counterpart. "I just channel it all into fighting crime now. And the last one…" He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly. "Well, I do still worry a lot. There's lots to be concerned about."

He casually leaned back in his seat and put his feet up, looking pretty comfortable. "But that's life for ya!"