#he's like that person who says eating oranges in the shower makes them taste better

[beck-nightengale]

That moment when you're on your way to Ark with your new bro but you ran into a skunk.

Yeah. That's totally what happened.

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong ��� hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[bicycle4two]

say you wanna, say you wanna be || Sam Drake x Reader || Chapter 4

Summary: Sam isn't looking for a girlfriend and, frankly, you don't think you'd be a good one anyway, but you two aren't some one-night stand and it's been a long time since either of you thought of each other as a convenient booty call. This is something more, something the two of you didn't realize would be. It's uncharted territory. And there is no other choice but to figure out how to navigate through it together.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Fem!Reader

Tags(ish): developing relationship, implied/non-explicit sexual content, romance/fluff/hurt/comfort, age difference (though reader’s age is not stated), switching povs (second person reader, third person sam), no y/n but reader has a nickname

C.1 || C.2 || C.3

Chapter Four:

Here’s the thing.

Sam always knew that he and his brother were destined for something great. And, well, he can’t say that greatness didn’t fall on them. Yeah, sure, he spent thirteen years in jail. Who hasn’t? But despite that little hiccup in his life, Sam thinks that he’s done pretty well for himself. He’s discovered a lost city or two, with and without his brother, held some artifacts that were rumored to only be from stories, and tried one of the cigars from Sully’s collection. He even has a place to call his own now, his name on the mailbox downstairs, a doorman who greets him.

Honestly, it’s all he’s ever wanted growing up. More, even. Back in Panama, all he thought he wanted, besides, well, getting out, was to find Avery’s treasure with Nathan. It was that thought that kept him going most days. The idea of finding four hundred million worth of treasure! That was the dream. He and Nathan could finally settle down, or, rather, their version of it. Because they weren’t going to have a normal life. That was never in the cards for them growing up, but it was a nice thought, not having to worry about food or a place to stay.

And Sam hasn’t had to worry about that for a long time. He felt empty after Libertalia, that his story was only just beginning while Nathan’s was coming to a close. There are still things he wants to see, to do.

Time, he realized long ago, was something that he could lose so easily and he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

So he went on more adventures, climbed higher mountains, picked up little trinkets (a habit he got from his little brother, starting his own little collection) along the way to bigger, better things. (It’s just a shame that some things were destroyed along the way, like statues and buildings, but what can he say? It runs in the family.)

But tonight, after a long flight and an uncomfortable chair, all Sam wants to do is go to her and crash on her bed.

Because although Sam has a place to call home, a big apartment that’s filled with his stuff, clothes, souvenirs, a fish…it feels empty. Cold. Even if he had all the money in the world, Sam can’t shake off that feeling that he shouldn’t have too much. That in just a blink of an eye, all this could be gone. Because that has happened before—moving from place to place, packing what you can immediately get your hands on.

Sam wants riches, searches for them all over the world, but deep down he knows he doesn’t know what to do with them. That even if he dreams of more, he only knows how to live with enough.

So, he only has one pillow, a blanket. A towel and an extra, shampoo (the kind that has body soap mixed with it. 2 in 1! What a deal) and deodorant. Clothes, he knows to get the sturdy kind, the kind that won’t rip easily, that stains won’t be too obvious on. Shoes, too. He gets the ones that have good traction, that won’t chafe his feet, won’t deteriorate when wet.

The fish, Jim Hawkins—Jimmy was an attempt to liven up the place. To make it seem homey, to keep him company. But there’s only so much you can do with a fish and Sam can’t deck out Jim’s aquarium any more than he already has. He’s afraid that something would fall on the poor thing, that maybe there’s more inside Jimmy’s castle than meets the eye.

“Welcome home.”

“I’m ho…ome?” Sam drops his bag to the floor, more from being too tired to carry it than shock. He’d resigned to seeing her tomorrow, that it was too late to go over now, but there she is, curled up on his couch, toes peeking out from under a throw blanket. It’s hers. Sam recognizes it easily. It’s the same one she has thrown over her arm chair, the same chair Sam likes to lounge on when he’s found a good book to read.

“How was your trip?” She looks so cozy on his couch. Hands wrapped around an orange mug he’s never seen before, book on her lap. She doesn’t look like she going to get up and Sam can’t blame her. He sort of wants to curl up next to her, somehow squeeze his large frame in the remaining space. “Get me anything nice?”

“I, uh,” Sam’s swallows, blinking. “I’m not dreaming, right? Like, I didn’t get knocked out when I fell off the mountain?”

“You fell off what?” She’s moving to stand up, mug thankfully placed back on the table despite her haste, and Sam doesn’t want her to do that.

“No. No, don’t get up.”

She gets up anyway, blanket falling to the floor, and, oh god, she’s wearing pajamas, oranges printed all over her cotton shorts. She’s by his side in seconds, hands reaching up to his face, bringing him down to her height so she can get a better look at him.

“Ouch,” Sam says, the movement too fast for his aching body. His muscles are sore and the trip home didn’t do them any favors. But she thinks that it’s her fault, that she’s hurt him and her hands are in the air, her eyes wide with both surprise and concern. “It’s not you. It’s just…,” Sam hates to say it, makes him feel old, but, “My back. I hit the ground pretty hard.”

“I feel dumb for asking…but are you okay?” Her hands are back on him, her touch gentle and giving comfort Sam didn’t know he needed. She doesn’t seem to know what to do first, how to check for injuries, but the thought is enough, her being here is enough, makes him feel better.

“Well, I’m alive,” Sam brings up his hand to push her hair away from her face. It’s soft, slightly damp from a shower. Oh. He probably needs one of those. “Nothing a hot shower can’t fix.”

“Can you…,” she hesitates, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and Sam bends down on reflex, damn his back, and kisses her. She relaxes, sighs, and pulls away, blushing. “Uhm, I, huh?”

“Can I…?” Sam prompts, smirking.

“Now I’m embarrassed to ask.”

“C’mon, princess, don’t leave me hanging. What is it?”

“Can you, uh, do you need help?”

“Do I need help?” Sam grins. “In the shower? Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

…

Sam mentioned it to Nathan before, when they were in Italy, trying to find their way into the Rossi Estate. When you’re locked up with no hope of being let out, it’s the little things you miss the most.  

And Sam didn’t think that there was much to miss anymore now that he was out. He can ride his motorcycle anywhere he wants, go to his own bathroom any damn time he pleases, shower, eat, sleep, drink without permission. He can call Nathan and Sully and Elena without request, without reason. He can stay indoors or go outside without a schedule. He can live. The simple joys of being alive, Sam is able to enjoy them now, in much a greater magnitude than he has ever before.

Citrus, he remembers telling Nathan, he had missed the smell of citrus. The novelty of fresh fruit. The refreshing scent, the taste. The sweetness on his tongue.

“Clementine,” Sam gasps out without thinking, his mind stuck on things he missed and maybe this last trip had gone on longer than he liked.

He’s brought back to earth when the movement stops, even when he adjusts his grip, tries to get her going again, to move her hips the way he knows they both like. He opens his eyes to look at her when she doesn’t budge and she’s frowning at him, there’s a wrinkle between her eyebrows. An angry look.

“That’s not my name,” she says and it looks like she’s going to get off of him and, goddammit, why does she keep doing that?

“What?” Sam’s confused, blood not quite in his head.

“You called me Clementine.” Her tone is upset. Hurt. Sam’s never heard her speak like this before. “Who the hell is that?”

“Shit,” Sam breathes out. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah. No shit.” And there she goes, lifting herself off of him as quickly as she had sunk onto him half an hour ago. Sam lets out a grunt. His ribs are bruised yet she flattens her hands on his chest to support herself. She’s doing it on purpose. She was careful before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to do this, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sam’s cold without her, for more reasons than one, and he knows that if he doesn’t say something, anything, now, she’s going to be out that door before he can even finish saying Hail Mary. And no amount of prayer, to any sort of god out there, is going to bring her back.

So, Sam swallows down his pride, and says, “It’s you.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that before. ‘Just you.’ How can I-I be so stu-stupid?” Her voice wavers and shit she’s crying, isn’t she? He made her cry.

“And I mean that. Hey, come here.” Sam doesn’t want to hold her too tightly, afraid to hurt her, but he has to know that she isn’t going to leave, that she’s going to stay and listen to him. She turns to look at him, tears flowing down her cheeks, nose red, lips quivering, and Sam’s heart just about breaks. He did that. He’s never felt more like an asshole. “It is just you. It has been since the start. I promise.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just waits. And Sam feels like he’s back in school, standing in front of his class, giving a presentation.

“I, uh, did I ever tell you that I was in prison once?” Sam manages to get out. He always knew he was going to have this conversation with her, knew that with how their relationship was going, he couldn’t keep her in the dark much longer, but he had hoped that he would at least be wearing pants for this.

“No,” she breathes out, wiping her nose with a tissue she got from his bedside table. Huh. Was that tissue box always there? Anyway. “But I figured.”

“The tattoos?”

“No,” she says again and by some miracle there’s a smile on her lips. It’s small, gone with a blink of an eye, but Sam knows what he saw, has all of her smiles memorized. “Someone like you just has the talent of getting into trouble.”

And Sam can’t help it. He lets out a laugh because it’s true. She knows him.

“Well, I can’t deny that. But anyway,” He clears his throat. Was talking always this hard? “When I was in prison. In Panama—that’s important. This was when I was in Panama. I was there for thirteen years and, Jesus, time moves differently there. It’s like the days can’t go by fast enough but next thing you know a year has passed by, two, three, and you’ve lost your youth because some asshole decided to get all stabby with the guard.”

The words are spilling out, like he can’t get them out of him fast enough. Because he needs her to know, to understand.

“It wasn’t my fault. Well, okay, I was there on purpose at first, but those thirteen years were like a punishment for what that asshole did. I was supposed to die there. We were escaping, we were almost there, almost free, but I got shot and I fell. The guards found me and got some ‘doctors’ to patch me up. They made sure that if I was going to die, I was going to die because I rotted in that hellhole.”

Sam can see that she’s listening, that she’s hanging onto every word so he continues, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop.

“I was only in my twenties. There was so much I wanted to see, to do. Nathan and I had plans, dreams. We were going to go all over the world. But I was stuck there. Alone. And no one knew that I was alive. It’s like I stopped existing. Sometimes.” The words are stuck. But Sam forces them out. “Sometimes I, uh, I wished it were true, that it would be better if I was just gone. That I had just died back there.”

She’s crying again and Sam wipes her tears for her, brings her closer to him. Because these tears aren’t because of him anymore, but for him. And isn’t that something? Having someone cry for you.

“You don’t realize how much you have until everything is practically ripped away from you. I didn’t have any privacy. I…I couldn’t take a leak when I needed to. You just end up thinking, cuz there really isn’t much to do but think, about what you had. How life was good. And I, I just missed everything. I missed Nathan, of course, he’s my little brother. But, it’s the small things, too. Like riding my bike into the sunset. Grass beneath my feet. A glass of cold water. And…”

“And?” She asks, eyes focused on the gunshot scars on his abdomen, fingers tracing their shape. It tickles.

“And the smell of citrus.” He makes her look at him because this is important. The most important thing. “I missed the smell of citrus. The taste. And when I was in Japan, I thought about it again. The things I missed back here, back at home. And it’s citrus—you. I missed you so much, you wouldn’t believe it. I could have called Nathan. Elena, even. To come over here but I called you because,” Sam clears his throat once more. “Because I wanted you here. I had hoped you would be here when I came back. And you were.”

She’s quiet, eyes searching. And Sam’s poured out his heart and soul and now he’s got nothing else to do but wait and see what she does with it. Is this what being honest is like? Being vulnerable? It’s torture. Sam hates it. But he can also think of worse things and that keeps him rooted in his spot, trying to keep his face as honest as he can. Years of hiding is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

“You must have been so lonely.” Is what she says, hands back on his gunshot wounds. She’s transfixed. Almost like she’s been wondering about them forever. And maybe she has. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh. It’s all in the past,” Sam says with a shrug. Because it is in the past. He’s made his peace with it. Mostly. Some things are harder to shake off than others but he’s okay now. He’s built from strong stuff, a sturdy breed. “But, y’know. You’re, uh, killing me here.”

“Killing you?”

“Cuz I don’t know what you’re going to do,” Sam admits. It’s all truth from here on out, huh? “I can’t read you right now. Are you gonna leave? Punch me in the face? Report me? Please don’t report me. I’d really hate to go back to jail. Nathan would kill me. And I still have a few years left to go, y’know?”

She smiles and Sam realizes that he was rambling. He takes a breath, feels himself calm down. Damn. He needs a cigarette. Maybe two. Are his hands shaking? They’re definitely shaking.

“I think you have more than a ‘few years,’” she says, fingers tracing scars. Sam twitches from her touch. Is this what it feels like when he touches her back? “Especially if you stop smoking.”

“I’ve heard it all before.”

“You should start listening.”

“Ah. Someday.” Sam takes her hand in his, mostly to stop her stop her from tickling him, but also to bring them back on topic. Because she still hasn’t said anything. Nothing to give him an idea where they go from here, if there is somewhere to go from here. “So?”

“So…” She leans close, talks in a whisper, like if she speaks any louder, something might shift, break this bubble that they’re in. “So, you have to tell me what you want, Sam.” It’s an echo of what he said to her months ago, a vulnerable, fragile moment just like this. “So I know what to give you.”

But this time is different because she’s always been more generous than him, always been willing to give.

And Sam’s always been someone to take what he wants and he’ll be damned if this time is any different.

“It would be nice if you stayed.”

“Stay? I can do that.”

...

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

...

Sam’s apartment was inspired by @missdictatorme​ ‘s post

[staticscreenwriting]

Love like the movies // Bucky Barnes // 5

Five - Dirty Dancing

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

Bucky wakes up to music. It's playing from outside the room, echoing through the halls and filling the apartment with sound.

It reminds him of when he was a kid and his mom would make them all breakfast as the radio would softly play in the background. She'd always have a smile on her face and twirl around the kitchen and sometimes, when they were still little enough, she'd pick up him or one of his sisters and slowly sway along with them in her arms.

It's a hazy memory, he's barely able to grasp it, but it's there nonetheless and that makes all the difference.

Rays of sun flood the apartment, coloring it in hues of orange and gold. Bucky steps out of (Y/N)’s room and into the hallway from which he can see straight into the kitchen. (Y/N)’s standing by the stove, a frilly pink apron wrapped around her waist and spatula in hand. Her hips shake slightly to the beat of the song and her lips move along with the lyrics.

Bucky wonders if he’ll ever get that. This feeling of pure comfort in his own home. To find who he really is and allow himself to be that person, no inhibitions, no holding back. Just be himself and be confident in who that might be.

“ You can keep standing there like a creep or you can come over here and help me, grumpy”

At the sound of her voice, he jumps a little, too lost in could-bes and what-ifs to realize she’s long noticed him leaning against the doorway. Her hair is a mess and there’s still eyeliner and glitter from last night stuck to her skin. But Bucky thinks she’s never looked better. It’s an intimate moment, to watch her in all her imperfect ways, move around her own home, being the most comfortable and at ease she’s ever been. There’s something about the way she looks at him then, showered in golden sunlight, a bright smile on her face. Bucky knows what it is he feels, deep down inside of him, flickering up like a light in the dark. He knows what it is. It’s not a feeling you forget once you’ve felt it.

He’s not gonna say it though, not gonna admit it to himself or anyone. All that can come from it is misery and heartbreak and while his heart is of very little value to him, hers means everything. So he’ll ignore it, shove it to the deepest darkest corner of himself and try not to acknowledge it in hopes it’ll go away.

“ You’re cooking? “ he asks as he steps up next to her, eyebrows raised in uncertainty.

“I’m making pancakes, and don’t look at me like that!” (Y/N) replies, swatting him with a dish towel, “ I know my cookies weren’t the best and I am well aware that my coffee sucks. But if there’s one thing I can make, it’s pancakes. Trust me. “

He does trust her. It’s something that he only fully realizes at that moment. Such an insignificant little moment. He trusts her, which is terrifying but also liberating at the same time. Maybe his life is on the right path. Maybe things can get better. Step by tiny step.

“ Hey, I ate your cookies, didn’t I? “

She looks up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, eyes shining with — something he can’t quite place. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he doesn’t need to know what it means. It means something and that's all that counts in the grand scheme of things.

“Yeah, yeah you did.”

For a moment it’s just them and the music and the bliss of a morning spent with a friend.

“ Okay, hand me the batter please?” (Y/N) says and points towards a big blue bowl standing by on the counter to his right. As he hands it to her though, (Y/N) doesn’t immediately start pouring the batter, instead, she dips her finger into it and holds it out to Bucky.

“ Try it, tell me if it’s too sweet. “

He’s hesitant for a moment. You don’t just go around licking your friends’ fingers. Surely social cues haven’t changed that much. But when she moves her hand closer once again and adds a determined “taste it before it drips onto the floor”, he wraps his lips around her finger, tasting the sweet pancake batter. It’s not too sweet, not at all, it’s perfect. He can’t really voice that thought though, not when his mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere it really shouldn’t be.

At that moment Bucky feels something he hasn’t felt in forever — arousal.

“ Good? “ she questions him as she pours the batter into the pan, a sizzling sound filling the kitchen.

Buck nods, completely at a loss for words. This is entirely silly and inappropriate. You’re not supposed to feel those things for your friends. Wasn’t this exactly what they talked about in the Harry and Sally movie? Sex ruining friendships. He can’t and won’t let that happen. Not with (Y/N). Not when he’s just starting to trust her. He needs this friendship more than he cares to admit.

“Grumpy? “

“ Hmm? Oh uh — yeah it’s good. “

And it is good, too good to give up. Too good to jeopardize it for some fleeting sense of passion. Too good to ever let go.

It’s ridiculous of him to put any sensual notions to such a silly little gesture. These things can be friendly. Innocent. People probably do it all the time with no ulterior motives. Maybe he needs to go with the times, let go of antiquated morals. Yeah, surely that’s what he’s gotta do.

They’re sitting by the kitchen counter, (Y/N)’s plate licked clean while Bucky is struggling to finish his pile of pancakes.

“ Do you want the rest of mine? “

“ Did you not like them? “

“ No, I did! I ate an entire pile already. But I can see the way you’re lusting after them. Come on. Open up. “

He cuts off a piece, lathers it in the syrup pooling on his plate, and holds it out towards her. Nothing sexual about it, just two friends sharing food. Absolutely nothing sensual about the way her lips wrap around the fork, they’re still tinted red from last night. Absolutely no dirty thoughts as the syrup drips down her chin. Or when she uses her thumb to wipe it away then licks the sticky liquid off of her fingers. All innocent. All —

“ Have you ever seen 9 ½ weeks? “ she asks him, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“ No. What’s it about? “

“ Um — “ she starts then laughs to herself as if she’s sharing a funny inside joke with herself “ nevermind. “

“ Noooo, you can’t just start something and then not give me an explanation” he declares as the two of them get up and put the dishes into the dishwasher.

“ You know, Grumpy. There are a few things you better figure out on your own, trust me.”

“ Now you’re just being mean. “

“ No, I’m not I — “ her eyes grow wide as the song changes again and a big bright smile overtakes her entire face. Messy hair, makeup smudged, a smile on her face. God, he wishes they could stay in this little bubble forever. Hurt doesn’t exist here. Only them. Only happy things.

“ I forgot Dirty Dancing.”

“ What? “

“ You don’t know Dirty Dancing. “

“ I know plenty of dancing, thank you very much.”

“ No, Bucky. It’s a movie. It’s one of the most famous romantic movies and I forgot about it. I made a list of all the movies I wanna watch with you but didn’t think of Dirty fucking dancing. Sorry for swearing.”

“ You made a list? “

“ Yes, Grumpy. I made a list because I take this very seriously and I intend to make you watch them all with me because — because it’s fun and I like spending time with you. “

People, Bucky thinks, often take the smallest things for granted. The smallest things that make the most impact. That you will remember forever and cherish with all your heart. Like this one. People also don’t tell each other enough how much their friendships actually mean to them. People should. It feels wonderful.

“ I like spending time with you too.”

She grants him another sunshine smile before grabbing his hands and dancing along to the song. It’s faster than their late-night sway on the balcony, way less coordinated and there’s more jumping on her part and more shaking of — pretty much every body part.

This is so her. Chaotic and a little messy but so unapologetic. So fun. So happy.

“ Because IIIIII've haaaaaad the time of myyyyyy lifeeeee. No I neeeeeever felt this way before. Yes I swear it's the truuuuuuuuth. And I ooooowe it all to youuuuuu.”

“ That’s a catchy song,” Bucky says as a smile finds a way onto his lips. Sometimes it feels nice to surround yourself with people who make you smile. It’s one of the little pleasures in life one should allow themself to indulge in.

Bucky wishes he could bottle up this moment and never let go of it. Keep it for himself forever. That’s the thing about losing your memories, it makes you realize how precious every moment is and it makes you want to hold on tightly to each and every one as they happen.

“Right? I can guarantee you’ll be humming this song all day.”

(Y/N) twirls herself under his arm, away from him, then back before her eyes fall onto his glove-covered hands.

“ You don’t have to wear them for me, you know that, right? “

Sometimes he doesn’t even remember he’S wearing them, it’s become such a regular thing to him now. They are a part of him like the arm itself. They’re a shield really. From looks and judgment. And maybe, if he’s being entirely true to himself, they’re also to keep his eyes from focusing too much on the shiny silver of his hand. Of the fact that he will never be whole again. That he will never be able to feel a loving touch there ever again.

“ I know. It’s not you I’m worried about. “

“ Is it you? “

Bucky scrunches his nose up in discomfort. Talking about feelings wasn’t really a thing back when he was younger, especially for men. Sure there had been late-night talks with Steve about god and the world. About their hopes and fears and about the future. But those were few and far between and really opening himself up was never one of Bucky’s strong points. Talking about your feelings makes you vulnerable and being vulnerable was the last thing Bucky was ever allowed to be back then.

But as he said before, maybe it’s time to give up on antiquated ways.

So he nods “ Yeah. It’s — I still have a complicated relationship with the arm. I know it’s part of me and I’m glad it was given to me but it’s a huge reminder of all that I’ve lost and of a version of me that I can never go back to. A man I can never be again.”

“ Bucky,” (Y/N) starts and takes his face in between her hands. It’s a touch so soft, he can’t remember ever being handled this gently. Like a baby bird. Like a piece of porcelain. Like a treasure too precious to break. “I will never be able to fully understand how you’re feeling and I know that some of those things you have to go through alone and do the work yourself. But let me tell you something. Whoever you used to be might be gone but there’s a long-ass future waiting and it lets you be whoever you want to be. Maybe it’s time to let go of the man you were and start being the man you are because that one’s pretty great. And your arm is as much a part of that greatness as your smile or your constant grumpy mood. It’s what makes you you and you are really cool, honestly. “

His heart beats faster and stops entirely all at the same time. When he was younger he used to relish in the compliments thrown his way. He gracefully accepted them all with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Nowadays it’s hard to believe them. Hell, it was so hard to have faith in Steve’s words. To believe that he was really worth all the effort and trouble Steve and the others went through, for him of all people. It’s so hard believing you are worth something when all you can see are your wrongdoings and shortcomings.

He wants to believe her words though. If only for a moment. If only for right now, safe and sound in their little bubble as the sun filters through the windows and the tastes of syrup still lingers in his tongue.

A few days later...

“They’re screening Dirty Dancing at the cinema around the block from me! Starts at 8pm. Come meet me, I won’t take no for an answer! xx “

He reads the message and tries to remember the way he felt that morning a few days ago when they danced around her kitchen. When she told him he was worth something. When she made him believe he wasn’t the actual worst person walking this earth. A disgrace. A mistake. A killer.

But every time he tries to go back to the bubble, a different pair of eyes show up in his mind. Eyes filled with sadness, with unimaginable suffering, with grief. All of which he put there.

He ran into Yori last night on his way home. The old man looked more fail than usual, sadder, more tired. Bucky found out why a few minutes later when he asked Yori about the cake in his grocery bag. The one with the white and green frosting.

“ It would be my son’s birthday today. I know he’s not here anymore but he was crazy about these cakes ever since he was a kid. Felt like remembering him. Would you like to join me for a piece? “

Bucky made up some half-assed excuse why he couldn’t, rushed to his apartment, and had a full-on breakdown. The kind that you don’t realize is happening until you’re all the way in the center of the hurricane.

There are shards of glass on his floor from when he threw a bottle against the wall. It’s a shame when you can’t even drown your sorrows in alcohol. His cheeks, he’s sure, are stained with tears that he had kept inside for so long.

How could he ever spend another second with (Y/N) when this is the kind of person he is. Brainwashing or not. The blood of Yori’s son is on his hands. Yori’s pain is his doing. All this grief and this hurt. It’s his fault and his alone. And Yori is just one of so many.

(Y/N) deserves a friend that doesn’t have a body count. Someone who doesn’t know what it feels when someone loses their life at his hands. Someone who doesn’t go to sleep seeing the eyes of those he’s killed. Someone who isn’t him.

His phone rings and he expects it to be (Y/N). She’s one of those people that text you then immediately call you right after. She likes to talk. In-person or over the phone. He doesn’t know if he wants to answer. Doesn’t know what to say. Would it be easier to just tell her not to contact him again? To rip off the bandaid quickly and then deal with the pain afterward?

Before he can come up with an answer to any of those questions, his eyes register the name on the caller display.

“ What?” he grumbles and leans his head against the wall.

“ Well, aren't you a happy chappy today. “

“ Sam, now’s not a good time. “

Sam hesitates for a moment then his voice sounds out from the speakers again.

“ Hey, Bucky. Are you okay? “

For a second, Bucky thinks about saying yes. He wants to keep on pretending the way he did so many times before. Wants to deal with this all by himself and not have anyone else get caught in his mess.

But he can’t. He’s tearing at the seams. He’s barely holding himself together, cracking open more and more with each passing second. So he takes a deep breath and tells the truth.

“ No. No, I’m not. “

30 minutes. No actually 34 minutes. He’s 34 minutes late. In fact, he hasn’t even answered her god damn text. He’s read it. Hasn’t answered though. And while that’s not entirely unlike Bucky, it still annoys her. Especially since when she tried to call him, the line was busy. So surely he’s on his phone. Is it too much to ask for a little reply?

If he doesn’t want to come, that's no big deal, (Y/N) tells herself, but a quick text would be the bare minimum he could give her.

Pout on her face and mood soured, (Y/N) enters the cinema and slumps down onto one of the plush red velvet seats. Not even in the mood for popcorn anymore, thanks Bucky.

There are hardly any people in there with her. Probably because by now almost every person on this planet has seen Dirty Dancing before and the weather is actually quite nice out tonight so most would rather enjoy the last rays of sun before winter will fall upon them than be stuck in a dark stuffy cinema watching a decade-old movie.

Not her though.

And if Bucky thinks she’s gonna miss out on watching this classic masterpiece because he can’t be bothered to show up, well he’s gravely mistaken. And yeah, maybe she’s being a bit dramatic, there might be a perfectly valid explanation for his no-show. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

What happens if he actually goes on to date Leah? He’ll have less time for her that’s for sure. Movie dates won’t be happening then. Maybe it’s good she’s getting used to this now before she grows too close to him and breaks her own heart in the process of mending his.

She hates herself a little for those thoughts. Bucky deserves to be happy and if that means their friendship will be put on the backburner, then she should be okay with that, right? That’s what friends do, they want you happy no matter what it means for themself.

The Ronettes’ Be My Baby starts echoing through the room as the lights dim and (Y/N) sinks deeper into her seat, embracing the dark. The screen lights up with a black and white montage of people dancing and a swirly pink font spells out the actors' names. (Y/N) can’t wait to get lost in this picture-perfect version of real-life where things might seem bad but turn out right in the end. They always turn our right for these people. If only real life was this easy.

She’s so ready to just forget about all her troubles for the next 90 minutes.

And then a figure steps in front of the screen, nothing but a silhouette. A black shadow in front of the moving pictures. A shape she immediately recognizes.

“ Come on, dude. What the hell!” some guy in front of her yells out to Bucky, immediately following the words with a fistful of popcorn being thrown his way.

He’s here. He’s here and he’s obviously looking for her. She can’t make out his face but he’s shielding his eyes with his hands and letting his gaze wander over the crowd.

There’s a flutter in her stomach, one she knows oh too well. One she wants to bundle up and stuff to the very back of her being. A flutter that shouldn’t be there. That’s not what this is. Butterflies and goosebumps. This is eating spaghetti on the floor, dancing in the kitchen, and crying tears of laughter in IKEA. That’s what it is and what it should be. Right? But that doesn’t mean they can’t be affectionate. Right? That doesn’t mean they have to be cold and stoic and distant.

Right?

As (Y/N) reaches up her arms and waves, Bucky hurries down the platform and lets himself plop down in the seat next to her.

“ I’m sorry I was — “

“ It’s okay. You’re here now. “

That’s what matters. Being there. Just being there.

“ You deserve to have a friend, Bucky.” Sam said “ and she deserves to make her own decisions. If she decides you’re worth it, who are you to question that choice?”

Sam is right. Of course, he is. Despite how much Bucky hates to admit it, Sam is one of the smartest people he knows. Not in the way Tony or Bruce or Shuri are. Smart in a way that lets you know he gets you, he understands the chaos inside you, empathizes with it. He’s got this sense of incredible emotional awareness and a calm that exudes from him. Bucky will obviously never let him know this but talking to Sam feels more soothing and helpful than talking to his therapist.

He still doesn’t feel like he deserves her friendship, her affection, and her care. But really it would be foolish to think it’s his right to dictate who she can and can't care about.

Sitting beside her now, in the dark, with a movie playing on the big screen, makes things a bit easier. His thoughts aren’t so loud anymore and his heart, though still heavy, feels a little bit lighter. It’s easy to get lost in a story that’s not his and forget about the rest.

He almost forgets about his emotional turmoil by the time the two main characters dance around on a log, when he feels something against his left hand. First, it’s but a whisper of a touch, then more deliberate and then he feels the glove being slid off of his fingers. He doesn’t dare look over at her, eyes focused straight ahead. He doesn’t pull away though. There’s never been a touch quite so gentle against the cold vibranium metal. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he locks his fingers with hers and softly closes his fist.

If there’s moments worth holding onto, this is surely one of them.

“ I’m glad you came.” (Y/N) murmurs as she places her head against his shoulder. The one made of vibranium. The one that’s a part of him like his smile and his eyes and — his grumpy personality.

“ Yeah, me too.”

As Johnny and Baby give their all during the end of the season dance, Bucky can’t help but let himself relish in this moment.

There are two things on his mind.

One is the idea that maybe this is what friendship can be. Showing affection through soft touches and loving words. Maybe he doesn’t have to assign any deeper meaning to it. No matter how much it makes his heart beat faster or how the flutters in his stomach won't seem to settle down.

The other thing is the fact that this song is so damn catchy and while he hates himself a little for it, his feet tap along to the rhythm and he catches himself mouthing along to the lyrics.

And damn if it ain’t fitting because he has never felt this way before either.

Taglist // if you want to be added or taken off just message me :) //:

@zaynyierulez / @je-like-you / @dracoxxyoflam / @jackiehollanderr / @majo240820 / @kay-gilles / @booksb4looksstuff / @jckie94 / @charmed-asylum / @shawnie--jo / @yllwtaxi / @tailsoflightning / @giuliarogers / @mangoogirl / @gerim-1995 / @elen-alambil / @threeminutesoflife / @writeroutoftime / @buckybarn3s /

[ot3tropetober]

-So Hardison gets rich playing the stock market as a teen in Nana’s basement. Mostly because the professor at the college econ classes he’s taking for extra credit said he couldn’t.

-By the time he’s graduating highschool at 18 he is filthy rich. (WhatLikeItsHard.gif) He has paid off Nana’s medical bills and her house and went over to the college to gloat a little and decided he doesn’t actually need to go to college when he’s already, you know, doing what he does.

-But he doesn’t wanna keep taking up Nana’s basement when he has heard her having to turn down emergency placements because there’s not enough room. 

-So he moves out. Into a giant mansion, because why not. He has everything. A pool. A fancy kitchen. A shower with like 16 sprays that massage your back perfectly. A hallway with a giant fancy staircase. A whole room dedicated to his computer setup, with all the latest gadgets. A special wine fridge he stocked full of orange soda. A damn fireplace in his bathroom.

-A lot of empty rooms. And quiet. Like, creepy-quiet. Right-before-the-killer-grabs-you-in-the-hallway quiet. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he forgets there is a mirror at the end of one of the hallways. His shriek echoes through the empty house.

-He considers getting a cat for one second but remembers he’s allergic. And it would probably just startle him even more. He gets a few roombas, but even with the giant googly eyes they don’t fill the space as much as he’d hoped. So instead he places an ad online for roommates. 

-He doesn’t get nearly enough responses as he suspects. Maybe ‘come live in my mansion rent free’ gives off some major serial killer vibes. He amends his ad to a reasonable but still low enough rent that people who really need a place can apply. 

-He runs background checks on everyone who applies. He may or may not disqualify some people for petty reasons. Sorry not sorry, this is his mansion and he’s not about to share his kitchen with someone who thinks Kylo Ren is cooler than Poe Dameron, okay?

-He has some interviews, but nobody seems to click. A lot of people seem to want to make his house some kind of party-mansion. And not the fun kind of movie-marathon, D&D session, LAN Party kind of parties. One girl keeps asking him when the ‘real owner’ of the house is going to be back. 

-He’s thinking about giving up and moving back home and finding a small apartment near Nana’s house when a girl shows up in his living room.

-She does not have an interview scheduled. Hardison knows this for two reasons: one, he thinks he’d remember background checking someone as pretty as her. Two: it’s three in the morning.

-“So I heard you’re looking for roommates,” she says. A roomba nudges against her foot, and she reaches down to pat it before it turns away. “I like your pet robots.”

-It’s probably the fact that he’s been up for like 48 hours by now, but he’s like: thanks, want a tour of the house?

-Parker moves in that weekend. He helps her move in, and does not ask why she has an entire box of the exact same creepy doll whose head turns around to show an even more creepy face. He just kindly requests she keep those in her rooms, not the shared ones.

-Parker is a great roommate. Her schedule is all over the place as well, but she’s tidy, she’s funny, and she’ll hang out and watch Doctor Who with him. She also names all his roombas. He pretends not to see her dropping some fortune cookie crumbs on purpose to feed Carl the kitchen roomba when he goes by.

-Their next roommate is Eliot. He’s a veteran who’s learning how to cook at some kind of culinary school. He gets a little flustered when Hardison shows him his rooms, plural, saying he must have read the ad wrong, and is almost out the door before Hardison can convince him that yes, the price in the ad is correct, no this is not a cult, he just bought a house that was much too big and he has Regrets okay, help a brother out.

-So Eliot moves in as well. He gets a little judgy when he finds out 95% of the kitchen cupboards are empty, and the rest is filled with cereal and junkfood. He brings in more boxes of kitchenware than clothes, and Parker is delighted at poking each and every thing he unpacks.

-Eliot’s schedule is kind of the opposite of Hardison’s. He is some kind of weird morning person. They mostly run into each other when Hardison is going to bed and Eliot comes back from his morning run. He’s mostly at school or working kitchen shifts to gain more experience during the times Hardison is awake, so they mostly communicate via text.

-Parker’s the one that figures out Eliot is all bark and no bite. Or actually, all growl and no bite. Turns out, he just really hates the little buttons on his smartphone, so his texts are very short and curt. Hardison starts leaving notes on the kitchen fridge instead and that works much better. Note-Eliot is way nicer than text-Eliot.

-The great thing about Eliot is that his homework is basically… fuck around in the kitchen and make delicious things. Which he then ‘makes’ them taste. So yeah maybe Hardison kind of… switches his schedule so he’s around more and awake for Eliot Cooking Time. 

-So basically he gets roommates, and free food and it’s all great. Except for that time he accidentally ate Eliot’s sandwich. Well, he didn’t leave a note saying NOT to! It ends up with him being dragged out of bed and interrogated (Parker shining a flashlight at him and being generally Chaotic Unhelpful) until he confesses.

-The only reason Eliot doesn’t kill him probably is because he babbles about how delicious it was. Or because he’s tired of Parker shouting unrelated cop-phrases at Hardison over his shoulder.

-They come up with a system where Eliot leaves very threatening notes on the stuff he does not want them to eat. It mostly works. Besides, Parker has totally found Eliot’s weak spots (puppy eyes) and can basically make him cook them whatever.

-It’s pretty great until it starts to heat up. And both Parker and Eliot start making use of the big outdoor pool. Which is great, that’s what it’s there for. But they then wander around looking sexy and damp and near naked and Hardison is starting to get Very Inappropriate Thoughts, okay?

-Okay so maybe he also had very inappropriate thoughts before, even when Eliot was wearing like 13 layers of clothing and Parker was wearing cozy sweaters and it’s still not fair for them to wander around looking so hot.

-But he’s not about to ruin a good thing with his crushes. Besides, he’s technically their landlord, that would be weird and creepy.

-So he just… quietly pines a little. It’s cool. He still gets to hang out in the kitchen with Parker and Eliot, and force them to watch movies they have never seen that they really should (neither of them talk to him for a week because of the whole Lilo and Stitch thing).

-And maybe he notices them huddled together whispering sometimes. That’s cool. That’s fine. They can date each other if they want. (Don’t think about Eliot and Parker together, don’t, it’s too hot and you won’t be able to look them in the eye ever again, dammit Hardison).

-Until one day he wanders down into the shared living space to find the dining room table to be all decked out, a table cloth and candles and roses and everything. And Parker and Eliot look up all expectantly as he starts backpedaling that he didn’t mean to interrupt their date before Eliot growls and says ‘sit down, Hardison’. 

-The table has three place settings.

-Oh.

-It’s one hundred percent worth his foster siblings quoting a meme at him all weekend when he brings the two of them home to meet his Nana.

[jay-and-dean]

More like him

Dean x reader

So I had this request :

I loved it, but it was a real challenge because I thing it wouldn’t be really “Dean like” to go on a diet. It took me months to manage to be satisfied by it. I really hope you like it. Oh, and I added a little Smut, couldn’t help it.

For me this fic is kinda part of the Become that Girl “saga”.

Warning : Swearing. Sassy Sam. Suffering and mentions of unhealthy behaviors and drinking. Jealous Dean. Insecurities. Smut. Unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this). Angst. Fluffy Fluff.

This is both in Reader’s Pov and Dean’s Pov

Words : 10.3 k (yes. You asked for it.)

Jay’s MASTERLIST

Dean’s Pov

             A grunt and a yawn. I turn around, a little pain in my neck from sleeping on the same position for hours.

           I drank too much last night, again. My arm blindly searches for a bottle of water in the deep dark of my windowless room to fight the intense dry feeling in my mouth, but I find nothing.

“Shit.”

           One more night in a shady bar, one more hangover, and one more woman I won’t remember.

           Woman…

           I frown with my eyes still closed and think of her, my stomach gets sick. She was among the prettiest girl I have been with, and she was a little too young for me, I’m sure she wasn’t twenty-five yet. I remember her friends, young and fit boys and girls, celebrating a birthday.

           It’s really something how you see things differently when you’re drunk and when you are not. Maybe that’s why I drink so much : the sober truth gives me the creeps. Yesterday, I was feeling lucky, honored that a beautiful woman had laid her eyes on me, amazed by how confident she was. It felt like I had won the lottery of life, sex life at least. I was on top of the world, I could barely walk straight, but I didn’t care.

           This morning is different. I lay here, nausea making me sweat, disgusted by my own smell and the taste in my mouth, wondering how I came home. I drove Baby drunk like Hell, I could have hurt someone, or damaged her.

“Shit” I grunt again.

How pathetic it is to go look for a college girl to feel alive ? How pathetic it is to spend the whole time we spent together too focused on trying not to be too old or too drunk to actually enjoy any of it ? How pathetic it is to think of another woman, the very second my eyes open ?

I need coffee.

           I get up and make my way to the bathroom to pee and take a shower, I can’t stand the smell on me : alcohol sweat, the detergent of the cheap motel room I took not to bring her to our secret home, and, well, shame.

           After brushing my teeth, I drink all I can from the sink and wonder if she is here. I really hope she is.

Y/n.

The woman I call my friend. The person that have actually been my closest friend with Benny and Cas, maybe even closer. If she’s in the kitchen, she will make fun of me, she will make loud pan noises just to make my headache worse because she says hangover is not enough punishment for hurting my body like that. But in the end, she will probably order pizzas and spend the day with me in the Dean cave not really watching movies while talking about any kind of stuff from hunts to music, from social matters to memories, food -she talks about food a lot, with sparkles in her eyes-, movies, sharks during shark week, horror movie clichés, her childhood, mine, and really intimate things like Hell, Purgatory, like my mom, her dad, our dreams...

I didn’t know I had so much dreams.

           I put on underwear and the grey robe, then shuffle my way to the kitchen in the slippers that makes her call me grandpa.

           Sam is there. All energetic, dressed with those black sweatpants and this ridiculously tight shirt, he's pressing oranges or whatever, and it's noisy as hell.

"Can't you be quite in the morning ?" I groan with a pained frown, sitting with my coffee in front of me.

"Morning ? It's noon, Dean. So, how was last night ? I guess it must have been great considering how late you came back."

"You heard me come back ?" I ask, wondering how late it actually was.

"No, but Y/n waited for you, and around five a.m. she thought you weren't coming home at all, so she went to bed. That's why we haven't been running yet, she barely slept."

I look at him but he's now turning his back on me to fill a bottle with water.

           She has to stop doing that, waiting for me. I told her a few times already but it's like she was a worried mom or something. Y/n is always like that, she worries too much, every cut on Sam or me is a mortal wound, every yawn is a sign of exhaustion. And even if I secretly love this way more than I'll ever admit, I can't let her wait for me all night.

"Hey Dean" her voice catches my attention and I turn to meet her tired eyes.

How can she smile like that after the night she had ? How can she give me that kind smile? I really don't deserve it. I'm disgusting, damaged, violent even... Look at her.

           She walks in and I can't help but drift along her naked legs, strong and soft. She's wearing her working out shorts, the ones torturing me some days, those tiny grey shorts holding her waist, that makes it impossible to not linger on her thighs. The t-shirt she wears is one of mine, or was, since she never gave it back. It's a plain back worn out t-shirt that has really nothing special. She says it's the comfiest.

"Hangover ?" she asks, handing me a slice of her apple.

"Yeah" I grunt, taking it.

I don't like rabbit food and she knows it. So instead of telling me to eat some, like Sam constantly tried for a while, she just gives me little bites of hers. A piece of apple there, a bite of banana, a little of spinach on her fork... and I always let her feed me, maybe just because she does with that adorable kind of smile each time.

"You came back late" she states, turning her back on me.

There is not an ounce of reproach in her voice, but something slightly sad. Maybe she pities me. If she had seen my evening, she would for sure.

           A flash of that girl from yesterday saying my tattoo is weird and old fashion comes to my mind and I rub my face.

"Is there a hunt ?" I ask.

I really need a hunt, I really need some action and to get out of here.

"No" my brother lightly shakes his head.

"I thought I had found one" Y/n adds. "But it turns out it really was a bear this time !"

Her chuckle warms my heart.

"Movies in my room ?" I offer, trying to sound like it doesn't really matter, but the truth is, this perspective is what got me out of bed...

 Reader's Pov

             I cut another slice of apple with my hunter knife and give it to him.

"Hum, maybe later" I answer, looking away. "Sam and I planned on running to the lake..."

"The lake !" he almost chokes. "It's like twelve miles away !"

Sam chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder, to inform me he's ready to go. He has been waiting for me a long time already, but I needed to check on Dean before I left for the day.

"Yeah..." I mumble. "And I want to practice my gun skills after, of fight skills if Sammy is not too tired from the running."

"I could help you practice too" he states and I give him a knowing smile.

           Dean is not interested in training me, he never was. And, unlike me, he barely needs practice himself anyway, so why should he care ? He's just the best, that's natural. He's Dean Winchester, the best hunter in the world, the best man, the best everything actually. Between the ladies waiting in line to get a piece of him and his friends, the parties, but above all, constantly saving the world... He doesn't have time for me. We're not made of the same wood, I'm from those who have to work hard to keep up. And I never want to be a burden for any of them.

"What ? I could !" he grunts and his brother laughs.

"Yeah right, Dean" Sam mocks him, giving me my bag. "You would probably get a stitch from just stretching with Y/n ! She's getting good !"

"Don't listen to you brother" I assure Dean with a little smile on the corner of my lips.

           I walk out of the bunker with Sam's back in front of me and bite my cheek, trying to ignore that sharp pain in my chest.

           That pain that fell on me again while I was waiting for him, trying to not imagine what he was doing, that dread burning my guts ; and the other, even worse, pain that kept me awake once I was finally sure of what he was doing.

Once outside, the tall hunter stretches a little, humming at the soft spring breeze.

"Why did you wait again" he finally speaks, earning only a sigh from me. "Y/n... I know you need to make sure he's safe but you're hurting yourself. Talk to him..."

"We already talked about this" I just shrug before I start running.

 Dean's Pov

             I stay in the kitchen, my heart pounding in my head, my liver struggling.

           Of course she won't spend the day with me. Why would she ? She waited all night and I was busy partying like those pathetic guys who didn't understand college is over.

You didn't even went to college...

Sipping at my coffee, I think of my brother’s hand on her shoulder and shiver, not really understanding why. I mean, he’s her friend too, a good friend actually, but something changed lately. They are close, more and more every day.

She used to spend all her time with me and now that I think of it… She does with him now. It started with morning runs, then there were going to the grocery store together. They cooked, Sam never cooked in his life, she taught him a few “healthy” recipes while I was making fun of them. Several times I found them talking until late in the library, or sending each other texts during hunts, when they were apart the whole day.

Maybe I’m missing something coming slow… Maybe the woman I think of the second I open my eyes in the morning thinks of Sam.

Why wouldn’t she ? My brother is better than me in every ways.

Sam is smart and educated, went to college and all. They can probably talk about things I have no idea of…

Sam is brave and fair. He’s the best man I know, and if I think of one man that would deserve a girl like her...

What are you saying ? There is no other girl like her.

But above all… Look at him. He just grew old way better than I did. All those healthy craps I always made fun of, in the end he’s right. While I was drinking beer for breakfast and eating fat crap, he was running, practicing. And yes, during hunts we're equals, because I was raised in this life, but if I had to catch him running, I would have a heart attack before he breaks a sweat.

I never cared about all of this. About having abs, comparing my body to my brother's, or about being healthy for that matters. Because let's be honest, I never really cared about myself. And girls like me…Right ?

Stupid.

What girls though. It was a long time since Cassie, since Lisa... And lately the one-night stands have had a bitter taste.

Sex with stranger was fun at first, for years it was. New body, new voice, new taste, and skin and preferences... I guess a guy feels pride by having sex with a lot of different women.  But most of the time it's far from great and I’m tired of starting over every time.

I just wonder how it feels to actually get to know someone intimately, to learn what makes them squirm, their secrets, to wake up next to a friend... Love must be so nice.

The only person I can think of is her, Y/n. The woman that is my friend and the only one I want tell my secrets, the things that make me squirm...

My Y/n.

I grunt, my heart beating too fast because of hangover, my skin still smells alcohol despite the shower.

I'm such a wreck and she's so pure. That woman overcame bad things, and I have seen her so depressed that she barely could move at all for days in the beginning of our friendship. And yet, here she is, smiling, running and dancing in the library at night, making me want to be better every day, to think more, be less self-destructive, to feel pride more than shame. Pride for helping people, pride for my little brother that I helped grow up, and pride for being her friend.

She’s always there, smiling when I need a smile, listening even when I can’t talk, rolled up asleep on a little corner of my bed when I had a night of nightmares. Her hand was in my back when mom betrayed us and chose to leave, like it was the only thing keeping me up…

I can’t imagine her gone, impossible. And I’m realizing, I can’t imagine her in the arms of another man. That’s selfish, but I have to admit it now. I love her. And I want her, I need her.

Yet all I do is pushing her in my brother’s arms. In my brother’s strong and fit arms…

 Reader’s Pov

             I’m running, my feet hurt and I have a stitch on my left side, my thighs are already sore and my skin and lungs are burning. But I ignore them. I run.

           I run to ignore my imagination and the images it brings. Dean laying on his back, giving his precious body to a blond girl that doesn’t even know who he is, how lucky she is. Dean grunting when she swallows around him. Dean grabbing her hair, biting her neck, coming inside her. Dean with two girls, why not…

           I run.

“Y/n !” Sam’s voice interrupts me. “Wow, easy tiger.”

Out of breath, he puts his hands on his knees and frowns at me.

“You know the point of all of this is not to faint ? It’s about endurance, not a sprint or a race.”

“I’m sorry, Sam” I sigh, my body screaming at me even more now that I stopped.

“Is this about Dean ?” he asks, making me roll my eyes.

“How running too fast could be about your brother ?” I grunt.

“You know perfectly why I say that” he shrugs, drinking from his water bottle. “Avoiding him won’t prevent the hurt.”

“It avoids the nausea from smelling cheap perfume on him at least…” saying that, I sit on a bench that is close in a huff. “I just…” I sigh, burying my face in my hands. “How do I avoid the hurt then ?”

“Talk to him” my friend says, joining me on the bench to sit next to me, his tall shadow wrapping me like angel wings, hiding me from this world I hate right now.

“Don’t be ridiculous” I scoff. “Hey Dean, could you not have sex with anyone ? It hurts me. Thank you.”

Sam lets out a chuckle and bumps my shoulder with his giant arm.

           A woman in an elegant sports outfit runs pass us, her tall form bouncing on her thin legs with grace, making her shiny hair fly. Dean would like her, he would totally sleep with her… Oh wait, we’re in Lebanon, there aren’t many girls that pretty around here, maybe he already did…

“How about ‘I have feelings for you’ ?”Sam suggests with puppy eyes and a childish adorable shrug.

I sigh, rubbing my face. Why doesn’t Sam understand ?

“Yeah so it can make our friendship awkward forever, with pity and shit” I look down at my hands. “Or so he chooses to erase my memory like he did with Lisa ?”

A silence falls between us.

           Sam knows what I think of this, how angry it makes me. Of course I don’t want to see him with Lisa, in fact my heart arches each time I think of what they had together, but take those memories from her… It wasn’t his choice to make. I happened to put myself in her shoes and hated it. I would rather long for a single smile from him all my life than being amputated of the only part of me I cherish : My love for him.

           The second reason I hate it is because of what it says about him : Dean is really convinced that he is not good enough. For anything, for anyone.

           During one of our nights in the Dean cave together, not really watching movies and drinking whiskey, he talked about it. And I know how much Lisa and him were meant to break up eventually. She wasn’t a hunter, and she didn’t really want to know about this life, even if she respected it. He was holding on to her like she was his only chance at happiness because, in his mind, happiness can’t come with the hunter life.

           Erasing her memory was not only a way to “protect her”, it was a closure for him. Away of closing the normal life door forever and throw away the key.

“You know he doesn’t think he deserves…” Sam starts but I cut him.

“Don’t.”

           I am a hunter. And despite the fact that I am desperately in love with my friend and going crazy with jealousy, I am pretty happy.

I am happy with my life, my heroic, never boring, full of magic life. I mean, they lost a lot, but do they think people with an apple pie life don’t ? Before I became a hunter, I went to so many funerals that the funeral home employees knew me personally before I hit puberty. And when you lose your family to cancer and heart attack, or suicide… You don’t even get to know for sure they’re in Heaven.

           But I am a hunter now, and I know. I am relieved and I feel safer, because magic exists, Heaven exists, and angels, even if they are quite different from what I had imagined.

“I just want Dean to be happy” I sigh and Sam’s giant hand rubs my back.

           That’s the truth. I wish with all my heart that Dean would realize he can be happy now. That the horror he has been through is over, and that the hunter life he can’t quit doesn’t mean he has to be miserable.

           And that is the reason I have to be the best friend I can. That’s the reason I have to swallow that jealousy that is making me bitter, to just love him, as selflessly as I can.

“Can we go home ?” I ask and Sam nods.

 Dean’s Pov

             I close the bathroom closet and swallow the pill, bending to drink water from the sink, then stand in front of the mirror.

           I never really thought of it, but I’m a little pudgy. My hips are not straight and firm, is my butt a little large ? I frown, making my wrinkles appear and sigh. And those freckles… I never really paid attention to them until that college girl said something about it. Something with a kind smile but her mean girl voice betraying her : “I guess it’s cute, but it always kinda look like the skin is dirty, you don’t have too many on the face so it’s okay”. Why do I have so many freckles ? Dad didn’t, mom either I think, not on her face anyway, and Sam… Sam’s skin is darker than mine, and perfectly smooth. Y/n must like that too.

Stop whining like a teen.

           I walk to my room and sit there, trying to ignore the voices in my head saying Y/n likes my brother. Does he like her too ?

           I take my headphones and turn the music on loud, closing my eyes, too bad for the headache, the silence is worse anyway.

           I’m in Hell, tied up like Alastair used to chain me, but I’m not hurt. Sam enters and points his finger at me.

“You will never be as good as me” he says. “Dad was better, I am better, and the woman you love ?” His laugh is terrifying, evil.

He puts his finger on my stomach and pushes it harder and harder on me, until it hurts.

Until it hurts a lot.

“You’re soft” he says, covering my whines of pain, that come out with my child voice now. “Dad was right, you’re too soft. Your heart is soft, your body too. You couldn’t say no to Alastair, like you can’t say no to a burger” his finger is so strong, like metal, and it feels like it is going to go through my skin and muscles any moment. “You have no self-control. You’re pathetic, Dean… Dean ? Dean.”

           I gasp, half sitting when I open my eyes.

“Sorry” Y/n says, and I look up to find her next to my bed, her hands up in a peace gesture.

“You’re back ?” I ask, still slightly panting.

The sight of her worried face makes my heart slow, and I notice she’s wearing that comfy pajama of hers, the very loose t-shirt draping lazily from her body, embracing her sweet curves.

“I got tired of running” she smiles kindly, finally plunging her hands in her sweatpants pockets.

I grunt and look at my watch, I have been sleeping a few hours, and I think the hangover is gone.

“I came to ask you if you were hungry and… You didn’t seem well” she nibbles at her lips. “Sorry if I scared you.”

I rub my eyes and give her a weak smile.

“You didn’t” I state. “I’m super hungry, yeah.”

I am. When I drink like that, I often skip diner.

I get up and grunt, rubbing my eyes. I thank her, walk to the kitchen with her and sit at the table in a sigh.

“So” she says with that radiant smile on her face. “I was thinking of making burgers. I know I don’t cook them as good as you, but !”

She turns around and shows me her phone screen, moving it too much in her enthusiasm for me to see anything. I chuckle and grab her wrist to still it, enjoying the softness of her skin under my fingers. On the phone, a recipe. “The best burger possible”, with descriptions of how to make the onions crispy, and to make the best sauce…

“Maybe I will finally make burgers as good as yours or close” she states, taking her hand back to read the recipe.

“You know you’re cute ?” I state, but I can’t give her the tender expression I intend to, as my dream comes back to me.

Maybe I should learn to say no to a burger.

“Not as much as your sleepy head” she chants.

“You know…” I clear my throat. “Maybe for once, we should eat what you like and not my greasy crap, like Sam says.”

She stops and turns to me with a pan in her hand and a surprised look.

“But” she pouts. “Me like burger.”

I look down, trying to think of something to say, she actually looks a little disappointed. She was so proud of what she had found… That woman is like a ray of sun.

           When I’m about to tell her that I would love to taste her burger, regretting having made her beautiful smile fade, she puts her phone on the table before me and starts looking in the fridge.

“I get it Dean.”

“Really ?”

“Too much alcohol, your grandpa stomach is fragile” she chuckles and I wonder how she seem to never show real hurt, annoyance or disappointment at anything I say. "Okay, you asked for it, I prepare the same for you as I do for Sam and me."

“Yeah…” I mumble.

           My eyes fall on her phone and my heart flutters. She forgot to lock it, and it’s the first time I see her wallpaper picture. It’s us. Just me and her. I remember that day.

           It was last summer, we were hunting a Wendigo that attacked campers, and had to camp ourselves in the wood for a night to find it. It was a beautiful night. When the photo was taken, I was telling a story, standing with a large smile on my face and a beer in my hand. Y/n came close, I don't remember why, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding my waist with her head on my shoulder.

           The picture really looks like we were a couple. She's staring up at me while I tell the story, her face inches away from mine. Behind us, that beautiful lake and a part of her blue tent. I don't remember who took this photo, and I think this moment must have been very short, or I would remember it. Maybe she just came that close to tell me something in the ear, maybe it was one of those quick hugs she gives me when I say something sad or mention being hurt.

           Why would she have that on her screen ? Before I can think of it further, her phone locks by itself and becomes black.

           I look up, her back is still on me, she's cutting something. With a discreet finger, I touch her phone, trying to make the photo appear again but her lock screen makes me sigh.

           Sam, of course Sam. It's a selfie they took together, simple and cute, both looking at the phone my brother is holding.

"I'm afraid you'll still be hungry after th-" she turns around and her eyes fall on my finger on her phone. "But if you are, there is pie" she states, taking her phone to put it in the back pocket of her jeans.

Like she needed to hide something, like she was embarrassed that I saw that Sam is on her screen.

           She arranges her salad or whatever she's making, puts a plate in front of me, and two others for Sam and her.

"Sam !" she calls and I look down at the plate.

I must say my it is pretty, all colorful. I recognize avocado, tomatoes... But as pretty as it is, it doesn't make me hungry, rabbit food never does.

"Oh wow, Dean is grounded or something ?" my brother chuckles, entering the kitchen.

"Leave him alone" she answers before I can make a comment. "His stomach is still upset."

Sam gives me suspicious look, I never ate this kind of veggie plate in my life, if my stomach is really upset, I wait an hour, and the second it's better, I fill it with beef jerky.

           I can see my brother is waiting for me to make a comment, complain. But when I don't, he just shrugs and starts eating, talking to her about something I don't listen to. I take a piece of avocado with my fork and when I look up to her, she's staring at me, her beautiful eyes searching my face.

"You can change your mind Deanie. I can still make bacon" she smiles.

"N-no really I'm okay" I state, eating a green thing without enthusiasm.

"Oh wow" Sam sneers. "Dean says no to bacon !"

           I swallow the lump in my throat and feel my cheek redden despite my effort to be as stern as possible. I don't need his smart words, and I don't need to see them being so perfect with each other. Getting up, I put the fork down.

"You know Sam, I actually can say no from time to time."

Leaving the room, I rub my face.

 Reader's Pov

             I stay still, my eyes on the kitchen exit where Dean just disappeared. Something is wrong, really wrong.

           I have seen Dean sad, grumpy and pushing people away, but this is new.

"I should go check on him after diner" Sam says. "He obviously have something on his mind."

"Yeah..."

My phone buzzes, it's him.

Hey Sweetheart, I'm sorry for leaving without eating what you prepared. Please tell Sam to not check on me. I'm going to bed, I'm just tired.

Dean is never "just tired".

Okay Deanie. Don't worry for the food. Please if you need something, remember I'm right here.

           Dean didn't come out of his room at all.

           I waited a little in the kitchen, finishing that stupid show I had started the day before, when he was out with yet another woman. I was hoping maybe he would show up to eat something, and then I could talk to him, but he didn't.

"Y/n" Sam's voice makes me jump slightly, frowning at the too bright light. "Did you fell asleep out of bed again ?"

I look around, my laptop battery died, I don't know how long ago and I have no idea of what time it is.

           My friend lets out a deep sigh, offers me his hand and closes my laptop. I get up and follow him, a new ache in my back.

"What was it this time ?" he asks opening the door to my room. "And don't say it has nothing to do with him."

I frown, close the door and sigh letting myself fall sitting on my bed.

"He didn't eat" I mutter and Sam rolls his eyes. "What ? You admitted yourself that something is off."

"Can I sit ?" he asks, taking place beside me on the bed when I nod. "Your crush for my brother, it was cute at first..."

I can see him hesitate, and I know I won't like what he has to say.

"But ?"

"But this is getting unhealthy" he looks down. "You know I love my brother, b-but I think he's not a good thing for you in the end."

My eyes get wet but I keep listening silently.

"Dean is... We all are damaged. You can't stand seeing him angry or hurt but, you know, he is most of the time. Y/n you can't keep spending your nights on wooden chairs just in case he need a freaking sandwich. You're a hunter, a warrior !"

I want to protest, it's not that simple. But nothing come out of my mouth. When tears roll on my face, he opens his arms, welcoming me against him.

           I can't love Dean less, he knows that. But for the first time, he's telling me that he disagrees ; and that changes everything. Sam was always the one kindly making fun of me or taking pictures discreetly for me to stare at on my phone at night. What if he decides he has to talk to Dean ? What if he gets tired of me, his best friend ? And what if he's right ?

"You have to talk to him" he states, making my fears cut my air supply for a moment.

"I-I can't" I sob, half panicking.

"You know he really loves you..."

I let go of his arms, not really wanting to hear more but he keeps holding me.

"What are you so afraid of ?" he sighs.

Dean's Pov

             I'm hungry. My stomach is gurgling and I feel a little dizzy, I need to eat, it's not like I was going to be more like Sam by starving or skipping meals anyway. I will never be like him. More like Sam is not only a muscle thing, he's also taller, smarter, better...

           Coming out of my room, I rub my face, thinking of her pretty face a little shocked when I left. I should apologize.

           After a very quick shower, I put on my grey robe and slippers again, walking to her room slowly.

           I rarely felt that weak, after my heart failure years ago, or after a big blood loss... But hunger like that, I didn't feel it since that week dad left and I lost the food money. I was ten or eleven... I remember feeding Sammy with stolen food, and eating only the leftovers, a piece of fruit, a crust of bread... Sam was starting to realize something was odd. I was so tired...

           I am so tired.

           I ate eggs at lunch the day I went out, then nothing on the evening. And yesterday... Nothing either. I haven't eaten for like forty hours, not even the crusts of Sam's sandwich or three gummy bears he forgot on the nightstand this time. And I'm starting to shake.

           It's enough. I will apologize, make coffee and breakfast for both of us, and ask her to come to my room to continue our "What you haven't seen that ? It's a classic !" marathon movie.

           Just when I'm about to knock at her door, it opens.

           Sam.

           My brother comes out of her room... in the morning ; his perfect pecks showing through his t-shirt and his arms covered of superman veins.

"Dean" he says, surprised.

Then he closes the door behind him, not letting me in, and I feel my blood go down on my feet, making me dizzy.

"Give her a minute" he states, and leaves.

           I stay in front of the door, looking at it like I could see through it. A minute ? What, is she still naked ? Panting ? Dirty ?... I shake my head.

I can't.

I...

She's my Y/n, how can he touch her ? How can he ? I need her, I need her for me... I can't...

           My breath is short and I try to fight the crushing wave of emotions almost making me fall on my knees. Sam is better, I'm a grunt, I'm damaged, dumb, unworthy... And I'm freaking fat !

           The door opens and Y/n bumps on my chest jumps, very surprised to find me here.

"Dean ?" she give me a well faked smile but it fades the second her eyes meet mine. "Dean... Are you okay ?"

I nod but I know the devastating hurricane raging inside of me is showing. And I'm not sure to feel my heart anymore.

"Deanie, did something happen ?"

"N-no" I state.

"Let's get breakfast" she frowns suspiciously. "I told Sammy that I wouldn't run this morning."

Why ? Are you tired ? Sore ? Did he hurt you ?

"I'm not hungry" I state.

The truth is I can't swallow anything right now.

"Not angry ?" she bites her lip. "What is it Dean ? Are you going on a hunger strike ?"

"No" I say and realize my tone is defensive.

She sighs and looks down, licking her lips, probably to taste my brother here...

"I'm worried" she whispers. "You didn't eat at all yesterday, and I know for a fact that you didn't get up for food."

"How can you be sure ?"

Her eyes are suddenly wet, and now I know what that fake smile was hiding : tears. It's enough to make me forget in a second about my own pain, about the crushing feeling on my heart.

"Because I slept in the kitchen again" she says a little coldly before walking pass me.

 Reader's Pov

             I have to hide my face. I can't deal with Dean telling me my love unhealthy too, or with his questions. And I can't cry before him, I wouldn't know how to explain it.

           I enter the kitchen and take eggs and bacon from the fridge. Hungry or not, he will eat a little, he needs it.

Not hungry... Is he sick ?

"Y/n..." he sighs behind me, but I don't answer, breaking the delicate eggshells against the pan edge. "Why did you sleep there ?"

"I don't know" I just say. "Why aren't you eating ?"

"I eat, Y/n."

"Not lately, no. S-so now I make you a real breakfast, like you like it, with meat and fat."

"Maybe I should stop eating that..." he mumbles for himself, but I hear him and turn around.

"What ?"

His whole body language changed. He doesn't stand with that confidence and dominance he usually has. He's hurt, hurt bad. He looks tired and pale, but not only...

"What is going on between Sam and you ?" he asks, low.

"Sam ?"

I slightly shake my head in confusion.

           I don't understand his question, I don't understand the pain on his face. Something happened when he went out, did someone hurt him ?

           Suddenly, a smell of burn come to my nose : the eggs ! I turn and try to save them but Dean's strong wrist grabs mine, making me turn to him.

"Answer please."

His voice is more somber than angry, but his gesture is firm and he's shaking. I can see the fire raging inside of him.

"What do you mean going on ? Dean... The food" I try to turn.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT FOOD !" he suddenly yells, my heart racing and eyes wetting instantly. "I HAD ENOUGH FOOD FOR AN ENTIRE LIFE !"

           His vise fingers suddenly lets go of my wrist and he takes a step back, fear on his features, like he was afraid of his own emotions. Dean is an impressive and dangerous man, but I will never be scared of him.

           I wipe the tears that escaped my eyes and, on the surface calmly, turn off the fire under the burned eggs. Then I get closer to him and take his hand, way softer than he took mine a second before, under the slightly too long sleeves of his adorable robe. I decided I would be a better friend, it's my chance to be.

"If you precise your question, Deanie, I will answer. I just don't really get it" my eyes are on him, kind but firm, like I was taming a wolf.

"I..."

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence, the gearwheels of his mind visible behind his sparkling eyes. If I don't help him, he will run away, and burry it forever.

"What do you think is going on between Sam and me ?" I ask, noticing his lips are really white, even more than before. But I know he won't agree to eat right now, not until we fix what is bothering him. "Do you think, we're hiding something ?"

That would explain why he was staring at my phone yesterday. Sam and him have been deceived so often, lied to...

"Are you together ?" he cuts my thoughts. "Or is it just casual ?"

"What ? No !" I frown, letting go of his hand just a second. "Dean... Sam is my friend."

"He's perfect" he whispers.

You're perfect.

"He's amazing" I nod. "Sam is one of the best person I know..."

"He's handsome" he cuts me.

I search his face, and he nervously licks his lips. I take his hand again shyly, just the tip of his fingers. He will close again because he regrets those words. I have to answer quickly even if I'm really wondering what this is about.

"H-he is" I state. "Not really my type but he really is a beautiful man."

"You're always together... He... He slept in your bedroom" he says, taking back his hand. "You guys do what you want, but don't take me for a fool."

           I take a deep breath, I won't get out of this without saying a little too much. I little of what I don't want to say. But Dean seems to need answers, and what Dean needs...

"He didn't sleep in my room, I told you I fell asleep in the kitchen. He found me, and bought me back there, tried to convince me to sleep but I was worried... and sad. Why those questions ?"

"Sad ?"

I don't want to answer now, so I continue.

"And... I spend a lot of time with him because he's my friend and..."

Being with you sometimes hurt.

           He doesn't answer, and looks down at himself. Is he jealous that spend time with Sam ? We indeed used to be even closer, before my love for him started being out of control. Does he feel like that third friend the others forget a little for the fun things ?

"Dean, are you upset because I went running with Sam instead of watching movies with you yesterday ?" he looks away. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that you're not eating ?"

"I... I don't know" he sighs. "I'm a little dizzy."

"Sit Dean" I say, guiding him to the table. "Tell me what's going on with food. Please. You know I hate to see you bad."

           He rubs his face with both hands, his scruff audible under his palm. How I wish I could kiss this jaw, how I wish I could show him how much I love him, how I know who he is, not like those girls.  

"It's ridiculous..." he tries, but I sit facing him, and wait for him to talk. "I'm not... like Sam."

"Like Sam ?"

"You know... Abs and..." he motions his body. "All."

"Wait" I blink a few times. "Dean you're perfect."

He scoffs so bend a little to make him look at me.

           How can he compare himself to his brother ? Where do that come from ? I know Dean struggles with serious self-hate, but would never have guessed it would reach that subject, of physical appearance... Maybe this is about a woman.

"Dean. You're the most beautiful man I have ever seen." My mouth starts freeing itself from truth I kept locked, and I can't stop it. "I'm serious. Your face looks like some masterpiece with perfect proportion, y-your eyes are ridiculously green, your jaw could cut glass, your lips..." my eyes fall on them and my words get lost. "You're tall and broad..."

"You're making me blush Sweetheart" he says, he voices back to its usual low hoarse tone. "Still I... You know I'm... a kid when it comes to food, I never exercise..."

"Never exercise ?" I smile. "Three days ago you climbed inside a house then dug a six feet deep hole on the ground, and the day after you chased a monster, fought him, and carried his body to a place where you can burn it... I say you deserve a burger."

His face seems to light up a little, but his pretty pillow lips are still too white.

"But it's not working out, like Sammy."

"Dean... Your brother likes it, he need it to focus, to think" my smile grows and I speak lower, I know my admiration is showing, and it honestly feels liberating. "And he needs that to keep up with you."

"He doesn't" he almost chuckles, finally warming my heart.

"Well, you're the best. It's natural for you, but we have to work, especially me."

"You two are better than me" he states.

"We're not. And... Dean not eating isn't going to make you feel better about yourself. It's going to wear you out, make you weak..."

"I know" he sighs.

"Can I make you a breakfast ? The color of your lips makes me want to draw a salt circle."

He chuckles fully this times, wrinkles appearing on the corner of his eyes.

           I gently pat his shoulder as I get up, still not believing Dean could have insecurities like those. I throw away the burnt cold eggs and make some new, with bacon.

"I hear comments sometimes you know..." he says like it was easier now I'm not looking at him. "The things you said, that my face is nice..."

"More than nice" I admit, turning a little to him, but not fully to keep watching the pan.

"It happened that girls expect more under my shirt" he looks down. "I know it's ridiculous... I just, I don't know, maybe I feel disappointing."

"It's not ridiculous" I state under my breath, grabbing a plate to finally give him food. " Here, eat this, all of it."

"Like with the whole FBI look or with my seductive smile" he stops and grunts. "I feel like a teen."

"Hey, nothing like that between us, you know that. I told you about very embarrassing stuff" I reassure him. "And, what you're saying is interesting, men endure the social standards too."

"I... I don't know I didn't age like a model, I'm... soft."

Model.

"You know..." I start.

I pour two coffees and take a chocolate bar for myself, watching him before I keep talking, to make sure he starts eating.

"Delicious" he states, putting big pieces in his mouth.

"One of the reason I work out with Sammy is... Precisely because I don't want to look ridiculous next to two total models."

"Now that's" he starts, opening his mouth too big at how hot it still is. "That's kinda ridiculous. You're the prettiest girl ever !"

"I'm not" I whisper, softly blowing on my coffee.

"What ? You are Y/n" I lift my eyes on him, his lips are still a little light but shining with grease.

"I'm not like the girl you go out with."

           I don't dare looking up, but see he stopped moving. His robe is now totally opened, the belt got loose, and my eyes are lost in the black of his shirt.

"The girls I go out with" he repeats. "You're way better than those girls."

"Oh listen to you, that doesn't sound cliché at all" I say a little too coldly, a shocked expression appears on his face. "I... I'm sorry."

"You know... the girls I go out with, that doesn't really mean anything."

"I know" I cut him to make him understand I'm not asking him to justify himself.

But he keeps talking anyway.

"I have been with divorced single moms, witnesses... college girls" he says the last one with something bitter and I take this occasion to make it about him again, and not me.

"Two day ago" I ask, although it's the last thing I want to talk about. "It was a college girl, Deanie ? Did something happen ?"

"Yeah... no" he states, answering my two questions. "I just... I just realize it wasn't really what I wanted, not anymore. And that it didn't... didn't really make me feel good about myself."

"Too young for you ?" I try to joke, giving him a piece of my chocolate bar, feeding him like I always do, with everything I have in my hand.

"Kinda yeah" he answers seriously. "I don't know... She... I wasn't frat boy enough for her I guess."

"Yes, that's exactly the idea, that you're not that !"

"I didn't really, you know... enjoy it" he says and I fight the images coming in waves in my head. "I was too focused on trying to prove something" a dark chuckle escapes his lips. "I don't even know who I was trying to convince. And she... She didn't like the tattoo, the scars, the freckles..."

"Whoa whoa ! Who's that bitch ?" I lift my hands in the air, sincerely shocked, I never knew some women would be able to not appreciate Dean.

He smiles kindly but looks at the bottom of his coffee.

           Silence. I wish I could make him see who he is, I wish I could speak more, ask questions, but just talking about that stupid college girl that had him, but on top of that made him feel bad about himself...

"You look sad again" he cuts my thoughts.

"Sad ?"

"Yeah, it happens often. You start thinking deeply and you get sad" he says. "Listen... You're the most amazing friend, and woman, there is..."

"But" I whisper, echoing the conversation with Sam in my head.

"There's no 'but'" he shakes his head. "I was just going to say that I want to be a better friend, and man, for you."

"You already are the best" I smile but he doesn't smile back at all, his green eyes searching mine.

"I'm not. I let you down several times. I get why you would rely on Sammy more. I left you at this bar after that hunt when that witness was hitting on me. And I cancelled movie night twice to go out, just to feel... I don't know desired, loved maybe ? I know how absurd it is" When I'm about to talk, he doesn't let me. "And I worry you... coming home drunk as fuck in the morning." He rolls his eyes a little. "And with Baby..."

"I'm not your mom, I have to stop being so protective, Sam is right..."

"Sam ?"

           That's it, the moment I say so much I regret it my whole life. But I promised my best friend I wouldn't go on like this, that I would either talk to Dean, like he wants me to, or at list try to work on my feelings to move on. It's time to stop hiding everything from the man I love and make our friendship pure again.

"Sam says..." I clear my throat. "That... I have to care a little less about you, to care a little more about me" I don't dare looking up and let out a dark chuckle. "Won't be easy... I care a lot about you."

           When he doesn't answer, I finally look up, fearing what I will see on his face. He's just staring at me with an expression I never really saw on his face. His gorgeous lips are pink again, and the scruff on his cheeks, a little darker than usual, highlights the radiant light of his big beautiful eyes.

           He half gets up, bending on the table. And before I can realize what's happening, he puts his lips on mine in a soft, warm kiss.

           My whole body responds to it. The thin hair on my arms stick up, my heart starts beating my chest and my thighs get moist with a thin layer of sweat.

           I stay frozen for a second, looking at him in disbelief, playing the quick kiss again and again in my head as he sits back.

"I just..." he clears his throat and sigh, getting up. "I'm not Sammy."

Before he can leave, before this moment becomes a memory I will struggle to think as real, before I find myself in that hole of secrets again, I get up. But he's already walking to his room.

"Dean !" I run after him, meeting him at his bedroom door. "Dean. You're not Sammy. You're you, you're perfect in every ways."

           My heart is pounding. Let's do this, he needs this. Dean needs to be loved and I didn't know he needed reassurance. No one can to this better than me, because I worship him. I always said I wanted to show Dean he can be happy, and loved without changing his life for good. This is my shot at it, I may not be enough, I may not be what he wants or needs, but at least I can share with him. My devotion, my love, my body, all he wants.

           And If my heart breaks, let it be a happy sacrifice.

"Your freckles are like stars in a summer sky" he frowns when my fingers come up to graze his cheek. "I already liked freckles but yours... You make any other skin look plain and boring."

His face is so close, the delicious smell of his skin reaching me. His pupils are large, just circled with that green that could make me cry.

"Your lips..." I say a little lower, looking at them intensely.

From here, I can see the few freckles that made their way on them. Then I see his tongue, slowly wetting them before he bends again, catching my lips softly, his nose bumping mine when he opens his mouth to capture my upper lip, once, twice...

           I open my mouth and wrap my arms around him, deepening the kiss with a shameless hunger, and all my love in it. Something blows up inside of me, something strong : need.

 Dean's Pov

             No drunk groans, and no shame anywhere. I kiss her like it was words, and take her inside my room.

"Your smell" she says and I feel emotions rush in every one of my veins, but it's not disturbing like it usually is. "I could bath in it, live it."

I bend to burry my face in her neck, inhaling deeply.

           And I take my time, I have no reason to hurry, nowhere to go, no woman to come back to. She slips her fingers between the strands of my hair, letting me hold her close, drowning in her smell.

           I want to cry, and I don't really know why. Probably because of how right this feels. Because of that relief : She not with my brother. She is not with Sam...

"Dean..." she whispers, her nails gently grazing my scalp. "Can I see you ?"

I put a kiss on her neck and murmur a tender 'yes' against it.

           Her hands leave my hair to go down along my neck, sending shivers down my spine, and push my robe, making it fall like a cape at my feet. That’s how she makes me feel, like her hero.

           Her chin goes up without me leaving her neck, and she gently rubs her cheek on my jaw. In a soft moan, I open my mouth to leave wet kisses on her skin.

Maybe she can be mine...

"Sometimes your voice makes me shiver" she whispers in my ear. "Just your voice... It's so deep."

Somehow her words send electricity to my crotch and I can feel my boxers getting tighter.

           My hands grab her ass, pressing her against me and when she moans, I feel my cock twitch.

"Y/n..."

"You're beautiful in everything" she continues, her hands slipping under my shirt to stroke my back, her voice slightly weaken by arousal. "But when you wear henleys or just a t-shirt..." she kisses just below my ear. "I can get wet by just looking at you."

My cock twitches and I groan.

"Are you wet now, Baby ?"

She nods and I let go of her ass to cup her face, kissing her like I always dreamed of, deeply and hungrily, not caring of being in control of myself, not caring if I seem desperate.

           She starts to walk, making me take a few steps back until my calf hit the edge of the bed and I sit on it. I tug at her shirt to make her straddle me, but she takes a second to take off her shorts, revealing her beautiful thighs, and her white panties.

           When she finally straddles me, spreading her legs, I spot a wet stain on her panties and a low growl leaves my chest.

"Fuck... You are..." I say, my hand coming down to cup her sex through it, feeling the tip of my finger get wet.

Her body immediately contracts, and, with my middle finger pressed against her entrance, I can even feel her walls clench around nothing.

"How can you be so reactive" I groan.

"It's you..." she moans, rolling her hips just a little to feel my hands more. "Dean... No men can do this to me."

           My other hand comes up to take that worn out black shirt she stole with impatience, because I notices she wasn't wearing a bra underneath.

"Oh baby..." I let out, bending to kiss her breasts, my other hand teasing her more.

           I'm burning up, my back sweating, my cock painfully hard. I don't remember being that turned on in my life by so little. She hasn't even touched me yet.

           Her head falls back and her nipples point at me, begging me to suck at them, so that's what I do. Mouth open, I take one in my mouth, along with the most of her soft breast I can.

"Ah..." she moans and squirms above me. "Dean !"

My cock twitches at just hearing my name like that, my real name on top of that.

           I slip my hand in her panties, desperate to hear more, feel more. She's soaked, her thighs contracted and her hips rolling against my hand. She doesn't form words, but her body is begging for more.

           So I slip a finger inside her and feel her squeeze him, hear her gasps. I can't wait to be inside of her but that's not my only purpose... Oh God when she will clench around me ! I’m panting now.

"Please Dean" she whines, one of her hand going behind her to find balance on my knee, her beautiful body arching back.

I give her what she needs, another finger, pumping slowly at first, then going a little stronger, and my thumb on her clit, gently circling. I look at her with my mouth open in awe, a devouring pleasure making me high.

"Fuck" I pant.

           I should try to focus, make that coil inside me calm, make my heart slow. I don't want to be aroused like a teen, or I won't last at all... But I can't, and my free hand comes on my crotch to touch myself through my boxers a little, desperate for some friction.

"Dean ! Dean..." she cried out, now joining the movement of my fingers with her whole body. "I need..."

"Come for me" I order. "Show me how much you want me Baby, clench those fingers."

And just like that, she does.

           Her whole body shakes and her thighs crush me, her walls trying to milk my finger for what they can't give her.

"DEAN DEAN DEAN !"

My cock twitches so hard it's painful, I bend on her chest to not see her face longer, and try to hold back as hard as I can.

"Baby... fuck..." I whine, my whole stomach contracting and my cock pulsating.

But when she grabs my head to hold it against her and start rolling her hips hard to prolong her powerful orgasm, I can't hold back...

           In a very loud frustrated grunt I come in my pants, feeling my cum drip along my twitching cock.

 Reader's Pov

             My bliss makes me high, but my senses are at their full power, so I can feel what’s happening. I can feel Dean squirm beneath me and shake, I can feel his hand unable to move and hear his gasps.

           He’s coming.

           My walls clench even more at the thought and he whimpers against my breasts. So I hold him, I just hold him.

           When I finally can have the control of my body again, I look down at him and he withdraws his fingers slowly.

“Y/n…” he whispers. “Fuck I…”

“Did you came ?” I ask with the largest smile I ever had on my face.

“I… yeah… I’m…”

He seems embarrassed.

“Dean, that’s the sexiest thing I have ever experienced” I assure him, bending to kiss his lips. “No one ever wanted me that bad.”

“I still want you” he states, his hands stroking my back and going down on my ass. “I… I think you’re all I want actually.”

           My eyes get wet. In my head : every single moment in my life that made me fall in love with Dean, every day, every moment I craved for a touch, for his smell, every time he laughed and cried… Everything.

“Then you have me Dean, you can have me forever if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, I do” he says, taking off his shirt.

           With a large smile I push him back on the bed, letting him drag both of us higher on it. I look down at him, and a tear falls on his chest. His hand comes up to wipe my cheek, we don’t need to talk for a moment.

           My hands go down his sides, enjoying his firm chest and the soft line of his stomach, my thumbs massaging it a little on their way up, feeling the strong muscles underneath and the silky-smooth skin.

           I bend to kiss his collarbones, and his tattoo, palms still roaming everywhere like I always dreamed of, like I will always dream of.

“This tattoo” I say, drawing its contour with my finger. “It’s so you, it has a story, and it protects you. I love it.”

“And I love you” he states without a hesitation, his chin almost on his neck to see me.

A tiny emotional sob escapes my lips, making him frown a little and wrap his strong arms around me.

“Hey baby…” he whispers. “Y/n…”

           My hand goes down to push his underwear down, and my panties to the side. He searches my eyes while I do, and licks his lips in a moan when I grab his cock to guide it at my entrance.

“I love you” I say, slowly sinking down on him. “I love you, I love you…”

FEEDBACK IS WHAT MAKES ME WRITE 

Forever Tags : @parinarain @animegirlgeeky @mogaruke​ @masterof-agony​ @rainflowermoon @tftumblin​ @deans-baby-momma​ @roonyxx​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @emeow1496​ @daryldixonandfrogs​ @holylulusworld​  @cocklesbelli​ @sandlee44​ @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx​ @stormchasingchick32​ @akshi8278​ @magssteenkamp​ @sister-winchesters99​ @neii3n​  @lyss-dw79​ @im-a-shrub​ @sadwaywardkid​@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj​ @i-love-superhero​ @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @stylesismyhubs​ @deanwanddamons​ @jawritter​ @peridottea91​ @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart​ @vicmc624​ @teresa-67​ @nihilismworld​

Text divider by the amazing @talesmaniac89​

[popcornpeppermint]

Brother, Brother (Part 1)

Keigo can’t exactly remember when he agreed to his brother moving in. Maybe it was one drunken night. Or maybe his brother manipulated him. Shinyo has always been good at that. Right along with stealing and getting into trouble with the law. Keigo can’t even count on his toes and hands how many times he had to bail the idiot out of jail.

And each time he risks his career.

It was all over the news. Again. Keigo couldn’t find himself to be surprised anymore. If it’s not robbing banks, it’ll definitely be something else that he has to smooth talk his way into keeping the idiot from going to prison.

He wasn't dealing with his big brother's issues and he definitely refuse to. If he gets locked up, so be it.

So why did he answer his cell phone when it rang?

"Hey! Baby chirps! Wanna pick up your big bro?"

And why did he fly all the way across town, risking his hero career to get his idiot big brother out of jail... again...

"Come on, Kei, quit your poutin'" Shinyo said, popping open a can of warm beer he snagged from some sleeping old guy. Tasted like warm piss to him but, hey, a drink is a drink. Keigo bit his tongue, trying hard not to grill his brother. But he so would have deserved it.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Shinyo!?" He found himself snapping. "You are putting my career on the line you idiot!"

Shinyo blinked at the other. A wide, cocky grin spread on his lips.

"Suck it, baby-feathers."

Keigo stared at him.

"I am so going to fucking kill you one day."

“Well, can we go home now? I’ve been in that fucking jail cell all night. I smell like ass and need a shower.”

Keigo sighed in defeat. Maybe it was his hero instincts wanting to save him? Maybe it was the idea that Shinyo protected him from their abusive parents that made him feel like he owed the other his life? He didn’t know so he couldn’t find himself to argue or even lecture Shinyo. Dumbass won’t listen anyways.

“Shinyo,” he said with a tired sigh. “You’re running through my money with these bails. There’s only so many times that I can do this.”

Shinyo looked at his little brother, ruby eyes holding something similar to guilt. Or maybe he was drunk again?

“Sorry, baby-feathers,” he said, pulling the beer can from his lips. He looked down at his shoes, actually looking ashamed for once. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Keigo said turning on his heel, wings spread. “Now lets get going. I have a press conference in a bit and I don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shinyo said tossing the can over his shoulder. “I want to go home and sleep anyways. Have you ever had a hairy ass old man try to cuddle you?”

“Er, no?”

“Good, keep it that way,” Shinyo said with a grunt before taking off into the sky.

Keigo sighed with a light chuckle. Fucking Shinyo.

--

It was a long day. Dealing with Shinyo, the media and Endeavor’s temper tantrums. Keigo felt his body finally give in to exhaustion. He barely made it to the couch before flopping down with a tired but relieved sigh. Not soon after his nose was greeted with the scent of a burning cigarette.

“I thought I told you no smoking in the apartment,” he mumbled with is arms thrown over his eyes.

“Not in the apartment,” Shinyo’s gruff voice echoed in his ears. “I’m outside. The door’s just open.”

Keigo peeked from under his arms. Shinyo stood there, arms crossed over his chest, leaning on the door frame with a raised brow. The cigarette glowed a bright orange on the tip when he inhaled, dangling from his lips.

“You look like shit,” he stated.

“Thanks,” Keigo half-hearted said. “Was a busy day, what do you expect?”

The room fell into a pregnant silence, the sound of Shinyo exhaling smoke and the scent chased after it.

“Wanna talk about it?” he finally said after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I’m no good at this shit but at least I can listen.”

“The Commission is on my ass a lot lately,” Keigo said while sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck. “No better since you keep getting into trouble. They care about images, you know?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Shinyo shrugged while stomping out his finished cigarette. “Fuckers can lick your balls. They’re nothing without you.”

“Like you fucking know anything,” Keigo hissed.

“I know that they bought my fucking brother off of my stupid ass parents like he’s some two-dollar whore!” Shinyo snapped. “Fucking seriously, Kei? You’re gonna defend them, again!?”

“I’m not defending them and I am not having this conversation with you again,” Keigo said with gritted teeth. He stood up, heading in the direction of his bedroom. Shinyo held his arm out, grabbing his shoulder to stop him from passing.

“I said not now, Shinyo!”

“Fuck that noise!” Shinyo yelled. “Fucking talk to me, damnit!”

“I can’t!” Keigo yelled back.

“Says who!? Your fucking owners!?”

“Get out.”

Shinyo looked taken aback, blinking as he tried to comprehend what Keigo just said.

“Wait, what?”

“Get the fuck out. Now Shinyo!” Keigo barked. “You’re in and out of jail, eat all my damn food, don’t have a job but always want to spend MY money and you’re making me look bad! Get out! I don’t give a fuck where you go but it can’t be here!”

Shinyo raised a brow.

“You fucking kidding me? Throwing a tantrum now of all times?”

“Shinyo-”

“Fine, I’ll leave. Whatever. It's not like I plan of staying any longer anyways. I’ll get my shit and leave.”

He brushed Keigo’s shoulder roughly as he walked by. “By the way, some guy named Dabi called your cell earlier.”

“You had my cell phone!?” Keigo exclaimed, patting his pockets. “How?”

“Master of pick-pocketing, bitch,” Shinyo said, pulling the phone from his pocket. “You don’t use your personal at work anyways.”

“Shinyo, you-”

“Here,” he tossed the phone. “Give him a call back. Seemed important.”

Keigo caught it as he watches Shinyo grab his things.

“So, heading out little bro,” Shinyo said with a two-finger salute and a wink. “Heading out now. Goin’ over to my friend’s place. I’ll wait until your period’s over to come back. See ya.”

He took off before Keigo could say anything.

He stood there in the quiet apartment. Alone.

His phone buzzed with a text message. He knew it was from Dabi and chose to ignore it. He wasn’t going out tonight. He needed rest. All of the rest he could get before his brother returned.  

He undressed and slid under the sheets with a relieved sigh. He wanted to forget about the world. About his career. About his brother. He slowly fell into a fitful sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing. 

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up. 

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult. 

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes. 

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop. 

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias. 

“Hey again.” 

 He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer. 

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked. 

 I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer. 

 I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

 I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought. 

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much. 

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him? 

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

[fascination-street-writing]

The Sea Isn’t Green, and I Love This Dream | Risotto Nero x Reader

Subtitled “Keep Smoking - I Still Love You”

If you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

- 2020 Holiday Gift - A Continuation of Sober to Death -

Content Warnings: Incidental Stalking, Unhealthy Smoking Habits, Past Relationships, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Angst, Regret, & Referenced Child Abuse

It is the summer of 1998. Risotto has not left his apartment in days, for he has found no reason to; there have been no new contracts, no paperwork in need of filing, and no immediate issues with the newest recruit. But today, he will venture out under the brazen sun and purchase groceries for the upcoming week. If not for the matter of his own sustenance, it will at least keep Prosciutto off his back. As if it is any of the blonde man’s business whether his Capo is eating adequately or not.

As he coasts through the aisles, searching for pre-packaged dried pasta, jarred sauce, and some kind of fresh vegetable – because Prosciutto said so –, he feels the condescending, fearful stares of patrons without needing to acknowledge them. If it is not for his stature, then certainly the peculiar coloring of his eyes. However, the ogling no longer bothers him, simply because he does not let it; after all, he is no longer the boy who once lived in Palermo.

There is a sale on pre-sliced bread. Yet, even after the discount, the name-brand loaf is still more expensive than the off-brand. He settles for the latter. It all tastes the same to him, anyways. And if he can save a thousand lire, then it is all the better. Prosciutto, he supposes, would disagree and insist that the off-brand bread is cheaper for a reason. Risotto is reminded of exactly why he does not live with the man anymore. But he still makes a conscious effort to buy fresh produce.

Basket filled, Risotto heads towards the check-out line. He knows that he has neglected to grab a bag of oranges, as denoted by the crumpled list in his hand, and he does not intend to return for them. The carton of berries and fresh figs he found along the way will be enough. Though, he does loathe forgetfulness.

The line, as he discovers and much to his dismay, is backed up. The brevity of the situation is simply that the grocery store has been understaffed as of late. Something about gang-violence and an attempted robbery – nothing that concerns him or his men. A person in his line of work fears little. Or at least, that is the theory. His thoughts linger to the new recruit, whom Prosciutto has taken under his guidance. He has always had more patience than Risotto regarding such matters.

The young Capo has lost track of exactly how long he has stood in line. Denoted by the telling grumbles of an older man behind him and the pleading of his wife to calm down, Risotto knows that it has been a while, and unreasonably so. Glancing down at his basket, a questionable consideration comes to his impatient mind: it would not be difficult to slip away, shroud himself with his Stand, and leave the grocery store with his would-be stolen goods.

It is certainly nothing to lose sleep over. In the end, however, he decides against it. Perhaps to salvage his honor and dignity, otherwise challenged by the temptation of petty thievery. Or perhaps because the line has finally moved, and it is too late to back out now. There are only two customers ahead of him now. In moments such as this, he likes to pretend that he is normal – that he might be shopping for a family that waits for him in a home somewhere in the suburbs of Napoli.

But these times have passed, and although only a man of twenty-five, he is complacent with the life as a ceaseless bachelor. A hitman does not make for a good husband, nor a father. In retrospect, Risotto hardly believes that he would want to become either. At least, not anymore.

“Merda,” the woman at the front of the line groans. She sets down the wad of cash in her hand. “I’m ₤15,000 short. Can you just put the oil back? And the sardines.”

The grocery clerk is decent at masking his annoyance with a tight smile and curt nod. It is a commendable skill, though there is room for improvement, Risotto thinks. “God, I’m so sorry. I just moved here for a new job, and my money still hasn’t transferred over to my new bank account. I should’ve taken more cash out to begin with.”

The next woman reaches into her purse and produces a neatly folded stack of lira. She taps the shoulder of the first woman, who turns. In this moment, Risotto believes he has been pummeled through the stomach. There is no other explanation to the tightening of his chest, and the heavy beating of his heart.

There you stand, as beautiful as ever, despite your apparent vexation at your own foolishness. The money quickly passes from the kind woman’s palm to that of the cashier. “Grazie, signora,” you tell her.

At first, Risotto feels nothing, as if he cannot process that which he sees before him. And then, regret – pure and unadulterated. He does not hear what the woman says to you, because the thrum of his mind has made him deaf to everything except for the ringing of his ears. You have not noticed him, unlike every other customer in the establishment, and he would like to keep it that way. You accept the bag of groceries from the cashier, but Risotto does not stick around to see it. He has already pushed past the perturbed husband and wife behind him, with every intention of finding a new line to stand in. He does not care how tedious it will be to make it out of the store. He does not care if the tub of gelato in his basket melts, or if the berries turn to mush.

Risotto will do anything to spare the fleeting glance of the only woman whom he ever loved. And if that means waiting another twenty minutes, then by god, he will wait.

He wonders, as he sits in his office with a blazing cigarette dangling from his lips, if you still smoke. In truth, he has always known that you only ever did it to impress him. He wishes you would not have indulged in this solidary habit – in fact, he wishes you had not done a lot of things, like becoming his closest friend and adolescent savior. His first kiss, or his first lament in the pitfall of countless others.

Clouds cling to the ceiling, seeping into the walls and furniture. If his landlord were not so intimidated by Risotto, then surely the parsimonious man might evict him for ruining the apartment with the stench of cigarettes and the occasional blood stain on the carpet. He supposes that he ought to at least open the window. Just beyond his reach atop the desk is his computer. If he wants to, he can find out every miniscule detail of your adult life and more that has collected over the past seven years, since the moment he left you a young, broken woman who did not mourn him. Every bank transaction, gas receipt, and occasional splurge for an object attributed to various degrees of pleasure – where you are working, where you live, and why you have come back to haunt him.

It is none of his concern, and he does not have the right to pry; not after the hurt he has done unto you, back when you were still two lovers who were, well, in love. He hopes you have found some semblance of happiness, and he will not impede on whatever that may be. But, like an incurable ailment, confliction strikes him. Indeed, he told himself that it is not his guile to cause you further grief. And yet, Risotto yearns for you all over again.

All this time spent living in a world wherein he does not exist to you, how often did thoughts of him cross your mind? Did you think of his ghastly red eyes whenever you have welcomed a new paramour into your bed, and compare the sizes of their hands to his? Did you think of him each time you drove that hand-me-down junker of your father’s, avoiding the backseat like the plague until the engine finally died and you had no choice but to purchase a new car? How long did it take you to scrub out the stains from the upholstery and your skin?

As it were, keeping the distance between you two is effortless. But unearthing unhealed wounds, all in some venture of self-retribution to heal them right, is just as inviting. There is simply too much that might go wrong again – the risks, far too great. Dissociation has served him well enough thus far. Surely, he can keep it up, this manneristic habit of his. It is funny, he finds; that as teenagers, you had once promised that you would always be there for him. It was an undeserving luxury, and one that he often took for granted. Now, though he recognizes in his heart that he still needs you, he wants you gone. For his sake or yours, he knows not.  

But it would be nice to be held by you, one last time.

Breaking self-promises, like stepping on broken glass just to hear the crack, is an addiction. You are an addiction, and it was only a matter of time before Risotto had found himself in your company more often than he ought to. In any instance, he avoids your radar, and remarkably so. And yet, the tenacity of your existence drives him mad, and he finds himself asking – perchance under the steady trickle of water in the shower or as he lies in bed at night – if you are truly there, or nothing more than an apparition brought forth from his guilty conscious. That, though now he sees you comparing dress fabrics at the boutique across the street, it is conceivably not truly you but rather another woman – a stranger – with the same color hair.

Alas, you exist in both dreams and materiality.

Each moment that he stumbles upon you, from a respectable distance, he notices something irrevocably new: scuffed Mary Janes exchanged for pointed and polished kitten heels, and pleated skirts swapped for hand-tailored dress pants, creased to suggest your sophistication. As for him, he still wears torn jeans when in public. Unless of course, he is working – then it is a pair of striped pants reminiscent of a caricatured prison inmate’s uniform.

He notices, too, the greater attention taken to your hairstyling and makeup. Maturity is becoming of you, but he always thought you were pretty, even before you had learned how to properly apply eyeshadow and lip gloss. Your clumpy mascara never vied to drive him away. In fact, he rather liked it, but only because it was unapologetically you.

He does not mean to follow you to a café after you leave the boutique, arms cradling several shopping bags amongst your purse and a chic leather briefcase. Invisible to the human eye, Risotto falls in step at your side, so close that he can smell your perfume. It is no longer the olfactory copycat of whatever Versace musk you had always begged your mother to buy for you from the drugstore just down the street from your childhood home. Whatever it is now is unfamiliar, albeit comforting.

The café is quiet at this point in the afternoon. The baristas chatter amongst themselves at the counter, and the ambience music humming through the wall speakers is not unpleasant, although not entirely enjoyable, either. Unbeknownst to you, Risotto takes the seat across from you at the corner booth nearest to the window. It must be a coveted spot, he deduces, for the lighting here is impeccable. Mindful of the blackened coffee atop the table, you open your suitcase and produce a neatly pressed stack of photographs, clothing sketches, and glamour shots.

He observes all of it, and only then does he realize that the new career you spoke of to the grocery store clerk is one in the field of fashion design. And what better city in all of Italia to pursue such a thing than Napoli? He wishes he could have been there to witness the bloom of your success, first-hand – and more, he yearns to exist alone at your side for every last day that you both should live.

All of this at nothing more than your expense. Truly, something impermissibly unforgiveable, if he knew that his baggage – if his very being – is enough to hold you back from everything you deserve. It is why he left. At least now, he can see that his grievous mistake was not for naught.

Your coffee has gone cold. Too focused on correcting shading issues in your blueprints and selecting models for an upcoming show, you have neglected it. Did you even need the coffee, or was it just a show of your poise? How would you react, Risotto wonders, if he were to bring you a fresh cup and allow you to see him? Would you thank him – hug him even? Or scream, kick him away, and throw the scalding hot beverage in his face. He should pray for the former, though the latter would be the easiest to cope with. Because, if you were to look at him with those eyes of yours and smile in earnest, all for him, he would surely fall in love with you all over again. As if he ever stopped loving you in the first place.

He imagines what it must be like to be a part of your new life. He wants nothing more than to reach across the table, to place his shaken palm over the manicured hand clasped around the red felt-tip pen, and ask how your day has been. And the day before. And the day before even then. You might drop the pen too, only to lace your fingers with his and grin. “It’s been great, Ris,” you would say. “Really great, but even better now.”

Instead, you scribble notes in the margins with that same hand and tap your foot to the steady beat of music. How wonderful it must be for those who are capable of picking up where they once left off a lifetime ago. If, after all this time, you are so inclined to adore him again, then you must be the most winsome little fool in the world – but his, nonetheless.

Risotto cannot recall when last he received a contract from the Don, assigned explicitly to the silver-haired man. And so, rather than cooping himself away in the confines of his apartment, smoking until his stomach lurches and he might faint, he roams the city, pegging to the chance that he might find you. The fresh air – as fresh as the air in Napoli can possibly be – is good for him, anyways.

This afternoon, he finds you leaving the post office whilst balancing a packed cardboard box with outstretched arms. You are dressed down, just as he supposes that most normal people do on their days off. Curiosity baits him, like a bobble in the ocean; he shrouds himself and follows you up the cobblestone street ramp, past a row of municipal buildings, down the winding path behind one of many shopping plazas, and directly into the living room of your apartment. He never meant to get this far.

The smooth voice of Mina Mazzini echoes from the turntable atop a wrought-iron accent table placed beside an oak bookshelf containing more decorative figurines and houseplants than actual books. Certainly, your taste in music has not changed. Neither has your preference for caramel-scented candles. For a moment – ever so fleeting – he is a teenage boy again, standing just before bedroom window with his knuckles poised to rapt against the glass. He never told you, for he hid it well behind a stony expression, just how nervous he always felt before visiting you.

More than anything else in his adolescent life, he had feared that one day, you would turn him away. He scarcely cared when his mother verbalized her disgust and chastisement of the boy, or if his father struck him with the belt of his work jeans. Because, in the end, the abuse always gave him a reason to see you. You were his optimistic little silver lining,

Although your sense in interior design is far more elegant than your parents ever fancied, Risotto feels like he is finally home again. It must be the music and the candle – or perhaps it is just the grace of your presence in the setting of domesticity. You set the box on the coffee table and disappear into the kitchen, only to reappear with a stainless-steel knife. He understands his unwarranted intrusion, but just as he makes his way towards the door to leave, your cellphone rings.

“Ciao, Mamma!” you say as you switch to speakerphone. There is only static until your mother speaks to you.

She still sounds the same, though the strain of age weighs heavily on her tone. Suddenly, Risotto is throwing rocks at your window in the nighttime, avoiding the parched tithonias of your father’s garden with his battered sneakers. But this time, it is not you who beckons him in – it is your mother and her infectious altruism that he coveted because she cherished him more than his own mother ever did. She leads him to the dining room table, where you and your father wait, and presents to him a plate of pasta con le sarde.

“Ciao, bambina. Did you get that package I sent yet?”

No questions asked, unless only to inquire if he would like more to drink, or perhaps a second serving; your mother always made extra just in case he needed to get away from home for the night, or if his parents forgot to feed him. He misses his family – his real one, which he thwarted away for trifling revenge. The mere thought of it all sends pangs through his chest, and he thinks he has forgotten how to breathe properly. His mind veers into nothingness, but he knows that everything hurts.

“Mhm! It came today, actually. I’m opening it now.”

Petrified, he watches from across the room as you slice through the packing tape and begin sorting through the box’s contents – assorted bobbles and trinkets of your childhood that were unintentionally left behind after you had moved to Napoli. A few CDs, family photographs, and a work of ceramics-class pottery that had not survived its journey from Palermo. You do not seem bothered by it. Instead, you sweep away the fragmented pieces into a neat pile.

At the very bottom of the box is a scrapbook, ragged from the years of diligent pondering. Several of its pages have stuck together from excess globs of crafting glue. Risotto remembers your endearing hobby, and how embarrassed you had always been to show him your collection. And so, he never asked to see them, though not because he lacked the interest. It must be true that a person is shaped by their early experiences – you spent your youth collaging models with pretty clothes from the pages of magazines; now, you are a considerably successful fashion designer, given your age. Meanwhile, Risotto murdered a man at eighteen – and now, seven years later, he is Passione’s lead hitman. At least he is good at his job, too.

“Uh oh, that didn’t sound good. Don’t tell me that vase broke. I knew I should’ve wrapped it.”

Your dear mother: forgetful and heedless on occasion, though honest by it. You peel the scrapbook open and perch it on your lap, mindful of the delicate spine. Loose bits of glitter trickle from the pages and stick to your pants. Next falls a photograph, separated from the family ones, and wedged away for safe keeping. It is a still-shot of you and Risotto.

“Don’t worry about it! I can just glue it back together.”

However, to be honest, the vase is beyond repair; you have lied to your mother to soothe her guilt. Risotto’s attention has been taken by the photograph on the floor. There, you both sit on the floral-patterned couch that used to adorn your parents’ living room. You lean on his shoulder, beaming to the camera, as he stares ahead, stagnant. Truly, he wanted to smile and to throw his arm around you. He refrained; he did not want to look weak in front of your mother, who had taken the photograph that day.

Because his father never let him forget the vulnerability of emotions.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Listen, dolce, I’ve got to go. Tuo padre needs help in the workshop. But I’ll call you later. Ti amo, ti amo!”

In this moment, he lets his guard down, albeit inadvertently so. Metallica dissipates, and for the first time in what feels like forever – or at least, far too many years worth counting – Risotto Nero surmises that he might cry. As opposed to when you were both still young, it will be easier to run away now: no confrontation, and none of that selfish heartbreak. The gap between him and the door may be closed in two strides. In two strides, he will leave you again, for evermore. And even when he is gone, he will keep telling himself that this is for the best.

“Ti amo, Mamma.”

You reach down for the photograph. You had not meant to let it fall, though you suppose there is little use of it now, if not to keep it as a memento of your own perpetual loss. You dust it off and shake away the green and gold specks of glitter that adhere to the lamination. When the floorboards creak, you look up and meet the pleading gaze of the man whom you think you hate, and whom you think you love. You are good at pretending to do either. And thus, as you both wait in brooding quietude, you know not whether to call the police or to hurry into his arms. You are still, frozen in time – frozen in life.

As for Risotto, he longs for cicadas and katydids to break the terse silence that looms between you two.

Or maybe, just a cigarette.

| 3724 Words |

[star-lemonade]

The Festival (1/3)

A.C.E Junhee x Reader

Cw: fluff, cross dressing

Rating: T (Series R)

Word count: 3.2 k

Junhee was one of the most attractive people you knew. He was good looking, yes, but that was not the main source of his attractiveness. Somehow he always left you with the impression that he cared about people and put others before himself. You never told anyone but it would be nice to have someone care about you. Taking care of him for a change would be nice too. He seemed like he could use someone being there for him. You sometimes spoke in the company kitchen, but you never met outside of work. Maybe, one day, you would ask him out. Maybe.

That day your business trip took you out to a city you had not been to before. It was only a few hours away by car but you never had a reason to come here. The conference would last for three days, Wednesday to Friday. On the first evening there were some unofficial meetings, but soon the parties moved from the hotel to the city. A historical festival was taking place in the city center. The crowd was a mixture of people wearing modern clothing and hanboks. A lot of the vendors were also dressed in historical clothing. The streets were illuminated by lamps that looked like lanterns with open fire at first glance. The moving orange and yellow bands gave the illusion of flames. Foods from the different booths filled the streets with mouthwatering smells.

You noticed that you had lost the rest of the conference people while exploring the festival. Your stomach began to rumble. It was time to eat something. The selection was a bit overwhelming so you entered the nearest food stand that had some tables. Even here the historical feel was present. The low tables stood on elevated platforms with the guests sitting on cushions on the platforms. You sat down at the only free table. The waitress wore a beautiful hanbok, but the stress of working at a festival was written in the lines of her young face.

You ordered something to drink and to eat. Your drink arrived fast and you were thankful for it. You were starving but the drink filled your stomach at least temporarily.

Your eyes followed that waitress as she served food to another table. Two women in hanboks sat there. They looked like they were related, maybe they were sisters? One wore blue, the other green.

When the waitress approached them, you could see the face of the sister in green in front view. She looked familiar, but you did not know from where you knew her. You looked away so as to not get caught staring. Your food came and the mystery woman was forgotten. Your basic needs had to be satisfied. It tasted better than it probably was. Junhee. Junhee! That was who the woman looked like. The thought came so suddenly you almost dropped your spoon. He had sisters, that much you knew but did they live here? It’s probably a coincidence.

You finished your meal and decided to move on. The air in the plastic tent was too thick and hot to have a clear thought.

You left the restaurant wondering if it was just your brain seeing Junhee everywhere. Yes that must be it. Lately he had been on your mind a lot. He was a bit clumsy, but there was something charming about that too. Oh man, I have a crush on Junhee, don’t I?

You heard your name from behind you. The woman in the green stood behind you.

“Can we talk?”

Without saying a word you walked away from the crowds of the festival. You felt the tension of the other person and did not dare to speak up. Around a corner a dark patch came into view. The banks of the river were emptier than the streets with its booths. You stopped at one of the benches overlooking the river.

“I guess I should explain.”

Junhee‘s voice was softer than usual. You were sure now that it was him(?).

“You don’t have to. It’s none of my business.”

Junhee seemed to think otherwise. He(?) pressed his(?) lips into a thin line, but did not say anything. Whatever question came to your mind, seemed inappropriate to ask, but the silence began to weigh you.

“That’s a nice hanbok. It looks good on you.”

It was true and Junhee smiled a little.

“Thank you.”

He(?) looked down at the gravel path that spanned the river bank down to the small pedestrian bridge.

“I like being a man.”

He paused, thinking. You did not dare to say anything. This was a very private moment and even sitting on this bench, so close to Junhee felt almost too intimate. He did not have to tell you anything. Junhee nodded more to himself.

“But going out like this. It feels good.”

You touched his arm.

“You really don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I should.”

He insisted.

“Why? If it makes you uncomfortable? Don’t worry I will not tell anyone.”

“Because ..”

He looked away. The river gurgled and a couple strolled by, talking about something. Junhee stood up. His fist clutching the fabric of the hanbok.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow.”

You simply nodded and Junhee took off into the night.

You returned to the hotel tired and worried. The way Junhee had fled earlier did not leave your mind. You typed “Are you okay?” into your phone. I don’t want to bother him. The cursor whipped the message off the screen.

After a restless night your phone woke you up at 6:30 am the next morning. You had rolled from one side to the other but the unfamiliar bed had made it hard to sleep. Now It was time to meet some old business men. The shower helped to wake you up properly and the breakfast buffet in the hotel’s dining room looked better than expected. You filled your plate with everything that appealed to you in that moment and sat down at an empty table for two. None of the other conference goers were to be seen, so you could enjoy your meal. Your phone lay screen down on the table. How is Junhee doing? You picked it up and looked at the messaging app. Would it be good to text him?

“I hope I didn’t offend you yesterday. I’m sorry, if I did.”

It wasn’t the best thing one could say but needed to say it. You could not stand the thought of Junhee being hurt.

“I hope you are okay.”

Of course he did not reply right away. It was still early morning and he was probably sleeping. The next time you had a chance to look at your phone was during the “coffee and networking” break at 9:30 am.

“You didn’t. I’m okay. Let’s meet today. I have time around noon.”

It was not exactly the right thing to do but you excused yourself after the last talk of the morning session and left. The dinner would be more important, it would be okay if you missed the lunch buffet.

Junhee looked fantastic. He wore a brown leather jacket and his dark hair looked freshly cut. You were not sure which version of him looked more attractive, the one with the fake lashes or the one with the leather jacket.

The restaurant was empty. It was a bit too early for most people to eat. You basically had the place to yourselves. You chewed on your lip.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”

It was literally the last thing you expected to hear. His shoulders were slumped. It made him look smaller than he actually was.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable!”

Maybe it came out a bit too fast because Junhee did not look convinced. You wanted to say how much you liked him but how would that look? He may take that as just a thing you said to get out of this situation or worse. What if he thought you only said you liked him, now that you had seen him cross dressing. Was it okay that you had liked it so much?

“Really, it’s all good. It is all good between us right?”

Your tone got more uncertain towards the end. You did not have that much of a relationship with him yet, but you could not stand the thought of him avoiding you.

“You don’t find that weird?” He licked his lips. “That I like to wear women’s clothes?”

His shoulders were tense. What you were about to say next would determine how this thing would go.

“No. You are an amazing person no matter what you decide to wear.”

A blush crept onto his face.

A waitress appeared. You had completely forgotten that this was a restaurant. It had felt like it was only you and him.

When the waitress left with your order, Junhee leaned towards you.

“Can I ask you something?”

Something in his tone made you perk up. Usually this question preceded a not so usual question.

“Only if I can ask you something too.”

He nodded.

“Do you… hm .. is it possible that you.. like me?”

Your mind went blank. He looked at you from the other side of the table. The little beauty mark on his cheek was something that was easy to look at. Did he mean like as in like like? Your next answer could be game changing, for better or for worse.

“Yes, I like you a lot.”

Now you could just cross your fingers and hope that being honest was the right course of action. You did not want to look at him in fear that he would reject you.

The waitress was back with your drinks and it gave both of you a bit of time. Junhee’s whole face was red and it was cute.

“What question did you wanted to ask me?”

So he was just not going to address this? Okay. Okay. You felt your face burn but also did not have the courage to ask him how he felt about you.

“Did your ex know about you cross dressing? Does anyone know?”

It clearly was not the question he had expected, you could tell by the pause that followed. He looked at his drink.

“My ex knew but she didn’t like it much. She didn’t give me a hard time because either. It just wasn’t something we talked about much. My sisters know of course. My parents were a bit worried in the beginning, they are a little old fashioned.”

You nodded. Junhee had broken up with his then girlfriend a few months ago, as far as you had heard. You were not sure why you had asked that question.

“Do you want to go to the festival tonight with me? Like a girls night out?”

It kind of slipped your lips and you prayed he would not take it the wrong way. His brows shot up and looked down at his drink.

“Yes, I would love that.”

A breath you did not know you were holding released.

Your food came and the conversation shifted. You talk about the conference that you had not seen much of yet. There still hung this question between you. You had said you liked him but he had not said anything to address your confession.

He decided to accompany you back to the hotel and you secretly loved that. You walk side by side. The last few days had been a bit cold, but today the sun gave its best to make it seem like it was still summer. Your hands brushed and Junhee caught your hand. He slid his fingers between yours and just like that you held hands. You could not stop a big, stupid smile from break on your face. The streets were not familiar but Junhee seemed to know where you were going.

“This is not your home town, is it?”

“No but my sister lives here. I come to visit often.”

It felt nice to walk with him like this. Your steps had synchronized without you thinking about it. The hotel was not far now, you began to recognize the houses.

“You probably look very good in a dress.”

You could not look at him and your face burnt. Hopefully he did not take it the wrong way.

“You like it?”

The tone was neutral and you could not tell if he approved or not.

“Yes but you look good either way.”

Junhee stopped and you looked at him. A moment later you found yourself in a tight hug, pressed against Junhee’s upper body. You could feel his breath on your neck and tried to protect what little dignity you had left by not melting into his arms. It failed.

“Thank you.”

The words tickled your skin and Junhee pressed a kiss to your cheek as he pulled back. Your brain must have short circuited being in your crushes arms and your face being so close to his. You kissed him. It was more a short peck, really. You did not have time to apologize for your forwardness. Junhee was a good kisser. The way his lips moved against yours made your heart flutter. It ended too soon.

“I have to go.”

Your tone said ‘and I don’t want to’. Junhee nodded but his hands still held you close. How nice would it be to just stay like this?

Technically there would be a dinner with the conference people that evening but the temptation to just skip it altogether was very big. Spending more time with your maybe, soon boyfriend was more appealing than spending the evening listening to the old men. They would only repeat the same stories they told at the afternoon networking session and the morning session. You texted Junhee but he insisted you stayed at least for a bit. His argument of ‘he would take some time to get ready anyways’ seemed like a plot to make you work. Reluctantly you joined one of the tables. You knew some of the men on this table. They were that type that would leave and find a seat at another table soon. Exactly what you wanted. They just had to see you were there, so no one could complain. You doubted that any of them really cared but there was a chance your supervisor would hear about you not being at the dinner through the grapevine.

The dinner was a buffet and you were first in line for food. You did not even remember afterwards what you had, because Junhee texted you with two outfits and asked which one you liked more. One was a grey skirt with a black shirt and a white scarf, the other outfits was a dress. Both would look fantastic, you were sure of that but there just was something about the first outfit that made you send ‘I love the first one’.

After an hour a window of opportunity opened and you left for your room. You changed into something more casual and left the hotel. Junhee would be waiting at the river. A thought struck you. Did he use another name when he was cross dressing?

You arrived at the river and turned right like the evening before. Junhee sat on the same bench, waiting.

“Good evening.”

It was a bit stiff but Junhee smiled at your greeting anyways. You hugged and when he pulled back you used the chance to ask about his name.

“Junhee is also a woman’s name. So just continue to call me that.”

You strolled through the narrow streets arm in arm with Junhee. Even before today you had been comfortable talking to him but now all inhibitions had disappeared. You two giggled and smiled the whole way to the other side of town. Some older people gave you stern looks but it did not phase you. Junhee was in an extraordinarily good mood. You suspected that his secret had weighed heavier on him than he had let on.

Junhee suggested going to his favorite restaurant in town and you agreed.

The place was away from the festival but not too far away. The waiter showed you to a table in a corner.

“At day time you can see the garden, from here it’s really beautiful!”

‘Really beautiful’ was also the person opposite you. The long wig hid Junhee’s sharp jawline and made his face a bit softer. The dark blouse hid his muscular arms and the fake lashes made his eyes shine.

You felt awkward not eating anything so you ordered something small to eat along with the drinks. Junhee devoured his food and when he caught you staring, an embarrassed smile appeared on his face.

“I didn’t have dinner yet.”

The light blush on his face was very cute and you found yourself smiling like an idiot.

Junhee finished the food and got ready for a toast. You raised your glass too and Junhee said: “To us!”

“To us!”

It was not your first glass so it seemed a bit silly but you smiled brightly anyways. The restaurant was full and the noise made it harder to hear. You moved your chair next to Junhee. In your head that had seemed very casual but in reality it was intimate. You were sitting in a corner now with the wall on one side and gorgeous Junhee on the other. The fake lashes really were the worst. Your heart fluttered and you looked away, face bruning.

Junhee took your hand and interlaced your fingers. The thin rings he wore looked good on him.

“Junhee?” You chewed on your lip. It seemed stupid to ask but you really did not want to there to be any misunderstandings.

“Hmm?”

“Is this a date?”

You met his eyes and he smiled, but it was paired with a nervous laugh.

“Would that be bad?”

Junhee furrowed his brows. You panicked thinking he may take that as you not wanting it to be a date.

“Oh. No! no. I just.. wasn’t sure... “

Say something.

“You know.. We kissed and I thought..”

You stopped at the look on Junhee‘s face. You were so close, it would have been easy to lean in a bit more and press your lips against his lips. His hand tightened and his fingers pressed into the back of your hand.

“It is a date.”

The lipstick had the perfect color, You almost could not tell that Junhee was wearing lipstick. Now, so up close you could see the little imperfections in the outline of his lips. You remembered how they felt on your lip and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“Not here.”

The words broke the trance you had been in and you leaned back. He was right, the small town people may not be very happy with two women kissing, and even less so if they happened to notice that Junhee did not exactly fit their definition of 'woman’.

You held Junhee’s hand until your drinks were empty. It was pretty late and you still had to attend the conference tomorrow. Even Though you wanted to spend more time with Junhee, you had to go. The waiter came and Junhee lifted his handbag to look for his purse.

“I’m buying. It’s okay.”

Junhee let the small black handbag sink and smiled.

Arm in arm you walked back to the hotel. The night air cleared your head a bit but the giddy happiness remained.

Thanks for reading :)) see you in the next part.

A/n: this one was kinda tricky. Korean doesn't really have pronouns and especially no 'he' or 'she'. That's the main reason it doesn't get discussed in this fic. In gendered languages like english however it matters how you address people. Please respect people's pronouns.

[dweetwise]

a short one this time, ft. a lighthearted breakfast together <3

ship: felix x ace warnings: none word count: 2350

[previous] [next]

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 4)

Ace had a pretty good feeling about this morning.

He'd tried to slip away gracefully to avoid the awkward morning after, but Felix had stopped him. In Ace’s opinion, getting in some silly chatter and morning cuddles was much preferable to a walk of shame before the sun was even fully up. At the very least, it beat going to his room to start the day with a shot of gin from the mini bar like he’d originally planned.

Felix had seemed much more relaxed this morning, though he was still awkward; at this point, Ace just accepted it as part of his charm.

Suggesting to get breakfast together was a spur-of-the-moment idea—as if Ace ever had any other ones. As soon as the opportunity to spend time with Felix in a casual setting where Ace didn’t smell like week-old-liquor presented itself, Ace took it, and Felix happily accepted.

Which is why Ace wasn’t really nervous when returning to his room to get more presentable. He even had time to start cleaning his messy room in preparation for Felix's visit for tonight, because after only a quick shower and even quicker internal debate between two different shirts, Ace was ready to go.

And from the way Felix's gaze immediately drops to said shirt, he seems to have made the right choice.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Ace offers with a grin, pleased with picking the navy blue button-up with a pineapple print.

It's cute how quickly Felix's nervous demeanor seems to calm down in Ace’s company. He goes from tense and running a hand through his hair to smiling in just a second, whatever he was fretting about momentarily forgotten.

“I was worried I'd be late,” Felix says, stepping into the elevator and coming to stand way closer to Ace than is appropriate.

But this time, they don't have an audience that would make it awkward.

“You really do worry way too much,” Ace offers with a carefree smile.

“I've been told that,” Felix smiles sheepishly, before his eyes are drawn downward, to the second button of Ace's shirt that he deliberately left unbuttoned.

Following suit, Ace lets his own gaze roam appreciatively over Felix's outfit, a sadly not as tight tee with a tasteful, open vest and snugly fitting washed denim jeans. His hair is loose and looks even softer than it was in the morning.

All in all, he looks extremely kissable.

“I like the look,” Ace says, meeting Felix's eyes. And if he tilts his head up in silent invitation, nobody can prove it.

“Me too,” Felix says, returning a small smile, before flustering. “I mean—your look. The outfit,” he explains.

And somehow, the awkward floundering makes him even more kissable.

Sadly, the elevator ride isn't infinite, and they arrive at the lobby floor before Ace can instigate a make-out session.

“Shall we?” Ace offers with a smile.

“After you,” Felix agrees, oh-so-polite.

They give their room numbers at the restaurant counter, and then are off to the breakfast hall that’s somewhat crowded despite the late hour. Ace isn't surprised that people decided to sleep in after the rude wake-up in the middle of the night, but the crowd does make it somewhat of an annoying experience.

Luckily, he has company to keep him entertained while they wait in line.

Felix trails after him, which Ace doesn't mind in the slightest, but it's only when the German stops in front of the cereal section and looks at him meaningfully that Ace cocks his head in confusion.

“You were supposed to help me pick,” Felix says, deadly serious.

Ace tries not to laugh that Felix seemed to take his earlier invitation literally. He really shouldn’t be surprised at the man’s quirks anymore.

And that's how Ace ends up improvising a three-minute lecture about why corn flakes are superior to muesli.

“I see,” Felix says, nodding in understanding, reaching for the cereal—

And choosing muesli.

“Hey!” Ace exclaims, mock offended. “Didn't you listen to any of what I just said?”

“Yes. I just don't agree,” Felix says, way too nonchalant, spooning the cereal onto his bowl. “I like this one better.”

“It has raisins!” Ace exclaims, flabbergasted.

“I like raisins,” Felix points out.

“Oh, babe,” Ace sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And here I thought you had taste.”

Ace quickly peeks back up at Felix, needing to make sure he didn't take the joke personally.

“Shut up,” Felix snorts, elbowing Ace. “Come on, let's go argue about juice next.”

After a brief conversation about juice ("Who the hell drinks apple juice!?" "I don't like the texture of orange pulp") followed by going through the rest of the breakfast selection together, Ace discovers that Felix is an incredibly picky eater.

When they sit down at a table, the difference between his and Felix's servings is hilariously prominent.

Felix's plate holds two pieces of toast, a fried egg and some sliced fruit, compared to Ace's overflowing plate featuring 90 % of the entire breakfast selection.

Usually Ace wouldn’t care about other people’s eating habits, but the knowledge makes him a little nervous about their dinner.

“Really adventurous with the white toast, I see,” Ace teases.

“At least I don't have bacon with pancakes,” Felix shoots back.

“I ran out of room on my plate!” Ace protests, but Felix only smirks behind his cup of coffee. “So, what kind of food do you like?” Ace prods, digging into his meal.

“I don't really have a preference,” Felix says diplomatically.

But Ace can smell the bullshit a mile away.

“Really?” Ace asks, raising an eyebrow. “So you wouldn't mind if I picked the place for dinner tonight?" he teases, only to realize something. “Uh… we're still on for that, right?”

“I hope so,” Felix says, smiling bashfully.

"Good, just checking!" Ace grins. "Well, since you're not picky… how about a Mexican place? What about sushi? Or an oyster bar?”

Predictably, Felix cringes at his suggestions.

“I'm… not great with spices or raw fish,” Felix admits.

“Or?” Ace pushes.

“Steak, shrimp, mushrooms, tofu, kebab, or greasy food in general,” Felix lists and Ace tries not to look too confused at how someone can so nonchalantly rule out entire food groups.

“What about Italian?” Ace asks.

“I don't like pizza, either,” Felix says apologetically.

“I'm not taking you to a pizza place for a first date!" Ace protests, while simultaneously trying to figure out how someone can not like pizza. "I was wondering how you feel about pasta or risotto?”

“That…” Felix considers. “Actually sounds nice.”

“Italian it is!” Ace grins victoriously. “I'll find a nice restaurant, just leave it to me.”

“Alright,” Felix says with a small smile.

“Now…” Ace says, realizing he's been running his mouth instead of actually eating. “Excuse me while I stuff my mouth with bacon pancakes.”

Felix huffs out a quiet laugh before following his example.

They eat in silence, or as much relative silence as a bustling dining hall allows. Ace does his best to not eat like a pig, feeling Felix’s stare on him as the other sneaks glances. After not having had any food for 24 hours, Ace is kind of surprised he didn't pass out in the parking lot, especially after the bright idea to have a few drinks on an empty stomach.

“So, how…” Ace trails off mid-sentence as he suddenly notices a couple of pigtails sticking up right beside him, narrowly missing the kid’s head when he reaches for his coffee.

“Good morning!” the kid, a little girl, beams up at him.

“Uh, hey there,” Ace says, a little taken aback at why this random child is approaching him.

“Hello,” Felix jumps into the conversation, getting the girl’s attention. “We meet again.”

Ace shoots Felix a weird look; does he know the kid?

“Did you remember to give him your number?” the girl asks Felix, tilting her head in curiosity.

A grin spreads over Ace’s face in realization, while Felix only clears his throat self-consciously. Ace didn’t really pay much attention to their company in the elevator last night, but the girl clearly remembers them.

“He did, yeah,” Ace says, shooting Felix a smug look over the table.

“Good,” the girl huffs, before turning back to Felix. “You need to stop being so forgetful, mister!” she accuses, hands on her hips.

Ace bites his lip to stop from chuckling as Felix flounders for an excuse to this sassy eight-year-old.

“You’re right,” Felix settles on. “It was silly of me, I’ll try to do better.”

While Felix is talking, the kid seems to get distracted, standing up on her tiptoes to peer into Felix’s now empty cereal bowl.

���What did you eat?” the girl asks, like a typical nosey kid.

“I had some yogurt with muesli,” Felix explains, way more patient than Ace would be in his situation.

“Do you like Froot Loops?” the kid asks.

As Felix calmly explains that the cereal in question isn’t his favorite, Ace starts discreetly scanning the room for the girl’s mother. He tolerates kids just fine, but he’d rather not have one ruin his unofficial date with Felix. Hopefully, the girl isn’t lost or something—

“There you are!” a woman appears from the crowd and gives the kid an exasperated look, Ace distantly recognizing her from the elevator last night.

“Hi mom!” the girl interrupts her cereal debate with Felix to greet the woman.

“I’m so sorry, I swear she was right behind me a second ago—” the woman glances at Ace and Felix apologetically, steering her daughter away with a hand on her small shoulders.

“No worries,” Ace defuses with a smile. “Kids, huh?”

“Always getting into trouble,” the woman agrees with a sigh, grabbing the girl’s hand. “Come on now, let’s go back to our table.”

“Bye, misters!” the girl calls.

“Goodbye,” Felix offers, and even Ace forces a smile and wave as the pair disappear into the rush of the dining hall.

“So, you got any kids?” Ace asks, having noticed how patient Felix was with the girl.

“No, I… maybe in another life,” Felix says, sounding melancholy, and Ace realizes there's probably more to that story. “Um. You?” Felix asks, clearly not wanting to elaborate.

“Nah,” Ace says. “I have a niece, though. She's a real demon. Great kid.”

“That sounds accurate,” Felix says, smiling. And somehow, Ace gets the overwhelming feeling Felix would be a great dad. “At least she has an interesting uncle.”

“Oh, you don't know the half of it!” Ace grins, taking the opportunity to tell Felix about some of his more memorable moments with his niece.

All too soon, they finish the last of their breakfasts and Ace offers to walk Felix to his room.

“Thanks for the company,” Ace says when they’re coming up to Felix’s door.

“You as well,” Felix says.

“See you tonight?”

“I'll call you,” Felix promises. “I should be available around five."

“Can't wait,” Ace grins.

Felix turns to his door, but then almost instantly whips back around to face Ace. His gaze flicks obviously to Ace's lips as he swallows.

“I have an hour before I need to leave for my meeting,” Felix says. “If you want…”

Ace's gut flutters at the implications, but then he remembers he has things to do. Though he'd much rather make out with Felix than go find a fence or shady pawn shop that will buy his shit, now is not the time.

“Sorry babe, I've got some errands to run,” Ace says good-naturedly, pretending not to see how Felix deflates in disappointment.

“I see,” Felix says.

“I'll make it up to you later,” Ace promises.

“It's okay, I should prepare for my presentation anyway,” Felix says, and upon the mention of his work, instantly seems more tense.

“Well, good luck with your work thingy. I'll be waiting to hear from you!” Ace says with fake cheer.

“Right,” Felix says, reaching for his door. “See you later.”

When the door closes in front of his face, Ace can practically feel the anxiety radiating from within the room. Ace really has his hands full, if he's going to get the guy to relax and forget about his work like he promised.

In the next thirty minutes, Ace ends up turning his own hotel room upside down while he scours it for valuables. He finds the watch he was looking for, as well as an earring behind the headboard, and some spare poker chips in one of his jacket's pockets.

He can’t help but smirk as he runs his fingers over the poker chips; it looks like destiny is trying to point him in the direction of the casino after all. And who is he to deny fate? After all, it's what brought him this far.

Ace thinks back to a couple months ago, where he—or well, his alias, Diego Sanchez—had still been living a somewhat stable life. Over the course of a year, he’d managed to pick up a few part-time jobs to fund poker tournaments and talk himself into more than a couple of loans. But as with most things, Ace had gotten too cocky, and his associates had figured out he wouldn’t be able to pay back the debts he owed.

At this point, uprooting his life and starting over was something Ace was very familiar with. For the last few weeks, he’d been motel-hopping across the country, having shaken the debt collectors off his trail while he tried to figure out the next place to settle down—at least for a little while.

Meeting Felix was just the kind of morale boost he needed right now. Even as Ace opens his wallet and finds a whopping two dollars among the handful of stolen credit cards, he knows he’s going to be okay.

He grabs his things and throws on a blazer along with shades and a hat; even if he should be safe, it doesn't hurt to protect his identity.

Finally, he heads out into the city, with an agenda of restaurant, pawn shop, and casino.

[sunshinesukuna]

codename: agent k

✯  pairing: spy!kuroo x reader

✯  genre: flangst

✯  tw: guns, mentions of assassination and organized crime.

✯  summary: you’re a spy trying to capture a mysterious person by the identity of “agent k.” who would’ve thought you’d be catching feelings instead?

✯  inspired by: 特務J (Agent J) - jolin tsai, goodnight n go - ariana grande, my oh my - camilla cabello 

✯  nnyeyeahahldalsalsa i feel like a british royal after writing this omggg. and hey, crossover pt. 2! worked really hard on this, so i hope you like it!

Venice, 22:16 CET (GMT+2)

The stench of the rich was never as pungent as this moment right now. Wine glasses caught the twinkling shine of the diamond chandelier above as the people below mingled with one another. Ornate masks decorated with all manner of feathers and rhinestones obscured the identities of the rich elite atendees.

You had to give it to the organizer, the party was sort of fun. You would have definitely joined in, if you hadn’t had a job to do. By the grace of the government’s connections, you had managed to score an invitation. Not without intention of course. You weren’t here to get drunk and bathe in jewels, no.

The Fukurodani Syndicate was a group of organized crime groups that converged into one, taking the name of the original syndicate. They consisted of Nekoma, Fukurodani, and Karasuno. With new leads coming in over the course of several months, the government had reason to believe that one of the leaders of the Syndicate would be here. His name was Agent K, and he would be your target tonight.

“Ah! Marie!” a voice called out from behind you. You did a double take. But you remembered that you were not (Y/N), you were a woman named Marie Sourice.

The invitation you had obtained was addressed to a French businesswoman named Marie Sourice. The real Marie would have no clue that she was invited to the event, much less that someone had gone in her stead.

So you turned around and smiled graciously. The organizer of the event was a stout old man that had a taste for the Venetian arts of mask making. Thus the masquerade theme. Despite all the obscured identities, the man was easily recognizable through his booming voice and his name tag that read “Giovanni.”

“Giovanni!” you called out, doing your best to match a French accent. Giovanni gave you two kisses on the cheek. 

“’Ow ‘ave you been, my old friend?” you asked. Giovanni replied with a bubble of laughter and something that couldn’t register in your ear because you were transfixed with the tall figure next to him.

“Meet the son of a good friend of mine.” The figure came to a halt right next to Giovanni. “His name is—”

“Mr. Bakugou Katsuki.” The figure’s voice was deep with a ringing timbre that would suit an opera singer.  You eyed his wild black hair. Was this Agent K? Agent K was never really one to disguise himself in any of his little encounters. But the mask and the lavish clothes made it hard to tell. Something warm landed on your hand. This man was kissing your hand. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said. Mysterious ebullience danced in his eyes. Perhaps there was more emotion in his face, but his bejeweled mask hid it all. Secrets danced in between the garnets like they did in a sinning man’s heart.

“He works in the IT industry,” Giovanni said.  “Who knows, maybe you two could strike up a deal, grow your companies,” he cupped his hands around his lips, “light a new flame.” Giovanni’s show whispering was awkward at best. You flashed both of them a reluctant smile. 

Giovanni took a look at his sparkling golden watch that did not go with that mask of his. “Look at the time! My other guests shall be arriving soon.” He turned over to Bakugou. 

“Shall I leave you two alone? The music will start at twelve o’clock. I assure you, no Cinderellas will be here.” 

“Of course, sir,” Bakugou said. 

This man is Agent K, a voice speaks in the back of your mind. But the others tamper it down as reason takes over. Agent K was a fast worker, and any objective of his should be in the process of being fulfilled, or is already fulfilled by now. Was this man just having fun with you? Or was he part of a larger plan? 

But time only confirmed your suspicions. He talked exactly like Agent K, he moved exactly like Agent K, he even smelled like Agent K. The same poison that laced Agent K’s words dripped off the ones from this man.

“Miss Sourice?” he asked. 

“Yes, Mr. Bakugou?”

“Have you ever experienced a first love?”

“I—” You catch yourself as you are about to answer. “Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?” Amusement crawls up his face, but there are hints of longing, and perhaps... mourning? 

“It was... unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

Your job as a spy was to lie, lie, lie all the way through. But your words dripped in pure candor as old memories came flooding back.

Tokyo, 13:00 JST (GMT+9) 9 years prior

The air was rich with the scent of chocolate and sugar. He set his bag down near the couch and followed the source of the scent to the kitchen. You were stooped over the counter. A tray was set over to the side filled with chocolate covered strawberries drizzled in more chocolate.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asks. He swoops in for the catch, to find himself firmly rebuffed by a swat on the wrist.

“Hands. Off! I. Put. My. Blood. Sweat. And. Tears. Into—” Each word is followed by a fist on his back. He shields his body with his arms from the raining torrent of ruthless punches.

“Ow! Ow! Stop it, you violent woman!” You don’t stop. With each playful punch, you corner him over to the couch, where he collapses in defeat. You sit down next to him and take off your apron. 

“You started it!” you said.

“Didn’t I earn it?” Before you know it, he’s suddenly on top of you. His warm breath, mixed with the heating inside the house. draws sweat from your skin. He cocks his head to the side, as if challenging you.  Your shoulders rise up from the couch at the provocation, but he pushes them back down to the soft leather ever so easily.

“Miss Second Place,” he whispers, lips oh so close to your ears. You gasp at the reminder of your devastating defeat to him last week during finals. That’s enough. You raise your hips up from under him. But he’s faster and stronger than you. As your knee rises up to kick him, he shoves them down with immense force. He reasserts his position above you.

“Besides, it’s Valentine’s tomorrow,”  he says. You sigh. Even if you gave him just one, there would be no guarantee that he would stop at just one. 

“One. Just one.” you say. He pulls himself off of you and sashays over to the kitchen. Keeping an eye on him is pointless, but you do have to finish decorating the rest of the strawberries anyways. He makes it a point to exaggerate his gestures and facial expressions. You want to slap him all the same.

He notices your irritated face.  “I wasn’t going to give any of them to you,” you say. 

“Oh? Then who are they for?”

“People that are not you.” He lets out a groan and puts a hand over his heart.

“I’m hurt,” he complains. You roll your eyes as he buckles to the ground in pain, holding his crotch.

Osaka, 21:00 JST (GMT+9) 8 years prior

The dingy motel’s lights blinked from inside your room. Water dripped down onto the tiled floors as you closed the door. The roar of the torrents of rain enveloped Osaka. Which is what led you to take shelter in this motel for the night. 

It seemed a little shady, since the only room you both had been able to get was one with a small queen bed. And that was ok, actually. There was a whimsical feeling about running through the streets in heavy rain, troubles washed away like dirt on the road. What you weren’t keen on was the person that you would be sharing that bed with.

“I call dibs!” he shouted. He dropped his luggage to the ground as you collapsed on the couch. Your wet hair was splayed out on the couch, turning it soggy. Sighing, you got up and decided to make yourself comfortable.

He didn’t take long to shower. Steam came out of the bathroom, shrouding the shirtless figure that walked out of it. A soft white towel rested around his neck, and another sat on his hips.

Six years of volleyball could do wonders to a man’s body. Muscles cultivated from the sport finally found their place in the limelight of your eyes. You could feel your mouth water a bit. A sheen of sweat started forming on your temples.

He saw your reflection in the mirror in front of the bed. “Like what you see?” he asked.

You scoff and roll your eyes as you continue taking your stuff out of the luggage. The bed groans under his weight as he sits down. 

“I’ve seen you shirtless a lot of times before,” you said. At least that was true. You think back to bathing together as kids, putting gauze on his chest when he got into a fight. “I’m okay with it, why shouldn’t I be? It doesn’t gross me out.”

There is a loud bang, and now your body is sandwiched between the wall and his body, still dripping with water from the shower. He doesn’t smell any different than usual, but your nose cannot help but pick up the soft tangs that make up his scent. Sweat. Grilled salted mackerel pike that he loved so much. The orange flavored hotel soap.

Common sense is screaming for you to keep your eyes on his, but the wonder that is his body after puberty lures you in deeply. His smoldering gaze locks you in place in between his arms. 

“Do you not see me as a man?” 

The question is short, but it encapsulates everything going on between you two. “Am i still the kid that pushed you off your bike back in 2nd grade? You still see me as a kid?”

Did you? A small inkling inside of you said yes — the same part that would cry when pushed over the edge and still couldn’t fend for herself. He would forever be the bumbling kid that knew no better to that part of you. The other voice said the opposite. You could only stare blankly at him as your heartbeat got faster every second.

“Would you like for me to see you as a man?” you asked. He cocked his head to the side.

“Yes.” No one dared move an inch. The atmosphere was Pandora’s box, ready to be opened and the evil inside unleashed.

He lowered his head so that his lips were on the same level as yours. His breath tickled your nose. “May I?” he asked.

Without giving him an answer, you pressed your lips onto his.

Venice, 23:34 CET (GMT+2)

“Shall we dance?” he asks. 

He’s cunning, not even giving you anytime to think. He’s pinched you in between the incoming stream of guests. Either you’re forced to carry out this twisted dance with him, or risk losing all your leads on him. 

“Why of course, I love to dance!” You swear your brain is on autopilot right now. His hands are suddenly on your waist and shoulder. The music starts.

The light of the chandelier reflects red figures on his face from the garnets on his mask. His smile and eyes are the only windows to his mind, and even those are kept shut with a lock of mischievousness.  

The conductor raises his baton. Like a well-oiled machine, the dance floor becomes alive. It’s a dizzying array of whisks, twists, and turns. Fortunately, this Kozume man has enough grace to keep both of you on your feet. 

“And who is this acquaintance, lucky enough to grace the heart of a man like you?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N).”

That was all it took for you to confirm everything about this man. It was Agent K in the flesh, no doubt. He flashes you a smile from under his mask. To the sane person, it would simply look like a normal smile, but after years of running after Agent K.... you were sure that debonair smile belonged to him.

Making you feel like you have him cornered, then disappearing again. It’s a reiterating game of cat and mouse.  You swore to yourself that you would end it tonight.

The music’s tempo changes. You’re suddenly thrust into the arms of another man in a mask. Agent K is just a few feet away from you, a new woman in his grasp. He shoots you a glance before continuing his dance.

But the trills of a flute breaks the silence, and he’s disappeared from the room. Classic Agent K. The woman that was his dance partner also looks around in confusion, but she is quickly distracted by what seems to be her third bottle of wine of the night. You swear you spot Agent K’s garnet encrusted mask on the other side of the room. But the cellos play their euphony again, and Agent K is gone.

You mutter a few apologies to your dance partner and stalk off. Agent K’s coattails flap in the wind as he turns a corner. His footsteps reverb against the wooden walls. They turn silent as he treads over the velvet carpets. 

No one is in vicinity by now. The cheerful chatter was left behind in the ballroom, as your target leads you up a winding staircase. Whistling noises come from several flights above you. He knows you are here. 

Paintings on the wall stare at you accusingly. Their eyes on you only accentuate the adrenaline that is building up in your bloodstream. You pay them no mind and fix your eyes on Agent K’s ascending figure. 

The creak of a door alerts you to his sudden movement. Is he escaping into a room? But a gust of cold wind and the sounds of the city welcome you to the rooftop of the building.

The only source of light was a dingy bulb covered by moth eggs. You could barely make out his figure in the dark, but his spiky black hair meant that that was definitely Agent K.

No one was on the rooftop at this time of night. It was just you and him then. This was your chance. 

The original plan was to slip something in his drink, but you knew from experience that he would never fall for that. You glance at the city, sound asleep below. Traffic lights blink here and there. The perfect opportunity. A simple push from this height would do it. 

“So we meet again,” he said. You take the high heels off your feet and stalk over towards him. He’s leaning over the railing, head on the edge like he’s tired but still wants to enjoy the scenery. He makes no sudden moves of attack. You assume the same position, cupping your head in your hands.

“What does Bokuto want from me this time?” Bokuto was one of the leaders of the Fukurodani Syndicate, and a childhood friend of Agent K. The one that created it all. And the one you would have to take out after you took Agent K out.

“Must we burden our enemies every time we meet?” Agent K turned around to meet your eyes. His fingers ran over the smooth stone of the railing.  “That crazy owl doesn’t want anything this time. He just wants me to get to you before Ushiwaka or Oikawa do.” 

You raised an eyebrow before rolling your eyes. “Pssh. Hurry up and kill me.” To emphasize your point, you put your hands up in mock surrender.

Agent K smirked before moving closer to you. The lock of hair in your eyes, brought there by the wind, was moved to the side by his gloved fingers. The garnet mask that was the only barrier between a huge lead and potential failure stood tantalizingly before you. You had half a heart to tear it off his face. No. You needed to draw this out.

“Not before I indulge in a conversation with the subject of my affections.” Classic Agent K. Agent of Mischief both in and out of the bedroom, they said. You tilted your head to the side.

“Quite the suave man, aren’t you?”

His laughter was a boyish chuckle that did wonders to his usually intimidating face. He had a dimple on his left side, you noticed. What fun were you having, fraternizing with the enemy. But you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

“I do enjoy thinking of my self as such, my lady,” he replied. You folded your hands over your chest.

“How many women have snuggled their way into your bed with that silver tongue of yours?” 

It was an open secret that he was a ladies man, the rumors only being more and more obvious as he was spotted at the many red light districts he was spotted at.

“None.” Well that was new. He could be lying, though. 

“Then... how many women do you intend to court with your smooth words?”

“Just one, sweetheart.” The words rolled off his tongue like they were made to be said by him, and only him. 

“And who might that be?” 

“You. Miss (Y/N) (L/N)” You scoff. No way were you about to be put on that long list of women. You walked closer to him.

“As if. When you manage to kill me, and thwart the—” Agent K was chuckling as you rambled on, trying to prolong the interaction. He put a finger over your lips. 

“That is merely a misbegotten attempt to humiliate the both of us. Does it really look like that from the sidelines?” 

What? This was Agent K. Known for his ability in twisting, turning, and confusing the hell out of his enemies. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Humiliate? I— what else would it be?”

“Well,” he peeled his mask back, “being sent out to eliminate your first love isn’t quite a job for the lily-livered, isn’t it?”

Under the mask, there was the familiar mischievous smile, the observant eyes, and the same smirk from years ago. He discarded the garnet mask over the railing. 

“Kuroo?” The sheer shock at his revelation was enough to send you stumbling back. “You’re... Agent K?” 

"I wouldn’t be anyone else, darling.”

Hands reach out from behind you to find something to hold on to. The knot in your stomach has only gotten tighter and tighter since this whole ordeal started. You don’t know how to process the feelings racing through your heart right now. How could he? Leave you all those years, then come back to you like this? How dare he? But the sounds of the party are coming closer and closer to the rooftop, and a police siren is wailing down below. Kuroo notices it too.

“I do hope that we can meet again, under, ah,” he adjusted his gloves, “more appropriate circumstances.”

“Until then,” he said. He inched his body closer to yours. The scent of old wine and cologne clung to his body. Kuroo pressed his lips onto your forehead.  “goodnight, little angel.”

He tips his lanky body ever so close to the edge of the building, before succumbing to the effects of gravity. Strangely enough, you find yourself reaching out to him. His name on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out. 

The wind whips through his hair as he falls through the night air. Then suddenly, he’s not there anymore. The roar of a helicopter from above indicates Kuroo’s savior has come. Kuroo’s suit clad figure hangs from a dangling ladder below the aircraft. He catches your eye for a moment. A gallant smile graces his lips, but it strikes you as rather...disingenuous. 

Kuroo climbs up the ladder and disappears inside the helicopter. The blinking lights fade into the stars above as the wind leaves your lungs. Damn you, Kuroo, you curse in your mind. The fresh air does little to clear the haze in your mind at the situation that just unfolded. Several minutes pass by, with you trying to take deep breaths. You pick up your discarded mask and put it back on. As you leave the roof, you swear his cologne still lingers in your nose.

[castielific]

The list

AO3 Link

Tags: Supernatural, Destiel, Alternate Ending, Canon Compliant (up to 15x10), Human!Castiel, First kiss Summary: 

Once there are no more monsters, the only thing left to fight for is happiness.

Here is my take on our boys’ happy ending. I hope you’ll enjoy it. 

**************************

"I hate you", Dean grumbles into his elbows. His arms are on the table, his head buried into it as he squeezes his hands over his ears. 

"I think he’s getting better," Sam lies, hiding his grimace just in time so that Dean doesn’t see it when he raises his head to glare at him. 

Dean opens his mouth, but is cut off by a particularly shrill note that makes him feel like someone is drilling right into his tympans. Even Sam can't help but squeeze his fists in pain, crumbling the edge of the book he's trying to read. 

"'This would be good for you, Castiel'," Dean says, imitating Sam. "What about us, Sam? This doesn't feel good for us!"

"It's not so bad," Sam offers miserably. 

Yes it is. It's even worse than bad. Dean flinches in pain at every horrible noise that resounds all around the bunker as Cas continues to play - or more like, tries to play - what Dean thinks is supposed to be 'Twinkle twinkle little star' on his newly acquired violin. 

Truth is, it is all Sam's fault. Dean can't ressent him that much though, because the look on Castiel's face when they went to the music store was worth the torture they've been enduring for the last two days. 

Since God has been defeated, they've all been having a serious case of cabin fever. Heaven and Hell have closed up their doors, angels and demons alike running home with their tails between their legs. Even the common monsters have gone into hiding. Apparently the Winchesters killing God has impressed them enough that they've all decided that they better keep quiet. Of course, they're still there, but smart enough not to do anything that might attract the wrath of the hunters. Apparently, they are exceptionally good at hiding when they want to because the only case the brothers have had in the last six months had been a rogue vampire that went on a rampage. He was still young and out of control. It took three hours to take him down, the whole deal was done in less than a day, even counting the drive. 

In short, hunting has become boring. All they've had to keep them busy have been some random salt and burn, nothing exciting. The rest of the time, they've stayed cooped up in the Bunker and it didn't take long for them to go crazy. Each in their own personal way. 

For his part, Sam has gone a little too far on his healthy lifestyle penchant, to the point that it became borderline unhealthy: Running up to three hours a day and eating nothing but vegetable smoothies. It lasted two months before he realized that all it was doing was giving him diarrhea and making his shins look like basketball. So now he's taken to digitizing and translating every book in their library….which sounds as exciting as getting all your teeth pulled out, if you were to ask Dean, but at least it passes the time. 

Dean's way of coping was on the polar opposite as his brother's: he decided it was as good a time as any to learn to cook better. Dean has always loved cooking and has been having a blast since they found the bunker. For the first time of his life, he has a home and a kitchen of his own. Until now, between the Amara, the Men of Letters, and all that crap with God, he never had time to really enjoy it, limiting himself to the few recipes he already knew: burgers, steak, and breakfast food. With the hunting gig slowing down though, he had all the time in the world to try his hand at more ambitious things like roast, chili, lasagna and way too many pies. 

His personal wake up call  came when he tried to put on clothes one morning and couldn't find any pants that fitted him anymore.They hadn't had a case for three weeks, and he had to admit that he became a little too familiar with sweatpants. When confronted with the terrible truth of his every single one of his jeans being suddenly too small, he had no other choice: he spent the whole day dismantling the dryer to find out why it was shrinking all his clothes. Sam had a blast mocking him and Castiel, with his usual discretion, was quite pointedly avoiding looking at Dean's stomach during that conversation. Dean spent a long time in front of the mirror after that. He regrettably had to admit that his stomach resembled more Father Christmas's belly than David Beckham's abs at this point. He started to follow Sam's health routine the very next day. Or, tried to, at least. It didn't last long before he couldn't take the smoothie torture anymore, and decided that limiting his pie intake to two per week and doing some exercise should be enough. 

Sam and him actually came to an agreement on food after that, and while Dean would never ever drink a kale smoothie again, it actually wasn't so bad to add a little more salad to his plate. 

All in all, it was a difficult time for everyone, but especially for Castiel. 

Castiel used to be an angel with a Godly purpose, a mission grander than anything people could even imagine. Then suddenly Chuck was gone, and the angels were gone too, and he just became a puny human with no real purpose, a soldier of God with no God to serve and no war to fight. Easy to say that he quickly joined Dean in his sweatpants' aficionados club. Except where Dean was happy to indulge in a laziness that he never really had a chance to try out before, Cas soon fell into depression. Even the best pies Dean made seemed tasteless to him after a time. He was lost in a human routine that he could find no pleasure in. It came to a point where he didn't even sleep in his own bed anymore, never leaving the couch except to satisfy the most basic needs. Sadly, on most days, showers didn't seem to be considered as one of those needs. 

Once they had their breakthrough about their own miserable situations, the Winchesters decided to tackle their new mission: helping Cas. 

It was Sam who proposed that they should all write a list of things they always wanted to do, but never had time for. 

They took a trip to the Grand Canyon on the very next day, dragging a reticent Castiel along. Their road trip lasted nearly a month, because they kept getting distracted by new destinations. Sam wanted to see the Harold Washington Library, Dean wanted to go to Baltimore to go to the Dangerously Delicious Pies shop he heard about while searching for new pies recipes, and so on. 

Castiel never asked to see anything, pretending gloomily that he used to be able to go anywhere in a flap of his wings, and therefore had seen everything he ever wanted too. Dean dragged him to an amusement park anyway, because he was pretty sure the angel had never been on a rollercoaster before. Dean regretted that pretty fast when Cas became strangely fond of them, saying that it reminded him of flying. They took so many rides that Dean threw up and Sam's nose bled for nearly one hour after. 

Still, it seemed like a wake up call for Cas. He spent the rest of the drive home lost in his thoughts or scribbling a list on the back of a gas station's receipt. He even asked them to stop in Utah on the way back to see the largest bee hives in the US. They ended up buying so many types of honey that they now have a cupboard full of it in the kitchen. 

They had been back to the bunker for two days when Cas declared he wanted to learn how to play an instrument. They went to a music store, where Castiel tried on every instrument from a harmonica to a full drum set. After the obligatory harps jokes, Dean tries to entice him to buy a guitar, and learn all the best Zep songs. Cas was too polite and knew better than to criticize Dean's taste in music, so he chose the guitar. Dean wasn't oblivious to the way his friend kept lingering in front of a black violin though, so he relented and bought that instead.

He's sorely regretting it now. 

It's still totally Sam's fault though, he was the one to come up with the idea of this stupid list in the first place. 

**********************

"I've decided what I want," Castiel declares as soon as the movie's credit starts rolling about a month later. 

Sam snorts, waking up from the doze he'd fallen into. He blinks at them, wiping his eyes tiredly. 

"I said no cat, Cas," Dean reminds. Apparently, one of Cas' item on his stupid list is to get a pet.

"I don't want a cat."

"I'm allergic to animal's hair," Dean reminds him, suspicious. Last night Cas declared he wanted a Camel. A freaking camel. 

"Of course, Dean, your health comes first," Cas concedes amicably. "Although, I do wonder if you're not using this as an excuse, and would not have been amenable to adopt a pet anyway, were it not the case."

Dean scratches under his ear. "What? No. Of course, I'd want one. I love animals. Just, no snakes or anything that eats living food. I know you, and you would just end up saving all the mice or something."

"You know, they do make hairless cats and dogs," Sam pipes up, smirking when Dean sends him a side glare. 

"Those are majestic creatures, indeed, Sam, but I much prefer the softness of fur. Don't you Dean?"

"What." What kind of question is that?

"Wouldn't you like it if you could have a pet with a soft fur that didn't make you sneeze and suffer so much?"

"Huh. I guess?"

"Good," Cas concludes with a jut of his chin. "His name is Honey," Cas announces, raising the kilt that was on his lap to reveal a…

"What the hell is that thing?" Dean shouts, jumping to his feet. 

"Honey is a texel guinea pig," Cas says, cuddling the little beast to his chest. The pet starts emitting a little noise in pleasure as Castiel caresses his fur. It has long curly hair. Its head is black with a white spot on the top while the rest of its body is a mismatch of large black, white and orange spots. 

"It looks like a freaking sheep!" Dean exclaims, sending a betrayed look to his brother that is already kneeling next to Cas and petting at the small animal. 

"See, Sam, we do have a guinea pig now," Cas says proudly, making Sam chuckle at what is obviously a private joke between them. 

"We don't have anything! I'm allergic, Cas, remember? My health…," Dean finishes, faking a cough. Sam rolls his eyes while Cas squints at him. 

"I don't think you are, Dean. Honey has been on my lap all night and you haven't shown any signs of allergy. I've looked at you closely to make sure."

"Do you think he likes kale?" Sam asks, taking the little beast on his own lap as he sits on the ground. 

"I think he might, Sam. The internet says guinea pigs need to eat a lot of vegetables. Do you want us to go and try to feed him some?"

"Yes!" Sam declares, squeezing delicately the pet against his chest as he gets up. 

"But-," Dean tries to protest. 

"I bought him a little hammock that he really likes," Cas tells Sam as he gets up too. 

"But I haven't-"

"That's cute! I want to see it!" Sam says eagerly.

"My allergies…," Dean finishes lamely as he watches the two other men leave the room without a look in his direction. He scowls, staring at the beer he's still holding. He sulks for all of thirty seconds before he grumbles. "Dammit, I want to see the tiny hammock too. Guys, wait for me!"

**********************

"Oh, that's...that's a nice...tree."

"It's supposed to be Sam," Cas says with a pout, looking at his very first painting.

"Yeah no, I mean, behind him? The big woody thing?"

"That's you," Castiel pouts, looking dejected. 

Dean grimaces, inclining his head to try, and identify himself in the glob of paint on the canvas. 

"So you're not Van Gogh," Dean finally declares. "Or Mozart. The important thing is that you wanted to give it a try and you did. If you liked doing it, then that's what matters, no matter the end result," Dean tries to reassure, squeezing his friend's shoulder reassuringly. He learned his lesson when his words about Cas' lack of music skill were not so delicate, and the ex-angel ended up giving him the cold shoulder for a whole week. 

When he looks back at him, Cas has a small smile on his lips and a look so full of...of something, that Dean can feel his cheeks warming a little. Seconds pass and Cas keeps staring until Dean clears his throat, forcing himself to look back at the ugly painting.

"What's next on your list?" 

A hand pulling on his arm makes him turn back toward Castiel. Dean barely has time to react before his friend's lips brush with his. It's so fast and soft that he's left blinking in confusion, wondering if that really happened. 

"This was."

Cas is still smiling, even though Dean recognizes the worried line creased between his brows. The hunter opens his mouth, but doesn't know what to say. To say that he wasn't expecting it would be an understatement. To say that he never thought about it, a lie. To say that he regrets it…

"I liked doing it," Cas declares, nodding his head in satisfaction. "Now I want to ride a horse."

"A- a horse?"

"Unless we can still get a camel?" Cas teases, acting hopeful. He sends Dean a wink - a goddamn wink - before he grabs his painting under one arm and leaves the room. 

"Ride a...Wait. Cas! We're not getting a horse either! Cas!!" 

*************************

When Dean finds him, Castiel is sitting on the bench Dean made from the trunk of one of the trees they had to cut down to make this space into their garden. The sun hasn't set yet, but the end of september's evenings are already colder. The last flowers of the season are blooming, and the vegetables they planted in the spring are starting to wilt, only a few tomatoes popping red among the green and yellowing stems. 

Cas is bending forward, forearms resting on his legs. His eyes are closed and for a minute, Dean is worried that something happened, that he's sad or sick. He's reassured when he hears the low murmur of Cas' words, see the slight smile at the corner of his lips, the one Cas always gets when he's trying to be funny. 

His friend hasn't heard him approaching yet, so Dean waits, trying not to eavesdrop on a conversation he's not supposed to be a part of. 

Dean takes the time to check on the apple trees he planted instead. They're too young yet, too small to give any fruit, but by next year, maybe...He can't wait to bake a pie with his own apples. He rolls his eyes at the thought, that's so domestic. Yet here he is, planning on planting strawberries and raspberries, checking on the squash that is starting to grow and wondering if it'll be ready by Thanksgiving. 

Vegetables are Sam's thing. Flowers and the small hive they've built are Cas'. Dean is in charge of the fruits. 

They planted their garden over the underground garage, hidden by such a large ply of trees that there is no risk of anyone stumbling upon it by accident. They had to cut down trees, dig out every root, and plow the whole area to prepare the soil. They've spent nearly all spring and a good part of summer working to create that little bit of garden on the Bunker's roof. They've bought so many gardening tools that they're already making plans to build a shed here in the spring. 

It's nice. The bunker is feeling more and more like a home, like a place Dean could feel himself growing old in, maybe. 

They've talked about buying a house, especially Sam, but somehow they can't see themselves leaving anywhere else than in the bunker. It's their legacy, the place they were always meant to be, and they've come to love it despite all the horrors that happened there in the past. 

Maybe it will change someday. Maybe Sam will want to marry someone, to buy a more traditional place with a white picket fence where he can raise kids without fearing that they'll choose a cursed object or weapon laying around as their next toy. Dean has noticed more and more of Eileen's clothes in the laundry, more of her things left behind every time she comes to visit. He hopes it's only a matter of time before he's not surprised to see her at breakfast anymore. 

By the time he's checked on the fruit part of the garden, Cas has stopped praying and is observing him. The sun is setting, painting an orange glow behind him, and for a second it nearly looks like Cas has a hallo. 

"You told Jack about the horse riding lesson?" Dean asks as he straddles the bench to sit next to his friend. He rubs his hands against the cold, blowing into them to try and warm them up a little. 

"Maybe," Cas says with a mocking smile that makes Dean balks. 

"Oh, come on, you promise you wouldn't tell anyone about me falling on my ass!"

Cas chuckles at the memory of Dean's horse throwing him into a giant mud puddle. Dean had cursed for a whole ten minutes as he struggled to stand up but kept falling right back on his ass. It made Cas laugh so much that he'd started crying. That's a thing Cas does now, he laughs. He does it more and more, and Dean is amazed by it, every single time. 

"Technically, I didn't tell anyone anything," Cas argues with a smirk. He's not wrong. They have no idea if Jack can even hear their prayers now that he's taken charge of and close up Heaven. That doesn't stop them from regularly praying to him, especially Cas. 

"You tell Sam and I'll bury your damn guinea pig next to the tomatoes," Dean threatens. 

"No you won't," Cas says with a fond smile. 

"No, I won't," Dean admits, pouting half-heartedly. He's actually come to like the damn beast. Which no one would actually know if Honey didn't start screeching every time Dean comes near it, calling for the treat that he knows Dean will give him. It was supposed to be their little secret but Honey blew their cover more than once. Dean is still pretending he hates the little ball of fluff, on principle, even though no one is fooled anymore. 

"You were right about the horse, I hadn't realized the amount of dejection it actually produces," Cas concedes. "Also, my bottom is sore from the ride," he adds, squirming a little in his seat. 

Dean chokes a little on his saliva at the image that brings to mind. Honestly, even without the innuendo, watching Cas ride a horse, hips rising and bending over the saddle, has done quite a number on Dean's libido. If he hadn't been questioning his sexuality before, he would definitely be now. Good thing he already was. Cas kissing him has been the only thing on his mind for days now. They haven't talked about it, and Cas is acting like it didn't even happen, but Dean has barely slept since then, spending his nights thinking about Cas' lips on his, and how he might possibly maybe want to do that again. 

"Did you kiss Sam too?" he blurts out. It's not the most subtle or delicate way to bring up the subject, but apparently that's what his brain has chosen to say. Damn you, brain! 

"Why would I kiss Sam?" Cas asks, looking genuinely astounded by the question. 

"Wasn't that on your list?" Dean asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

Cas squints at him like he's the most idiotic thing he's ever seen and, well, Dean probably is. 

Dean squirms under the stare, rubbing his hands again, as much against the cold as in nervousness. The ex angel gives a long suffering sigh before he grabs Dean's wrists. He pulls on his hands until they're under his own sweater. Dean is so startled that he just looks at the bulge his hands are making over Cas' stomach with wide eyes, not daring to move his fingers. They're nestled between Cas' tee-shirt and his abdominal muscles. It's so warm under there that his skin is tingling from the temperature difference. 

"You're an idiot, Dean Winchester," Cas declares. Dean looks up, and Cas is looking at him so fondly that it makes him blush a little. 

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know."

"I must be one too, because I would very much like you to be my idiot for as long as you would have me," Cas confesses, a little shy as he draws patterns on the shape of Dean's fingers over the tissue of his sweater. 

"I'm not sure, Cas," Dean says, making the other man tense up. "Are you sure you want to be stuck with me forever?"

It takes a minute for Cas to get his meaning, brow furrows intensely before they relax in realization. 

"That was my plan all along," Cas says, his smile so wide it's showing his gums. 

And yeah, knowing Cas, it probably was. Cas would have stayed by Dean's side forever whether he was an angel or a human or even a God. Hell, Cas was ready to stay by his side when Dean was turning into a monster bearing the mark of Cain, and when he was a demon. He wanted to stay by Dean's side even when Dean was cruel and screaming at him to go. It was the irony of it all, wasn't it? It always felt like Cas was leaving him, running away for angel business or whatever, but Dean never ever doubted that he would come back. He always knew Cas would come back somehow. After all, even death could never keep Cas away for long. 

Dean slides his hands a little higher, making Cas shiver as they travel over his torso under his shirt. Dean's fingers tightens around the cloth, and pulls Cas closer, close enough that their noses are nearly touching. 

"And now it's mine too," Dean sworns,resting his forehead against the other man's. He cradles Cas' jaw, passing a thumb under one of his eyes. The stubborn angel refuses to close them, even though they're so close that he's going cross eyed. Still, he keeps looking right into Dean's green orbits and hell, that must mean Dean can't keep his eyes off Cas either

When they kiss, it's sappy and tender and sweet and everything Dean always thought he could never have. The relief he feels makes Dean wonders if it isn't everything he's been waiting for all along, without even realizing it. 

Cas is right by his side, as always, and Dean is damn well going to keep him as close as he can for as long as he possibly can. And hey, he knows the guy ruling Heaven now, so that might just be forever. 

The End. 

[pale-goblin]

A little Twisted (Chapter 2)

Chapter One: The King | Chapter Two: The Collection

Co written w/ @desertdwellerdanny

Steve's house was a 40-minute drive out of Hawkins, deep in the depths of the forest. It was an old farmhouse he renovated into a stylish home and made the old barn into something else. He pulled up to the house parking at the end of the long driveway. "We're here," Steve said flatly as he got out of the car. "Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll deal with the rest." Neil gazed up at the farmhouse with wide eyes, “You’re fuckin loaded.” He whispered, gingerly opening the door to step out. Steve smiled at Neil's expression. "Yeah, being vice president of a corporation helps." When Neil stepped out of the car, Steve lightly grabbed him by the chin, finally noticing a few wounds under the blood. The outside lights of his house lit up the beauty of Neil's features. He indeed was the most beautiful man Steve had ever seen.

"Did he hurt you?"

Neil swallowed, eyes sweeping over Steve’s face so close to his. They were complex, calculating, but he didn’t feel threatened by what he found in them. “He punched me and scratched at my face when I—when I woke up.” Steve lightly rubbed his thumb across Neil's busted lip. Not trying to make a pass at him in that way, but he really wanted to know how soft they were. Neil’s mouth popped open a bit, standing still as Steve’s hands explored as they wished. "I have some clothes you can have," Steve whispered softly as if not to scare Neil off even though the primal part of him wanted to see Neil running from him. Neil gave a slight nod, blue eyes flickering down to Steve’s lips for a spell before shooting back up with guilt. Steve had to bite back a smirk at that; it looks like his newfound interest had found him interesting back. “It’s Billy.” The previously introduced Neil said, breath warm against Steve’s thumb. “Neil’s my father. I didn’t—don’t—trust you. But seeing as you’ve got something of mine in your trunk…” the corners of his lips quirked up a tad, “You can call me the right name.”

Steve had an odd sense of pride; giving someone a fake name was always good. "You're already a natural, Billy," Steve mumbled, sliding his thumb into Billy's mouth out of a need to find something not pretty about him. Running his thumb along with Billy's teeth as he looked slightly disappointed before removing his finger with a long-winded sigh. Absolutely perfect. Billy’s cheeks were flushed red when he looked back at him, mouth still propped open from Steve’s curious hands. Even that made something in his smile, Billy staying where Steve had put him. He slowly blinked before startling and snapping his mouth shut, “Can we just go?” He grumbled, wrapping a pair of leather-clad arms around himself standoffish.

Steve nodded and started walking to the front door, unlocking the door with a keypad on the side. Steve made sure no one could go in and out of the building unless he wanted them to. “Welcome to castle Harrington.” The moment the doors opened, you could clearly see on the far back wall rows of crowns of people’s skulls on display. At first, they really just looked like bowls painted in different colours like a monument, But Billy knew better. He eyed them, a sick interest in each one as he strode over in curiosity as Steve looked on in amusement. “These are them.” Billy leaned over, gently brushing them with the tips of his fingers with interest clear in his eyes. "Beautiful aren't they" Steve followed close behind, watching the look on Billy's face as he touched them. The two of them playing this dance around each other like lions ready to mate. “Gorgeous.” Billy moved on to another, this one painted in swirls of blues and oranges and black. He traced a small crack in it. “Who was this?” Steve reached over to remove it from the wall showing Billy the inside of it where he carved the name into it. Jonathan B. "I think I was about 18," Billy’s eyebrows shot up, “Young. How’d you know him?” "School—we went out of town for a basketball tournament." Steve placed it back on the wall carefully. "He thought I was his friend, but I just wanted to hear what he sounded like burning alive." “So you burned him?” "Yeah, is that surprising?" Steve looked at Billy, searching his eyes for an answer. “It’s… well, it would depend on who he was. Why him? Did he deserve it?” Billy turned back toward the wall, neck craning up to see the entire expanse of the collection, “The guy in the trunk deserved it. I don’t feel bad.” Steve chuckled, "Do they really have to deserve it? Every one of these was really just for my amusement. They were all going to die eventually." Billy pulled a face, raising an eyebrow back at Steve but saying nothing. He wasn’t wrong. And it didn’t feel wrong to see all these people’s lives shortened—they could’ve died the same day from something else; it doesn’t matter much. “I’d like it better, personally, if they deserved it. But we’re all sinners in some way.” Steve smiled at him, "whatever helps you sleep at night, come let's get that beautiful face of yours cleaned up." Steve reached up and rubbed some of the dried blood of Billy's face with his thumb. Billy’s eyes widened a bit before his lips grew into a smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Harrington.” He took a small step backward, quirking an eyebrow at Steve as if to say lead the way. So he did. Steve brought Billy to his bedroom, where there was an on-suite bathroom connected; it was simply designed besides nightmare-like paintings all over the house. You could tell that Steve didn’t hide his dark tastes very well. “The bathroom is there. You can borrow some of my clothes.” Billy stopped just outside the bathroom, turning so that he could lean back against the expensive-looking door and eye Steve in full. “Am I staying with you? Why?” He sounded suspicious, weary. It’s not the first time Billy’s been taken home by men in fancy suits and expected to stay the night—but it is the first time said man had helped cover up a murder he had committed. "You can stay if you want, or I can drive you home" Steve didn't really expect Billy to stay even though he would like it. "I have a guest room you can use." “That’s awfully kind of you. What’re you getting out of all of this?” Steve pulled some sweat pants and a plain shirt out for Billy and walked over to him "as I said before, you made my boring life a little more interesting." “What happens when I’m not interesting anymore?” Steve smiled, “Then I’ll get rid of you.” Billy held his gaze for a brief moment, eyes flicking back and forth, trying to read Steve, trying to decipher what gets rid of you means--the smile shining with a glint of morbid curiosity. Like Billy was a toy for Steve to play with and discard when worn down to the point it simply breaks. Billy doesn’t understand the thrill that shoots up his spine at that, and he’s not sure he wants to. He instead nods, eyes falling to his shoes as he scuffs then and pops himself off of the door, “Guess I’ll just have to keep you on your toes then, huh Stevie?” Steve didn’t answer but watched Billy, filling his mind with things he could do to this newfound toy. He didn’t understand how Billy wasn’t scared of him or how he was holding up so well after finding out about him. He kept watching Billy even as he undressed, putting his foot in the doorway to stop it from closing. Steve was still looking for that one imperfection. Billy squirmed, eyeing Steve and trying to desperately hint that he wanted privacy while he showered. He was uncomfortable--but it wasn’t apparent why until he’d pulled his shirt over his head. Perfect, toned body muscled and golden, pulling taut as he slipped each article of clothing off and revealing thick, ugly scars that cross-crossed his chest and back. Steve’s face didn’t show much; it stayed the same blank look as it always did as he watched. He was taking in every line and edge of Billy’s flesh and violent scars. This was what he was looking for. This is what made him interesting. Billy took a breath before letting his last piece of clothing fall away. “What’re you thinking? It’s too hard to tell with you.” “You’re magnificent,” Steve mumbled, unconsciously undoing his tie around his neck. Steve wanted to feel him, running his hands along the scars to take in the enjoyment someone must have felt ripping at his flesh. Steve wanted to feel that enjoyment. It must’ve been the way Steve was staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive, some sort of primal want for ruin that ran through them both. Billy flushed blotchy pink, spotting down to his chest. “They’re disgusting. Horrible.” Steve laughed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt showing scars of his own. Smaller and more spread out different types from people trying to defend themselves against his force. “Nothing is disgusting about them.” Billy’s eyes locked onto his chest, inching forward and placing a hand in the middle right over a jagged scar that slashed over one pec. He traced the pad of his thumb over it, gentle. “Mine are.” “Every scar tells a story; it’s like reading a comic book,” Steve gently touched the edge of Billy’s scar tracing it carefully. It was odd to Billy to see someone so gentle after talking about burning someone alive, but the soft brushing of Steve’s hands on his skin had him holding his breath. “It’s artwork…” Steve whispered. “I didn’t want these,” Billy ground out, “They’re marks of a coward. You got yours from acts of mercy.” Steve kept tracing the scars, his thoughts racing, “I could make you like them. Add to the collection?” Steve word vomited, he usually was level-headed, but something about these scars about Billy made him want to hear the guy beg, but not for his life. Billy’s face scrunched in pain as if automatically going to decline, remembering how it felt to have gotten them in the first place, but he gave pause. “How?” "There are many ways to get scars," Steve traced over the scar on his chest, sliding over his nipple. "Self-defense, fighting, hunting." Steve's lips curled into a smile "pleasure." Billy stifled a gasp, hands flattening on either side of Steve’s chest as his pale, cold hands explored his skin. Goosebumps trailed where Steve touched, “And if I was interested?” Steve moved his hand up to Billy’s neck, just holding it there but not squeezing. “I’ll make sure you enjoy it, so you have happy memories to look back on.” Billy sighed, soft and sweet, as he leaned into the hold on his neck. It was a secure weight that anchored him, and he took another step forward until his front was pressed up against Steve’s. “Do it.” “Impatient, aren’t we” Steve chuckled, “I barely know anything about you, Billy.” Steve was picky with people he let into his life, and the offer he just gave held a lot of weight to it. It was his twisted way of showing sexual affection. Steve rubbed his thumb along the vein of Billy’s neck, feeling the racing heartbeat. “Are you turned on right now?”

Billy bit his lip, “Yes. You knew that.” Steve did know that with Billy's hips against his, all he could feel was Billy’s cock. "Go clean yourself off." Steve felt Billy’s prick twitch against his thigh at the same time that he growled a low, “Don’t command me. I’m not your dog.” Steve squeezed his hand slightly around Billy’s neck. He was not saying anything, just giving that blank stare into Billy’s eyes. He felt Billy swallow against his hand, expression locked in the same stubborn glare. He looked unwilling to back down. It was weird having someone not be scared of him. “After all I have done for you.” Billy’s lip twitched in an aborted scowl for a second before he lowered his eyes in furious submission, “I’m not your dog.” He whispered again, body lax and the fight drained from him. Steve let go of Billy, not moving away from their pressed bodies. He liked the fight in Billy but definitely wanted to get him to submit like this more just for him. Steve smiled at him, his rare smile that was beautiful in every way. “Do you want me to join you then?” Steve deflected onto something else without missing a beat. Billy thought for a second, hands still splayed on Steve, although migrated down to his hips. He was still ashamedly hard, but fuck if he’d say that out loud. Instead, Billy gave a slight nod. Steve shrugged off his shirt and jacket, letting it fall to the floor around them. He let Billy hold on to him, “You’re going to have to move so I can get my pants off,” Steve mumbled before running his thumb against Billy’s bottom lip. “Unless you wanna help.” The tip of Billy’s tongue poked at his thumb, and rough tanned hands slid down his torso to work his belt buckle and slacks open. Billy’s fingers worked slow, dragging them down Steve’s legs and dropping with them until he kneeled at his feet—head tilted back and looking up at Steve. Billy could tell that Steve wasn’t hard, but Steve’s look from above was breathtaking. The cold hard stare had a comfort behind it for Billy, like Steve saw more in him than just his looks. He was different from the other men he had met. “Your eyes are so blue” Steve reached to trace Billy’s eyebrows with his thumb, obsessing over every detail of this man. Billy’s eyes fluttered shut at the caress, almost embarrassed how fast he’d gone from nearly decking this man to kneeling at his feet and enjoying his touch. “They’re just blue.” He quietly replied. Steve laughed, “You really don’t know how to take a compliment.” Steve moved his hand into Billy’s curly locks, massaging Billy’s scalp. “I don’t just get undressed for anyone; they have to be pretty amusing for that.” “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” Billy eyed him, thumbs rubbing against the soft hair on his thighs, “anyone else, I’d think it wasn’t. You make it seem like one, though.” Steve gave him a slight smile, just enjoying the minor details of Billy. He wanted to know why Billy made him feel this way. Why didn't he want to kill him? "It is a compliment" Steve added another hand into Billy's hair letting out a little bit of a breath for how soft it was even with blood caked in it. It left the man beneath him to grunt softly, eyes fluttered closed, arching into the hands in his hair. Steve kept ranking his hands through it, giving into the urge to grip it in his fists, just to see what Billy would do. The reaction was immediate—blue eyes snapping open, wide and dilated and daring. He looked equal parts threatening as he did submissive. “Everything about you is so interesting.” Steve gave the curls a little sharp tug, nothing too painful but enough to make Billy gasp. It ripped a low growl out of him, but curiously enough, he didn’t seem all too displeased with it physically. “You’re a bastard; you know that?” Billy ground out. “You have seen nothing yet.” Steve chuckled, removing his hands out of Billy’s hair and fixing his own, ignoring how Billy gave a low, quiet whine. Steve took a deep breath like he was trying to calm something in himself down. “I’m covered in blood.” Billy reminded, staring pointedly at the shower. “Then get up,” Steve commanded, giving his blank stare as he let the words slip out of his mouth, unbidden. Billy narrowed his eyes but stood up nonetheless and walked into the shower without another word—before Steve could give another command that ricocheted up his spine with a shiver. Steve closed the door behind him, watching Billy start the shower and get the temp just right. He liked watching the blood leak off Billy’s tanned skin onto the tile below. He gave a relieved sigh, the hot water pounding down on his back, and Steve could see the tension drain out of him. It felt good to see him relaxed, even if he kept side-eyeing him like he expected to be attacked. Steve slowly walked up to the shower door, joining Billy in the shower, sliding his hand onto Billy’s waist to feel the blood dripping off him. “Did you enjoy it?” Steve finally asked, wanting to know if Billy was just like him. He watched him closely, catching the way his shoulders tensed again and the way his hands carefully clenched into fists at his sides. “He was a fucking rapist. He tried to hurt me,” Billy let out a shaky breath, “Yes. I liked it.” Steve ran his thumb along Billy's hip bone, trying to get him to relax again. Part of Steve didn't like seeing Billy on edge; he didn't want him stressed about all this. "Then you have nothing to worry about." “I killed a man. And liked it. How the fuck isn’t this something to be worried about?” Billy hissed back. Steve moved his free hand to Billy’s face, rubbing some of the blood off with his thumb as the water showered down on them. His eyes were flicking over Billy’s angry expression. “Because you have me to guide you.” Billy’s eyes softened, flicking down to the floor, “When—If—I go down, you’ll go down with me.” "We won't get caught" Steve lifted Billy's head with his chin. This excited Steve having a little bird under his wing. He dreamed about it, sharing his hobby and love for the craft with people, but everyone was dull until Billy. "I’ll make sure of it.” Billy locked eyes with him; bottom lip pulled between his teeth, “Your confidence is reassuring,” he let out a breath, “But hell, if you’ve got the know-how to back up that confidence, then why the fuck not.” Steve smiled at the slight change in Billy, “I’ll take care of the body—for now, you rest” Steve grabbed a loofa hanging off his shower caddy, Covering it in soap. “The guest room is down the hall to your left.” He lifted the loofa up to Billy, nudging him to turn away so that Steve could sidle up behind him. He slid it up towards his shoulders, wiping away blood-splattered there along his neck—pink stained bubbles trailing their way down Billy’s body and over his thick, raised scars. “We will be just fine.”

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

_______________________________________________________

Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Familiarity breeds contempt.

Three days became four, then five. The hours flowing between your fingers and before you know it’s been two weeks and three days already.

Not that your will ask them to go. You were pretty sure the little trembling harmony that reigns in your home is as fragile as you decide by asking the wrong question.

To say you are comfortable would be rich, at least. They are a band of murderers, meanwhile you were just a student, but you would be lying if you didn’t accept the fact that the wave of fear had subdue to become some mild annoyance.

The thing is that the famous league of villains is as human as can be. Surely, they are insane, powerful, and menacing, but they also eat, and sleep, and they watch tv and smile when they are happy.

So here you are, getting in tune with their antics. Like how Magne likes to use your flowery shampoo because smells nice and it makes her feel pretty, or that Mr. Compress drinks his milk with honey before sleep.

So, you try your best to remember place and time, but then Toga asks you to paint her nails and asks if she can brush your hair because she wants so desperately to be your friend that something in your heart breaks a little when you remember that she’s just an abandoned child, with no other feminine figure to guide her. (Magne does what she can, but she also faces different kinds of struggle.)

Something in you began to soften to them and you simply cannot help it. Maybe is the little girl in you who wanted to be a hero but saw it impossible.

That’s how you end asking Spinner about his swords, both of you watching some tv program about forging historical weapons, and sharing about your parent’s death with Jin, who cries for you and hugs your tightly telling everyone he’s so happy to have a friend like you.

You end up buying vitamins and oranges for them because no one getting scurvy under your watch. Patching their injures and making some fast clinical examination of them, just to discover some of them are underweight, scrawny, and sharp. So, you cook for them, and made two beds in the living room because you’ve always had a soft spot for broken things and lost causes and somehow, you really want to make them feel nice, and you are no longer sure if this is about your survival or theirs.

Then is Tomura.

You can feel the attraction growing wild inside of you. How your eyes look for his figure inside the house and how you care about what he thinks of you or what he likes.

He’s not helping either, not when he insists on playing chess with you between playful back and forth, or sometimes just sits behind you in the kitchen counter to watch you cook. Silent until he’s not, asking “what’s that” when he sees you putting some spices in the pot.

He’s a curious cat. A fast learner and problem solver. Quick to intuition and creativity.

And you like the way his hair falls wet over his shoulders, clearing away from his face after he showers, looking less like a vagabond and more like a boy.

It’s awful and you know it. You can recognize a crush from a mile away and yours is there pulsing alive for everyone to watch.

The sad part is the what if.

Sometimes Toga asks things. Random things about medicine, about history, about books, and you cannot help it but to vomit everything you know about the subject because you are a scholar above everything else.

Those are the moments when Shigaraki will look at you from the corner of his ruby eyes, attentively listening and absorbing anything you say, siting quietly in a corner of the room, playing with his phone. Then he’ll hear something that catches his interest, asking you about it, his questions always interesting and more complex than Toga’s.

It saddens you to think of him as a student. His brilliance shining under the lights of proper education and love. What positive reinforcement and care could have done for him. Not that you know anything about Shigaraki, but there is no way a loving family could produce such person (not when you are more than sure that he’s clinically depressed), so your bets are on violence and abandonment.

What brilliant career could have achieved, what kind of things would he create, instead of just brutal destruction and (you suspect this one) raw self-loathing.

So, you dream of him sometimes.

You can see him wearing more than just a worn-out coat, a backpack hanging from his shoulder and his soft features clean and properly cared for. What he should look without the dry skin, the slouching and the eyebags.

You can imagine him crossing paths with you on campus, siting with you in the cafeteria, laughing youthfully, his persona free of the heavy weight of his wicked gestures, product of a life expended celebrating too much spite.

Maybe you would have meet him in other circumstances. A “friend of a friend” in some shitty party, the kind of boy that smiles when speaking, sharing some smart-ass joke, his witty speech making you laugh, making you fall.

Just like now.  

“so, how do you know a quirk is a mutation?” Toga ask while you read some article in your laptop.

“well, most of them have a base or function as a variety of some primordial quirk. Those that are mutations simple work outside the norm and tend to be very dangerous for the everyone, including the holder, because as the mutation is a completely new expression of genetics, the rest of the body is still adapting to the evolutionary crescendo. That and, well…mutants have a very distinct look because the gene that comes with the mutation, also alters the expression of other common things like melatonin production.”

“Oh! I remember that! We saw it at school…with the Mendeleyev system.”

“exactly!” You say, but Toga isn’t done with the questions and you don’t stop the conversation before-

“so, how do they look? The mutants. How do they look.”

“well, they all have silver hair and red eyes.”

They look at the corner of the kitchen and only then you realize what you’ve done.

“Congratulations, Shigaraki. You are officially a fucking freak.” Dabi says from the couch, but Shigaraki doesn’t answer his provocation. He just keeps playing in his phone, the only sign of acknowledge is an arched brow.

It rubs you wrong. As much as anybody is okay with it, you hate the words that leave his mouth.

Maybe is the fact that he’s making fun of someone’s looks, or maybe is because hearing someone being called a freak sends you back to high school when your classmates told you that you were a fucking creep with that evil quirk of yours (or maybe is the stupid crush speaking) but it makes you angry, so before you can think of it, you spat.

“blue eyes are a mutation too, so you are no one to talk about it.”

Twice laughs at the comeback, but before you could taste your little win, Dabi makes sure to answer back because he’s being dying to fight you the moment he set a foot on your apartment.

“that was bold for a quirkless little bitch.”

You laugh astonished, deciding you will not acknowledge the fact he (very wrongly) thinks you quirkless.

“A quirkless little bitch? Seriously, Dabi? Where you raised in a fucking barn that you know nothing but fuck this and bitch that?

“yeah. I know stupid cunt too.” He barks referring to you.

“Dabi, cut it out.” Shigaraki snaps to no avail.

“Hey! We agree in no insults!” Compress try to quiet the fight down, but neither of you pays attention.

“I’m sure you do. Pretty useful to describe yourself I bet.”

“you sure like to bet, like how you are betting I don’t burn you alive for being an annoying bitch.” He threatens looking at the chess game still on the kitchen table, getting quickly into your nerves.

“Guys-“Toga fails to intercede.

“Fuck off, Dabi. This might be shocking for you, but you don’t scare me.”

“now, that’s pretty fucking stupid of you.”

“Dabi, shut up!” Shigaraki growls done, but you are not paying attention to him, so you keep pushing into the fight.  

“I’m not the one insulting everyone just because I cannot deal with some fucking daddy issues.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT” he snarls before kicking the little table in your living room, breaking one of its legs.

“CUT IT OUT! I don’t have to know when it’s plainly obvious you have problems with authority.”

“you really think you are so clever, don’t you?” he states, crossing the living room, aiming to you.

“Dabi, get the fuck out!” this time Shigaraki yells.

“I know I am, asshole!”

He stops his tracks, looming over you. His eyes scanning your face before looking at Shigaraki, who suddenly stands beside you.

Dabi laughs darkly.

“stupid woman. You should know better.”

And then…he just slaps your laptop out of the table; the computer smashing open against the cemented ground.

Chapter 9

[searenbound]

Dilf poly bakudekunat

Their age does not make any less strong, deku would adore to tote you around on his shoulder. Especially at places where you can't see/is a crowd. Suki doesn't what deku does but he does let you koala hold him through out the house, he doesn't mind

Suki would absolutely turn off his hearing aids when deku is muttering/rambling, that habit of his never went away. Causing you to lightly slap his chest because "that's rude katsuki!" Which he just rolls his eyes and says he's too old to worry about being nice to deku

Deku? Loosing his mind over you wearing deku themed lingerie? Absolutely. He knows it exists but to think you, his pretty baby, would go out of your way to surprise him with it? You're about to give the old man a heart attack

One way to rile suki up is by calling him DynaMight, no matter the cause. In bed and he's teasing you? The name will have him growling and pounding into you in a second. It plays into the same thing of telling someone they can't do it so they feel the need to do it even better? If you're hungry and want suki to make dinner just tell him "I guess DynaMight just isn't that good of a cook..."

They get slightly worried and insecure about the age gap despite you being an adult and able to make your own choices. Deku more so of, you could have someone younger who hasn't had the standing he has which puts a target on his and your back. For suki it's more along the lines of, he's not the nicest and for so long he's been told nobody wants him due to the way he presents himself and that a relationship with him wouldnt be worth the work it would take. Of course, their age comes into it. Especially if you mention their grey or things alike

But that doesn't mean that they don't want a relationship with you, they love it. It's not something they ever expected, to fall for someone who's the opposite of the lifestyle they've lived for so long. Someone so soft and who can look at the world and see the beauty in it, where they've been hardened and haunted by the things the world has thrown at them. They can't help it

Also please make them little doll versions of their hero costumes, despite the fact that there are probably mass manufactured ones they cherish them. You, their partner, made them because you wanted to. Not for profit or due to obsession. They keep them tucked away so nothing will happen to them, but still where they're able to see them. Suki grumbled about how he didn't need a doll but the moment you try to take it from him he's practically snapping at your hands. Growling that it's his and his alone dammit. Deku...well deku cried.

Also, if you think that your age and or their age will stop them from taking you to meet their parents? Very wrong. Inko doesn't care about your age, she's just happy her son finally found a good partner to be with. Mitsuki immediately sees her husband in you, softer to go with katsuki's still explosive temper. Neither of them mind the age gap, understanding that love can happen at any age, as it did with inko and toshinori.

Speaking of inko and toshinori, did you expect for them to not? Treat you like their own? This is where you being younger comes in with them. Inko is always trying to check up on you and make sure you're eating well, always saying you need to eat well when you're younger or it'll lead to issues in the future. Toshi is making sure you live in a secure area, saying that you're dating the top two pro hero's and people might come after you for it.

Any type of art you make is going to be placed around katsuki's barren looking house It's the few things that make his house look lived in, the slightest personal touch to the otherwise minimalist looking rooms. Deku allows him to take most of it but the pieces he really likes get placed in his own home. Which is much cozier them katsuki's, showing the difference in their personalities amazingly.

Deku bakes. Katsuki cooks. It's how it works. Suki loves to make enough so that you have lunch the next day, making sure it's something you'll enjoy while deku will absolutely spoil you with sweets. If he doesn't know your favorite sweet he will be looking for Several recipes to make his own, figuring out the common denominator between all of them and adjusting them to your tastes. Also please keep suki away from the hot sauce, his doctor begs you.

Katsuki would absolutely wear a chain with your initial on it, at all times. In bed, you can see it swinging and hitting his thick chest with a soft thunk. Barely able to hear it. He loves it. It's a constant reminder of you. He knows if he was his younger self, it would have never happened. Pride and ego too swollen to even think of something of the sorts. It was also kept a surprise

Meanwhile, deku would get a ring. He'd even let you pick it out, picking what one you loved and he thought would fit his everyday style. More then likely a silver ring. He might drift towards the gem forward ones. Eyeing a silver ring with a pretty emerald and a pretty orange sapphire, as well as a color that makes him think of you.

They'd both love showers with you. Not even sexually but just, so soft and almost domestic to them. Katsuki will practically purr when you wash his hair and add conditioner to it. You'd have to battle with him when he complains about his grey's and threatening to dye it to match the rest of his hair. Deku kinda looks at him when he does that because his grey blends while deku has d a r k green hair with grey. If anybody complaining it should be him

Deku is the one you go to when you want junk, he will go weak in the knees for puppy dog eyes and a little bit of a wobbly lip. He's always been a sucker for snacks and it's only gotten worse as he got older, getting tired of his strict diets and craving the greasy and fatty foods he isn't allowed to have usually

Oftentimes when you're sat on the couch with them, deku will have his arm around the back of the couch and allowing you to snuggle into his side while katsuki will take off his hearing aids and lay his head in your lap. Letting you scritch and stroke his hair on one side before rolling onto the other side to let you do it on that side.

🐻

Stop I’m so soft! These are too many feelings! I can’t have them all and oh gosh the jewelry bit! I love the idea of having things that remind you of each other always on your person so that was a nice unexpected touch.

And the arguments over grey hair and the low key art hordeing I just have to many feelings