#his constant barrage of words is an attempt to push people away

[heph]

Crying thinking about Gregory House he makes me so sad

[loljaeyunz]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 | 𝐏𝐒𝐇

PAIRING: neglected prince! sunghoon x princess! reader

SUMMARY: park sunghoon, the forsaken prince of the south, had always lived in the shadows of jaeyun's favor. but then you arrived. your presence ignited a flame within him that he had long thought extinguished, and he became profoundly attached to you.

but, when the news of your marriage to jaeyun, the very bastard who had usurped everything sunghoon held dear—reached him, his world shattered once again. now, consumed by helplessness and bitter longing, he understands that no matter how desperately you both cling to each other, you are slipping through his fingers. there is nothing he can do but watch as the love you share is slowly pulled away, knowing that no amount of trying can change the fate that’s already been written. but still, he is willing to try.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, forbidden love, angst, smut, fluff if you squint

WORD COUNT: 9k

RELEASED: 12th september

TAGLIST: @dollyyun @indigoez @shuichi-sama @capri-cuntz @jiminie-08

@isa942572 @tasnim10 @alienqbrain @arcimedais @irers @mitmit01

@304files @sjakewrld @superbbananananana @deezbin @woorcve

WARNINGS: poor attempt at angst, sunghoon kinda desperate, unprotected sex, pull out method, fingering, breast play,

***

sunghoon was born into a world of privilege and wealth. he was surrounded by unending luxury since he was the lone heir to the royal line. his father planned a sumptuous feast to celebrate his birth and mark the coming of the beloved prince.

everything he could ask for was at his fingertips. he was educated by the most esteemed scholars, dressed in the finest silks, and surrounded by attendants eager to fulfill his every whim. he received expert sword training, had access to the most prestigious collections of art and music, and was given a magnificent garden by his mother.

he embraced every luxury and opportunity, fully prepared to ascend the throne one day. but everything changed when he turned ten. the king, to sunghoon's utter disbelief, revealed the existence of another son, jaeyun, an illegitimate child born of a mistress. 

people were at ease calling jaeyun the king's son, even though he lacked the royal qualities sunghoon so clearly displayed and looked nothing like the king. yet, what infuriated sunghoon most was the king announcing jaeyun as the crown prince, casting aside the rightful heir who carried the true royal blood.

sunghoon was left in a storm of anger and betrayal, unable to understand how his father could deprive him of his birthright and give preference to a kid who, in his opinion, was just a fake.

jaeyun swiftly rose to become the beloved, kind kid of the castle. and as he became the kingdom's favorite, sunghoon watched in rage. it was almost like a bad joke. nobility, attendants, and even royal officials all admired the mistress's kid, the bastard. they spoke of him as the real example of morality and commended his generosity, compassion, and soft heart. in the meantime, sunghoon was ignored, written off as nothing more than a spoilt, pampered prince who was born into wealth and status but didn't deserve the affection of the people.

the world around him refused to treat sunghoon with respect or justice, and his mother was the only one who stood up for him. but, despite her best efforts, the bitterness that was consuming him remained, and she was unable to protect him from the constant barrage of rumors that were echoing through the hallways and comparing him to jaeyun.

sunghoon hated jaeyun for stealing everything from him, including his position, title, and the affection that was rightfully his. but what he hated even more was jaeyun's constant attempts to build a bond between them, as if they were meant to be brothers. he always smiled and stretched out to sunghoon with his boundless generosity. sunghoon couldn't stand it. he hated that every time he made jaeyun cry or called him derogatory names, or pushed him away, jaeyun would always forgive him. that unwavering kindness served as a constant reminder that jaeyun will always be the preferred one, which only made  unghoon more enraged. he never referred to him as a brother since, to him, jaeyun was only a bastard.

but there was one thing sunghoon believed that the bastard couldn’t have; you. 

you were the only princess of a faraway kingdom, visiting theirs for the first time when you were seventeen. sunghoon first met you in his garden one bright morning, where the soft sunlight cast a golden glow on you as you were determined to gather a tangerine from one of the trees. he stood in amused silence as he watched you struggle, your expensive dress catching on branches as you failed miserably at climbing the tree.

“i do not recall permitting strangers to enter my garden?” he called out to you, a smirk playing on his lips. the sound of his words frightened you to the point that you lost your balance and fell off the tree. but before you could hit the ground, sunghoon was there, swift and steady, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. he held you close, his grip firm and protective, your faces mere inches apart as you both froze in the moment, his gaze fixed on yours. “stealing tangerines, my lady?” 

he liked you in that moment, your wide-eyed surprise and the way you had been so determined despite the absurdity of climbing a tree in such fine clothes. there was something endearing in your boldness, in the way you held your breath as if caught in a mischievous act. sunghoon found himself lingering a little longer, not letting you go immediately, enjoying the closeness. and though he spoke of tangerines, it was clear that his interest had already shifted entirely to you.

but he knew he had fallen in love with you when you began treating him with kindness, not out of obligation like everyone else in the castle did. your kindness wasn’t because he was a prince or someone you had to impress. it was genuine, natural, and so effortlessly sincere. you spoke to him as if he were just sunghoon, not the forgotten heir, not the spoiled prince, but simply a person. it was in the way you laughed with him, how you listened, and how you seemed to see him for who he truly was. and that, more than anything, captivated him.

he sought your attention whenever you came, always finding excuses to be near you. whether it was arranging to meet in the garden again or subtly positioning himself where you would be, he was driven by a desire to be close to you. your presence, your genuine warmth, became the highlight of his days. he cherished every moment, every conversation, and every smile, desperate to savor the connection he had come to treasure more than anything else in his world.

you made him run after you for a whole two years, tirelessly pursuing you with an intensity that left no doubt about his feelings. he begged for your attention, presented you with countless gifts, and did everything in his power to win your heart, all in an effort to prove his devotion to you.

every time you visited his kingdom, he was there, waiting, hoping, and showing you just how much you meant to him, making you feel as though you were the only girl gracing the world with your beauty and grace. 

and finally, you accepted him into your heart. 

you began meeting him in secret, sneaking away from the prying eyes of the court. you both knew that keeping your relationship hidden was the only way to avoid the mess that would come from the royal court’s intense scrutiny. if people found out, it could create a scandal, stirring up all sorts of trouble and judgment. with sunghoon’s complicated position and the favoritism toward jaeyun, you wanted to protect what you had from all that drama. so, your secret meetings were your way of keeping your love safe and away from the harsh realities of court life.

you knew he truly loved you. it wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, but in every small thing he did to keep you close. his love for you ran so deep, it felt like something unbreakable, something that would make anyone jealous if they knew about it. he didn’t just see you as an escape from his struggles; you became his reason for peace, the one person who made all the weight of the world disappear when he was with you. and as much as he adored you, your love for him was just as fierce, a connection so intense that it felt like nothing could come between you, not even the royal court or the kingdom’s expectations.

though, it had all been an illusion – an illusion you both had created in your minds, one that allowed you to live in happiness for a time. but it was always fragile, destined to shatter eventually.

it came crashing down when your families made an unexpected arrangement – one that bound you to jaeyun instead. the announcement that you were to wed him, and not sunghoon, tore through everything you had shared. the life you had envisioned with sunghoon vanished in an instant, leaving only the cold, harsh truth of the kingdom's expectations. 

he thought you were his, that no matter what titles jaeyun held or how beloved he was by the kingdom, you belonged to sunghoon alone. jaeyun could never take that from him, or so he thought. but sunghoon was mistaken. the moment the marriage preparations started, he realized with crushing clarity that even you, the one thing he believed jaeyun could never possess, had been about to taken from him.

sunghoon’s frustration boiled over in the days following the preparations. the thought of you standing beside jaeyun, the very person who had stolen everything from him, sent waves of anger coursing through his veins. he couldn’t understand how fate could be so cruel – how it could give him someone as precious as you, only to rip you away and place you in the arms of the bastard he despised. 

that’s why sunghoon couldn’t just sit still and watch you slip away. his anger turned to determination, and one day he stormed into his father’s chambers. he didn’t know that was going to be the first mistake he made.

“how can you be so blind?! jaeyun is nothing but a bastard from the slums, not even your real child. and now you’re marrying off the princess of the east to him? this is a disgrace and an insult to the royal family and to her!” 

after sunghoon’s outburst, the king’s eyes narrowed with a mix of suspicion and fury. “you have no right to question my decisions! what is it that’s making you act out so violently?! is there a secret affair between you and the princess that you’re trying to protect? speak now before i take drastic measures!”

sunghoon stood paralyzed, his throat tightening as he struggled to find the right words. fear gripped him, thinking that disclosing any details about his relationship with you would put you at risk. he couldn’t afford for you to be harmed in any way. the words caught in his throat, and his silence only served to heighten the king’s suspicion. unbeknownst to him, this inability to respond only made him appear more guilty in his father’s eyes.

the king laughed bitterly, a harsh, derisive sound that filled the room. “so, you have no defense, only silence. how convenient. it seems you have been hiding something after all.” the king walked up to sunghoon, his hands clasped behind and a sick smile adorning his face. “pray tell, son, do you truly believe yourself a more suitable match for the princess? do you imagine that a mere boy like yourself could bring her the happiness she deserves? do you even understand the nature of women, boy? jaeyun will prove a far better husband for her than you ever could. he embodies all that you lack—kindness, duty, wisdom, and the adoration of the people. most importantly, he will be a true family man, qualities you sorely lack.”

sunghoon’s jaw clenched, and eyes fell to the floor, his father's words cutting through him like a blade. he felt as if he was nothing more than a pampered fool, unworthy of the love he sought and the life he was born into. he clenched his fists, struggling to push back the crushing weight of his own insecurities.

“she will wed jaeyun, and if you possess even a shred of regard for her well-being, you will abandon this foolish defiance. if your love for her is genuine, then you will step aside with dignity, for any further insolence will only bring suffering upon her—suffering caused by your own unworthy and unlovable nature.” with those final words, the kind left no room for further discussion, his decision made clear.

his heart, once filled with certainty and defiance, now cracked under the weight of doubt. he felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. the king’s contemptuous questions echoed in his mind, making him question his worth and his place in the world. was he truly so unfit to love you? had his anger and resentment blinded him to his own flaws? was jaeyun truly the better man—the one who could offer you everything sunghoon never could? the thought of stepping aside, of watching you live a life with jaeyun, made his chest tighten with unbearable pain. he had always believed you were his, that his love was enough, but now... now, he wasn’t sure of anything.

a dark seed of insecurity planted itself in his heart, twisting his anger into something deeper, more dangerous. it was no longer just about losing his birthright; now, it was about losing you, the one person who made him feel like more than just a shadow. the idea of you loving jaeyun, of smiling for him the way you once smiled for sunghoon, was enough to drive him mad. but still, the king’s words echoed in his mind: if you truly love her, you will let her go. and for the first time in his life, sunghoon didn’t know if he was strong enough to do that.

and as he watched you across the table one dinner night, his gaze never left you. he observed your every movement as you sat beside jaeyun, the way your hand delicately rested near his, how jaeyun leaned closer to speak with you. every soft smile you gave jaeyun felt like a dagger in his chest. sunghoon’s jaw tightened as he gripped his cup, a torrent of emotions raging inside him. 

that should be me.

she should be marrying me, not him.

unable to take it any longer, sunghoon abruptly stood, the sound of his chair scraping across the floor echoing through the room. all eyes shifted towards him, but he didn’t care. his gaze remained fixed on you. 

“this charade has gone on long enough,” sunghoon declared, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. “i have no time for this.”

the king’s face darkened with anger as he seethed, his voice harsh and commanding. “sit down, sunghoon. the evening is not over, yet.”

sunghoon met his father’s glare with a defiant stare. “i refuse to be part of this farce,” he replied sharply. his eyes then shifted to you, and in that fleeting moment, his gaze was filled with longing. “i will take my leave now, your majesty.”

without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, his footsteps echoing as he made his way toward the exit. he threw one last meaningful glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on you with an intensity that spoke of all he couldn’t say. the door slammed shut behind him, leaving an empty seat and a heavy silence in his wake.

that night, sunghoon knew for certain that he couldn’t bear the thought of jaeyun’s hands on you. even the mere idea of jaeyun taking what was meant to be sunghoon’s was unbearable. his insecurities, his pain, all fed into a singular, desperate resolve: he would make you his. you might be promised to jaeyun by royal decree, but sunghoon would make sure that it was his touch, his smell, his presence, that lingered in your thoughts, that stayed with you long after the wedding vows were spoken. he couldn’t let jaeyun steal this last piece of his world, and he was willing to keep you tied to him, heart and soul. 

*

you wander through the garden, eyes scanning the surroundings as you search for your lover. you find him in his garden, as always. the early morning sun bathes the greenery in a soft, golden glow, its light just beginning to filter through the trees. the air is crisp, but you feel a simmering frustration inside as you approach sunghoon, who stands with his back to you, staring into the distance.

"what was that all about last night?" you ask, your tone sharp but not quite angry. it’s more of an irritated curiosity, the kind that demands an answer but without real fury behind it.

he doesn’t turn immediately, but you can see the tension in his posture. after a moment, he glances over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours. 

“you can’t seriously be asking me that.” he says quietly, though there’s an edge to his voice.

“i am,” you reply, stepping closer. “i don’t understand why you acted that way in front of everyone.”

sunghoon finally turns to face you fully, crossing his arms as he leans back against the stone bench. his gaze is intense, like the morning sun itself. “what else was i supposed to do? sit there and pretend everything’s fine? pretend i don’t care when jaeyun’s sitting next to you like-” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

you sigh, crossing your own arms. “you can’t keep doing that, sunghoon. storming off, making a scene. it only makes things harder.”

“for who?” he snaps. “for me? for you? or for that bastard, who gets everything handed to him while i-” his voice wavers before he swallows hard, regaining his composure.

there’s a beat of silence between you two, the only sound being the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze. the frustration still lingers in the air, but underneath it is something deeper, unspoken, pulling at both of you.

abruptly, sunghoon closes the gap, his hands finding your cheeks with a surprising tenderness. the suddenness of his touch makes your breath hitch, your heart skipping a beat as his fingers brush lightly against your skin, holding you in place with an intensity that leaves you momentarily frozen.

“you don’t get it, do you, my love?” sunghoon’s voice trembles slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “you don’t get how i can’t bear to see jaeyun near you,” he says, his nose brushing gently against yours, the touch almost tender, as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between your hearts.

“stop, someone could see us.” you attempt to push him away, but he stands his ground, his body staying firmly in place as if anchored to the spot. 

“no, you don’t get that even just the thought of him breathing the same air as you drives me to the edge of madness,” he continues, his voice growing more urgent. “you, my love, don’t get how much it hurts that he has what should be mine - that you are to wed him, even when you should only be mine.” sunghoon’s grip tightens on your cheeks, his eyes never leaving yours. 

you hold his wrists, your voice filled with emotion. “don’t say it like that, sunghoon. i am yours, always and forever. not a day goes by that i am not yours. i shall be yours forever. my beloved prince, the only thing keeping us apart is the world. i need you to feel and know that nothing, not even a promise or a crown, can ever change the reality of who we are.”

the weight of everything presses down on you in that moment, his touch, his words, the sharp edge of the world you both live in. your mind spins, torn between the life you've been forced into and the one you yearn for. sunghoon’s desperation, his jealousy, mirrors the conflict in your own heart. a part of you wishes you could forget the chains that bind you to the kingdom, to jaeyun, to duty. but reality is there.

you know the risks, the consequences that will follow if you give in to this, yet here you are, heart racing, palms sweaty, trembling under his touch. sunghoon’s love is overwhelming, but a part of you craves it. it’s been so long since you’ve felt that from anyone. he wants you fully, without restraint, and that truth fills your chest with warmth, even though it terrifies you.

but there’s guilt, too. jaeyun. the wedding. the vows you haven’t spoken yet but are bound by, nonetheless. you wonder if there’s a way out, if you could ever find peace in the chaos that surrounds you. you want to reach out, to close the gap that has been forced between you. 

despite the anxiety swirling within you, sunghoon’s presence feels like a powerful anchor, grounding you in a way nothing else can. his closeness, his unwavering focus on you, drowns out the chaos and fear. his love feels like both a burden and a gift, but in this moment, you realize how deeply you want to bear it.

“i want to show you a place,” you say quietly, your voice steadying as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze.

his brow furrows slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. “come with me.”

you lead sunghoon deeper into the forest, the trees growing denser with every step. branches twist together overhead, blocking out most of the light, casting the two of you in shadows. it’s a narrow, almost overgrown path—one that seems untouched, hidden from the world. 

after several minutes of walking in silence, sunghoon speaks up "where are you taking me?"

you glance over your shoulder, offering a small smile. “i know a place. somewhere no one will find us. just us.”

he doesn’t press further, and you continue the trek, leading him through the maze of trees. the forest seems almost impenetrable, the thick canopy overhead making it feel as if the world outside doesn’t exist. it’s as though you’ve left everything behind- the kingdom, the responsibilities, jaeyun - all of it feels far away here.

finally, after what feels like a long walk, the trees begin to part, but not in any obvious way. the path narrows further, and you have to push aside a thick cluster of branches. beyond the trees, the hidden lake comes into view, shrouded by the dense foliage that surrounds it. its surface is perfectly still, barely catching any sunlight from the sky above. it’s a place that could easily go unnoticed, tucked away in this forgotten corner of the forest.

you step aside to let sunghoon take in the view, the two of you standing at the edge of the water. “this is it,” you say softly. “no one ever comes here. it’s just us.”

sunghoon’s grip on your hand loosening slightly as his eyes scan the serene scene before you both. the hidden lake is breathtaking, a secret world untouched by the palace’s watchful eyes. the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the gentle ripple of water are the only sounds breaking the silence between you.

after a moment, he speaks, his voice laced with curiosity. “how did you come to know of this place?” he glances at you, brow raised. “i’ve lived here my whole life, and yet i was unaware of its existence.”

you flash him a cocky smile, a teasing glint in your eyes. "the castle walls are thin," you say with a playful tone, leaning in slightly. "i overheard one of the servants talking about it."

sunghoon lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “so, the esteemed princess of the  east takes it upon herself to eavesdrop on the musings of servants?”

you laugh, shrugging. "sometimes it pays off. i couldn’t resist coming to see if it was real. and now..."

your gaze grows more sultry, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. you step closer, fingers brushing lightly against his chest as you slowly unfasten the buttons of his blouse. the intimate gesture shifts the mood, and the air around you becomes charged with a new, heated energy.

“and now,” you say again softly, your voice a mere whisper against his ear, “i think it’s time we enjoy this secret together, don’t you?”

sunghoon’s breath catches, and eyes darken at your words, faces inches away from each other.

the blouse slips off his shoulders, exposing the smooth lines of his chest. his hand reaches for your wrist, guiding it to rest gently on his chest, where you can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. he holds your gaze, a silent question lingering in his eyes, waiting for you to respond to the unspoken invitation.

without warning, you grasp the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him toward you with a forceful urgency. his eyes widen in surprise, but they quickly soften as your lips crash against his. the kiss is fierce, filled with the passion and frustration that have been building between you, a desperate need to close the distance that has always existed.

sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat as he responds, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your very beings together. 

he pulls away just enough to catch his breath. he speaks with a voice rough and filled with an almost primal need. “do you crave me too like i crave you, y/n?” then, he moves to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a series of burning kisses along your collarbone. "like i crave your body, every inch of you,” he murmurs between kisses, "the way you feel against me, the sound of your breath, the taste of your skin. please, i need all of you." 

“then have me, my beloved. have me all to yourself.”

your breaths mingle, warm and ragged, as you stay close. sunghoon’s hands slide to the front of your kirtle, his fingers finding the strings that are secured at your chest and he works them loose.

as the kirtle loosens, it gradually falls away from your shoulders, exposing your bare body to his appreciative eyes. sunghoon’s gaze roams over you with unabashed hunger, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts, the softness of your skin. the sight of you, fully revealed, makes his breath quicken and his eyes darken with raw, intense desire. he takes in every detail with a mixture of awe and possessiveness, as if he’s discovering a hidden treasure that belongs only to him.

to him, you are nothing short of a blessing, a gift that he feels unworthy of receiving. his breath catches as he takes in every curve, every detail, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of adoration. he feels blessed just to be in your presence, to witness you like this.

"you’re more beautiful than i ever dreamed." he whispers, his voice reverent, filled with a deep, unshakable awe.

he slowly removes his breeches, freeing himself from its confines, his movements unhurried. as his garment falls away, your eyes linger on him for a moment, drawn to the sight of his exposed manhood. a rush of heat floods your cheeks. your gaze trails over his physique, the hard lines of muscle and the evidence of his arousal, standing proudly before you.

sunghoon smirks at the shy look in your eyes before he reaches for your hand with a gentle yet firm grip, guiding you toward the shimmering surface of the lake. his touch is both reassuring and electrifying as he leads you into the cool, inviting water, the gentle ripples caressing your skin as you step together into the embrace of the lake’s serene depths.

“now, aren’t you my swan?” he murmurs, his voice soft. with deliberate slowness, he reaches out, brushing aside the strands of hair that had been modestly shielding your breasts. “such beauty, such grace. oh my lord, is it all for me, my love?” 

sunghoon pulls you closer, his chest pressing firmly against yours as his lips find yours once again, the kiss deeper and more fervent. the gentle waves lap at your skin, but the only thing you feel is him, his hands gripping your waist, his lips moving in sync with yours, the sheer desire in the way he touches you.

his hands roam over your back, the cool water contrasting with the fire that blazes between your bodies. you feel the way his fingers press into your skin, the possessive grip of someone who has craved you for too long, unable to hold back anymore. his breath is ragged against your lips, each kiss hotter and hungrier than the last.

"you're all mine, right?" he whispers between kisses, and you can only softly hum as an answer. 

his lips move down the column of your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive skin, drawing soft moans from your lips. hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your thigh beneath the water. a rush of heat surges through you, mixing with the cool sensation of the lake, and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, steadying yourself as his kisses grow more fervent, more desperate.

sunghoon's lips trail lower, grazing over your collarbone and down toward your chest, his breath hot against your damp skin. every touch sends shivers through your body, your pulse quickening as his hands explore the curves of your waist, your hips, your ass. he tilts his head back up, head resting on the valley of your tits, eyes locked onto yours with a look of pure hunger.

the voice is low and hoarse as he breathes against your skin, “please tell me you’re mine, i need to hear it. i need to know you’re only mine. that no one else will ever have you like this.” his hands tighten slightly on your waist, his gaze burning into yours, desperate for your answer. "say it, please… that you’re mine, now and always." his breath shaky, waiting for you to respond, his need for reassurance almost as overwhelming as his desire for you.

you cradle his cheeks in your hands, your eyes softening. “in this moment, and every moment that follows, i am wholly yours. i promise you, my dearest, no one else will ever touch me, love me, or have me like you do. only you have this piece of me, forever.” you pull him for a kiss, pouring every ounce of your affection and reassurance into it. his grip on you tightens, and before you realize it, he has you pressed up against the edge of the lake, your back against the cool stone as he leans into you, while his lips continue to caress yours with a loving, unhurried rhythm.

his hands roam freely now, the water sloshing gently around you as his touch becomes bolder. the tension that’s been simmering between you for so long has reached its breaking point, and neither of you can resist it any longer. you can feel every inch of him against you, the heat, the longing, the urgency in the way he holds you. 

“i want you to make love to me, sunghoon.” 

sunghoon’s eyes darken with a fierce intensity as he hears your plea. he pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours. “i’ve waited my whole life for this, my love.”

as sunghoon captures your lips once more, the kiss quickly deepens. he bites down on your lower lip, causing you to whine into his mouth. seizing the opportunity, he slips his tongue into your moist heat, seeking yours with fevered urgency. his movements are messy, growing hungrier and sloppier with each passing second. the way his mouth devours yours, the slick heat of his tongue against yours, makes it feel as though you’re both desperately trying to claim every part of the other. 

your breath falters when his hands move to your breasts, fingers curling around them with a firm, possessive grip. his palms brush over your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. it overwhelms you, and you break the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you pant softly. a thin string of saliva still connects your parted lips. unwavered, he begins to massage, kneading the soft flesh with a steady rhythm, your gazes locked. the pressure of his hands send waves of slick pooling in your cutn, each squeeze making your nipples tighten even more.

then he lowers himself to the same height as your nipples, taking one into his mouth and beginning to suck it like a parched man at an oasis. with a consuming rhythm, his tongue tracing circles around the sensitive peak. he lavishes the same attention on the other, his fingers deftly rolling and pinching the neglected nipple. the combined sensations of his warm, eager mouth and the stimulation from his fingers cause a moan to escape your lips before you can hold it back. you bite down on your lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle the sound, but your body betraying you as quiet gasps escape.

he pulls away from your nipple with a wet, audible pop and looks at you, his eyes dark with desire. “don’t try to hold back,” he commands, though his voice betrays a hint of need. “i want to hear every sound you make.”

he then attaches himself to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva like the other one. your hands instinctively grip his hair as you arch your back. his mouth works eagerly, his tongue flicking and sucking with a relentless rhythm. his fingers dip into the water and finds your clit, teasing it with skilled strokes.

the pleasure builds swiftly as he lavishes your breasts with attention, his hot, insistent mouth working in tandem with the relentless stimulation below. the overwhelming sensations push you to the edge, gasps and moans escaping uncontrollably as your body trembles under his touch.

“sunghoon… it feels-” you say, tightening your grip on his hair as you battle to retain your control.

“good? this is nothing compared to what i am about to make you feel, my love.” 

suddenly, a loud moan erupts from you as his finger breaches your entrance, sliding inside with a slow, deliberate motion. the new sensation leaves you breathless, your body instinctively pushing back against his hand, wanting more. the sight of him never taking his eyes from your face as he keeps busying his mouth, sucking and teasing your nipple, is an utterly lewd display, his gaze filled with raw desire. 

he curls his finger within you, searching for that perfect spot to send you spiraling further into pleasure. every movement of his hand is synchronized with his mouth on your chest, his touch igniting a fire that spreads through your entire body. you feel yourself losing control, the overwhelming pleasure making it harder to hold back your cries.

he inserts another finger inside you, scissoring them to ease you open nicely. you feel a deep pressure building within, like a tightly wound knot yearning to be undone. with each stroke, the tension winds tighter, leaving you aching with a desperate need for release.

“i… ugh please, sunghoon, i wanna cum,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the urgency of your desire. hearing the desperation in your voice, his fingers hasten, thrusting deeper with a renewed fervor. every stroke sends a jolt of pleasure through you, drawing you closer to the brink, your body instinctively arching towards him as the pressure inside you mounts, ready to burst.

the lake water churns around his rapidly moving wrist, splashing against parts of your body that have remained dry until now. the sudden coolness of the water only heightens your climax as you come undone on his fingers. your broken moans reverberate through the forest, and you can only cling to the hope that no one is nearby to hear you.

sunghoon helps you ride out your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers. gently, he brushes the damp strands of hair clinging to your face from sweat, then cups your face in his hands and captures your lips in a searing kiss. lips moving against each other in a harmonious rhythm, and his tongue dances with yours in a way that feels both urgent and consuming.

sunghoon's fingers trail down the sides of your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave marks, his eyes burning with desire as they wordlessly tell you to prepare yourself.

with a throaty sound, he pulls you up in one swift motion, your body rising from the water as his hands grip your thighs tightly. your legs instinctively wrap around him, pulling him against you as he steps forward, pinning you against the rugged stone, its cold surface digging into your skin.

you cling to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he keeps you suspended against the rough stone. his hands move higher up your thighs, fingers digging in as he adjusts his grip, making sure you're locked around him. 

you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your folds, the thin layer of water between you doing nothing to cool the growing heat. you both whimper when his hips press forward, cock grinding against your folds in slow, teasing motions.

“sunghoon, don’t tease,” you moan as his cock’s tip presses inside you, then pulls out with a maddening slowness. the slick head brushes against your sensitive inner walls before withdrawing, making your body writhe in frustration. you shiver, your hole gaping as it aches for the fullness that was just barely given. “please, just fill me up. i need you inside me."

hearing your desperate plea, his hips snap forward with a brutal force, the head of his cock slamming deep inside you. a guttural groan rumbles from his throat as he fills you completely, stretching you with a pressure so intense it makes you shiver. you moan loudly, your walls clamping down around him, trying to accommodate his hard, throbbing length.

he wastes no time, thrusting into you with a relentless pace, each motion driving him deeper, his cock dragging along your inner walls with an intoxicating friction. the raw and rough feeling of him moving in and out makes your body quiver with intense pleasure.

he thrusts into you with such unrelenting force that each powerful stroke causes you to bounce up and down on his cock, making your tits jiggle with every thrust, moving rhythmically to match his powerful rhythm. his strong arms, wrapped securely around your thighs, keep you steady; without his firm hold, you would surely topple into the water. 

while he continues to drive into you, he lowers his mouth to your collarbone and begins to kiss, bite and lick the sensitive skin there. his lips are hot and insistent, trailing a path of fiery pleasure along your neck and shoulders. your mouth falls open in a breathless gasp, the only sounds escaping you are guttural moans of ugh ugh ugh that reverberate in the air.

as the pressure inside you mounts, your fingers claw at his back, leaving angry red trails as you cling to him for support. each thrust he delivers feels impossibly deep, his cock stretching you to the brink with every powerful movement. 

your climax builds rapidly, and you clench around him, muscles spasming around his cock with intense need. you can hardly keep your moans in check, the sound of your gasps mingling with the rhythmic slapping of flesh.

feeling the way your pussy tightens around him, he growls low and rough into your ear, his voice dripping with lust. “you’re so tight, my love, i can barely hold on. perfectly wrapped around my cock like you were made for me.” his filthy words drive you even closer to the edge. your head is thrown back, eyes shut tight, your body quaking uncontrollably as you come undone around his cock. 

he continues to thrust into you with relentless intensity. your body, already sensitive and over-stimulated from your recent climax, quakes with every powerful motion. the sensation of his hard cock pounding inside you is nearly overwhelming, making it difficult to catch your breath as the relentless pleasure surges through you.

as he feels the pressure building within him, he pulls out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making you gasp and shiver. his grip on you tightens with one strong arm, keeping you pressed  between the wall and his chest. with his other hand, he begins to pump his throbbing cock furiously, his movements desperate and urgent. each stroke is fast and rough, his hand sliding up and down his length with a frenzied rhythm as he chases his own climax.

his breath grows ragged and uneven, his groans becoming more guttural as he nears the edge. the water around begins to ripple with his frantic movements, the sound of his pleasure mingling with your own gasps. finally, with a low, throaty growl, he reaches his peak, his body convulsing as thick, hot streams of cum shoot from the tip of his cock. the warmth of his release spills into the water, mixing with the ripples created by your own tremors.

as he finishes, his hand slows, and he gasps for breath, still clutching you. the lake is tainted with his cum, turning the clear water cloudy with its creamy white streaks.

sunghoon carefully lets you down, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your thighs but keeping you close, never fully letting go. your bodies remain pressed together, slick with sweat and lake water, your skin sticking to his as your chests rise and fall in sync, catching your breath. his forehead rests against yours, the warmth of his skin comforting. between you, his cock, now soft but still thick, rests against your stomach, a reminder of how nice and hard he’d just fucked you.

his lips trail across your face, soft and unhurried, each kiss deliberate and warm. the gentle brush of his nose against your cheek sends a shiver through you as he moves down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "i love you," he whispers, the words barely audible but filled with a deep sincerity, his voice low and intimate.

his arms remain around you, holding you close as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. "you're mine," he murmurs, his tone firmer now, possessive but tender.

sunghoon gently guides you out of the lake, his grip both firm and tender, ensuring your safety on the uneven ground. as you step onto the soft grass, he supports you, his hands brushing away droplets of water from your skin.

he retrieves your kirtle from where it was set aside. as he holds it up, his fingers brush your skin, sending a shiver through you. he helps you into the kirtle, the material clinging slightly as it slips over your body. sunghoon fastens the straps with a practiced touch, his fingers lingering on the delicate fabric. each movement is meticulous, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of this fleeting moment.

as sunghoon finishes fastening the last strap of your kirtle, his thoughts drift to the bittersweet reality of your situation. he feels incredibly fortunate to have shared such a deep connection with you, to have experienced your love and to hold you in his arms. the warmth of the moment, the way you look at him, and the way your body fits against his all fill him with a profound sense of luck.

yet, this profound sense of luck is tempered by a heavy dose of misfortune. the knowledge that you will soon leave his side to return to jaeyun and the duties that come with being by his side weighs heavily on him. the thought of you being with someone else, especially that someone being jaeyun, fills him with an ache he can’t easily shake.

sunghoon’s heart longs for more than just these moments. he wishes he could take you far away from the constraints of the kingdom, from jaeyun, and from the burdens of duty. he dreams of a place where the only thing that matters is the two of you, where worries and obligations don’t intrude on your happiness.

for now, though, all he can do is hold you close, cherish the time you have together, and hope that one day, he can make his dream of a life together away from everything else a reality.

“if only we could remain like this forever.” hee murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, holding you close one last time before you part again. as he drapes his blouse over your shoulders to shield you from the morning breeze, he presses a soft kiss to your neck, his touch lingering with a tender warmth.

*

being with sunghoon is not without its difficulties. each moment together demands a careful balance, where every look and touch is meticulously controlled to keep your affair with him under wraps. 

over the years, you've both perfected this unspoken language. a fleeting glance, a slight tilt of the head, or a barely perceptible smile - all of these become powerful tools in your covert exchanges. it’s an intricate dance of subtlety and intuition, where a single look can convey a world of emotions and thoughts. you've learned to read each other's cues with astonishing accuracy, understanding what the other is saying without a single word being spoken.

sunghoon, for instance, has become adept at detecting the smallest signs of your distress. he can sense when you're upset by the way your gaze momentarily drifts or how your smile falters just a fraction too long. a subtle furrow of your brow or the way you avoid direct eye speaks volumes to him. he’s attuned to these subtle signals, knowing instantly when something is amiss.

just like always, he notices how your body language shifts subtly right now too - the way you absently fidget with your dress or how your gaze drifts towards the window, clearly searching for an escape from the stifling room. it’s evident to him that you're not enjoying the conversation between your older brother jongseong and jaeyun, as they drone on about politics and subjects that bore you to tears.

sunghoon’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches you, his concern masked by a composed expression. he can see the restlessness in your posture, the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. every now and then, you glance at the door as if willing it to open and offer a reprieve.

oh, the ways he could make you feel good, unlike jaeyun who is making you listen political matters that you couldn’t care less. 

he could slip his fingers inside you, feeling every tight, hot inch as he stroked and teased those sensitive spots, making you writhe with overwhelming pleasure. his mouth could bury itself between your legs, lapping up your sweet nectar and driving you wild with every skilled lick and insistent suck. and his cock, it could plunge deep inside you, filling you to the hilt and delivering a relentless, mind-shattering pleasure that no other man could ever hope to match.

he fantasizes about taking you in this very room, in front of jaeyun, to prove just how much you crave him and need him to make you forget everything else. sunghoon imagines your body responding to his touch, the sounds of your moans calling out his name, and how he could bring you to a peak of pleasure that leaves you utterly spent, all while jaeyun watches as soon-to-be-bride being ravished by him.

the vivid images make sunghoon’s pants tighten. he shifts slightly, trying to adjust his position discreetly, but the growing tension in his trousers becomes impossible to ignore. he knows he needs to act on his desire, and quickly. sunghoon subtly shifts his gaze towards you, his eyes locking with yours for a fleeting moment, filled with a smoldering intensity. then, with a casual but deliberate movement, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans slightly against the wall.

his stance is carefully crafted to appear nonchalant, but his posture is intentionally relaxed, his body angled in a way that draws your attention to the slight, purposeful pressure he applies against the wall with his hip. it’s a subtle but unmistakable signal, a quiet, urgent plea for you to follow him, to find a way to get closer, and to address the growing need he has ignited within him.

as you notice his silent message, you decide to make an excuse to leave the room. you mumble about needing to step outside for some fresh air, citing a vague headache that has suddenly come on. your voice is calm, but there's an edge of urgency as you quickly exit the room.

jaeyun’s gaze follows you as you leave, his eyes revealing a depth of unspoken emotions. though his expression is subdued, there’s a quiet longing in his stare. it’s more than just idle curiosity; his look reflects a mix of disappointment and a barely concealed yearning, as he silently observes your departure with a sense of unvoiced heartache.

sunghoon, noticing the subtle shift in jaeyun’s demeanor, lets a smirk creep onto his face. he meets jaeyun’s gaze with a knowing, almost triumphant expression before turning to follow you out of the room. the smirk lingers on his lips as he exits, leaving jaeyun behind, whose eyes remain fixed on the door, his expression a blend of wistful longing and resignation.

even as you're bouncing on his cock vigorously, sunghoon’s triumphant grin stays fixed, relishing the intense pleasure that the bastard never can have.

he lays on his back, eyes fixed on the way your breasts bounce with each thrust. gripping your hips tightly, he guides you to ride him harder and faster, ensuring to make sure you don’t miss a single stroke. with each movement, he takes satisfaction in the control he has over your body, his pleasure intensifying as he brings you closer to your peak.

as you cum, your body convulses with intense pleasure, and you collapse onto Sunghoon’s chest, trembling. he groans deeply, pulling out of you with a rough jerk. his thick, hot cum spills between your thighs, seeping down your skin. sunghoon, still catching his breath, carefully lays you onto your side, his eyes fixed on the mess he’s made.

with a satisfied smirk, he strokes your hair, his eyes fixed on the mess he’s made

, his cum glistening on your flushed skin. he watches intently as it trickles slowly down your inner thighs, savoring every drop. his hands, now resting possessively on your hips, hold you close, feeling the warmth of your spent body pressed against him. his breathing is ragged, each inhale a testament to the raw pleasure and control he’s reveling in. the scene of his dominance, with you at his mercy, drives him to the brink of satisfaction as he admires the evidence of his claim.

“you are breathtaking, my love.”

you smile faintly, your eyes barely open as you lay beside him, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. sunghoon’s gaze softens slightly, his smirk giving way to a genuine, if tired, smile. he runs his fingers gently over your skin, savoring the warmth and softness of you against him. 

“i want us to leave all of this behind,” he says quietly, his voice a blend of resolve and affection. “this palace, the endless expectations, the life that’s been forced upon us—let’s abandon it all. i need you with me, y/n, far away from here, where we can build something real and ours. a place where no one knows our names, where we can escape from all the burdens and start anew.”

he gently squeezes your hand, his expression earnest and hopeful. “imagine a life where we’re not bound by duty or tradition, where we can simply be ourselves, where we don’t need to hide from everyone.” 

as soon as you part your lips to say his name, “sunghoon…” his hand reaches up to gently cup your cheek, silencing you with a soft touch. his eyes are intense, filled with longing, but also with a flicker of hope as he continues.

“i know what you're going to say,” he murmurs, his voice unwavering. “but just hear me out.” he moves closer, his forehead almost resting against yours as his words spill out with quiet urgency. “we could go north, far beyond the mountains, to a place where no one knows us. i could build us a home, nothing grand, just something simple. you’ve always wanted a small house and a farm, haven’t you? somewhere quiet, peaceful, where we can live on our own terms.”

his thumb brushes over your lips, his tone growing more earnest. “i’ll work the land. i'll give you everything you need. no more castle walls, no more titles or duties. just us. we could wake up with the sun, plant gardens, raise animals, and fall asleep under the stars. you always say sheep are cute, i could get you a whole flock if you want.” you don’t miss the quivering in his voice as he rambles continuously, “imagine… you, tending to them every morning, their soft wool in your hands. maybe a little goat or two as well, something to make you smile every day. that’s all i want, y/n—a life with you, away from this place, away from everything that’s held us back.”

sunghoon’s eyes glisten slightly as he searches yours, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly. “we could have a life we’ve only dreamed of.” 

your eyes glisten with unshed tears as you hold his gaze, a faint, broken smile tugging at your lips. “sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice wavering. “you don’t even believe those words.”

his face falters for a moment, the hope in his eyes dimming just slightly, but his grip on you remains firm. "i do," he insists, his voice low, almost pleading. “i believe it-” 

"you want to believe it," you interrupt gently, your voice cracking. "and believe me, i want to too. i'd love to wake up next to you, tend to sheep, live that simple life… but we can’t, sunghoon." your eyes well with tears as you hold his gaze, the broken smile fading. "we can’t just leave it all behind. it’s not that simple as it sounds.” 

“please don’t say no, y/n,” he says quietly, his voice cracking with the weight of his plea. he holds you close, his grip firm but gentle.

“i’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “i wish things were different. i wish we could escape and live that life together, but i just can’t.”

sunghoon's face crumples with the weight of your words. his shoulders slump as if the very air has been knocked from his lungs. the passionate fervor in his eyes dims, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. his grip on you tightens momentarily, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting hope you offered, but the strength quickly ebbs away.

the light that once danced in his eyes is now overshadowed by a shadow of despair. he swallows hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he struggles to contain the storm of emotions raging within him. his hands, which had been tenderly cupping your face, now fall limply to his sides. 

it hits him hard. that you being with jaeyun and playing the role of his wife is like a knife in his heart. he has a tremendous feeling of hopelessness, knowing that he can no longer fight for the life he always dreamed. 

the thought of never being able to claim you openly or stand by your side without hiding makes him feel confined and smothered. he future he wished for is now permanently out of reach.

he knows that, even if he were to try and find a semblance of normalcy, he will always be living in the shadow of jaeyun. 

[sayurifellfrost]

Prompt #10: Channel

Character: Z’xhirha Quohn

Age: 14

Z’xhirha crashed into the ground with a heavy thud, a loud snarl escaping her in the process. Her venomous glare shot up to settle upon Eanlac - the Hyur who had thrown her - beginning to push herself up to stand.

Her body was covered in bruises, pain wrecking her and muscles screaming at every move she made - yet she remained unrelenting.

Eanlac displayed a taunting grin her way, and it was enough to fan the flames of her rage to greater heights. Z’xhirha lunged at the Midlander, her fist swiftly connecting with the underside of his jaw and sending him staggering. The Hyur’s hand darted for Z’xhirha’s hair and tangled its fingers into it, roughly yanking her with him.

None of the observers truly knew why the fight had started anymore, but the Seeker had jumped him incredibly quickly in retort. Whatever the Hyur had said, or done, had set her off - making her channel every bit of rage she held behind her relentless assault. Considering her age and small stature, none had really thought she’d be able to do any proper damage against Eanlac.. But they had been proven wrong, and attracted an even bigger crowd.

Eanlac doubled over as Z’xhirha’s fist connected with his gut, which followed with her hands moving to cup it over the back of his head to shove it further downwards while her right leg swung up - connecting her knee with his nose. A sickening crack followed the impact, a yell of pain leaving the Hyur as he crashed onto his back. The Miqo’te was quick to follow, launching herself onto him to sit on his ribs and barrelling her fists down towards his face repeatedly. Eanlac’s hands were promptly sent upwards, latching onto Z’xhirha’s throat as he began to squeeze it in an attempt to make her remove herself.

… But she didn’t.

The Seeker pressed her head down further, making the pressure around her throat increase as she continued her barrage against his face, with seemingly no intentions to stop.

“ENOUGH!”

A loud, familiar voice bellowed - heavy footsteps moving their way before a set of massive hands grasped onto the Seeker, yanking her off and forcing Eanlac to get go of her. Z’xhirha squirmed around violently, resulting in her being put down on her feet and twisted around to face the Roegadyn who had grabbed her.

Ketenblaet.

The Sea Wolf frowned down at her, then peered up at the people gathered around them.

“Show’s over - piss off, all o’ ye’!”

People swiftly began to disperse, Eanlac’s friends collecting the bloodied man and helping him hobble away. Ketenblaet’s attention returned to the seething Seeker in his grasp.

“Xhirha.. Ye’ were told t’stop gettin’ into constant fights.” he frowned. “I don’t mind ye’ occasional brawl but ‘s gettin’ outta hand.”

“Who t’fuck cares?!” Z’xhirha snapped back at him.

“I fuckin’ do.” Ketenblaet retorted sharply. “Yer fuckin’ family.”

Z’xhirha glared to the side, frown deepening.

Family was a word that sat bitterly with her.

Ketenblaet shook his head slightly, hands reaching to clasp around the girl’s waist and promptly heaving her up on his shoulder with a loud noise of protest leaving her.

“Wha’ are y’doin’?!” she yelled.

“Ensurin’ ye’ ain’ runnin’ off.” Ketenblaet spoke plainly, beginning to walk. “We’re goin’ home.”

Z’xhirha squirmed at the top of the Sea Wolf’s shoulder, batting a hand against his back no matter how feeble the attempt to make him let her go was.

[dracosearlgreytea]

indelicate marks (16)

indelicate marks: chapter sixteen - the admission

A/N: okay, i know it has been months, but i am back with another chapter! this fic has got a little attention over the weeks and honestly, all i can say is THANK YOU SO MUCH. i love to see people enjoying my work more than anything in the world, and bless you all and your patience for waiting for the next part. i am hoping to post a new chapter within the week! please feel free to drop by my inbox with any questions about the fic! i love you all very much - ivy <3 

warnings: language, very mild descriptions of scars, nsfw implications, punching, a little spicy drama

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22 @bitch-im-a-fangirl @erinisbadger @strawberriesonsummer @accio-rogers @candune @contentobsessor @darinaioana @bbeauttyybbx @letssingintherain

indelicate marks index 

And so the weeks began to slide by more easily. Ignoring the ominous words Draco had offered you that night was easier than trying to decipher them. That, you had more or less figured out in the first week of trying. In fact, ignoring most things that festered away and gave you that constant sick feeling was easier than having to acknowledge them at all. Not bringing them up to the boy you continued to meet more and more also appeared to be easier, and for a while, it stayed exactly that way. Until, that was, he went missing again. You'd agreed to meet at the classroom during your joint free period of the day. With Draco's 'task' growing only further demanding, nightly meetings were much more rare. Instead, you stole your moments with him throughout the day - although, you avoided broom cupboards. This time, his disappearance was much more concerning. Whilst doubt lingered from the last time Draco managed to vanish, you were quite sure that things between you were okay. You hadn't argued. You hadn't even pushed for more information on his involvement with the Deatheaters. By lunch, you knew something was wrong. Shaky, you sat at the end of the Slytherin table. It was summer, and the weather was nice, so most students had opted to go sit outside or take a trip to Hogsmeade, leaving the hall almost empty. What bothered you, however, was that Pansy Parkinson and the rest of Draco's 'gang', were sitting unnaturally quiet a few benches away. Parkinson did look particularly disgruntled, hair a mess and skin a shade paler than usual. You waited for as long as you could stand it, hands twitching as you stared at your plate, food untouched. The thoughts inside your head were loud, and sickening. If something had happened to Draco - did someone find out about his mark? Did Lestrange find him in my thoughts back in Easter? Fuck, Draco, where are you - Parkinson stood, as did the rest of the Slytherin group. Without a second of reluctance, you shot out of your seat. Anxiety clawed at your throat, but you bit it back, calling her name before you could change your mind. "Parkinson!" She paused. Pansy didn't even glance at you the first time, and for a second you thought she was going to ignore you. But, then, she turned, eyes flashing with a concoction of hostility and surprise as they met you. "Uh - Y/L/N?" Her eyebrow arched, scanning you with her renowned glare. Self-conscious washed over you as she did so, but you kept your features steely. "Can I help you?" "I - yeah." You stumbled, inwardly cursing. The group that usually gravitated around her and Draco had paused, putting you on the receiving end of several dangerous stares. Pansy was silent, only watching you with her perpetual, irritated look. "Just wanted to know where Malfoy is - that's all." "Draco?" You noticed the way she froze for a second, before you registered his name on her lips. Quick, you nodded, glancing back at the group, who seemed to be inching back towards you. Heart rate frenzied, you eyed Pansy with what you could only label as a pleading expression. Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. "What the hell do you want with Draco?" Oh, shit. "I gave him my Potions essay for him to copy off." You lied, hoping it came smoother than it sounded. Pansy's face stayed eerily set, almost reminiscent to the way Draco appeared most the time. "I need it back." Pansy was silent, again. "Pansy!" Blaise Zabini yelled from the doorway, shooting you a look as you stared at them. "Hurry up." Pansy didn't even acknowledge him, still scrutinising you. Then, she took a small, but intimidating step forward, setting you with a hard, guarded look. "You're a good liar." She muttered. "But you're behind on school gossip." You stayed silent. You didn't trust yourself not to have a complete breakdown there and then if you opened your mouth. Finally throwing a glance over her shoulder, she returned to look at you in a swift motion. "Potter cornered him in the bathrooms. He's in the hospital wing." No. Teeth grinding together, you stared at her, sharing a look between you. It was an odd feeling, hot, in your chest. The terror of not knowing exactly what had happened to Draco, the rage at Potter, and - and the unusual relief in the understanding of Pansy's eyes. Perhaps it was a skill she had, appearing like she knew everything, every little piece about you. Yet, the glint of recognition in her gaze told you otherwise. Before you could speak, she had turned and strode back towards her group, leaving you alone by the Slytherin table. It took you a second before the realisation of Draco's injury set in. Then, you were launching yourself down the corridors, straight to the hospital wing. "Miss Y/L/N?" Madame Pomfrey called as you rushed in, setting your rather terrified eyes on the professor. You knew her well, by now, after so many visits - you had no reason to shy from her temper. "Draco Malfoy." You said, without a second of hesitance. A bed at the far corner of the hospital wing was cornered off - whatever had happened in the bathrooms clearly wasn't a secret amongst students. How the hell did I miss this? "No visitors." She spoke with a firm tone, setting her eyes on you as you had to take in a breath. "You know I wouldn't come here for just anyone," You murmured, drained. The emotion, and worrying must have shown on your expression, resonating in the way her eyes softened in the slightest. "No visitors, Miss Y/L/N. I can't make exceptions." Stubborn as ever. "Then - I - is he okay?" "Yes." She sighed, lips dragging down in the slightest. "He'll live, dear. Now, please make yourself scarse, before Professor McGonagall thinks you're causing a scene." Madame Pomfrey began to gesture you back to the doorway you had sped through. Yet, before you could bite them back, a last, desperate attempt spilled from your mouth. "Can you at least let him know I tried?" Her lips etched further down in the tiniest. Your heart murmured in disappointment - but, as you were about to give in hope, she gave you a singular, firm nod.   "Fine. Now, out of my hospital wing, girl." The tone of her voice was enough for you to know you had pushed her to her limit. "Thank you." Your reply came as a breath you weren't quite sure was at all audible, soon to make it back out of the hospital wing. Draco was at least getting tended to - and Madame Pomfrey didn't seem too stressed. All good signs that whatever had happened wasn't too drastic, at least. Still, that persistent nausea remained, stubborn. You were definitely not in the mood for a mind numbing lesson of a History of Magic, that was for certain. The Classroom it is. At least if Draco gets out of the hospital wing I'll know if he stopped by to see me. So lost in thought on the way to the classroom, you could have almost missed it. The three famous faces of Hogwarts, huddled together, but speeding towards what you assumed would be the Gryffindor common room. If you'd have been paying more attention, maybe you would have noticed Harry Potter's laboured, terrified breathing, and Hermione's furrowed brow. But they didn't need to have been wearing Gryffindor robes for you to see red. For once, you didn't feel your usual jittering anxiety. You didn't weigh up what your actions would mean, what your reputation would do. Your strides became quicker, poised. Fists curled up, you bared your teeth and let out a yell. "Potter!" He didn't even turn to look at you. No, it was his two bodyguards that spun. Expressions tired, they looked ready to face another barrage of questions from nosy students, only to drop. Hermione's eyes lit up with panic at the sight of you, most likely looking a little deranged. Her lips shifted to say something, but your thoughts were too loud. He hurt Draco. He hurt Draco, and now I'm going to hurt him. Harry turned to face you at the last minute. Bringing back your arm, you swung your fist directly into his face. "Don't you fucking dare touch him again!" Your voice didn't even feel like your own as you glared down at Harry. He stumbled back, Ron quick to his aid and preventing his fall. "Y/N-" "No, Harry Potter, you fucking listen to me." Hissing, you pushed Hermione away from you as she attempted to pull you back, despite Harry's lack of retaliation. "You stay away from me, and you stay away from Draco." Your eyes glinted, taking in every inch of shock across his face. "Or I will do a lot worse than give you a black eye." "Y/N, go." Hermione urged, gaze pressuring and a little dangerous. It was only then that you realised there were a lot more eyes on you than you once noticed. All around the corridor - students of every year, every house. Staring. Whispering. Jaw grinding together, you threw another glare at Harry for good measure. Then, you stepped back, getting away from the corridor before anything could escalate. For once, there were no scalding, angry tears to follow your mistake. There was no pounding heartbeat, or panicked breathing. For once, as you made your way to the classroom, there was only the sting of your knuckles. And, the odd satisfaction of knowing you'd at least done something for Draco. You'd stood up for him, like he'd stood up for you - and whilst, yes, there was also the concern of him being angry at you for doing so - you knew it was all you could try and do. If Draco was going to get himself killed, you'd be there to try and prevent it to any measures necessary. You'd been sat at the window ledge for hours when Draco finally made an appearance. Dusk was setting in, casting the room that warm orange you felt so comfortable within. The moment the door clicked unlocked, your heart jumped, and before you could rush to the door he was already pushing it open, eyes locking with yours instantly. Swallowing, a second of silence settled between you. There was a million words coming to mind, yet they vanished. All you could do was take in the note of his familiar grey-blue gaze. "Evening." Finally, he spoke, twitching a corner of his lip upward as he slipped into the room and locked the door behind him. That. That was all it took. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you complete and utter idiot-" You'd scrambled to your feet in a second, eyes darting all over his body as you marched towards him and pulled him into a less than gentle embrace. Draco let out a grunt, but then you pulled back again, setting a hand either side of his face. "What the fuck did you do? Merlin, are you alright? I've been fucking worried sick about you all day, I had to speak to Pansy bloody Parkinson just to find out where you are-" Draco's lips cut you off, his own hands coming to rest over yours. Your heart leapt as he did so, and despite his cool skin, you flushed warm. Every little bit of stress dissipated at the action, swiped away by his touch. Pulling back, he prized your hands off of him, although kept them tucked into his. His eyes glimmered with a certain tone of pride - one you hadn't seen him wear often in the last few months. "You gave Potter a black eye." Draco's face pulled into a grin as he spoke, as though he couldn't help himself. Chest fluttering, you realised - Draco was proud of you. "Well - yeah." You felt your own, faint smile play along your lips. "He put you in hospital, Draco. Fuck, are you alright?" Straight back to panicking, you searched him again, the sight of him standing so full in front of you almost thrilling after such a long day. "Can you stop fretting for one second?" He pressed. "No, I cannot! What happened?" Demanding, you set him with a firm look. "You gave Potter a black eye, that's what fucking happened!" Draco exclaimed, eyes alight and wide. "I'm aware. I did do it myself, you know." You sighed, finally accepting that you were not going to find anything out about Draco's injury anytime soon. "You're bloody brilliant." He murmured, kissing you again - this time, a lot more hastily, so much it took you by surprise. You allowed him to wrap his arms around your waist, your own hands grasping at the back of his hair as his lips played atop of yours. Only, for them to travel across your jawline, breath hitching as they did so. "I wish I was there to have seen it." Draco whispered, voice dark, tempting. "Stop sexualising my violence." You muttered, evoking a chuckle from the back of his throat. The sound so close to your ear that it made you shiver, his fingers dug into your waist a little deeper. Still, you pushed the feeling away. "Draco, please tell me what happened." Finally, Draco faltered, an echo of a sigh escaping his lips as he shifted back to take you in. "I don't think you want to know." Heart stumbling, you swallowed, eyes dropping to where your hands splayed over his shoulders. "Trust me." Your eyes flickered back to his. Gradual hesitation was breaking through his previous, much more playful gaze. "I want to know." A silence settled between you. Endless amounts of tension managed to fill the small space between your features. It was the type of tension that already made your heart clench in your chest, the type that made you not want to breath. Draco's expression had fallen, a mixture of withdrawal and unexpected dread - one he would usually try so hard to cover.  It was unnerving, seeing someone usually so hardened, so steely, dropping back into the terrified boy you only caught glimpses of before.   And, eventually, he spoke. "He knows." Your breath caught in the back of your throat. "He saw - saw the mark, when I went to visit Myrtle. Shot some spell I've never heard at me." Draco, once avoiding your glossy eyes, finally met them again. "Nearly killed me." Merlin, his tone was something you'd never even attempted to imagine, coming from Draco. Both haunted, yet accepting, as though he was comfortable with his own fear - and it terrified you, deep into your core. In any other situation, you would have noticed your own terror. The idea of Draco dying, without you having even known - it was unthinkable. He was everything you had, everything you'd ever wanted or needed after a life spent within your own head. If he died - But you didn't. No. For once, it was only anger. Draco's expression was only a spark to a fire pit built many years ago. Built the day you stepped inside Hogwarts, brimming with hopes and dreams, only to be met with rejection.   It took a moment for you to realise that Draco was still watching you, uncertain, brow furrowed in concern. For you. Not him, not the one who had almost died only a few hours ago. And so, you let out a careful breath, holding his face in your hands as though it was the most precious thing to exist. "I won't let that happen." You murmured, meeting his complex grey faze with a fierce one. Swallowing, Draco watched you a moment longer, as though trying to read the intensity of your words. "I know." His brow jolted in as he spoke, as though he were wounded to say it. There was an underlying tone to your admission, one you both appeared to ignore. But then, Draco pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, squeezing your waist tight in his grip. The movement brushed away the tension before you could even attempt to hold onto it. It left you feeling a little unhinged, blinking. "I'm alive, though." Draco reassured, catching your eye once again. "Madame Pomfrey fixed me up quite nicely." A soft chuckle left you as he spoke, breaking through the stiffness of your features. "Really?" You raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Any battle scars?" His lips twitched, gaze warm. "You're just trying to get me undressed." Shaking his head, you laughed again, watching as Draco shifted away from you to tug his shirt upward. There was a slight stutter in your chest as he did so, a sudden childish nervousness at the exposure of skin. But, as your eyes swept across the healed, rugged lines across his chest, it faded. Leaving you instead, with both a tinge of worry - and, a slight desire. Draco, however, seemed to note your expression. He didn't allow his shirt to fall back down till your eyes met again, except this time, they were a little darkened. "Like what you see?" A smug smirk plastered his features, but you only rolled your eyes. "Cocky as always, Malfoy." You teased, unable to stop yourself from smiling as he pulled you in closer again. Pressing short kisses to your jaw, he earnt a sharp intake of breath from you. "I never denied that." The mood, somehow, managed to stay warm for the rest of the evening. Settled on the window sill, soaking in Draco's presence and rare good mood - your anxieties faded. His arms were so tight around you, soft lips finding your skin, over and over. It was as though you were dreaming. The anger, however - the anger never quite left. You weren't quite sure if you wanted it to, either.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 18

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,300

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah took time to explore the rest of the house while Brasa was busy closing the finances for the month. The door at the end of the hallway was still locked, and she wished she’d snagged Seth’s lock pick set while she had the chance. After making a note to order one online, Lilah veered off to the far side of the house, behind the living room.

There was a stairwell that still smelled of freshly sawed wood, unvarnished, leading to an expansive loft. Like the rest of the house, the walls and ceiling were stone. Also like the rest of the house, it was bare.

Clearly, it was meant to be an office of some kind, bookshelves lining the walls. An adjoining half bath was tucked in the back, with a linen closet stocked with towels. Lilah stood in the middle of it, thinking that it was odd that there was no window. In any other building, there would be a lookout over the property. But, as with most things where Brasa was concerned, this was not like any other building.

Moving back downstairs, Lilah passed through the living room to a smaller office. Brasa was sitting at the desk, tapping away on a keyboard. He looked up in interest as she entered the room. Lilah waved to him, indicating that he should ignore her. His work seemed constant—a barrage of emails to answer when he woke, phone calls that seemed to take hours, text message updates from Javier. Running his business was somewhat more than a full time job.

There were times when Lilah spent almost all her waking hours alone. She’d taken to riding with him to the bar and parking herself in one of the booths as a mean of distraction. The bar manager had good taste in music, and Lilah found that she could actually take some time to relax.

Still, she missed her friends, and she missed the work. A couple times a day, she would get an email or a text—she was disappointed every time by the sender. Seth hadn’t so much as checked in, though Kate occasionally sent her an update. It looked to Lilah that she was going to have to find a new crew. The thought was not entirely palatable. To keep the feeling at bay, Lilah turned her attention back to the décor.

Like Brasa’s other office, this room was plush and touched here and there with soft, luxurious accents. It was the only room in the house that seemed to reflect the inhabitant. There were fewer books here, but the ones that were stacked on the shelves were old, most of them looking handmade. She didn’t dare touch them for fear of damaging the clearly valuable tomes, though every once in a while, her fingers itched to snag one and secret it away.

Like the room above, there was an adjoining bathroom. Simple. Stocked with supplies. Lilah made a circle around the room, touching the marble counter top, and then went back into the office. She clocked Brasa still on the phone, his expression thunderous. It was starting to become a pattern. He’d answer the phone, and bad news would come.

There was no soothing him when he found out that another shipment had gone missing or that Benny had gained a significant number of acolytes. His anger would blossom in a quiet way that left him pacing in thought. All she could do was wait for him to run out of steam, usually laying down next to her, pulling her into his body in comfort.

Leaning against a bookshelf, Lilah waited. He would do as he had done in the past, come to her when he was ready.

When he’d concluded that call, Brasa turned off his monitor and pushed to standing. He tugged on his leather gloves, looking lost in thought. The worry creasing his brow was deeper than it had ever been, and she could feel something like grief emanating through the bond. It pushed her to approach him first.

“What happened?” Lilah asked pointedly, provoked by the distress in his expression.

He glanced at her, saying, “Benny tried to open the portal.”

Aghast, Lilah spit out, “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Brasa replied, stepping around his desk, “He failed. But, it wasn’t without consequence.”

Lilah followed him out into the living room, “Was anyone hurt?”

He nodded, heading for the coat closet and shrugging on his preferred leather coat, “Yes.”

Lilah didn’t like the abrupt answers, the way he wouldn’t look at her. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d failed to open the portal—only that she was relieved by it.

“I’m coming with you,” she announced, stepping into a pair of boots and zipping up the sides.

Brasa hesitated, and she could tell he was about to tell her ‘no.’ Staring at her, he changed his mind, nodding once and reaching for her hand. He led her out to the hidden garage, helped her into the SUV. As they drove, he periodically checked his phone. No new information ever popped up onto the screen. Lilah touched his arm, squeezing it in what she hoped was comfort. He looked at her sidelong, then took her hand, holding it the whole way.

When they arrived at the bar, it was chaos. People milled about, some of them injured. Lilah covered her mouth to hide the gag as the smell hit her nose. Burned flesh. Blood. Fear. It mixed together into something that she couldn’t describe with any other word than ‘horror’. She’d seen war documentaries with less gore. The room was both quiet and loud, the silence interspersed regularly with the moans of those who hurt.

Some of the victims were missing limbs, almost all were burned in some way, shape, or form. Lilah took the crowd in, took in the ones that were trying to help. Crates of blood bags were being hauled out to where Javier stood. He directed traffic, issuing orders with authority that might have surprised her in any other situation. Here, he was shining with leadership that he normally eschewed.

Blood was being applied as a poultice, dripped over wounds and into open mouths. Lilah struggled to contain her reaction, struggled to understand the medicine for what it was. She thought that maybe she’d gotten used to how her world had turned, but what she was looking at was at least three or four steps in the wrong direction.

Brasa guided her to Javier, the hand at the small of her back a reassurance that she definitely appreciated. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, and overwhelmed. There was a very real possibility that she might pass out. Swallowing down what threatened to rise, Lilah forced her spine to straighten, carried herself with strength she did not have.

“How many?” Brasa asked, pulling off his glasses and observing the room with a clinical eye.

Javier scratched at the skin above his brow, his other hand holding onto a silver cane that matched the silver of his belt buckle. He was dressed in a black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. Lilah noted that he wore a silver pinky ring that glinted in the light. Even in utter disaster, Javier was dressed for the occasion.

“Seventy five,” he answered, “I’ve already sent the least injured to our barracks. We will provide them with food and rest. The others…”

He gestured to the crowd strewn across the bar. Some of them were lying on the floor, being tended to by staff. Some were propped up against the walls or laying on the tables. Still others were sitting at the bar. All of them look shell shocked, their gazes in the middle distance. Almost none were talking. Absolutely none were smiling.

As she looked at them, Lilah had never felt more helpless. This was so far out of her wheelhouse that she couldn’t quite get herself anchored.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands, didn’t know if she should say something or remain quiet.

“I’ve talked with a few of them,” Javier continued, “He almost did it.”

That stopped Lilah cold. All of the pain in the room had nearly resulted in much worse. The ‘almost’ of his success made her chest hurt with unrelenting anxiety. If he had succeeded, if he attempted to do it again, there would be dire consequences no matter the outcome.

Brasa hissed, his lips curling, “I knew he would try.”

Javier dipped his head congenially, “They tell me that there are possibly a dozen that were taken, that Benny sacrificed to the portal before it collapsed.”

Brasa nodded, saying nothing and eyeing the victims. Lilah wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know what it meant that he’d been able to make a sacrifice, that he’d been able to contact Xibalba. She also wanted to know if the near success had created a rift in the portal, something for Benny to dig his fingers into so that he could rip it wide open.

“He’s getting too close.”

“I know that,” Brasa seethed, “We’ll have to kill him.”

Javier’s lips thinned, “He’s gone to ground.”

“Then we will root him out.”

There was fire underneath Brasa’s words. His voice was low, angry, ruthless. Lilah couldn’t blame him.  For Brasa, the people in this room were under his protection. Benny had infringed upon his territory, had done what Brasa had expressly forbidden. It was understandable that he would want to retaliate in kind.

What surprised Lilah was the guilt hiding stealthily behind her shock. If she had advocated to Benny to be killed sooner, if she had let Brasa do what he’d originally planned to do down in those caves...if she hadn’t interfered, a lot of people might have avoided suffering. And yet, Lilah knew that she could not have lived with herself if she hadn’t given Benny the opportunity to do what was right. If she had signed on wholesale to their slaughter, she would have counted herself as no better than him.

“As you wish.”

Knowing that she would be more in that way than able to provide any help, Lilah let Brasa pull her into his public office. The quiet, when they closed the door behind them, was a heavy thing. Lilah hadn’t even realized how loud the bar proper actually was, with the groans of the injured sounding almost constantly. She blinked back angry, impotent tears, wanting to be strong. Or, she wanted the appearance of strength, if only for Brasa’s sake.

Brasa sat at his desk, elbows landing atop it. His head sank into the cradle of his hands, a long, slow breath pushed through his nose. Lilah leaned a hip on the corner nearest to him, one hand soothing over his shoulder. She could think of no words of comfort, nothing that could right the immeasurable wrong that had been committed.

“We need to close that portal,” he murmured, sniffing as he leaned back to slouch in his chair.

Lilah’s hand dropped to her lap, “We do.”

He looked lost, bereft. Lilah wanted to gather him into her arms and rock side to side, wanted to ruffle the curls of his hair, wanted to take the heavy weight from him. And yet, there was nothing that could bring his people back, nothing that could heal the deep wound Benny’s attempt had made.

She said that only thing she could, “We still need the knife.”

Brasa ticked his head to the side, “Yes, we do.”

Lilah grabbed on to the opportunity to do something, “Tell me where to find the knife. I’ll get it and bring it back here while you see to the injured.”

Brasa was already shaking his head, “I can’t risk you. Not now.”

She knew he’d say that, knew it like she knew no one could get at the knife as fast or as efficiently as she could. Lilah may not be a politician, or a diplomat, but she could steal with the best of them. He could run point here while she took care of business out there.

“Its not a risk,” Lilah lied, “Benny will be in hiding until he tries again. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

One leg kicked out and pulled the rolling chair forward so that Brasa could take her hand, “I’ll send someone to get the knife.”

Lilah thought for a moment about relenting. And then she thought about the people outside, she thought about how useless she felt. She needed this. Not because someone else couldn’t do it, but because she needed to feel like she was contributing. That need rode her hard, pushing past whatever fear she might have for her own life.

“You’ll send me,” she enunciated clearly, “You know I can get in and get out with no problem. I’ll be back in forty eight hours, tops.”

The beginnings of a plan had already started to form in her mind. Her bags were already packed, a possible partner already selected. She could do this.

His eyes narrowed, “Its in Iceland.”

The plan pivoted a little, but the main points remained the same. A change in locale was no true barrier to getting it done.

“Seventy two hours, tops,” Lilah countered.

He said nothing, but she could see the gears turning in his head as he worked around the problem. Lilah might not be able to help the injured just outside their door, but this she could do. She could get him the last item he needed to stop any further attempts on the portal.

“You know I can do it. Just show me where it is.”

Brasa stood and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “You will take my plane. You will take a weapon. You will tell me the plan before you leave.”

“I can do that.”

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 1505

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, Anxiety, Brief Unsympathetic!Remus

Logan jerked awake, gasping for air. His eyes darted desperately around the room as they adjusted to the dark. Recognizing the room around him, he relaxed slightly. He took a breath, sitting up. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, gently illuminating his new bedroom. He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and felt the wetness of tears on his face. He took another deep breath, wiping them away.

 Why am I like this?

This isn't the way he wanted to start his new life. He'd been gifted an unbelievable opportunity. To have been granted his freedom was a miracle, but to have been appointed to the prince’s new advisor was frankly beyond anything he could have imagined. He shouldn’t be terrified. He should be excited. Sighing, Logan slid his legs out from under the blankets and down onto the floor. He paused, breathing deeply. The feeling of the cold, stone floor grounded him, helping to settle his mind.

He leaned against the bed, glancing up through the narrow window above his bed. He could just make out the moon through the narrow slit in the wall. He pondered for a few minutes, counting the days in his head. By his estimate, the full moon must be only a few days away. Pushing himself off the bed, he moved his way to the door. Realistically, he knew he should go back to sleep, but the thought of another nightmare unnerved him too much to consider it. Instead, he decided to make the most of his night and investigate his new study.

He turned the doorknob to the main room, feeling his way through the darkness of the main room into study. A faint ray of moonlight lit the study as he entered the study. He slowly walked the perimeter of the room. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the relaxing scent of the old books. He reached out and let his fingers drift over the spines as he passed by the shelves.

After a moment, he turned to face the small, ornate desk on the far wall. Logan reached across the desk and ignited a small gas lamp sitting on the corner of the desk. The soft, amber light of the lamp illuminated the room around him. He yawned as he turned and walked idly around the room, reading the titles on the spines of the books. After several minutes of internal debate, he pulled a small philosophy book with a bright red cover off the shelf. Logan settled into the desk, flipping open the cover of his book to the first pages. Any ideas of sleep left his mind and he was able lose himself in the ideas of another person. His anxiety seemed to abate. He finally felt like he could breathe, if only for a moment.

Hours later, he found himself at his desk, still in the same position. A small pile of books had begun to form on his desk and his body was beginning to ache. He forced himself to pull himself away, rubbing at the sore muscles at the base of his neck. He stood, somewhat unsteady, and wandered slowly back to his bedroom, stretching his arms above his head. Idly moving about, he washed his face at the water basin and changed his clothes. His stomach was already rumbling when a knock finally sounded at his door.

Stalling, Logan meandered his way the door. Pulling it open, he glanced down, surprised to see a small boy standing in the doorway with a cart full of covered plates. Logan doubted the boy was even of age. Smiling encouragingly, Logan stepped aside, holding the door for him.

He hesitated but finally entered the room cautiously. He kept his head down as he pushed the cart into Logan's room.

“It smells delicious,” he said, smiling at the kid, who was still avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you, sir.” The child replied, quickly.

Logan stepped over to the cart, lifting one of the plate covers.  Steam drifted up from the plate as he revealed a small roast chicken, resting on a pile of roasted vegetables underneath.

“In the future, will you let the chef know that I prefer not to eat meat.” He made an effort to keep his tone soft but the boy startled all the same.

“O-oh… I c-can take it back if you like, sir. I-if it's not good enough.” His voice was loud and unsteady and Logan could tell the kid was struggling.

Logan smiled at him sympathetically. “Please, be at ease. This is more than adequate for now. Send my compliments to the chef. I'm being genuine when I say it smells superb. I only want the chef to know my preferences for the future. Thank you for your services. Please, take this and get back to your work.” He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a few copper coins. He offered them to the kid and gestured to indicate that he was free to leave.

“Thank you, sir.” The boy hesitated before taking the coins. He nodded quickly at Logan and turned to go.

“You’re welcome.” Logan watched as the boy left the room before inspecting the plates on the cart. He lifted the other plate covers. There was more food on this cart than he could possibly consume on his own. The first platter he'd opened had a whole roasted chicken surrounded by roasted vegetables and potatoes. Another bowl was piled high with fresh fruit and berries.  Various other dishes held sides and sauces.  The abundance of food was overwhelming. He could only assume the chef had sent him a variety to get a feel for his preferences but all the same, he couldn’t help but marvel at the surrealness of his new position. He swallowed. His stomach was now growling loudly as he pulled the cart over to the table and started to dig into the various dishes

A half hour later, Logan sat at the table feeling uncomfortably full. He'd made an impressive dent into the intimidating amount of food he had been served. After the last week, he felt justified in catching up on a few meals but that didn’t stop his stomach from attempting to rebel against the sheer amount of food he’s consumed. Logan stood up and poked at the remaining food with a fork.

Logan sighed and dropped the fork down on the plate. He knew he was stalling. He needed to venture out into the tower eventually, but anxiety flared in his chest at the idea of leaving his chambers. Despite the warm light filtering through the window, Logan shivered. He was unnerved at the idea of traveling the halls by himself but he couldn’t just sit in his quarters all day. He sighed, pacing the room. Several minutes passed before Logan stopped at the door. He took a breath, bracing himself, and left the room.

The halls of the tower were massive and brimming with life. He weaved his way through the halls, keeping his head down and trying to blend into the crowd. For the most part it worked, despite the bruises covering his face, many people passed him by without a second glance, too absorbed in their personal tasks to take an interest in him. Logan was perfectly satisfied with the lack of attention. He didn't know where he was headed and wasn’t interested in answering anyone’s questions.

He wandered the corridors, letting his gaze drift into the various rooms throughout the tower. In his mind, he absent-mindedly began making a mental map of the tower, noting places he cared to return to. Lost in thought, he aimlessly turned the corridors, taking whatever path took his fancy in the moment.

Without thinking, he turned down a smaller corridor. This hall was dimly lit due to fact that a number of the curtains were closed.  As he left the more crowded halls, the noise dissipated. Logan felt himself relax. He wasn't used to the bustle of the castle and he welcomed a retreat from the constant barrage of overstimulation.

His reprieve was cut suddenly short as a hand shot out from behind him and painfully gripped his shoulder. Logan was spun around and slammed forcefully into the wall beside him. He grunted as the air was knocked from his lungs. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoving him backwards and pinning him against the wall.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy? I thought you knew you aren't welcome here.”

Logan froze. He glanced up, clenching his jaw to force his eyes to focus through his pain.  Three men stood before him, dressed in dark, fancy clothing fit for nobility.  The man in the center gripped Logan's collar. His strength easily overpowered Logan's resistance, effectively preventing him from escaping. Bile filled his throat as Logan recognized him.

“Remus.” Logan muttered.

You Belong With Me Taglist: @cas-is-a-hunter  @insert-cool-blogname

[antique-teacups]

Look beyond the lens

     There is a learning curve that comes with moving to LA. Between the culture shock and constant sun, you were still working on adjusting.  There were places that offered you an oasis among the hustle and bustle. The tiny coffee shop on your block, Sip and Stir, could transport you back home with one cup. It also served as your pseudo home office. Working at Unnamed Press was a dream come true. A passion for English coming to full flourish in your year there. There was hope for many more years, teetering on the cusp of a promotion.

     There were other things in LA that offered solace and happiness. You first met Matt, bumping into one another at Sip and Stir.  You had sat and chatted about all thing literary, Matt quite the bookworm himself. It was refreshing and light so when he asked to have your number there was no hesitation. The two of you talked for a while before he introduced to the entire group, who he referred to as the “vlog squad”. They embraced you with open arms, each gregarious and extroverted. The dynamic of the group surprised you. All supportive of each’s personal endeavors, willing to help out at every turn if they could, yet they were an united front.

     When you first started hanging out with everyone, there was a barrage of questions about your job. All of these people had backgrounds in some domestic job, instead turning to social media to make a living. Your face slowly became more of staple in their vlogs and pictures, especially those of Matt’s. At first, it wasn’t that concerning. You flew under the radar for the most part at work.

     Matt and you were growing closer, until it did turn into something. All your spare time was spent with him and the squad. They filled that hole that remained from leaving home. Most of the time, you sat out of certain bits. Although you knew most of it was harmless, you couldn’t risk losing your job. Zane was the first one to ask you if you considered every joining them on the wave that is living on social media.

     “Honestly, no. I mean, you all have the personality for it, but I don’t think I could survive those shark infested waters. It’s hard enough to get my writing rejected, but that’s survivable. But to have my entire life out there and letting people make their own judgement on that, I don’t think I could survive that. Plus, you’ve seen just how active I am on social media, do you think I could do it?”

     “I guess I see it. You would have to post more than once every couple of months. I think you’re one of the few remaining twenty year old’s who doesn’t share everything on Instagram.” Zane joked, turning to Matt with raised brows. “Someone else also needs to get social media more popping.”

     Matt retorts, “I survive off you, David, and y/n. I do not need to share everything.” Crossing his arms, he turns to share a knowing look with me.

      “Zane, I am happy that you find purpose in sharing from screen to screen, but that’s why I write. I guess I worry sometimes that places won’t work with me or even think about publishing me if they see me plastered on the internet. And that would crush me.” You explain.

      “Share some of your wisdom with me before you let me get a stupid tattoo and drunk on David’s vlog next time.” Zane kids.

      As the weeks turned to months, things at work got crazier. More responsibilities and less time off, often times working right through the weekend. You mulled Zane’s question around in your mind. Never once did you fully consider it but you had to admit you thought about it. The promotion was right around the corner. You hoped they saw just how hard you were working for, just how dedicated you were. The director told you take the weekend off, deliberation was Monday, so that must mean something good, right?

      You were floating on clouds, even surrounded by plastered squad members at David’s that night. Matt and you were off to the side, chatting and sharing a drink. You weren’t intent on getting drunk, not even buzzed. The two of you content to remain in just one another’s company.

              It all happened in quick succession, over in a blink of an eye. Neither you or Matt could quite figure out what happened. Punches were thrown, cuss words spat, and light fixture broken. Heath stomps to the front door, swaying and slurring. Zane sat on the couch, split eyebrow and screaming. The situation needed to be diffused quickly.

              Rushing over, you grab Heath by the arm, hoping to stop him from leaving.

              “God, y/n would you stop acting like the mother? Get off me.” Heath spits out, lightly shoving you away.

              “Heath, you’re way to drunk to drive, let alone leave by yourself. Come sit with Matt and I.” Attempting to coax him back inside.

              “Why would I want to sit with you? You act like your better than us all because “you write for living”.” He says with air quotes. That one stung.

              “Matt, a little help here.” Turning to catch Matt’s eye, you practically beg. Then you see David with his camera trained on you two. “Can you not do that right now?” That was the first and the last time you every asked him to not record something.

              “Oh come on y/n, you know he’s saying that just because he’s drunk.” David replied, rolling his eyes, but not turning the camera away.

              “Matt, please. David, I won’t ask again.” I cautioned. Heath pushes fully away from me, making a break for the door. Anger boils in you for the whole situation. David not respecting your one request, Heath’s drunken confession, the unfairness of dealing with this situation.

              “Heath, I swear to God, you had better get in here and sit down. I am not fucking around anymore. This is no longer funny. You have ruined tonight. You two Zane. Now, Dave, put down the camera and help me.” You sneer.

              Turning around, the entire squad is silent, watching you with surprise. Heath slinks past you, plopping himself down on the couch. Scotty walks over to Zane and Heath, handling the situation on his own. Both anger and hurt were billowing inside you. If Heath made that admission drunk, did he believe that sober? Suddenly you felt like an outcast.

              Turning, you look at David standing there, camera still rolling. “None of this can go in the vlog.” You put simply.

              “I don’t think you get to make that call.” He rebuked.

              Pinching the bridge of your nose, you take a deep breath. “David, this is my first request. I let all that other stuff slip through the cracks. This though,” you wave your hands around,” is a reflection of my personal life. My bosses can see this. This might not seem like a big deal to you. A drunken blow up, but it paints me as irresponsible and unprofessional. So, no this won’t go in the vlog.” You threatened, assuming the argument had been dropped.

              You knew it wasn’t when you got called into the director’s office at work Monday. The director sat with disdain in her eyes and an unsettling cold demeanor.

              “Here at Unnamed Press, we strive for professionalism and integrity. We push all of our employees to explore their creative and continue to strive for their personal goals and endeavors. However, you have chosen some outside of our preferred set.” She declared.

              Your heart was in your throat, blood draining from your face, disbelief settling in your bones. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. But he did. She turned her laptop to face you and plastered on the screen was David’s vlog, paused but with me in full frame.

              “I can explain, really. You have to understand that it was a misunderstanding. I’ll have him take this down right away. I am devoted to this job, please.” You pleaded, knowing right where she was going with this.

              “I am sorry, but it has already caused quite the influx of people bashing the business. I let a lot of the other stuff go because it was mostly harmless, but this, is focused on you. I really wish things were different.” She relented.

              “I’ll pull back, I’ll remove my face from everything associated with them. Please, I need this job. I love this job.”

              “We can’t have people who are associated with something like this representing us. The backlash is simply to great. You of all people should know this kind of attention isn’t going to die down anytime soon.”

              The tears were pricking your eyes. You knew there was no arguing it. “I am sorry.” You whispered before slipping out. Walking right past your desk and out the door, anger was overtaking the hurt. Striding to your car, climbing in, and closing the door. You screamed, hands bashing against the steering wheel. One request, that wasn’t too much to ask. You contemplated calling Matt, but he was already at David’s. You would set this straight.

              A million things crossed your mind on the way to David’s. Some malicious, some trying to see his side, some an acceptance of what happened. Mostly, you felt betrayed. You lost your dream job, a dent in your career. A blow that would last forever. You couldn’t talk your way out of it. You were a joke to the director now, all because you were in some video on the internet. You know that they say the thing so the internet will haunt you forever.

              Pulling in his drive, there were a couple of cars here. Matt’s, Heath’s, and Zane’s. I guess they all played a bit of roll.

              You walked to the front door, not even bothering to knock. Walking past the entry way, they all sat on the couches. Matt was the first one to notice you. “Y/n, what are you doing here? Short day at work?” he asked, smiling. David looked up at the mention of your name, guilt already on his face.

              “Why don’t we ask David? Wait, that does nothing. He’ll ignore it anyway.” You spit.

              “Y/n, let me explain.” He pleaded.

              “No David, let me explain. I lost my job because of you. Did you ever think of that consequence? I asked you not to include it for that exact reason. But you did it anyway.” You hissed.

              “It was a 30 second clip, I cut out the worst parts.” David insisted.

              “Are you even listening to yourself? Dave, I asked, I begged you. I lost my job. Did you even hear that? It doesn’t matter that you cut out the worst parts! They still deemed me unprofessional. The director even brought up all the other shit you’ve posted. Not all of us live on social media David. At least not like you do.” You huffed, chest heaving.

              “You can get another job. It’s not like you can’t go write anywhere. Plus, you could have removed yourself from the situation.” David cheeked, rolling his eyes.

              “Could you for once look beyond that fucking camera lens. You cost me my job. You put a stain on my career. I tried to explain to her it was a joke, but I was the joke. She had mind made up before I even walked in there. Do you not understand that? You aren’t even listening to me.” Heath and Zane both stood, clearly ready to try and make amends. “You two had better sit back down. You are just at fault. I think I am so high and mighty, right? You ruined that for me. You took that away in some drunken night that I didn’t even want to be a part of. Dave, I wish I never met you. It was one request. And now I’ve lost everything. Why are you acting like this isn’t a big deal? Does this mean nothing to you?”

              “Honestly, no. I have to make a living just like you. I am sorry that you lost your job, sure. But that wasn’t my fault. Excuse yourself. You knew what you were getting into.”

              The tears rain down your cheeks at his admission. “OK. This is me removing myself from the situation.” You mumbled before walking out his house.

[aethalen]

Riverstones

@heoneyology; some sassy Sunwoo lovin’ that’s rusty as hell but I hope you yell about it anyway.

2,877

Sunwoo was probably one of the most complex pieces that attempted to fit into your puzzle in the wrong slot, but despite that, he seemed to try—hard. How you came to meet, you don’t really remember, because since meeting him, your primary focus was to get under his skin, the same way he was trying to get under yours. The things you hated about him the most—his stubbornness, his competitiveness, and sometimes his bad attitude—only pushed you to be more stubborn, more competitive, and have an even worse attitude with him.

At first, your friends—the mutual ones by which you meet Sunwoo in the first place—thought it was kind of amusing. In the beginning, they found it endearing; two people butting heads in constant competition, but it got to the point where sometimes they couldn’t even stand to go out with the two of you at the same time.

Which was unfortunate, because his friend group was your friend group and as competitive as the two of you could be sometimes, it came down to splitting some of the boy’s time for separate occasions. The last time they would take the two of you out, it turned into a competition to see who could sprint down the side of the river the fastest, and ended with him bumping into you (perhaps on accident, but you didn’t question it at the time) and you shoving him clean off the bank and into the river, yelling about him being a cheater and trying to trip you up just to win a short dash.

Changmin took it upon himself to take you out to coffee to see if you could work things out.

“He’s infuriating,” you stated plainly when he asked you what your beef with Sunwoo was. “Everything with him is a competition, he’s always better than everyone at everything and—”

“And you feel it’s necessary to remind him that he can’t just do whatever he wants—”

“And have whatever attitude he wants! He’s stuck up and snooty!”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but have you ever considered he’s just playing around?” Changmin asked. He didn’t want to rub you the wrong way with that question, but when you were just about as stubborn as Sunwoo was… you crossed your arms over your chest, and that about ended your coffee outing.  

It was never just playing around when everything the other said was an eyebrow-twitching, corner-of-the-mouth-turning, edge-of-a-spat retort. Sunwoo always had something to say after you; it never mattered what it was about, he always refused to let you be the last voice heard. Needless to say, it got on your nerves, and fast, to the point where whenever he’d chime in while you were a part of the conversation, you gave him a taste of his own medicine. Everything always quickly escaladed into a near screaming match and you, trying to be the bigger person, usually stormed off when one of the boys would gently touch your arm.

You walked away, but not by your own wishes; teeth-gritting, nose-snarling, fire in your eyes as you stared him down until you finally turned away, and if you ever saw the cocky upturn of his lips in a victorious smile, it may be the last time anyone saw Sunwoo.

To be honest, you would have been fine being completely removed from Sunwoo and still able to keep your friends—his friends. The only upshot that came with that was the boys constant badgering about your beef with Sunwoo, to which you frequently fired back with the same idea, “Whatever his beef is with me.”

A couple of boys had honestly never considered it; that fiery boy was always that way, and they’d never considered him to be any different; but that one eye-opening comment turned them upside-down, and consequently so on Sunwoo. When he was barraged with questions about what his problem was with you and why he always had to have the last word and why everything was a competition, he simply answered the same way you always did: it was always the other’s fault.

You didn’t need thinking—you were only ever that way with him because he was that way with you first. Others decided the tone of your relationship with them; but he was a different case. The questions lent themselves to long nights on the river bank, throwing any size stone across the water no matter the weather for Sunwoo. All the intense thinking had him hyperaware of every crease and crevice, every imperfection on the smooth faces of the river stones he skipped across the placid water. No matter how many rocks he skipped, no matter how many he just chucked out there in frustration, no matter how many times he ran a hand through his hair—he refused to look the problem straight in the face.

“You’ve been out here for hours,” Changmin commented, taking a seat in the plush grass of the bank next to his younger friend.

“I don’t get it. I go through every scenario over and over. Obviously, I don’t know what I’m doing because it had to be pointed out to me; what I don’t get is why,” Sunwoo replied with a frustrated sigh on the tail end, chucking another rock deep into the river’s current.

“I think you’re approaching it from the wrong angle,” Changmin suggested, picking up a smooth rock from his side, rubbing his thumb across it to get the proper hold before flicking it across the water, skipping it all the way to the other bank. “You always act without thinking, first. What is the purpose behind the things you say, the challenges you make?”

“That’s the part I can’t figure out,” Sunwoo answered dejectedly.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Changmin’s lips.

“You’re trying to get attention, but you’ve never been very gentle about it,” Changmin replied, casting another stone across the water. His stones always skipped further, had the right amount of finesse. “Maybe if you’re a little softer, you’ll get a better result.”

__

When it was suggested to you that maybe you should try hanging out with the group again with Sunwoo there, you avidly rejected the idea; slander on his attitude flew out of your mouth faster than you could breathe because why should you give him another chance when he already ruined the fifty before that?  It took some coaxing, but his change in attitude almost gave you whiplash.

At every corner, you were ready to cut him off when he had some retort after everything you said; you were always on your toes, waiting for him to issue another challenge. This mild-mannered boy was foreign to you, and if anything, it only made you more suspicious of him. He never sat next to you or even engaged with you too directly. It was like his abrasiveness had been stripped away, and this was the quiet boy you were left with.

He seemed to be able to sense your hesitation about him, now that he was focused on checking himself at every breath, quickly realizing that it was just him approaching the situation from a bad angle. He felt your eyes on him just as much, but differently now. They were no longer daggers looking to defend from any semblance of a fight; instead, they were almost curious, and when he met eyes with you, they didn’t hold the same fire he was notorious for. They were soft, glittering like the moonlight against the river, the gentlest gaze he’d ever graced you with since meeting him.

Even then, he didn’t say anything as he sat catty-corner at the game table set up in your apartment. In fact, you could have sworn he almost smiled before his gaze cast down at the table and back to the cards in his hand.

Progressively, you opened up and let your guard down. When you had a game night, or went out for a movie, or anything that involved the two of you, you laughed freely, conversed freely, observed freely… often catching Sunwoo’s gaze with yours before he would quickly look away. You began overthinking it—maybe he was chastised for the way he acted around you and now was reduced to this mute replacement who hardly ever engaged with you anymore.

He quickly proved you entirely wrong that same night that you were leaving the cinema when the weather got unpredictable and a little chilly. While the boys, properly bundled or unaffected by the cold, stood around to chat, you were finding yourself staving off goosebumps that crawled underneath your skin with every brush of the wind. Sunwoo, quiet and observant as he’d newly become, was the first and maybe the only to notice.  

Undetected, he shifted out of the circle and moved a few boys a couple of steps to stand between you and Changmin, your closest safety net int the group, and before you could even feel the new presence make itself known, he was already draping a warm piece of clothing over your shoulders which felt familiarly like a leather jacket.  You looked over, not finding Changmin where he was just a moment ago, and instead was captured in the gaze of those same shimmering eyes that now held a different type of look for you.  One second away from protesting, he was the first to speak.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and watch you shiver for however long we’re all going to pointlessly chat,” he whispered to you, casting off his sentence with a gentle laugh—one you’d never heard from him before. Sunwoo was the farthest from gentle; at least, you’d always known him so. Your jawed queued something to say multiple times, but instead you remained quiet while your fingers reached for the opening to pull it tighter across you, blocking a little more wind out.  

At long last, your hesitation for the other shoe to drop vanished. Sunwoo was far more manageable and frankly, garnered your attention far more often than not. You had brought it up like word-vomit on your weekly coffee outing with Changmin, and after that, things changed even more.

“So, what’s with Sunwoo? Did you all yell at him or something?”

Changmin smiled against the vented lid of his coffee cup with knowing eyes and continued with his sip before setting it down.

“Why do you ask?” Changmin asked, trying to play dumb.

“I just mean that he’s being a lot nicer, a lot less aggressive and competitive and stubborn and all those other words I previously used to describe him. He’s actually… pretty sweet,” you answered, forfeiting a lot more information that you had hoped to a little too early, and consequently your gaze snapped to his to make sure you actually did say all those things. The smile spreading across Changmin’s lips only confirmed your fears, and you were fighting the burning on your face and the surprise in your eyes as you looked back at him.

“I know exactly what that means,” he replied, bringing his coffee up for another sip as those plotting gears started spinning in his head.

__

A late summer night brought Sunwoo to the bedroom window of your place, a collection of small pebbles in the pocket of that same leather jacket. One by one he plucked them out, throwing them up to the glass pane that glowed with the soft yellow light from a bedside lamp through thin white curtains. You had to have still been awake—he hoped you were still awake.

Pebble by pebble he threw, some hitting the shiplap of your apartment building and others landing against your window, hitting a few times before you finally got up to investigate. When you drew the curtain, Sunwoo was sure his heart leapt into his throat. Nerves suddenly overtook him and he considered dashing, or at least slinking into the shadows; but he shook it off and stood his ground—he needed to say what he came to say.

You pulled the glass up after spotting him, but your tone wasn’t as welcoming as he anticipated.

“Sunwoo, what are you doing here?” you snapped. Was this it, the other shoe dropping?

Just as yours had done so in the past, his jaw queued a couple of responses. The moonlight on his face made his skin glow to perfection, his eyes shimmer that same gorgeous way they always did as he looked up at you and finally decided what to say.

“I… I came to apologize,” he called up to you, his shoes shifting against the grass of the landscape as he stirred for some confidence.

Although you may have been interested in what he had to say, it was too little too late and your hands grabbed the bottom sash of your window with the intention of pulling it closed—

“Please, hear me out,” he snapped before you could close the window on him. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, it was a rough start and, frankly, a long rocky road. I was wrong for the way I treated you, and I needed a little guidance to realize my purpose. I see now that it may have seemed like I despised you, but in all honesty, I’m just really bad at trying to get your attention.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of where exactly this was going, but suddenly your small confession to Changmin seemed like an avalanche waiting to fall. He would never rat you out, would he?

“That’s all I ever wanted. I just wanted you to notice me, to stand out among the others. My approach was… garbage, to be nice. I just wanted you to see me—”

“I don’t think you lacked there,” you replied stiffly. He scoffed.

“So, I’m not really good with words either, and I know you’re hurt with me for the way I treated you, but I thought maybe with the way things have turned around, with how much more open you’ve been with me and actually allowed me to get closer to you, that we could start over?” he inquired. “I heard along the grapevine that you’ve had a change of heart, too.”

And that was it; the avalanche came crashing down like a ton of bricks, and the only defense you thought you had left came out like word vomit.

“You think after everything you did, that I’m just going to come down there and we’re going to kiss and make up?

A smile broke on his face as his gaze cast down to the grass. “I knew deep down in there, that you were just as stubborn without me exacerbating it. Despite that, I don’t think you’re any less beautiful. I don’t think you’re any less sweet, or attentive, or desirable. The fire is one of the biggest reasons I was attracted to you in the first place.”

“Kim Sunwoo,” you almost growled, almost choking on that knot in your throat, especially when his gaze turned back up to you.

“Give me a chance,” he answered. “If you’re going to use my full name like that, certainly I poked at affectionate feelings in there, huh?”  

You wanted to smile; something about him just brought that tingling to your lips that you tried to hold back as you cocked an eyebrow.

“And if you did?” you dared.  

“Then I might just return to my stubborn roots, and poke them until you come down here.”

You took the sash of your window and tugged it closed, but Sunwoo looked up at it hopefully. He could see the shadow move around behind the drawn curtain and, with a twinge of a smile, waited patiently for the sound of your front door closing behind you. It wasn’t long before you stood in front of him, a light cardigan over your shoulders that you pulled across your body, stepping eye-to-eye with him.

He looked at you with eyes glittering like the universe, the way he had been looking at you for quite some time now, and you didn’t even flinch when he lifted his hand to gentle brush his fingertips against your cheek before you leaned into his touch, pressing his warm palm flat against your skin.

“You know, you’re a lot sweeter than you were before,” you told him, your fingertips somehow finding his on his free hand, playing gently with them as a shy smile cracked against his mouth. He took your hand entirely in his and brought it up to his lips where he kissed the back of your palm and subsequently every single one of your fingers, all the while never once looking away from you.

“I tried to meet fire with fire, because that’s what men with big egos do, and sometimes we need to be kicked down a little bit.”

“A little bit?” you asked.

“Don’t push it,” he answered, fingers sliding from your cheek against your jaw and to the back of your neck to gingerly cup it, just enough to tug you forward and press his lips against your forehead.

[bewareofchris]

Hiya! for the prompt list, with illogical husbands pretty please: 4-cannot spit it out / and or/ 13-Zip Me Up !

Pg? | Alec Hardy/Bill Masters | Broadchurch/Masters of Sex | Smooching | “Cannot Spit it Out” from the Valentines Day Prompts.

Hardy had not intentionally invited Miller into intimate details of his relationship with Bill.  It just happened, in the course of defending his affection toward the man, that he had let slip that while he was fairly sure that Bill felt strongly for him, no actual confessions had been made.

That had been weeks ago now.  Three weeks, precisely.  Three weeks of attempting to walk past Miller’s desk without drawing her attention, only to be cornered in his office, by the coffee pot or over a lukewarm lunch.  Every time, she looked at him with a quirk of her mouth and her voice getting more and more smug as she asked, “so, has he said it yet?”

Hardy had tried threatening her.  He had tried ignoring her.  He had tried pointing out the fact that not all men were skilled at conveying their feelings in words.  

But at the end of three weeks, and under the constant barrage of his own doubt and Miller’s skepticism, the best he could manage to say was, “of course he hasn’t.”

For once in three weeks, Miller’s face softened and she stepped past the open door of his office to ease herself into the chair opposite him.  “What’s that mean, of course he hasn’t?  I thought you said he wasn’t the sort of man to go around announcing his feelings.  That you didn’t expect him to say it first.  That he might never say it all and you didn’t need him to either?  Now it’s, ‘of course he hasn’t’?”

“Does it matter?” Hardy demanded, “has this got anything to do with our case?  Is this what we should be spending our time focusing on?”

“I’m on break,” Miller snapped back.  (But she wasn’t; because she didn’t have any food with her.)  “I’ve got a mind to take a drive over to that ugly little cottage you live and ask him exactly what’s...”

“Miller.”

“You can’t just go around toying with people’s feelings--and yes, sir, you’ve got feelings.  You think you can fool the rest of us, acting as if you don’t need someone to tell you that they love you.  That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.  ‘Men don’t need reassurance’?  Ha!  This is your first time being a man, I gather.  Because I’ve dated and married men, and they’re fragile little babies.  If you go more than a day without attending to their needs and they’ve got themselves convinced that--” Her tirade drifted off to mumbles, but her frown didn’t lessen a bit.  “The point is, if he’s not meeting your needs, he’s not worth keeping around.”

There was no doubt, at all, that Miller was going to find Bill and tell him exactly how she felt about his behavior.  There was no chance that she could have just let it go.  As sure as Hardy was sitting there watching her sneer at the very thought of his boyfriend, Miller would find Bill Masters and call him every name she could imagine.  For a moment, while he thought about Bill attempting to defend himself, Hardy couldn’t feel anything but a happy warm glow that he’d found a friend that cared.  But shouting at Bill wouldn’t have changed a damn thing, so he cleared his throat, “I’m going to lunch.”

“Don’t you go and warn him,” Miller said.

“I’m getting something to eat,” he said as he dragged his jacket off the back of his chair.  “Weren’t you chasing a lead?”

“I’m going to lunch,” Miller announced.

--

Bill had not expected to see Alec until later.  He certainly had not expected him to burst through the front door as if he were being pursued by a mob bearing pitchforks.  Bill didn’t expect him to flip the lock on the front door and press his back up against it. 

Alec’s face was pink and his mouth was pulled out of shape into a reckless, breathless smile.  His fingers were spread against the edges of the door as if he could hold it anymore in place.

“Is everything...”

“Bill,” Alec said in a gasp, “I love you.”

“Oh,” Bill said.  (It wasn’t how he’d imagined it be.  It wasn’t a breathy exclamation before, during or after sex.  It wasn’t a soft whisper at a nice dinner.  It wasn’t an offhand affirmation offered while they sat on the couch in the evening reading together.)  “And the door?”

“Miller’s coming,” Alec said, as if it explained anything.  Then he pushed himself away and crossed the room to where Bill had only just barely stood up.  He slid into the narrow space between Bill’s half-raised arms to curl his hands around Bill’s face.  “I’m not very romantic,” said a man who looked as if he’d run a half mile just to awkwardly announce his feelings.  “I do love you.  I don’t know why I didn’t say it when I felt it.  But I’ve said it now.”

Bill was watching the flush fade away from his face, wondering at how nervous and unnerved he looked.  The book he’d been holding fell to the floor, but he kept his grip on his glasses as he wrapped his arms around him.  “I love you too,” he said.

Alec kissed him, sweet and quick, just before the banging on the door started.

“Alec Hardy!” Miller shouted.  “You ran me off the road!”

“You what?” Bill asked.

“Not important,” Alec assured him as his arm slid across Bill’s shoulder.  “She’ll go away and I’ve got time left on my lunch.”  And he kissed Bill again, just as softly and just as sweetly.

[kprciffdw]

Kim Possible: The Extremely Secret Files-Part 23

They eventually arrived at the final planet: Yeedil. As soon as they landed and got out of this ship, they stood by and stared out at the massive Megacorp building that sat underneath a black sky. Kim: "So this is it, the Megacorp Protopet Factory." Ron: "Huh, you know something? This place pretty much screams "Typical Bad Guy Lair", wouldn't you think?" Kim: "Hm…you do make a good point. It does look ominous, almost like this whole mission." Ratchet: "I'm sorry, you guys, I had no way of knowing this was all a terrible idea from the start." Kim: "Don't worry about it, Ratchet; it didn't seem that way to me, either. Although, there was something that struck me as a bit fishy during the beginning, it wasn't enough to confirm anything."

Ratchet smiled, then looked back at the facility with a serious look on his face. Ratchet: "Hm, it seems kind of wrong to raid a corporate factory, but after everything they've put us through, they had it coming. Who else here also wants to get even with this company?" Kim: "I am so there. No one messes with my friends and gets away with it, especially after what they did to you, Ratchet."

Ratchet smiled again. Just then, the Kimmunicator went off, Kim pulled it out immediately. Kim: "Yeah, Wade?" Wade: "Kim, I have 2 things for you. First off, I've located the last piece of your dad's space shuttle; it's directly inside that factory building." Kim: "Well, how about that? The final piece is just inside the belly of the beast." Ron: "And in the possession of Megacorp's beloved CEO, no doubt." Wade: "I would think so, too. Secondly, I just built another device for you guys. I'll transport it now."

Wade's vendor appeared again. Transporting from it was a small device. Kim grabbed it and observed it. Wade: "It's a disrupter device. I built it from studying that crystal you found in that icy tunnel. That Megacorp factory is loaded with some of the toughest, most advanced security system in the galaxy. This should at least disrupt a lot of their most detrimental ones." Kim: "Hm…sounds as though we'll be needing this to infiltrate that factory. Thanks, Wade, you rock hardcore."

Wade smiled before Kim put away the Kimmunicator. Ratchet: "Seems like we both have our reasons for needing to break into the factory." Kim: "Not really. Believe it or not, that last piece is not my main reason. Mr. Fizzwidget took advantage of you; he used you like a tool and tried to dispose of you when he didn't need you anymore. Elder or not, that geezer is going down just because of that."

Ratchet smiled at her, then looked towards Ron and Clank as well as Kim. Ratchet: "Alright, guys. Let's do it."

They rushed towards the factory as fast as they could.

Getting to the front door has proven to be very difficult. They was a very large gap that separated them from the factory entrance. In fact, it separated them from the entire facility. Thankfully, Kim and Ratchet provided the perfect solution to that problem with the use of their own grappling gadgets. They used them to get themselves as well as Ron and Clank across the gap. However, they wound up in the middle of a robot barrage and one that they couldn't escape from, so they were forced to fight through the barrage. It was an excruciatingly, tough fight and it lasted for an extensive amount of time. They were nearly exhausted just trying to get through, but they eventually eradicated the entire barrage. Ron: "Man! If that was the welcoming committee, I'd hate to see what's waiting for us inside that building!" Kim: "So do I, but just think of how much worse it would be without that disrupter Wade gave us. I've noticed a lot of the other forms of machinery here." Clank: "Yes, I have noticed that, too, Miss Possible. That would be the exact security system that Wade mentioned would have been detrimental to us." Kim: "Well, if that's true, then good thing he gave us this disrupter or else we would be in for a real tough fight." Ratchet: "You took the words out of my mouth, Kimberly. In any case, we have to keep going." Clank: "Yes, we must keep at it; we have come too far to back out of this now and there is too much at stake." Ron: "For once, I agree on that. These guys have pushed us too far and have caused too much carnage to the good people of this galaxy. Let's trash this place and teach these corporate marauders a lesson they'll never forget!" Ratchet: "You said it, Ron." Kim: "I just hope Angela is doing OK. She probably has it really tough handling those orbital defenses." Ratchet: "I'm worried about her, too, but we can't think about her right now. We have to stay focused on the task at hand." Kim: "You're right. She would want us to keep going and not waste any time worrying for her. Let's just go, I would be sure that she'll catch up with us sooner or later."

They rushed into the facility. The second they set foot into the front door, they've come across one tough fight after another. Everywhere they looked, there were robots attempting to stop them. They were incredibly vicious, and they came by the boat loads, but the group was able to fight through them regardless of how tough it was. It had indeed been their toughest fight yet as the robots had been shown to be extremely formidable, but thankfully, so was the group.

Despite all of that, they were content with seeing that the robots were the only line of defense active at the time. They could see all around them a lot of the advanced security systems, knowing what they would have been up against if not for Wade's disrupter device. The entire facility was a very long stretch, it was a vast and difficult trek, especially with all of the constant battles making the trek seem longer, not to mention that they made things a lot tougher. However, they were shown that they could really hold their own in all of it. Even Ron was actually pulling is own weight in all of this, instead of running away screaming like he usually does. You could really tell that he had a serious agenda as it was the same with the rest of the group. Rufus was also very dedicated to doing his part for the team. A few times, when he was needed to handle a few small tasks that needed to be done, he help out the team the best of his skills and had felt very proud of himself for getting each and every task done. The team couldn't possibly think of anything more they could ever need from the little guy.

Within much time, they came very close to the end. Kim: "Wade, how much further to the Protopet Duplication Chamber?" Wade: "You're almost there, just keep on the path you're going then take the next left and you're free and clear." Kim: "Got it! Thanks, Wade."

They kept on the trek. It was a bit long from there, but soon enough, they were able to reach a large door. Wade: "OK, guys, the Protopet Duplication Chamber should be on the other side of that door. Just use that ID badge and you should be good to go."

Angela eventually rushed in, panting from exhaustion. Angela: "I'm sorry I'm late. I had some trouble with the guards." Kim: "Actually, you couldn't have come at a better time." Ron: "Alright, let's crack that bad boy open and end this Protopet madness."

Just then, the female robot from a while back arrived, waving her arms to tell them no as though she had something important to say. Ron: "Uh, what's with this girl robot?" Clank: "She is trying to tell us something."

Her head opened up from her mouth, revealing a screen. On the screen was a footage of Captain Qwark selling Personal Hygenators in one of the worst disguises ever, announcing that he has sold 1 million Hygenators and planned to finance his comeback by heading for another galaxy and rescue it from a potential threat. He then laughed manically.

Just then, Mr. Fizzwidget, who showed up with several guard bots, severely shocked the female robot, startling the entire group. Ron: "OH, SNAP!" Kim: "What the…?" Ratchet: "Oh, my gosh!" Clank: "What do you think you are doing?" Angela: "Mr. Fizzwidget!"

They then watched him unzip himself in perhaps the most disturbing spot imaginable, which appalled them a lot. He revealed himself to be Captain Qwark. Kim: "Wait! What? What is…?" Ron: "Hey, you're that Qwark guy we saw on that…that show." Clank: "Oh, no, this is bad." Angela: "Alright, just what the flod is going on!?" Ratchet: "Angela!" Kim: "I believe I know exactly what this is; Captain Qwark over here has been masquerading as your beloved CEO to unleash this Protopet disaster and from what that female bot has just shown us, it's all part of his comeback scheme to make himself a hero again, right?" Qwark: "Gee, aren't you a smart little redhead girl? That's right, I'm about to save the galaxy from the Protopets and all of you have become my prime suspects…uh…whoever…some of you are…Guards, seize them."

Soon enough, the entire group was brought into the Duplication Chamber, where they were held at gunpoint by the guard bots. Qwark stood near the original Protopet. There was a camera in the chamber with them, pointed at Qwark. Qwark: "Smile. It's show time." Kim: "This is so the perfect time to be camera shy." Ron: "This is really bad." Qwark: "Ahem. Citizens of Bogon. I…am Captain Qwark. I have come to you in this, your darkest of hours to shine the Flashlight of Justice on your galaxy." Ratchet: "(laugh) Flashlight of Justice?"

He was knocked on the head by one of the guard bots' guns. Qwark: "As you all know, a living menace called the Protopet has been set loose in your galaxy. But fear not, Bogonites. For I, Captain Qwark, have caught the perpetrators."

The camera was pointed towards the group. Qwark: "Yes, good citizens. These are the masterminds behind Megacorp's…"

The camera shifted back to Qwark as he finished his sentence. Qwark: "Experiment with death." Kim: "Oh, so not."

She was bashed on the back of her shoulder with another one of the guard bots' guns. Qwark: "And now…"

He then pulled out a strange looking remote like device with 3 short wires sticking out of it, each with a transceiver at the very end. Qwark: "With this…uh…super…electro-gadget I invented, I will end the Protopet threat once and for all." Angela: "Hey! That's MY Helix-o-morph! I invented…"

She was hit on the stomach with another one of the guard bots' guns. Qwark: "Ahem. Stay tuned, dear viewers, as I amplify the signal from this Helix-o-thingy and render every Protopet in the galaxy completely harmless. Now then, how do I…work this…thing? Let's see, there's this…and then…uh, I…do this… and then…uh…I…uh…how is this…?"

Kim whispered to Ratchet as she leaned in closer to him. Kim: "Yeah, this guy sounds exactly like someone who invented that device."

Ratchet giggled. Qwark: "Ah, yes, got it! Now then, allow me to demonstrate."

With a push of a button on the Helix-o-morph, he zapped the Protopet. Within a few seconds, the Protopet increased in size and morphed into a massive beast. It looked towards Qwark and gobbled him up whole. The guard bots became frightened and ran away, leaving the group as they looked up at the massive beast. Ron: "That would be so cool if it wasn't going to hurt us."

The beast then crashed through a nearby wall. Kim: "Uh, does that Helix-o-morph actually work?" Angela: "Uh…I'm sure it did; I tested it myself." Ron: "So, why did that device of yours turn the Protopet in a GIGANTIC MONSTER!?" Angela: "I don't know. I would have to look into what's wrong." Ratchet: "Well, Clank, Kimberly and I will try getting it back somehow. You wait here with Ron to figure out how we're going to fix it." Ron: "What? Are you seriously going to leave us here on the sidelines?" Ratchet: "Do you want to jump into there with that thing?"

Ron looked towards the vicious Protopet beast wondering around. A terrified look then grew on his face. Ron: "Uh…on second thought, I really don't mind standing on the sidelines." Angela: "Actually, we'll be doing some searching around the rest of the place for anything else important." Ratchet: "OK, works for me." Angela: "Ratchet, Kim, Clank, be careful." Clank: "Do not worry about us, we can handle ourselves just fine." Ratchet: "Come on, guys, let's bring down that beast and get back that Helix-o-morph." Kim: "I'm right behind you, Ratchet."

Ratchet, Kim and Clank rushed into the doorway to battle with the beast while Ron watched along with Angela.

[jungwoohoos]

pugna (one)

pairing: fighter!yoongi x reader

genre: slow burn, fluff, angst

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of blood, snarky yoongi, food that might make you hungry

he showed up at your doorstep one day, covered in cuts and testing your patience. you don’t know why, but you felt compelled to help him. you just don’t realize how deep that runs

note: i’m aiming for this to part one of two or three!! thanks a buttload to anna @jungtaeyoongles for being my editor and emotional support. hope you guys like it 😎

You never quite got used to the smell of rubbing alcohol. Nearly five years of soaked cotton pads and perfumed operating rooms and the bite still made your head spin. It was something you could never fully anticipate, the harshness of it enough to tickle a sneeze from you every time.

“Do you really do that every single time?”

“Shut up. You’re bleeding all over my pillow.”

His lip’s busted in two different places and the push of his words breaks through the scabbing skin. You dab at the beads of blood, a particularly hard press eliciting a quiet hiss from him.

He’s fisting your pineapple pillow, the one your sister got you as a housewarming present, but now it’s decorated with small drips of red. They’re not too bad, his knuckles. His right hand’s worse, the first two knuckles scraped raw enough to ensure some swelling come the morning, the last one already covered with a purple bruise. Left fared better. You pry it from the bedazzled pillow and run a light thumb over it. He doesn’t flinch, but you see a wince from the corner of your eye when you reach the scrape on his joints. You know he’s dealt with worse, but you try to be more gentle with the alcohol.

The quiet is new. There’s usually some snarky comment about how your place looks two steps from hell or how you look like you could use a week’s worth of sleep. Little digs that you can usually swallow with a glare and a firm grip on the bandage in your hands. It didn’t take you long to realize he liked riling you up, liked prodding you until you broke out of your bedside manner and bit back. 

He hadn’t spoken until you had sneezed, and he hasn’t since you’ve been tending to him. You’re wrapping his right hand, something you could do in your sleep, but you nurse it carefully, following the bumps and ridges with a soft hand.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” you say, head tucked over his hand so he can’t see your curiosity. He shifts, taking his hand with him so you have no choice but to move as well. There are a couple moments where all there is is the swish of the bandage and his even breaths. You fasten the clip, a quick turn of his hand as inspection, before looking up.

You have to tilt your head up to look at him properly, your position on the floor putting you at a disadvantage. His lip is beginning to swell, ballooning out by the corners, but the rest of his face is untouched. 

He ignores your comment. “You’ve never asked me what I do.” He’s looking at you, something like surprise in his eyes.

It was hard not to be curious when he’s showed up at your doorstep almost every week for the past two months, cuts gracing parts of his body. You nearly tripped over Seohyeon’s stuffed turtle on the ground when he first showed up. You were expecting him—Wonju had called you 20 minutes before, which he never did, even when he broke his ankle making a delivery—but seeing him caught you off guard. Maybe it was the steady stream of blood flowing from his nose or the angry gash on his neck, but something about seeing that shade of red outside of the hospital was something you hadn’t fully anticipated this late at night.

“You’re a doctor, right?” he had said, eyes roaming your shocked face. “You look like you’ve never seen blood before.”

You had rushed him in at that point, sitting him on the stool so you wouldn’t have to worry about getting blood out of your couch. He had been talkative—pointing out the sleep in your eyes and the plate in your sink—but you saw that whatever traces of adrenaline remained had left him. He sat still on the stool, limbs pliant for your care, and you thought that he would be the best patient you’ve ever had if you didn’t want to stuff his mouth full of latex gloves.

A finishing rub of a bandage and you had moved to the side to clean up. “Okay Yoongi, you’re all set. You can go now!” You hadn’t been able to help the annoyed lilt in your voice, too miffed from his recent barrage on your choice of candles. “Change the bandages every day and make sure to put on antibacterial cream at every changing and don’t get beat up on the way home because I’m going to sleep!”

You had been rummaging through your kit when you saw a hand reach in and grab a fistful of gauze. Your head had whipped up, mouth ready to yell, but it died at your lips when you felt a thumb swipe across your cheek. He was looking at you, one corner of his mouth curved up. “Thanks for cleaning me up, doc. Oh, and for these.” He shook the bundle of bandages in his hand. His touch left your skin a second later, and there was a blur of his jacket and a small salute before he was gone with a click of your door.

There had been a moment to process before you were huffing, rubbing at the remaining warmth on your cheek. The audacity. You had snapped the kit close and thrown it into the drawer. He doesn’t even know me. An extra scrub at your face with a grumble. You had stomped up the stairs as quietly as you could without waking Seohyeon. Once she was up, she was up, and there wasn’t anything you wanted more than to burrow under your covers and forget about Yoongi.

Except that he had started showing up like clockwork, a short coming over doc. it’s yoongi btw ;) giving you 20 minutes to grumble out of bed and calm yourself before having to open the door. It hit you some time during his fourth visit that you could ignore his text and indulge in some uninterrupted sleep. The thought of a full night’s sleep made you sigh, your hand stilling over a particularly deep gash on his knee. “Hey doc, watch out or I’ll think you’re going soft on me,” he had mumbled, eyes closed. You made sure to be generous with the alcohol wipes that night.

The idea had lingered for several days after. It seemed to be an obvious decision, almost painfully so, but you always ended up biting the inside of your cheek when you stayed in bed after getting his texts. You could really do without the constant bickering. And the day you see Yoongi without that confident smirk plastered on his face would probably be your heaven on Earth. Your feet shuffle over the floor every time though, and you scowl when he argues with you about your favorite fruit, but you never really regret having to bear the fluorescence of the kitchen light so late at night. You could chalk it up to moral obligation or sheer delirium, but maybe you were starting to enjoy his company.

You had cleaned too many of his cuts in too regular of a routine to not be curious. But you also noticed that he avoided any mention of his life, leading the conversation elsewhere the moment talk became too close. The questions sometimes settled heavy on your tongue, driving forward when a flippant comment pressed too hard, but you knew the boundaries of privacy too well, so you didn’t allow yourself to pry. It was something you resigned yourself to remaining ignorant to. 

It took you by surprise to hear him bring it up, and you couldn’t help the raise of your eyebrows. “I—well you’ve never mentioned it,” you start, fiddling with the tube of ointment in your hands. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it, so I never brought it up.”

He gives a quiet snort. “You’ve been fixing me up for the past two months and you haven’t asked me why I always look like I got stuck in a blender. Not many people are that patient.”

He’s still looking at you, and you have to focus on the pineapple pillow in his lap because you feel yourself starting to warm from the attention. 

“Why do you come to me?” You’re staring at a loose bead. “I’m not that close to Wonjo, and we’ve never met before he called me the first time.”

You see him lean back out of the corner of your eye. He shrugs and picks at a bandaged hand, bringing your attention back to him. You grab at his wrist and bring it down by his side. His eyes catch yours, and you’re reminded that your fingers are still looped around his.

“I don’t know,” he says, his skin warm beneath your hand. “I trust you.”

There’s a beat and you’re trying to think because you didn’t expect that. You search his face, eager to find if there’s something more, something you’re missing, but he’s moving away, taking his hand out of your grip and looking towards his right. Your gaze follows, and when you see a sleepy figure rubbing with small hands at the top of the stairs, you pull your hand back to your side and hastily stand up.

“Hi baby, what are you doing up?” you murmur, moving to the base of the stairs so Yoongi’s out of her sight. She yawns, a little squeak rounding the end of it, and leans to her side so she can see past you.

“Mama, who’s that?” You shift to the side, but she pokes her head around you, eyes round. She’s holding her turtle to her chest with tiny fists, and you’re tempted to pluck her up and take her back to bed but, it would be a futile attempt knowing her stubbornness.

Your foot is perched on the first step. “He’s mommy’s friend who’s just about to leave.” You lean onto the next step. “You should go back to bed or else you’ll be sleepy tomorrow,” you coo, steadily making your way up. She’s still trained on Yoongi, and you’re thinking you can catch her while she’s distracted. Arms out, you make grabby hands at her. “C’mon Seohyeon, time for bed.”

She’s off and ducking beneath your reach before you can blink, little feet padding down the stairs. You lean over the railing and compose yourself with a small sigh before turning to move down. She’s parked by the arm of the couch, one arm around her turtle and the other perched on her hip. Her gaze is right at Yoongi, who migrated to the edge of the couch, his back now straight. Neither of them spoke, only stared, and you were ready to swoop in to grab Seohyeon when Yoongi stands up and sticks out a bandaged hand.

“Hi, missy. I’m Yoongi. What’s your name?”

She lets out a peal of giggles at the title and takes his hand in hers, hers only wrapping around four of his fingers. “I’m Seohyeon, and that’s my mama.” A little head bobs back to where you’re standing. “She’s a duckter,” she says proudly.

A small tinkle of laughter from Yoongi stuns you for a second, but you’re sure it’s him because he’s bending down with as much of a smile as he can muster with his busted lip. “She sure is, and a good one at that,” he affirms with a nod. She agrees with two nods of her own before she begins to babble, her little body bouncing with the energy of Yoongi’s attention. And he’s rapt, his gaze never leaving hers, smile inching wider when she introduces her turtle by making him shake its foot. It’s new seeing him like this, and you’re reluctant to admit it, but he has a nice smile even with the scabs of dried blood.

“Mama said I can’t get an ostrick until I can write my name, but it’s so hard,” she pouts into her whine, chubby cheeks ballooning out. “Can you write your name, Mr. Yoongi?”

His head’s dipped in sympathy. “I can, but it took me a lot of practice. If you practice every day, I think you can do it.”

He’s met with a squeal and a bounce, the turtle waving around in a chunky fist. She turns to putter towards you, and you open to scoop her up. Small arms wrap around your neck to pull your face in for wet kisses. 

“Mama, I’m gonna practice every day!! Mr. Turtle needs a friend.”

“I’m glad, baby,” you say against the soft of her hairline. “Now say goodnight so you can go to sleep and get big and strong for tomorrow.” You walk until you’re in front of Yoongi. Seohyun pushes off your chest and gives a wave of her hand.

“Bye Mr. Yoongi!! Come visit mama soon so I can write my name for you!!” 

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Sleep tight, Seohyeon. I’ll be ready to be impressed.”

She gives a thumbs up with a stubby finger and wriggles in your arms until you bend to put her down. “I’m a big girl, so I can put myself back to bed. Don’t worry, mama.” She’s running away from you and up the stairs as quickly as her legs can take her. She turns back before rounding the corner and chants, “love you, love you, love you.” A toothy smile appears on her face before she disappears, the close of her door coming soon after.

He’s looking at you when you turn back, and you don’t know if it’s the last five minutes of Seohyeon’s chatter catching up to you, but your face burns a light red. 

“Sorry about that—she loves meeting people,” you say to his right ear.

He lets out a small noise. “Nah it’s okay, she’s cute. Looks a lot like you.”

Your eyes are on him again, and you’re faintly aware of how he keeps on catching you off guard tonight. The side of his mouth is curving up again, and it must be because your mouth is the tiniest bit open, but you can’t bring yourself to close it. You’re still looking at him, and he’s looking at you, and you’re not sure what it is but the air seems to have settled into something comfortable.

He breaks your gaze with a stretch of his back. “I should probably head out. You’ve patched me up pretty good for now.” His arm brushes against yours while he’s reaching for his jacket, and the warmth tickles you. 

“Remember the ointment, Min. You’ve been slacking recently,” you chide, fingers roaming over the spot on your arm.

“Course, doc.” He drops a wink, and you scoff. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

The click of the front door is softer this time, and you can’t help but think that maybe it’s because of Seohyeon.

[From: Yoongi, 10:15 pm] : you home?

[Delivered, 10:23 pm]: Huh I thought you only operated past midnight

[Delivered, 10:24 pm]: Yeah, I’m glad I stole some more cotton pads today

[From: Yoongi, 10:26 pm] : sometimes my batteries start working before then

[From: Yoongi, 10:27 pm] : spicy garlic or sweet crunch?

[Delivered, 10:33 pm] : Are you talking about the cotton pads??

[From: Yoongi, 10:34 pm] : nah which you like better

[Delivered, 10:36 pm] : Hmmm spicy garlic, more flavor

[From: Yoongi, 10:40 pm] : okay

It’s only been four days since Yoongi was last there, but your constant efforts to tamp down Seohyeon’s excitement made it feel three times that. You don’t know how you made it to two months of late night clean-ups before she stumbled down, but now you’re pulling your hair that it couldn’t have been longer. No baby, he’s not a knight and I’m not a princess. Now please eat your green beans. The vegetable hanging limp from her lips somehow slithering its way back out after you’ve pushed it in with a finger. Hyeon, I don’t know when Mr. Yoongi’s coming back, but I do know what won’t be coming back if you keep smashing your crayons onto your coloring book. Tiny fingers scrambling to collect the crayons laying on the floor to pull them to her chest. With the nagging at work and the nagging at home, you were ready to sink into the curves of your couch when your phone had lit up.

You can practically feel your heartbeat in your temples, but you will yourself to set up station. It’s a mindless enough activity, but your mind wanders to a place you’ve grown too familiar with the past couple of days. You blame Seohyeon’s daily reminders of Yoongi, and you suppose it isn’t fair to blame a three year old for thoughts you had floating around already, but she was the one who said she likes his hands because he has “dada fingers”.

You moan, resting your forehead against the cold of the counter. You had no interest in thinking about him, much less his fingers. And yet, he keeps creeping into your thoughts when you’re under the covers, looking at the soft moonlight streaming in from the window.

The knock pulls you up from the counter and toward the door. “Okay, what do you have this tim—,” your chant dies in your throat when the smell hits you. Your nose is scrunching because you can’t quite decipher why he smells like fried heaven when it’s typically sweat and detergent, but when a bag is thrust into your line of sight, you nearly swoon because it is fried heaven.

“Oh my go—come in, come in.” You usher him in, suddenly invigorated with the thought of food. Closing the door, you follow the waft in the air until you’re at the counter. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and you’re looking between him and the bag. “Is this why you asked if I like spicy garlic or sweet crunch? Because you—you really didn’t have to do this,” you stumble, tearing yourself away from the chicken to look at him.

He’s focused somewhere by your nose. “It’s not a big deal. I passed it on the way here and thought maybe you’ve worked up an appetite being my personal doctor, but yeah...it’s not a big deal.” His hands are still stuffed into his pants, and you have to stop yourself from tittering because he started mumbling by the end, lips barely parting. If you didn’t know him better, you would’ve said he almost looked bashful.

“Well,” you have to stop your fingers from ripping open the bag, “that was really nice of you, Yoongi.” The crinkling under your fingers is spurring you on. “We should probably eat these before they—oh! Let me clean you up first! The chicken distracted me.” You’re reaching for his hands before you’re thinking, sliding them gently from his pockets. He lets you lay them on yours.

“These are from last time,” you murmur, running over the rough scabbing on his knuckles. His body must be used to working in overtime because he’s healed nicely, bruises fading to a faint yellow. Your thumb covers the expanse of his hands, and when you reach his fingers, Seohyeon’s “dada fingers” sneaks into your thoughts. You flush and drop his hands to his sides.

“Um, what about your face?” you avert your gaze so you stop thinking about his fingers. It crosses your mind that you would’ve noticed if he had come in with blood on his face, but you search the planes anyway, hoping for a fruitful distraction. A rough scan and there’s nothing new, only the bump on the bridge of his nose from three weeks ago. You cross to the barely visible scar across his left cheekbone, and you squint because you think pink’s beginning to blossom but you’re not sure. A clear of his throat breaks you away and you burn, realizing how close you had shifted to his face. You shuffle back and clear your own throat, hands flitting.

“Is it your arms? Chest? Back?” you’re rambling now, but you’re flustered and the tiniest bit embarrassed and there’s still no sign of where you should be disinfecting.

He leans an elbow on the counter, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread. His face is aloof, but the rosiness of his cheeks is apparent against the pale of his skin.

“I don’t have to be patched up. I—I just wanted to stop by.”

His voice is steady as always, and you wish you could say the same for yours because your stunned “oh!” wavers in the air. He looks up at the sound, cheeks pink but eyes patient.

You scramble for a second, trying to process what he said. You weren’t expecting this—a blushing Yoongi with fried chicken in tow because he wanted to share it with you—but something like a warm wave rolls through you. It glows in your chest and loosens your tongue, and soon, your mouth is moving faster than your brain.

“We should eat then!”

The smile that’s been threatening to break forms when your face is hidden between your arms. You rummage through the bag and pull out the container of chicken with quick hands and a rumbling stomach. Your other hand combs around to see if there’s anything more, and you stop when you feel something soft.

“Yoongi, what’s this?” you ask, even though the skinny neck and feathered sides are telling enough. You stroke the soft of its head, and your chest aches a little.

“Well, Seohyeon was talking about how much she wanted an ostrick, and I wasn’t able to find that, so I thought an ostrich might pass.”

The tease in his voice is familiar, but there’s something more delicate behind it, like he’s not sure how deep he should be wading.

 “I—it’s,” you’re faltering because this is the first time someone’s done something for Seohyeon, and from his eyes on yours, you get the impression that he did this solely for her. “She’s going to love it.”

There’s something grounding in the way you’re looking at each other, keeping you on him. The ostrich is all but forgotten in your hands except for the occasional tickle against skin, and you would laugh if you could get it past the throb in your chest. He looks like he wants to speak, but his mouth is still.

A car horn in the distance breaks your gaze, and the low rumble in your stomach follows soon after. You’re sheepish at the sound, sending a glare to your lower body, and he’s moving toward your cabinets.

“Where are your plates? I don’t know if I trust you with the way you look right now. You’d probably eat the container if you got the chance.” His tone’s light, airy in the way his eyes weren’t. He ignores your huff and picks out two plates before you can point to where you keep the dishes.

The wave of his hand wards off your attempts at helping. “I have to show off that I’m good at something too. Relax for once.”

You round the corner and slide onto the stool at his insistence. Legs swinging and hands cupped, you feel like a kid waiting for dessert, and you can’t remember the last time someone made you food while you watched. The thought paired with the sight of his fingers plucking at the chicken makes you shy away, turning towards the stool beside you. There’s a bill with a note lying on the seat, and you’re certain it’s not yours from the number of zeros on the bill.

“Hey Yoongi, I think you dropped this,” you say, reaching for the money. The writing on the note’s too small for you to see, but when you bring your hand over the counter to stretch towards him, you can’t help the glance at the messy scrawl.

Pull that shit again and you’re out. I don’t fight people who don’t follow code.

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 18: O (V)

It’s gone.

The lone realization pops into Octavia’s mind like a crimson red flare blazing through a darkened sky, ripping her straight out of her dreamless slumber. Her eyes pop open, and for the briefest of moments, she forgets that she isn’t alone. 

But then a gentle wave of overwhelming warmth engulfs Octavia, reminding her of the beautiful Latina that is currently asleep beside her.

Raven Reyes.

She slept with Raven Reyes.

And now…

Now, for the first time, in what seems like forever, it’s gone. That dull, gnawing sensation. The ever-present itch that resides just beneath the surface of her skin that can’t be scratched. 

It’s the “It”.

The one that Octavia dares not to speak about with anyone-- not even Clarke-- in fears of the strange looks and questions it might bring about. 

But now it’s nowhere to be found. 

Octavia ever-so-gently extracts herself from Raven’s arms and then pushes herself up in the bed. She runs her hands through her mess of hair, quickly scooping it up into a makeshift bun and secures it in place with a spare hair tie. 

Has Raven been the answer to it all along?

No.

It can’t be that simple.

But what if it is?

Raven.

Octavia sighs and glances over at Raven as a small smile of content slides across her lips. She lets her fingers ghost against the older girl’s flawless caramel-colored skin, and a barrage of thoughts flood her mind.

What now?

What will happen once Raven wakes up?

Will she regret last night?

Or even worse…

Will she wake up and act as if it never happened at all?

Octavia blinks away a stray tear as she attempts to push that last thought back down into the dark recesses of her consciousness.

The distinct sound of the front door opening and then moments later shutting cuts through the stillness of the night, grabbing Octavia’s attention. She listens in carefully as a chorus of familiar footsteps make their way up the stairs and pass right by her bedroom door. They come to an abrupt stop seconds later at which Octavia can only assume is the bedroom one door down and across the hallway from hers.

Clarke’s room.

But Clarke shouldn’t be home. 

It’s too early.

She always goes back to Lexa’s house.

At least until the morning when Clarke and Lexa stumble back here to pick up her and Raven for breakfast. Or sometimes, if they’ve been at it call night, then it’s just a text saying when and where to meet up.

But never in the dead of night.

Something isn’t right.  

Octavia peels the covers back and then slides out of bed, careful not to disturb Raven as she does. It isn’t until she reaches the hallway does she realize that she’s only clad her sports bra and her boxer briefs. Not that it matters. Clarke’s seen her in much less thousands of times before, and yet still, Octavia pauses. 

Maybe she should go back and get clothes?

Something that she normally would wear to bed…

Something a little less conspicuous? 

Would Clarke even notice?

Probably not.

If it isn’t involving Lexa or Raven, then Clarke rarely ever notices. 

Or only seems to notice after the fact.

Like last year, when Octavia was unfairly targeted by their biology teacher Dr. Pike. Clarke had been all but oblivious to the ongoing issue even though the signs were right in front of her face. And Octavia would’ve have continued to suffer in silence, accepting the unwarranted bad grades and random detentions, it hadn’t been for their dad intervening. 

Their dad and of course…

Raven.

Raven had been the one to tip Jake off as to what was really transpiring. Even though both swore that it wasn’t the case. That Jake had simply figured it out for himself. 

But Octavia knew better. 

Jake had known about the incident in class. The one where Octavia had been forced to stand in front of everyone and defend her essay on whether gender constructs were primarily defined by nature or by society. It had been not short of a 45-minute public interrogation. One that she had willingly endured without once losing her cool. And yet, in the end, it had still resulted in her failing the assignment. 

And the only person who had known about it, besides those who had witnessed it firsthand, had been Raven. 

Because Raven always notices.

Always.  

Octavia shakes her head, bringing her barrelling train of thoughts to yet another crashing halt. She gently nudges the bedroom door open and instantly spots Clarke, curled up in a ball on top of her bed. 

“Clarke?” Octavia says with nothing more than a whisper. But all that responds is the faint sound of crying. 

Octavia hesitates for a brief moment, not quite sure what to do next, and then slowly inches her way into Clarke’s room. She crawls onto the bed, next to Clarke, wrapping her arms around her older sister. “What’s wrong?”

But still no words. The tears continue to fall, steady and unrelenting, wetting Octavia’s hands. 

“Clarke, please…” Octavia tries her best to hide the quiver in her voice, but it’s of no use. She suddenly feels as if she’s that eight-year-old again, scared and terrified. Hiding in the back of Jake and Abby’s closet refusing to go to her mother’s funeral. 

Clarke had been the one that had come and found her that day, opting to stay in the closet with her until she mustered up the courage to re-emerge and face her new reality. 

“Finn.” The single word seems to echo throughout the room, instantly causing Octavia’s blood to boil. She doesn’t need to know any further details. Not when it comes to that douchebag of a human being. Octavia can paint an accurate enough picture with just his name and Clarke’s current emotional state.

“Where’s Lexa?” Octavia follows up.

“I don’t know.”

Octavia starts to gnaw on her bottom lip as the next logical question bubbles to the surface of her thoughts. It’s a question that needs to be asked. She knows it. And yet…

And yet Octavia isn’t quite sure she is prepared to hear the answer.

“Did he…” Octavia pauses as she swallows back down the lump of building emotions in the back of her throat. “Did he hurt you?”

Tears turn into full-blown sobs. Octavia wraps her arms tighter, fighting the urge to cry herself as a wave of helplessness crashes down upon her. She can feel the undiluted rage bubbling up within every inch of her body, threatening to burst forth at any given moment. 

And suddenly, all other thoughts that have been plaguing Octavia’s mind over the last few hours seem to dissipate into thin air. Leaving one-- and only one-- thought left for her to fixate in on.

Finn.

Finn Fucking Collins.

He needs to pay for all the damage that he’s caused…

No matter what.

__________

Breathe.

In through the nose and out through the mouth.

Again.

And again.

Just how Indra had taught them to do during their Krav Maga training sessions. 

Breathe in.

1… 2… 3… 4… 

And then out.

If they can focus on maintaining their breathing, then the rest of their body will naturally follow suit.

It’s the only trick that seems to work whenever O starts to feel the tell-tale signs of the “it” re-emerging. 

O exhales another deep, cleansing breath, letting the ambient sounds of the outdoor hospital courtyard wash over them. Its utter stillness is warm and comforting like they remember Abby and Jake’s bedroom closet being all those years ago. This is another one of their go-to hiding spots. Time and time again. They find themselves drawn to this particular courtyard. Their own personal sanctuary amongst the continuing chaos and uncertainty that those four walls always seemed to bring to their life. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” Clarke says as she emerges from the doorway and makes her way through the courtyard. O doesn’t respond, but simply scoots over on the wooden bench, making room for Clarke to sit down next to them. Clarke lets out a sigh and then runs her hands through her messy blonde locks. “Surprised more people don’t come out here. It’s way better than that atrium off of the lobby.”

“It’s the location. The atrium is cross from the gift shop. Everyone visits the gift shop. No one really visits the meditation lounge,” O replies motioning to the small sign of a person sitting cross-legged through the doorway.

“Good point. How’d you figure that one out?”

O shrugs. “One too many hours spent here.”

“Seriously…” Clarke says under her breath in agreement. O looks over at Clarke and quirks their head at this response causing Clarke to second guess her words. “What?”

“Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting that. Thought you loved this place since you’re in med school and all.”

Clarke lets out a harsh laugh. “Love this place? Not even close. Most days I can’t stand it.” 

O’s brow furrows in confusion. “If you can’t stand it, then why are you interning here?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Stupid, right? I honestly have no clue why. I picked pre-med cause that’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Or at least according to Abby I was. And then after undergrad comes med school, so I just went with it because--”

“It was easy,” O finishes Clarke’s thought with a nod of their own. 

“Yeah. Way easier than having to take the time to figure out what I really want.” 

“I get that.” 

“Okay my turn for a question,” Clarke says, giving O a nudge in the shoulder as she does. “Why’d you drop out of college?”

“I dunno,” O mumbles. They awkwardly start to fidget, drawing circles in the gravel below with their beat-up Converse sneakers. They can feel Clarke’s warm blue eyes upon them, patiently waiting, but can’t seem to be for the life of themselves to look up and match them. 

It’s Clarke. 

By all accounts, their older sister. 

One of the few, steady constants in their life that will be there for them, regardless of the situation or how badly they fuck things up.

But what if the truth is too much?

What if she doesn’t understand?

Their relationship hasn’t been the best for quite a while now. Definitely not since their dad died… and, if they’re honest, it was strained long before that.  

O had watched as their once bursting-with-life sister, faded away into nothing more than a shell of a person but had never done anything about it. Nor even had brought it up. Talking about it would have meant running the risk of addressing all the elephants hiding in the room and that… 

That was too terrifying for words.

“Is it the same reason you and Lincoln broke up?” Clarke asks, causing O to shrink even further into themselves. O offers up the tiniest of shrugs and continues to draw circles with the toes of their shoes. “Is it cause you’re non-binary?”

The question lingers in the space between them, heavy and foreboding. 

There it is. 

The truth. 

Stripped down and bare.

The core of all of their continuous struggles and never-ending issues.

Clarke knows?

But how? 

“Hey…” O feels the weight of Clarke’s hand press down upon the top of their thigh and then gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”

O stops with the circles. Uncontrollable tears whelm up in the corners of their eyes as their internal dam finally crumbles, letting loose a tidal wave of long-repressed emotions. They slowly look up to find a familiar set of teary blue eyes staring back at them. 

And before O can manage to their find their words, Clarke engulfs them in a bone-crushing hug. They melt, fully embracing the long-forgotten sense of security and safety that only Clarke could provide them with. The tears fall harder, and O does nothing to stop it. 

It’s been a long time coming.   

Too long.

Clarke lovingly strokes the top of O’s head and then runs her fingers over the stubble, drawing soothing circles as she does. “I really did mean it when I said I liked this.”

O sniffs back their tears. “You did?” 

“Of course I did,” Clarke smiles through tears of her own. “You look… I don’t know… You look more like you. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” O smiles back. “It’s still all kinda new, but I’m working on it.”

“Well, as dad used to say, we’re all a work in progress, right?” Clarke takes a moment to wipe away the tears from her eyes and O nods. “So… Let’s do this.”

“Do what?”

“Talk. You and me. And no holding back either. Nothing is off-limits. Tell me everything.” 

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. I’m so freakin’ done with the not talking,” Clarke responds with a laugh. “And I promise, no judgments, okay? I love you, no matter what.” 

“Okay.” O’s smile grows infinitely larger upon these words. 

“Good. Now let’s start with the basics. Pronouns. They/them?”

“Yeah… But I get it if that’s too hard to--”

“Stop,” Clarke says, cutting her off. “It’s not hard at all… Done. What else? Are you binding?” 

O shakes their head. “No, but I’ve looked into it. Just don’t have the cash right now to buy a decent one.”

“Then it sounds like you and I have a shopping trip in our near future.”

“Clarke…”

“What? I bought you your first bra, didn’t I? I get the honor of buying you your first binder,” Clarke replies. “Unless you want Abby to take you?”

O instantly tenses up. “God, no.”

“Does she know?” 

“No,” O responds as their teeth sink into their bottom lip. “Not really. I haven’t said anything to her. Raven did mention something about not calling me “she” when she came to check in on her, but I don’t think she put two and two together…”

“Knowing Abby, she definitely didn’t… You’re going to need to flat out tell her face-to-face.”

O sighs with impending dread. 

Clarke’s right.

But deep down inside they already knew that. 

When it comes to their mom, there’s no avoiding the inevitable. Everything that doesn’t align perfectly with her own vision of what they should and shouldn’t be doing with their life results in a verbal knockdown, drag-out fight.

Acceptance just isn’t a word that easily fits within Abby’s vocabulary… 

“I’ll do it with you.”

“What?”

“Talk to Abby,” Clarke replies. “I’ll come with you.” 

“You will?” And O can’t help but sound like they’re ten years old, voice cracking with a sliver of hopefulness.

“Of course. No one deserves to face Abby alone.” Clarke rises off of the bench and then offers her hand to O. 

“What? Like now?” O asks. They take Clarke’s hand in slight confusion.

Clarke shrugs and runs her hands through her hair once again with a determined exhale of air. “Why not? Apparently, today is national rip the band-aid off day, so we might as well.”

With that, Clarke starts to walk back towards the doorway, leaving O no other choice but to follow suit.

__________

“This is a bad idea,” O blurts out. They stop short at the sight of the ominous set of tall wooden doors only a few feet away from them, and their eyes can’t help but fixate on the single name embossed in bold black letters. 

Dr. Abigail Griffin, Chief of Medicine.  

“Absolutely,” Clarke replies as she joins O in front of the office doors. “But there’s no alternative.”

“I could always pull a Bellamy and write her an email.”

Clarke shoots O a more than skeptical look. “An email? O, do you remember how Abby reacted to that? She tried to get Marcus to use his connections with the governor to get Bellamy’s passport revoked.” 

“Right…” O sighs in resignation. “No emails.”

“Definitely no emails.”

“What about--”

“O…” Clarke gently grabs hold of O’s arm, snapping their attention away from the door. “We’re doing this. You and me. Okay? No more avoiding.” 

O nods, in response, unable to find their words, and then with a sudden burst of confidence reaches forward and knocks on the office door. They wait in the awkwardly painful silence for a moment or two for a sign-- any sign-- that they’re welcome to proceed, but nothing ever comes.

“Maybe we should come back? Maybe she’s not--”

“She’s there,” Clarke cuts her off with an exhale of air. “Post- lunch, Abby always spends at least 45 minutes in her office catching up on emails. Unless there’s a major surgery scheduled. And I already checked with Jackson earlier. He said there’s nothing on the board for today, so she’s in there. Abby lives and dies by her routine.”

O nods again, and without any further hesitation, Clarke reaches for the doorknob and pushes the door open to the office. 

And just as Clarke predicted, Abby is sitting there, behind her behemoth of a desk, so deeply engrossed in whatever is on her computer screen that she doesn’t seem to notice that she is no longer alone. 

“Jackson, I told you, I need another good 30 minutes. So tell Richards he can--” Abby says, never once looking up.

“Mom,” Clarke says as she and O make their way fully into the office. “It’s us.”

Startled, Abby stops reading and finally glances up. “Clarke? Octavia? What are you girls doing here? I thought I told Harper to get you all set up in the residents’ lounge?”

O visibly flinches at these words. 

There it is again.

Their full name. Every last syllable of it.  

But is it really their name anymore? 

Or is it just another relic from a former life that no longer fits?

And the misgendering as well. 

Like a dash of salt to an already agitated wound.

“Okay, A. we’re not twelve, so there’s no need to set us up with anything,” Clarke says, already unable to hide the annoyance in her voice. 

“Clarke…”

“And B. It’s O. Clarke and O. Not Clarke and Octavia.”

Abby gives a poignant eye roll and then pinches the bridge of her nose for added effect. “I don’t have time for a game of semantics. If your sister wants to be called only by her nickname, then--”

“It’s not a nickname,” O interrupts, stopping Abby dead in her tracks. “It’s… It’s my name. O. Not Octavia.” 

O feels Clarke’s hand silently slip into theirs and gives it a reassuring squeeze of encouragement. They take a deep breath and swallow down the lump of uncertainty rising within their throat. “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t use she or her when referring to me.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to use?” Abby fires back. “He/him?”

“No. They/them.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Abby scoffs, and O feels a second, more predominant squeeze from Clarke.

“Abby…” Clarke growls.

“Don’t ‘Abby’ me, Clarke. I’ve more than humored the countless acts of rebellion that both of you girls have put me--”

“Are you even listening? They just asked you not to use female pronouns.”

“I heard that.”

“That includes the terms ‘girls’ too, Mom.” 

“Jesus.” Abby lets out another exasperated sigh. “I’m not doing this. Not here. Not today. If you want to sit down and talk like grown adults, then I’m more than happy to do schedule some time for all of us to chat this weekend at home.”

“Schedule some time? Do you even hear yourself?”

Now it’s O’s turn to squeeze Clarke’s hand. They can see the tell-tale warning signs from a mile away. One or two more verbal jabs and a nuclear implosion of epic portions is all but guaranteed. 

And as much as their heart is bursting at the moment with undiluted love and admiration for their older sister, they know that nothing good will come from continuing to hammer home this point. But Clarke is notoriously stubborn… Especially when it comes to anything remotely involving Abby.

“Clarke… Just drop it,” O pleads under her breath, but Clarke pretends not to hear it. 

“Clarke Abigail Griffin. You are treading on very thin ice, young lady. If your father was--” 

“Was what? Alive? If dad were alive, he sure as hell wouldn’t be suggesting that we ‘schedule time’ to talk. In fact, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation to begin with. He would’ve just gotten it. Like he always did with everything.”

“That’s a pretty bold assumption, even by your standards,” Abby replies, words dripping with sarcasm. “You don’t even have the first clue what your father would or wouldn’t have accepted--” 

“Dad knew,” O blurts out, give both Clarke and Abby an instant case of whiplash. They stare at them, each one wearing a similar look of sheer puzzlement.

“He knew?” Clarke asks, eyes searching O’s for any inkling of an answer. 

O nods as a hint of a smile appears upon their face. “Yeah. We never really talked about it. Not in specifics or anything. But he knew. Dad stopped calling me Octavia two years before he passed.” 

Clarke matches O’s smile with one of her own. “He knew.” 

Blindsided with the sudden overwhelming urge to fill in the blanks even further for their sister, O goes to open their mouth, but before they can even utter another single word, the office door bursts open.

“Dr. Griffin!” Jackson shouts, frantic and slightly out of breath.

“Jackson?” Abby questions as her whole demeanor instantly flips into chief mode. 

“We’ve been trying to reach you,” Jackson glances over towards Clarke and O and then back at Abby. “We need you. Now. Room 315 just coded.”

Room 315.

The number slices through O’s soul, leaving a path of invisible destruction in its wake.

It’s Raven’s room.

Abby springs up from her desk and without a moment’s hesitation, bolt for the door with Jackson right on her heels.

“O…” Clarke says, with a voice suddenly filled with dread and fear.

“It’s Raven.”

[eleeria]

Shadowfang Keep

As many thousand as the Eleventh Legion had on Kalimdor, they seemed to have twice that amount in Silverpine. For every line that Eleeria and the combined archers of the Horde and the Warband’s Fifth Cohort managed to down, another rose to take its place. They seemed to be endless -- and though the Forsaken stationed in their homeland were tireless, the Fifth Cohort were not. The constant barrage of attacks from the Alliance both day and night frayed the nerves of the living combatants. By the second day of nonstop assault, it made even the undead nervous. Eleeria moved through the injured, a Dreadguard Captain handling the allied movement on the walls for the moment to bring the living General a reprieve. And although he would never admit as such, her positive attitude was sorely needed among the injured.

“I know it hurts. Let me fix it, then you can get back to fighting after a few minutes’ rest.” Callused and bloodied hands hovered over an orc’s leg, magic pouring into the injury. Normally, she would not expend so much magic on a single broken leg -- but she needed people back on the wall as soon as possible. Men and women were screaming and flailing around her, breathing their last breaths in a room full of blood and shit. Such was the way of a busy infirmary, with no time to clean between bodies hitting the cots and straw. Seeing bone and muscle mend, she patted the man on the shoulder and stood, moving through the infirmary with haste to head back towards the wall. Though the world was nothing but screaming and death in their makeshift healers’ ward, people still seemed to pause and stare. That’s General Silverwing. She took Northwatch. She was there when we held the Keep the first time. Eleeria could hear the words murmured nearby, and slowed enough to check in on the patients nearby who were conscious.

“How are you feeling?” Golden eyes met those of an undead; the woman grinned with half-missing teeth, offering a thumbs up.

“Right as rain, General! Just was missing a hand, but I got another one fast. Heard tell I’ve got you to thank for the supplies they brought with all the new body parts.”

“That you do.” Eleeria smiled despite herself. Forsaken were always so much easier to speak to than anyone else; perhaps she spent too much time with the Royal Apothecary Society and her wife, but they were more approachable than elves and less obsessed with proving she was an utter failure, like the rest of the races of the Horde. As if being an elf automatically disqualified her age and experience, reduced to nothing but the length of her ears and her choice of clothing. The Forsaken took everything in stride, with the candidness granted to those who had already seen the grave. Eleeria appreciated it. “Put it to good use when the menders clear you, aye?”

“Aye, General!”

Eleeria nodded as the Forsaken woman saluted with her new appendage, and stopped a few more bunks to check on the soldiers before she made her way into the courtyard and up the stairs to the wall. The lieutenant in charge of the archers and apothecaries stationed there offered a salute; Eleeria waved it away, stepping close to wall to survey the ongoing siege. The Eleventh Legion continued to attempt to pick off the archers and alchemists, along with building up siege weaponry to take down the walls. Eleeria glared at the humans running along outside of the Keep.

“Have they been at this all night?” She shifted her head to ask the lieutenant hovering behind her. The elven man seemed eager to show how much he had learned and could show to the small woman; despite the fact that he could easily dwarf her in size, her personality seemed to carry weight and strength of its own, enough that it made even those taller than her seem small when she was in her element.

“Yes, General. They seem to rotate out on shifts, bringing in fresh soldiers when the ones that work during the day tire.” He shakes his head, sighing softly. “Those siege weapons seem almost finished. Probably another hour or so and we’ll need to think about--”

“GET DOWN!” Eleeria’s eyes widened as a volley of fire and arcane shot at the walls, a magic-infused test shot from one of the siege machines. She managed to shove the lieutenant to the ground, the man’s helm hitting the stone with a clang. Eleeria hissed in pain as her armor melted and flesh sizzled from contact with the barrage of magic. She slapped her hand to it and stood, light magic healing what it could in the immediate aftermath as she offered her other hand to the lieutenant. “You alright?”

“Y-yes ma’am, what was--”

But Eleeria was not taking questions at the moment about whatever that blast had been infused with. Her attention was already on the men and women reeling on the wall. “Take down that siege machine!” Her voice rose over the din, Orcish sharp. “NOW!”

“Yes, General!” The call came from the engineers on the wall, as alchemists scrambled to give back what they had received in turn. Eleeria herself ran to help, carrying reagents to the waiting artillery -- some of E’risse’s makes, she noted with slight pride for her friend. Her entire face, shoulder, and neck stung to the hells and back from the heat of the burn -- but she didn’t have time to see to it. Even those medics down below who had been working on patients could be seen running out, streaming for the walls. Anyone but the most critically injured could live for the moment. They needed continued magical support on the walls, quickly.

She couldn’t think about how many would die because they didn’t have enough healers to split the duties. Not right now.

“They haven’t beaten us yet!” Eleeria continued to offer support, even as the walls trembled slightly with new attacks from the Alliance. “We can still hold them! Redouble our efforts to take down those siege engines; we’ll show them who the better engineers are!”

“How long do we fight them?” There-- a tremulous query from down the wall, though Eleeria did not catch the person who uttered it. Silence held for a moment after the terrified statement, as if waiting for Eleeria’s reply. She took a breath, pushing force and as much optimism as she could muster in this desperate hour into her voice as she stood tall. Her eyes met several of the men standing near her; a few glanced away, ashamed. As if Eleeria’s mere presence reminded them that they ought to fight harder, do better.

“We fight them as long as it takes to win. Now go! For the Horde!”

The scream of siege engines did not drown out the roar of support as people rallied to the call.

@blackheart-warband @theirondragon for mentions.))

[stylesdimplefeelings]

Take my hand.

This is the third instalment to Miss Holly’s Darling, so it goes. Series.

Catch up below:

Darling, so it goes.

Some things are meant to be.

*****

From their first date onwards, Harry was practically kicking himself.

Of course he was no stranger to the process- he’d been on plenty of dates in the past. And while he had to admit that those times were fun, he knew that something had been missing.

Given their history, he had expected their first date to be awkward and strange, but it couldn’t have been further from that.

They seemed to effortlessly fall into a place that was simply a loving extension of their existing relationship. They talked about the same things, maintained their killer banter and friendly teasing- all while exploring the pieces of their hearts that had never met before. And though every nervous voice was telling him to slow down, he only fell deeper and deeper.

They’d talked about everything.

After much discussion, they’d settled on doing things the ‘traditional’ way. Y/N had always known that she wanted to wait, and despite his initially shocking reaction, he’d warmed to the idea rather quickly.

They hadn’t settled on a timeline yet, but they knew that they wanted the whole hog.

White wedding. Meeting all of their career objectives. Building a home. Babies. Grandbabies. Everything.

A part of him knew it before he ever began to acknowledge the butterflies she gave him every time she looked his way. From the moment they met, they were tied together, unbeknownst to either at the tender age of six. And even though he was sure the wait would be anything but easy, he would do it all if it meant he got to feel those butterflies for the rest of his life.

Looking back on his denial, he felt ashamed. Ashamed that he had made her feel the way she did for the latter half of their friendship. Ashamed that he was cowardly with his feelings. And ashamed that he had wasted so much precious time with her.

He knew it would be too soon.

He knew what people would say.

He was nervous.

But he went through with it anyway.

***

She had done it.

Y/N had FINALLY finished university.

She’d slaved away for four years, written essay upon essay, report upon report, and short story upon short story- and finally, it was over.

But as one life chapter closed, she was overwhelmed with happiness at the prospect of the one that was only beginning.

Having Harry as her significant other had surpassed every expectation that she had.

He was sweet, he was charming, and for the first time in her life, she actually felt secure.

Growing up, Harry had been the only constant in her life. Her extended family had walked in and out of it more times than she could count, and not many of her friends had the balls to stick around when her anxiety took over. But even when he was constantly on the road, he always managed to make her feel less alone.

Passing her final portfolio to her professor gave her one of the most strange feelings that she had ever felt.

On one hand it was completely liberating, but on the other hand, she had never been more terrified. She had already passed the degree-that she knew for sure. But closing the chapter of university meant that there would be no more practice, no more training, and no more messing around- it was real now.

It would be up to her now, and Twitter wasn’t helping the matter.

The fans had always been sceptical of her, but after that photo was taken, she felt like a walking target.

She had never felt inferior to Harry in the past, but being barraged with comments about her lack of success and model-like figure really took her for a loop. And even though she knew they only said it all out of jealousy, she couldn’t escape the pressure.

And when her professor asked her to meet him in his office after that final class, it set off the biggest panic attack of her life.

***

To say he was proud of her was a total understatement.

Their families would constantly credit their shared capacity to dream big as the reason they were so close as children.

Harry- ever the performer- would tell anyone and everyone that he was going to be the next Elvis Presley, and aside from his family, Y/N was the only one who truly believed him.

Y/N- ever the academic- would make anyone and everyone read her ‘novels’ (aka, 2 page stories) and constantly express her undying wish to be a ‘Neyoo Yawk Tighems Bessellah’- a dream that Harry supported from the get-go.

He was never one to make demands, but on this day, he specifically requested that Y/N spend the evening at his place as soon as she finished school- a request that she was very happy to fill.

The whole thing was set up- he’d set his dining table using the fine china that his mother urged him to buy (that had never actually seen the light of day before), placed candles all over the room, put on her favourite album, and even cooked her a meal.

He had just placed dessert in the oven as she walked through the door and neatly hung her coat.

He poked his head around the corner with an “Ello love”, and she ran to him with just about the biggest grin he’d ever seen. He caught her in his arms as she kissed him with all the might she had.

As he placed her back on her feet, she couldn’t stop smiling and giggling.

“So what’s new Sugar Plum?”

“Oh nothing major. Just finished university… you know, the usual.” She attempted to say this nonchalantly, but it all came out in one big, giggly mess.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do. I can tell by the delightful scent of your exquisite mac and cheese which delicately wafted to the entrance of my nasal cavities the very moment I opened the door.”

***

“Now, I know you told me no gifts or grand gestures, but I have a little something for you Y/N.”

“How did I know?” she looked up at him with a giggle.

After filling up on sticky date pudding, they had decided to catch up on a few tv shows to carry out the night.

Harry reached underneath his couch to retrieve a small red box, tied with a white ribbon.

“You really didn’t have to do this you know.”

“And you really shouldn’t have expected me not to.”

She quickly kissed him before slowly opening the box.

“Harry…” she breathed.

“I love you Y/N. I know it’s a little soon but I really can’t see my life without you in it… ever. I wasted so much time avoiding the way I felt about you and I don’t want to do that anymore.

“Before that night, I thought I was happy. I thought everything in my life was so beyond perfect. But it’s only now that I know how much of an idiot I was.

“You are not only everything I have always wanted Y/N- you’re everything I’ve always needed too. You’ve lit up the side of my heart that I had never seen before, and it’s only now that I actually feel like me, and there’s no way I’m letting you go now.”

With that, he climbed off the couch and knelt down on one knee.

“Y/N, what’s say you marry me?”

Her eyes had filled with tears as she listened, but as soon as he spoke those final words, she simply stared at the open box lying in her hands, terrified over what she was about to do. She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Y/N? Please say something.”

“Harry…”

“If it’s too soon I get it. We can wait a little longer if you want. I’m sorry.. I’ll take it back if you don’t feel comfortable.. I j..”

“No no Harry, that’s not it. Of course I want to marry you. It’s just…”

His heart was racing faster than it ever had before. He had no idea what to say or do. He felt the weight of the world pressing him further and further into the floor and squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Something kind of… happened today.”

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No no, it’s a good thing. Well… good and bad I guess. I mean, I guess it’s significance hadn’t really sunk in until just now but now that I think about it… it could be a bit of a problem.”

He didn’t want to probe her, but if any more time passed without him knowing what was wrong, he would just about burst.

“What is it love? You can tell me.”

She pushed out one last deep breath.

“My professor called me into his office after class today. He told me that he had a friend in publishing that was looking for a fresh new project so he sent her some of my pieces.”

“That’s amazing sweetheart!”

“But then he told me that this friend really enjoyed my work and wants to kind of… give me a book deal and now… I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not sure I quite understand poppet. Why exactly is this a problem?”

Finally, she looked into his eyes once again. They were wide and laced with confusion, but nowhere near as broken as they were when she spoke the words that he never saw coming.

“I have to move to New York.”

[wistfulcynic]

Both Are Infinite, Chapter 2

Summary: Busy single mother Emma Swan relies on her best friend, Royal Navy Captain Killian Jones, far too much to ever ruin things by acting on the crazy lust she feels for him. The boundaries between them are firmly set… until they’re not, and suddenly Emma and Killian are forced to confront the feelings they’ve been suppressing for far too long.

a/n: So it looks like this fic is going to be hitting all the tropes with a sledgehammer. You've been warned :)

Also on AO3

Art by @rouhn

Tagging @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @rouhn because you’ve either been awesome and supportive of my earlier work or because you asked for it ;). Anyone who’d like to be tagged in future chapters please do let me know.

Chapter 2:

They had been on the road to Storybrooke for well over an hour before Henry finally settled down and dozed off in the back seat. The last time Emma had visited her hometown he had been just a baby, and although he knew his uncle David and aunt-to-be Mary Margaret well, the idea of going to what was basically a new place and meeting loads of new people made him both excited and nervous. Emma had been as patient as she could, understanding the effect that particular blend of emotions could have, but his constant barrage of questions and attention-seeking mischief had been extremely trying, especially while she was trying to get them packed and on the road at a decent hour, and she couldn’t help feeling relieved when Henry finally slept and the car was quiet. She glanced over at the passenger seat, where Killian was sitting, watching the scenery go by. As usual he’d been a huge help keeping Henry occupied and out of her hair while she took care of the packing and tidying the house, making sure he was clean and dressed and didn’t forget his favourite stuffed toy, a floppy-eared dog named Joe. What would it be like to have him around all the time, she wondered for the billionth time, and for the billionth time she stomped down that thought and buried its shattered remains deep in her subconscious.  

His phone buzzed and he removed it from his pocket, frowning slightly at it as he rejected the call, though not before Emma caught a glimpse of the caller’s name. Milah.

Who the hell is Milah?

His phone buzzed again immediately and his frown deepened as he rejected the call a second time and switched the phone off.

“You can answer it, I don’t mind,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not anyone I wish to speak to.”

She hesitated, burning with curiosity but not wishing to pry. They never discussed their private lives, how they lived or who they saw when they weren’t together. Emma supposed she knew intellectually that Killian must date —he was far too attractive not to— but she had never before been confronted with such stark evidence of it, and emotionally she was not prepared.

“Who’s Milah?” she heard herself asking, and he looked at her sharply. “I saw the name on your phone. Is she— is she your girlfriend?”

He sighed. “Not anymore. I ended it about a month ago. She’s having a hard time accepting that.”

Emma nodded, ignoring the twinge of pain she had no right to feel that stabbed her just below her heart at this confirmation of his involvement with another woman, willing herself not to push any further. “Why?” Damn it, shut up! “I mean, why did you end it?”

“She wanted more than I was able to give.” Killian’s gut twisted at the memory, still fresh and painful, of Milah’s face when he’d broken things off with her. He’d felt terrible doing it, knowing that from her perspective it was coming out of nowhere, but he also knew that allowing their relationship to continue when she had clearly fallen for him would in the long run be far worse. He’d tried so hard with Milah, harder than he’d tried with any woman since he’d met Emma, and he had truly wanted to make things work with her. The affection and attraction he’d felt for her had been genuine, and if he could have made those feelings deeper through sheer force of will then they would both be madly in love right now, but ultimately he’d had to accept that his efforts were futile. Emma’s hold on his heart was absolute, and unless he could find some way to break free of it he could never get serious with another woman. It simply wouldn’t be fair. He knew all too well the misery of unrequited love, and he wouldn’t inflict that on Milah or anyone else, couldn’t string her along knowing he could never be what she needed, what she deserved.

He looked so sad, thought Emma, this Milah must have been important to him. The twinge of pain became more intense. She wondered what had gone wrong, and clenched her jaw firmly shut to stop herself from asking any more prying questions. It was none of her business, and she needed to remember that. Killian had a right to his own life and his privacy, and she reminded herself that maintaining their unspoken boundaries benefitted her as well. She definitely didn’t need Killian knowing what she had been up to these past five years. Or rather, what she hadn’t been up to.

Unable to bear the look on his face any longer, she attempted a change of subject. “So, Henry’s starting school in the fall. I can hardly bring myself to believe it.”

He smiled, a bright, genuine smile full of affection for her son, and she felt the tension in her jaw and shoulders drain away. “Aye, me neither. He gets so much bigger every time I see him, but part of me still expects him to be that tiny baby I first met.” He turned to look at Henry in the back seat, fast asleep, his head lolling forward in a way that had to be uncomfortable. “I wish—” He bit the words off, barely catching himself before saying something he didn’t dare speak aloud, and shot an anxious glance at Emma, relieved when she didn’t seem inclined to press him about what exactly he wished.

“The school is only a few blocks away so I’ll be able to walk him there before work, then he can go to Anya’s in the afternoon,” she continued, as though he hadn't spoken. Anya was Henry’s babysitter, the same one who had taken him to the hospital the night Emma and Killian had met. “It’ll be a good arrangement. I just hope he likes school.”

“I’m sure he will, Swan, he’s a bright, friendly lad. He’ll get on splendidly.”

She grinned at his word choice. “Splendidly,” she repeated teasingly, in a bad imitation of his accent, and he shot her a comically exasperated look, which made her laugh. After a moment he joined her, the rich sound of it suffusing her insides with a warm, tingly sensation. This was what she needed to hold on to, she thought, this warm, supportive friendship with its ease of communication and laughter, his reliable if intermittent presence in her and Henry’s lives. As long as she had this then Milah or whomever else could have his body, and she didn’t —she wouldn’t— envy them. What she had was far more valuable, more permanent. He could break up with a girlfriend, but a friend was forever, and more than anything else she needed him to be forever.    

They arrived in Storybrooke at just past nine, pulling up to the large Victorian house that had been in David’s family for over a hundred years and where Emma had lived happily between the ages of 13 and 18. Returning to it now made her a bit sad. The house wasn’t the same without Ruth.

Mary Margaret met them at the door with eager enthusiasm, which she toned down slightly at the sight of Henry’s sleepy face as he snuggled in Emma’s arms. “I’d really like to get him to bed now,” said Emma quietly, “If he wakes up fully it’ll take ages to get him down again.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I’ve made up a bed for him in the den,” she said, “That’s where all the kids are sleeping. Follow me.”

Killian kissed Henry’s forehead. “I’ll get the bags, love,” he said. She handed him the car keys and he went back outside.

Emma followed Mary Margaret down the hallway, carrying Henry. “There are five kids between the ages of four and eight here this weekend,” Mary Margaret whispered. “All of them are sleeping in here. The whole house is packed with guests, we want to spare as many people as possible from having to fight over the limited accommodation in town. It’s basically Granny’s or nowhere, as you know. The ones that aren’t here are in my loft. You and Killian are in your old room, of course.”

Emma nearly stumbled, and Henry made a small sound of protest. She smoothed his hair to soothe him and tried not to raise her voice as she turned on Mary Margaret. “What do you mean me and Killian?”

Mary Margaret looked confused. “Well, I thought you’d want your old room—” she began, and Emma could see that something, somewhere, had been seriously fucked up.

“Never mind,” she interrupted, “Let me get Henry to bed and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” said Mary Margaret, clearly still confused.

Emma tried not to seethe as she took Henry into the den, got him into his pyjamas and into bed.

“Are we there, Mom?” he murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, kid, we’re at Uncle David’s house. You’re going to sleep here in this room with the other kids, but I’ll be right upstairs if you get scared, okay?”

“I won’t get scared,” mumbled Henry, and she smiled. Her brave boy.  

“Okay, well sleep tight then, we need to be up bright and early tomorrow.”

“‘Kay, mom. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight, honey.” She kissed his forehead, noting that he was already fast asleep again.

She returned to the hall where Mary Margaret was standing wearing an anxious expression, and grabbed the other woman’s arm, pulling her away from the room full of sleeping children.

“Emma, is there a problem?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Yeah, you could say that.” She couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “Why would you put Killian and me in the same room?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m really confused. Why wouldn’t you be in the same room?”

Emma stared. “Because… we’re not together?” she replied. Surely David had made that clear. Mary Margaret looked astonished, then devastated.

“You’re not?” she almost cried.

“No. Didn’t David tell you?”

“We never talked about it. I never asked him. I just, I mean with everything, I— I always just assumed you two were a couple.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Well, I mean, from the way you talk about him, the way you two are…”

“What the hell does that mean?” shouted Emma.

“Look, don’t jump down my throat, it’s just… well, Emma, he lives at your place when he’s on leave, and you’re never available to do anything with us when he’s there. You remember last year when David and I made our first trip back to Boston after moving to Storybrooke, we had plans set for the whole week then you just blew us off because Killian managed to get a week’s leave and you wanted to spend the time with him. Then the year before that the three of us were at dinner and you ran out on David and me because Killian called you, and spent the whole meal sitting outside the restaurant on the phone with him.”

“He was calling from the South China Sea!”

“I know, but that’s sort of my point. All you do is work and spend time with Henry and Killian. You arrange to take all your vacation time for when he’s visiting so you don’t have any left for an actual vacation, and when he calls you drop everything to talk to him. I think I can be forgiven for believing he’s your boyfriend.”

Emma was silent for a minute, knowing Mary Margaret had a point but unwilling to concede it. “Well, he’s not,” she said stubbornly.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary Margaret, and Emma wasn’t sure whether she was apologising for her mistake or because Killian wasn’t Emma’s boyfriend. “There aren’t any free rooms left in the house, but I can see if someone would be willing to swap with you—”

“No, it’s fine,” interrupted Emma, making a quick decision. She didn’t want to call attention to her and Killian’s situation by making a big deal about the sleeping arrangements. “Killian and I have been friends for years, we can share a room for a few days. Sorry I shouted, Mary Margaret, it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

The other woman looked relieved, and smiled. Emma tried to smile back, though the butterflies that were currently waltzing around her insides made that difficult.

They returned to the foyer, where Killian was chatting with David. Emma caught his eye and indicated he should follow her, which he did, picking up their bags and promising David to continue their conversation over a beer in half an hour. She led him up the stairs and opened the door to her old room. She’d decided it would be best to just come out with it, like ripping off a band-aid. “This is us,” she said.

“Us?”

“Yeah." She took a deep breath and let the words come out of her in a rush. "Apparently there was some sort of mix-up and Mary Margaret got the idea that we’re a couple and would want to share a room. There’s no empty rooms and I didn’t want to make a stink on her wedding weekend, so I just went with it. I hope you don’t mind.” She glanced up at him, anxious for his reaction.

He looked utterly panicked for a moment, then she could almost see the naval officer take over as he carefully schooled his features. “Of course not, love, I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emma’s heart was pounding so loudly she thought surely he must hear it, and she willed her voice not to shake. “We can share the bed.”

They both looked at the twin bed standing innocuously against the far wall; it seemed somehow much narrower than Emma remembered. “Are you certain?” Killian asked, sounding very uncertain himself. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Of course I’m certain. We’ve been friends for years, it’ll be fine. I don’t want you to sleep on the hard floor for four nights.”

Killian thought wildly that even the hardest floor, or one adorned with hot coals or rusty nails would be far more comfortable than a tiny bed full of Emma Swan, with her sweet scent and her soft hair —gods her hair, he could still feel the way it had slid silkily through his fingers during their one kiss— right there within his reach for eight long hours each night, where he would have to be constantly vigilant to avoid accidentally touching her, even more to avoid intentionally touching her; the tiniest slip of his control would be fatal. She couldn’t actually expect him to sleep under such conditions. He considered trying to dissuade her, but the mulish look on her face was one he knew all too well. She wasn’t going to give in.

“It’s a bloody good job I packed my nightclothes,” he said without thinking.

She looked confused for a moment. “Why wouldn’t you— oh!” Her eyes widened as she caught his meaning, and then they flickered down his body, pausing a moment too long just below his belt. He knew he had gone bright red and he cursed once again his easy blush, the absolute bane of his existence.

She was blushing also, a lovely shade of rose pink that made her eyes bright against her cheeks and her lips look so soft that his ever-present desire to kiss her sharpened into something almost painful.

Gods, this is going to be hell

“But… you always wear pyjamas at home,” she said, her flush deepening.

“I take them off to sleep.” His voice was gruff. “I don’t like constriction.”

She nodded, saying nothing, but her eyes darted to his crotch again and he had to bite back a groan. Please stop looking there, love, or soon there’ll be something for you to see

He cleared his throat. “But as you say, Swan, it’s only for a few days. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Yeah,” she said firmly. "We'll manage."  

He swallowed hard, and attempted a tone of easy cheer that he definitely did not feel. “Listen, I’m going to go have that beer with Dave so take as much time as you need, I’ll probably be a couple of hours. He’s being even wronger than he normally is this evening, I imagine it’ll take some time to set him straight.”

She smiled at his attempt at humour. “Okay, well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, love.” He smiled at her and left.

Emma sank onto the bed with a shaky sigh. Her butterflies had graduated from the waltz to the tango, and she doubted she’d be able to sleep. What had possessed her to refuse Killian’s offer to sleep on the floor? Now she would have to spend four nights lying inches away from him, knowing that if he were alone he would be naked— shit, that meant that he slept naked in her house, in the room that was right across from hers. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that information? She’d always been so careful not to imagine him asleep over there, so tantalisingly close to her own bed, and now he would be right fucking next to her and she could not get the image of him snuggled under her blankets with no constriction out of her freaking head.

“Damn, damn, damn, shit, and fucking fuck,” she said.

Killian remained downstairs until well after midnight, after even David had gone to bed, wanting to give Emma enough time to fall deeply asleep before he returned. He opened the door as quietly as he could, and was relieved to see her curled under the blankets breathing slowly and steadily. Moving stealthily, he gathered his wash bag and pyjamas and went down the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change. Ablutions completed, he braced his hands on the sink and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Keep it together, mate,” he told himself firmly. “You’ve been in trickier situations than this. Just remember your bloody honour.”

Back in the bedroom he hesitated for a long moment before slowly lifting the edge of the blanket and sliding beneath it, positioning himself as far over on his side as he could manage, watching Emma carefully. She didn’t stir and he slowly relaxed, focusing on keeping his breathing deep and steady, until he drifted off. Beside him, Emma shifted restlessly, rolling across the bed and snuggling into the hard chest she found on the other side, unconsciously seeking contact with the man she refused to acknowledge that she loved. Killian sighed in contentment as his hand stroked up her back, pulling her close. Wrapped around each other, they fell into a deep, restful sleep.

When Killian awoke early the next morning Emma was in his arms, her back pressed firmly against his front, her ass cradling the ridge of his erection, his face buried in her hair. For a moment he relaxed into the embrace, believing he was still asleep and dreaming, tightening his arms to pull her closer and breathing in the sunshine-and-coconuts scent of her hair. Then the sound of a toilet flushing in the bathroom down the hall brought reality crashing down onto him and he jerked away from her, practically falling out of the bed in his haste to extricate himself. You bloody arse, he berated himself. What were we just saying about honour?

Sending up a quick prayer of thanks that Emma was such a sound sleeper, he exchanged his pyjama pants for jeans and retreated downstairs to hunt up a cup of coffee and hopefully some peace from the insistent urge to crawl back into bed and spend the rest of the weekend wrapped tightly around her.

Emma remained still and silent for several minutes after he’d left, trying hard not to cry. She knew it was stupid to be hurt by his reaction to waking up as they had, that of course he wouldn’t want to be spooning his best friend a month after he’d split with his girlfriend, but it still felt terribly like rejection. She didn’t know how they’d ended up in that position but it had felt so good, and she’d somehow let herself lie there for over half an hour, enjoying the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her, his breath ruffling her hair against her cheek, before he woke up and brought it all to a screeching halt.

This is good, she told herself scathingly, you needed a reminder that he doesn’t want you that way.

She wondered again about Milah, what she looked like and what she’d said and done to attract Killian, before giving herself the second mental slap of the still very early morning and flinging herself out of bed. That is none of your business, idiot. Now go down there and make sure that things won’t be awkward with your best friend in the world.  

When she got downstairs Killian and Henry were sitting in the kitchen eating cereal and discussing their plans for the day.

“Would you like to see the marina, lad? David tells me that they’ve a fine one here, with lots of big ships.”

“Big ships like yours?”

“Well, not quite, mine is a military ship, these will be merchant ships or private boats. But still fine seafaring vessels, worth a gander, eh?”

“Okay!”

“Now this afternoon and evening your mum and I will be occupied with wedding things, but Mary Margaret’s mother will be taking you and the other children out to see a farm and then for ice cream and a movie. How does that sound?”

“Will Roland be there?”

“Roland is the lad you were talking to this morning?” Henry nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Henry thought for a minute. “I like Roland. Can he come to the marina with us?”

“We’ll have to ask his parents, but if they say yes then he certainly can.”

Emma stepped into the kitchen, and Henry spotted her. “Mom, Mom! We’re going to go look at big ships then I’m having ice cream on a farm and Roland can come too.”

“All pending your mother’s approval of course,” said Killian, watching Emma with anxious eyes. She smiled brightly at him, and he relaxed.

“That’s all fine with me,” she said. “Mary Margaret already asked about the farm and the movie, and I’m sure he’d love to go look at the ships. Will you be okay with him this morning? I have some bridesmaid stuff to do with Mary Margaret.”

“Of course, love.”

It turned out Roland’s father Robin had plans of his own for his son, so Henry and Killian went to the marina by themselves and spent an enjoyable hour or so looking at all the ships and trying to guess where they’d been. Afterwards, they went to Granny’s Diner where Emma had said she would meet them after she was finished with her bridesmaiding duties.

“Killian,” said Henry, in the wheedling tone he used when he wanted something.

“Yes, lad?”

“Why don’t you have any kids?”

“Er,” Killian was flummoxed. “Well, hmmm, I guess it’s because I haven’t convinced anyone to be their mother yet.”

“Are you looking for their mother?”

No. I found her years ago. “Aye, I suppose I am.”

“So you want kids?”

Images sprang into Killian's mind, painfully alluring ones, ones he always ruthlessly suppressed even in his weakest moments: Emma, round with his child; himself standing behind her as she cradled a baby with her hair and his eyes, his arms about them both; Henry and Emma and himself and their baby, together as a family. He wanted all of that, so fiercely that the thought of it stole his breath, and it was a moment before he could respond to Henry’s question.

“Aye, I do. Very much.”

Henry’s big brown eyes observed him carefully. “Maybe I could be your kid.”

“Oh, Henry.” How I wish you could be, lad. “You already have a father.”

“But Mom says he’s never coming back.” Henry’s lower lip began to make itself prominent, and Killian could sense a pout coming on. “So I don’t have a dad, and you don’t have a kid, and I really want you to be my dad.”

Killian wondered with almost detached curiosity what infernal deity he had angered to bring this day upon himself, and what he could possibly do to make amends and get it to bloody stop.

“Henry…”

“Please, Killian?” Henry’s eyes were huge and his lip was quivering.

Bloody Swans would be the death of him, Killian thought, racking his brain for what to say, how to put Henry off without hurting him.

The bell on the door jingled, and Emma appeared.

Thank fuck.  

“I think it’s time for you to go to the farm, lad, we’ll talk about this another time, all right?”

Preferably after he’d dumped it in Emma’s lap for her to deal with.

Henry fixed him with a look that said “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to give up on this, buster.” Killian knew that look well, having seen it on Emma’s face more times than he cared to recall. He met it with the look he always gave its parent. We’ll see about that, young Swan.

[built-from-nothing]

Feels Like Home

Prompt: “Oh, now they’re just being mean.”

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 3,016

Warnings: Fluff, angst, torture, (the real torture is the lack of pie), canon violence, blood, death (no main characters), and language. 

A/N: Written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess ‘s Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challange. Unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own. Had a lot of fun writing this & hope you all enjoy! 

You watch the cookie cutter houses whiz by from the backseat of the Impala. Perfectly manicured lawns lead up to cape cod after cape cod, undoubtedly housing the suburban family of four. The father working a nine to five. The mother running errands in the minivan, while the kids are off at school learning about planets and multiplication tables.

How you longed for that type of apple pie life. To have a normal home surrounded by the people you love. Well, minus the minivan. Hunting since you were old enough to use a knife proved that this life would never belong to you. No matter how hard you tried.

It was fruitless to harbor such desires, yet every time you found yourself working a case in the suburbs the traitorous thoughts crept back in; your loving husband engulfing you in his arms as you watch your two little munchkins run around the front yard.

You sigh and turn away, the sight of what you’ll never have too much to bear. You have it pretty good already, working with two of the best hunters in the business. You could be doing this all alone. The memory of that wretched night your parents lost their lives resurfaces. The way the wind howled through the Impala windows as if the world too was mourning the loss of your parents.

You glance up front to the boys, thankful that they had shown up that night and plucked you from death’s grasp. Parentless and eighteen, you had assured the boys you’d be fine hunting on your own. You had been raised accordingly after all, if the situation presented itself. But Dean insisted you stay with them, at least until you got back on your feet.

Three years later and here you are still working cases with the Winchesters, fitting right in with their usual antics and strange love of pie. You’d grown to love the boys, some more than others...

The slow purr of the Impala comes to a halt as you pull up outside of a dingy American diner and make your way inside. Sports clippings and memorabilia of the local teams line the walls, drowning out the loud eighties wallpaper. “At least it's not wood paneling this time,” you snark.

Dean rolls his eyes while walking to the far corner of the diner and slides across the brown vinyl booth. You sit across from Dean, Sam plopping down beside you. A waitress in her mid-twenties approaches the booth, her eyes raking Dean’s body, and takes your orders. Coffees all around, two cheeseburgers, a turkey wrap, and three slices of “sweet, cherry pie.” Sam shoots Dean his classic bitch face at the stupid line.

You anxiously await the arrival of your burger, tensions high as the case you were working had proven to be more challenging than expected. Several people were found dead in their homes with a barrage of various injuries. Some drained of blood, heart torn out, incisions in the back of their skull, the works. When visiting the victims’ homes, everyone gave the same response. “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” After the third attempt, Sam’s suggestion to retire for the night was met with open arms.

“So what are we thinking? Werewolf, djinn, wraith?” Dean asks, before taking a gulp of his coffee, allowing a few droplets to escape the mug and run down his chin. You instinctively reach out to wipe his face, but catch yourself and not-so-casually run your hand through your hair. You watch as the coffee slowly slides down his face, impeded by his two day's worth of scruff. You snort as it rounds his chin and slips out of sight, Dean all the while oblivious. “Kitsune?” he questions, his eyes alive with excitement, taking your snort as a sound of demurral.

“No, Dean, you have something on your,” you laugh, motioning to your chin. His brows tilt in as he splays a hand across his chin, the sticky liquid coating his fingers. He smiles his thanks and hastily wipes his chin, a light blush filling his cheeks.

“Really, Dean?” Sam chides. “You can’t eat like a normal human being for five minutes?”

“At least I eat normal human food. Unlike that rabbit feed you love so much.” Dean retorts and raises his palm to you, which you gladly slap. Sam turns to you and clutches his chest, his mouth gasping in faux shock. You shrug your shoulders and flash him your best innocent smile.

The waitress returns, places your dishes appropriately, and before leaving turns to Dean and leans over the table, her boobs struggling to bust out of the v-neck uniform. 

“Honey, we’re all outta pie, but I can bring whatever dessert we have in the back. On the house,” she whispers in his ear, Dean’s eyes flickering to her exposed cleavage all the while. He licks his lips and groans, satisfied with his dessert options. His eyes remain glued to the waitress’ swaying hips as she saunters off to the kitchen.

You glower at Dean, green clouding your vision. How he throws himself at anything with breasts infuriates you. Well, nearly anything seeing as how he has yet to make a move on you, despite your constant efforts. You’d think that eventually he’d be rejected by one of these bimbos. You pinch the bridge of your nose trying to reign in your anger. The waitress was just playfully flirting, and what Dean and Cheryll do on their own time is none of your business. She wouldn’t be the first, and she surely won’t be the last.  

Your stomach churning, you push your burger towards the center of the table, the image of Dean slamming into another woman stealing your appetite. Sam sends a sympathetic glance your way and clears his throat bringing you and Dean back to reality.

A seductive grin spreads across Dean’s lips as his gaze sets on the juicy burger before him. He slaps his hands together and grabs the sandwich saying, “Come to daddy.” He engulfs the burger, fitting as much as he can into his mouth. Moans of pleasure sound in between bites, the savory taste of grease, carbs, and cheese flooding his brain with serotonin.

“That’s what he said,” you retort under your breath. Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes at your crude humor. You raise your palm to him requesting a high five, which he reluctantly returns. Dean in a food trance, ignores your jibes and now nearly finished with his burger, greedily eyes your untouched plate.

“Gonna eat that?” He asks, reaching to grab the rim of the plate. You quickly slap his hand away and pull the plate towards you.

“Don’t touch my food, Winchester,” you warn. He raises his hands in surrender and the waitress returns with a piece of cake. She winks and slips the receipt, her number scrawled across the back in purple ink, into Dean’s breast pocket before walking off. Waitresses.

You roll your eyes and quickly glance at the dessert before turning away. That’s weird, a carrot’s iced on Dean’s cake…

“Wait, Dean, I think-” you stammer as Dean shovels a bite into his mouth. The light slowly fades from his eyes, his nose scrunched in distaste as he hastily spits the dessert into a napkin.

“The hell kind of cake is this?!” Dean protests, and takes a large gulp of water trying to wash the awful taste out of his mouth.

“Carrot,” Sam chimes, smothering the chuckle that threatens to escape his lips.

“Who puts vegetables in cake?”  Dean yells as he rummages his pockets and throws money onto the table. “Come on, we’re leaving this shit hole.” Dean strides across the diner, making no sign of acknowledging the waving waitress at the end of the counter, and throws the doors open wide as he exits. Sam follows shortly thereafter leaving you alone in the booth.

The loud roar of the Impala soon resonates throughout the small diner. Knowing full well a pissed Dean would leave you here, you hastily wrap your burger in a napkin, grab a handful of fries, and race out the door. 

“Bye,” you giggle, batting your eyelashes furiously as you wiggle your fingers at Cheryll. As soon as you enter the Impala Dean speeds out of the lot, not even bothering to wait for you to close the door.

A scowl rests upon Dean’s face as he drives towards a motel still disgruntled from the dessert catastrophe. It was bad enough they were out of pie, but vegetables in the cake? Unforgivable.

And that waitress who couldn’t keep from throwing herself at him? Dean scoffs at the thought and crumples the receipt in his pocket to throw on the floor of the car. It had been a while since he had gotten laid, but he sure wasn’t that desperate. Besides. Dean glances at you in the rearview mirror munching away on a cheeseburger. There was someone worth waiting for...but not forever, you know. A man has needs.

A playful smile tugs at the corner of Dean’s lips as you come upon the motel. His sour mood from earlier slowly dissipating as one of his favorite parts of working a case soon awaits. Dean pulls into the only available spot and parks in front of room seventeen. The only benefit to checking into motels at the last minute was the lack of rooms. He’d almost always find some excuse for you to bunk with him saying things like, “You know Sam really spreads out once his face hits the pillow.”

He just couldn’t help the way being around you made him feel. Lying next to you after a long day’s work, a natural warmth radiating from you to slowly lap against his back, enticing him to wrap you in his arms. Carefully turning ever so slightly not to wake you so he could watch you dream, the slow steady movement of your chest lulling him to sleep. Then somewhere between sleep and consciousness he’d scoot closer, slip his arms around your waist, and pull you to his chest, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.

Your warmth would spread throughout his body, encompassing his heart in a protective ball of warmth, safety, and lavender. This is what kept him fighting. What enabled him to go out and hunt monsters every day not knowing whether there would be another. But the feeling of holding you in his arms washed away every fear, worry, and doubt that coursed through him. You kept him fighting. You kept him alive.

Of course, he would never admit this to your face. How could he? Aside from the usual flirtatious banter, you’ve shown no interest in him; walking away every time you’d go out drinking after a case, leaving him to settle for whatever bimbo approached him next. Dean could take the fear of rejection, that was no issue. The thought of losing your friendship, your company, is what shattered his bravado to pieces. For Dean was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Come morning, every morning, Dean would reluctantly leave the bed to retrieve coffee and breakfast, blaming his actions on his subconscious liking to cuddle with whatever lies next to him upon your inquiries later that day. The clockwork routine always left Dean with the desire for more. More time with you wrapped in his arms. More moments alone with you. More than just a friendship.

“Dean, you okay?” You ask him through the driver’s window. “You seem out of it.” Dean closes his eyes and slowly rubs his forehead as if massaging his brain.

“Yeah, uhh-” he gazes at your face examining each feature. For a split second, you could have sworn his eyes sparkled, adoration filling his features before his usual hard mask of sarcasm and one-liners returned.

“Withdrawal’s a bitch,” he finishes. “Haven’t had a beer or decent slice of pie all day.” You nod your head lowering your gaze, wishing the glint in his eyes would return. It suited him. “We should probably get the bags out of the back.”

“While you were busy daydreaming, I went and unloaded the car,” you tease and back up to let him out of the Impala, sending your arms out to display the duffel bags hanging from your shoulders. Dean purses his lips and walks towards you, an eyebrow questioningly raised at your defiant tone. He closes the distance between you and stares you down.

“Not that daydreaming isn’t productive,” you hedge, and take a few steps back. Dean follows never allowing more than two steps to lie between you. “In this line of work, it’s pretty much the closest we’ll ever come to happiness.” 

You stop and look up into his emerald green eyes. Your heart flutters as you get lost swimming in his deep forest pools. “So, dream on,” you murmur, your once witty remark lost in the depth of his stare. A playful smirk spreads across his lips, and you hurriedly avert your eyes.

“Y/n, I-”

You wave your hands and sigh heavily cutting Dean off. “I know, I know. No chick flick moments. You’ve only told me a million times,” you laugh pointedly, looking down at your sneakers. Dean scoffs, the playful smirk replaced by one Sisyphean in nature.

“Right,” he mutters and stares across the lot, his mind once again lost in creating endless possibilities that will never be. He clears his throat and watches his brother return with your room keys. “Well, which one are we Sammy?”

“Seventeen. Y/n, you’re in twenty-four,” Sam says, tossing you a key.

“Go figure,” Dean grumbles under his breath and grabs his duffel bag from your shoulder. When he finally starts looking forward to lying next to you Sam has to go and get two rooms.  

“You can have the single if you want,” you say holding the key out to Dean, your eyes meeting his. “I’ll room with Sam.” Your gaze lingers for a moment longer trying to decipher what lies behind those emerald irises.

“Don’t mind if I do.” His calloused fingers brush yours as he plucks the key from your grasp. “Could use the alone time, if you know what I mean.” He winks and saunters off to his room. You shake your head at his antics and watch as he sashays away.

“No, I get it Winchester,” you holler after him. “Gotta make time to pamper yourself. Maybe take a nice bubble bath. Relax.” He stops dead in his tracks and spins, fire raging behind his eyes. He storms over, a stern finger pointed at you, and leans close bringing his eyes level with yours.

“That was one time!” he snarls, “And you swore you’d never say a word.” You bite your lip as the memory bubbles to the surface.

A few days had passed since your last hunt, and nothing was sticking out in the papers. You had made a collective decision to take a break for awhile and rest up before the next end of the world. After binge-watching Netflix with Sam, you headed to the bathroom to take a shower. You padded along down the halls of the bunker and mindlessly opened the bathroom door to find Dean stretched out in the clawfoot tub you had the boys install.

Scents of lavender, cherry blossoms, and vanilla filled the small room. The few candles you kept near the tub were lit. The flickering light casting a warm glow across Dean’s face as he lays surrounded by mountains of bubbles, his feet poking out of the soapy range to rest atop the tub edge. A shit-eating grin unfurls across your lips, knowing you were never going to let him live this down. You let him relax for a moment longer, examining the calm expression set upon his features before teasing him. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” you ask. His eyes shoot open at the sound of your voice, his feet slipping back into the tub as he instinctually covers himself.

“No,” he scoffs. “I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” You hum your skepticism and continue to the pile of bath bottles littered on the floor. You pick one up and examine what little contents remain.

“Please tell me you didn’t use all my bubble bath,” you sigh.

“They all smelled so good, okay. But look, I’ll buy you new ones as long as you don’t speak a word of this to Sam.” You weigh your options and decide fooling him into buying you expensive body wash is worth its weight in embarrassment.

“Fine,” you sigh, walking to the tub and extend your hand in truce. He pulls his hand from the water and shakes yours, droplets of warm water running from his hand to yours and down your forearm.

“Care to join me?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. You release his hand, rolling your eyes, and exit the bathroom.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

The sting from your teeth digging into your bottom lip snaps you back to reality. You stare back at him, unrelenting. “I swear a lot, Dean. Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure you enjoyed the view of me naked in a bathtub,” he purrs in your ear. “Each bubble slowly popping to expose a big-”

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester,” you tease, playfully slapping his arm a few times. “You’re gonna need it.” You turn and walk with Sam to your room.

You were going to miss curling up beside Dean. It seemed to calm your nerves and make the stress of hunting somewhat bearable. Plus you liked the way his chest felt pressed to yours, but good god you weren’t going to tell him that.

“Maybe I should have been the one to bunk alone after the moment you two had back there,” Sam laughs. “You seriously need to get a room already.”

“Shut it, Sammy,” you grumble and plop your bag down on the bed.

Read Part Two here