#i should actually post things that i draw instead of hoarding them. sigh

[bukashki]

older bug lady and her cat lady! save me ladies bug and cat..

Adrien's green dress inspired by rocking the cat-eyes by @buggachat 🫶 and some sketches too

↖ picking out fabric for a new one 😌

i drew these months ago but never posted.. here they are :D

[treenissanderssidesstuff]

One

A03 Link

Thank you to @edupunkn00b for helping me beta this story!

Words: 4222

Pairing: Roceit (Platonic Demus)

TW: None that I know of, feel free to inform me.

Summary: Janus decides to play "prince."

Inspired by @aidensm8's work in the request they filled for me. Also loosely inspired by some of the drawings @reddstardust made in response to aiden's work as well.

Link to post.

Ah HAH! I found it! Link to original ask.

The darkside’s corridor had been quiet recently, annoyingly so in Remus’ opinion. It’d been quiet in general since Virgil left and the terrible trio became a dinky duo, but now that Janus split his time between the sides, Remus had found himself increasingly uno. It was usually fine, he had the entire imagination to keep him busy and entertained, after all. He could make sides if he wanted to. But… it wasn’t quite the same. That was probably the only reason he had bothered to hang around at all when Janus went on another tirade about how insufferable and brainwashed the lightsides were, how Roman was being pushed, blah blah blah. After the last video release, the dialogged had temporarily shifted. That had gotten Remus’ attention. It seemed that Roman had rejected Janus, not just chosen someone else’ way over the deceitful side’s own, but outright stood against Janus even when the others folded around him. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad.

All of Janus’ plans had been for Roman’s sake.

And in three miscalculated moves, Janus had managed to push away the one side he sought the approval of.

“Do you think this will work?” Janus asked, tugging at the yellow sash hanging off his shoulder again.

“Oh, definitely not,” Remus said flatly, flipping through an upside down fairytale book on the couch with a bored expression on his face. The duke had been forced to hear about Janus’ plans to woo—“reconcile” with Roman for days and at this point it was honestly slightly obnoxious how invested Janus was. “But it’s just the right side of disgustingly cheesy that Roman’s sure to love it even when you inevitably fall on your face.”

“I will!” Janus “I- I mean I won’t!  I mean-!“ Janus shoved his face in his hands with a groan.

Remus quirked an eyebrow in the snake’s direction, watching the self-proclaimed “Lord of Lies” try and compose himself. Thankfully, Remus did know what he meant, even when Janus wasn’t sure of it himself. It was one of his special skills as the bestfriend™.

“Look, J, I’m going to tell you this very clearly and carefully, as your friend,” Remus said, pushing up into a sitting position from his previous sprawl across the couch. “Your plans suck.”

"Excuse you?!" Janus nearly shrieked in retaliation to Remus' brand of hard truths. “They do!… not!”

Remus couldn't have stopped the subsequent string of chuckles if he wanted to. That was the biggest lie he'd ever heard Jan tell and Remus had heard plenty over the years given how rarely the two were ever apart. The darkside pair just meshed well. Janus was the liar, sure, but Remus was the secret keeper. Even if Roman struggled to understand Janus, Remus never had. The snake couldn't hide from him, even when he wanted to. It came with Remus' position as the holder of intrusive thoughts; he got a front row seat to every dirty little secret the others tried to lock away and bury in their little shame closets. What they didn't realize however, was that Remus had the master key. Remus quite literally was the little hint of truth behind every one of Janus' lies. The truths that Janus tried to tug and weave and bend around the others to get his way.

Remus was the keeper of the blatant, harsh, and often downright uncomfortable truths, not just what the sides tried to hide from Thomas, but also what they tried to hide from each other. It was a lot like the story The Giver. Someone had to hold all of the knowledge the little utopia unit tried to hide from and Remus had been designated. Though, he usually thought of himself more of a receiver than anything. Roman was the giver of the pair. The giver of dreams, wishes, and fantasies. Remus was more like a radio with the dial gummed up and stuck on where the power switch had broken off ages ago. Not that all of the secrets were so bad to tune into, some were sweet, some were shy, and a few were even downright adorable, but more often than not, secrets were kept that way for a reason and the Deceitful side had the most secrets of all.

They worked because Janus could never ever keep a secret from Remus and likewise, Remus would never ever tell.

The Deceitful side trusted him, was the only one to trust him and Remus was adamant to keep that trust. Remus locked it in a little box and kept it close, in the few little hideaways he had. In his pockets, within little small nooks of the imagination, and under the bed on the nights when Thomas’ thoughts turned up to an 11 and even Remus started to wonder what he still had left to give.

He had that.

A tiny little secret of his own.

Most of the time, it was enough.

"Your. Plans. Suck." Remus emphasized, slowly, pushing up from the ratty sofa Janus had sewn back up after Remus’ countless escapades over the years. Janus complained about it every time. He cited everything from the loose springs, and flattened stuffing, to the threadbare upholstery and warped base. He always told Remus just to replace the broken thing, but that never stopped careful fingers in yellow-clad gloves from systematically putting the thing back together again each time, always working away at it before Remus could even consider replacing the old lump.

That was his friend’s best and worst trait after all. Janus could not let things go. He wrapped and coiled and held on to any little scrap that he could get a hold of. His problem was that when he panicked, that coil became a death grip.

That's how they lost Virgil.

And that's how Janus was currently losing Roman.

"My plans are ama--mph--" Janus glared at Remus with fury striking like lightning in his eyes after Remus willed a zipper to appear across Janus' lips to force them shut, fully closing even the snake side.

Even best friends needed a taste of their own medicine every now and again, lest they forget how bitter it can be.

"Ah, ah, ah my sweet snoot," Remus nearly sang as he skipped over to his favorite danger noodle and reached out to boop Janus' nose. "It's my turn to talk now.

“You went in and pretend to be Patton, just to have him show up on you and made Thomas want to tell the truth more. Even then, you had almost had Roman on your side, but got so focused on semantics, you missed the actual benefits. You reviewed, revised, and waited to try again after deciding Logan and his facts were the problem, right?

“Then—“ Remus started, holding his mace up threateningly as Janus made some displeased, but muffled noises from behind the zipper, likely some kind of litany of curses. Had Remus not been prepared with his mace, the other side likely would have already tried to strong arm him into getting rid of the bound. “You tried to play Logan and just… ugh, Janny you are not allowed to act anymore. That was a terrible performance. Anyway! The trial starts and you get into it and try to defend what Roman wants, right?”

Janus’ incomprehensible complaints cease, only for him to squint at Remus suspiciously and give a slow nod.

“Wrong!” Remus proclaimed, swinging his mace toward the snake and stopping so close to his face, the metal spikes brushed some of the bangs hanging over the bridge of Janus’ nose. “Instead, you got carried away again. You got caught up in semantics and made it about who Thomas is as a person rather than what would be the better choice to make.

“In short, you made it all about you. Again,”  Remus said, letting his morning star drop as the energy was sucked out of him with his rant. “Sure, you won the argument, but you lost what you actually wanted.”

Remus wasn’t usually one to insert his opinions on things, that was more Janus’ thing and, gosh it was exhausting. How did the snake even keep up with just… caring so much about everything?

It seemed Remus wasn’t the only one suddenly exhausted though, because after rubbing some of the strain out of his own eyes, the duke watched Janus slowly slump backwards until he was all but sitting on the arm of their scrap couch. He wasn’t fighting the zipper any longer, his extra arms were tucked away and his normal pair were laid listlessly on his lap now as he stared down at his own yellow gloves.

“How was my brother meant to make any other decision when you put what Thomas wanted, against who he wanted to be? I wouldn’t care, indulgence is my territory. But Roman’s job is to be the dream, the ideal. You should know that.”

When Janus finally looked up at Remus, he just looked sad.

He looked pale, his eyes were shiny, and all the regality he tried to hold himself with in that dupe prince costume just fell away from him as he pressed his palms to his temples.

Remus finally let the zipper fall away into nonexistence.

He wasn’t done yet.

“Look J, I know you had good intentions.”

“But?” a slightly rough voice asked from a newly freed mouth as a yellow glove brushed the remaining ghosting sensations of the enclosure away.

Remus sighed, already imagining the hoard of grotesque creatures he’d be battling through in the imagination after this “talk.” He needed something to balance out all of the gross feelings and shit.

“But I don’t think Roman or Thomas would have chosen the wedding if you hadn’t gotten side tracked. You tried to prove you’re ugh ‘goodness’ by arguing you’re a part of Thomas. Your whole argument backfired and made him question if he’s any good. What else did you expect but for him to try and prove he is? Not to mention the after incident.”

“That was meant to be an apology,” Janus murmured miserably. “I had taken Logan’s place with the intention of leading Roman to work out his own mistreatment.”

“But you showboated.”

“I-“ Janus started, clearly ready to argue again, but stopped himself with a single look from Remus. “…I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Did you now?” Remus snorted. “Sure, going and pretending to be the nerd I get, but why change went Patton went full kaiju? You could have kept up the act and stood alongside Roman. It would have been an all around win for the lightsides as everyone would think Roman and Logan worked together to reign in one of their own.”

“I… I just wanted….”

“You wanted to be accepted. You saw an opportunity to be the hero and you took it, not caring who you hurt along the way. First you took Patton’s role as morality, then you took Logan’s role as logic, and to round it all out, you took Roman’s role as Thomas hero. That’s your problem.”

“Is wanting a place at the discussion table so bad?” Janus asked with a sigh, folding his arms in his lap.

“No, but taking it is,” Remus said, tugging the tiny chain that typically held Janus’ cape to his shoulders. It was currently re-purposed to secure the cape into a makeshift sash.

“Because that’s not a hypocritical statement at all, coming from you,” Janus replied swatting at Remus’ hands that still fiddled with his sash. “It’s not as if you, oh I dunno, knocked out Roman and took his spot during your entrance or anything.”

“True, but when I did it, I made Robro their hero.” Remus said, letting himself fall back onto the couch lazily as Remus saw the first sign of real recognition budding within his friend’s heterocromatic eyes.

“He is their hero.”

“Does he know that?”

“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him so.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

###

Roman groaned and carefully maneuvered his skirt from the grasp of yet another birch tree. It was fair to say that the photo shoot wasn’t exactly going how he had pictured it when he had chosen a full gown paired with an outdoor setting. He knew there must have been a reason why the others had all chosen knee length skirts and stayed indoors. Instead of just taking a picture, Roman had to build a scene. He had to wow his audience and every part of the image had to be carefully designed. He just… hadn’t exactly thought everything through. Roman had imagined something more along the lines of sweeping gracefully through the forest as the gown swished around him as his every movement was made even more graceful by the gentle sway of the fabric.

He hadn’t accounted for how often his outfit would catch on the branches and foliage around him.

It wasn’t fair.

Disney princesses usually seemed to magically get along with the flora and fauna around them, long skirts or not, unless they were being trailed by some evildoer of course, but that didn’t count. Roman was by himself at the moment. On break from getting frustrated one too many times as his own outfit betrayed him during the photo shoot. The photographer and set designer needed some time to reevaluate the next set and Roman needed some time to clear away his current frustration.

So, into the woods he went. He carefully lifted his skirt to protect it against nearly ripping for the fourth or fifth time today as he gingerly stepped around branches, dearly missing his boots as stray twigs tried to impale themselves into his sandled feet. At least his hair wasn’t so long that it would get unexpectedly tangled in the branches above, but he did have to pick some burrs off of his bolero already after he had tried to catch himself on a bush during an unfortunate stumble. The maneuver saved his outfit from getting muddy, but he didn’t make it unscathed.

Roman had dreamed of being on the cover of magazines his whole life. Though, in those dreams it was usually due to a movie deal but he had never been opposed to the idea of modeling like some of the other sides were. Logan found the idea of it mindless, Virgil was anxious about the attention, and Patton wasn’t fond of the rumored cutthroat environment. Still, Roman had thought it seemed so glamorous. However, he hadn’t taken into account how much work it was.

Sure, it seemed simple. Pose and shoot, right? In reality though, it was tedious work as the photographer rapidly took hundreds of pictures at just slightly different angles so they could all be evaluated later for the “best” ones. That meant not just holding a pose, but also holding an expression. Roman felt like his acting skills were being put to fill use as he tried to strike the idea of power into each click of the camera.

Absolutely nothing about this had been simple though.

Roman found himself sighing and leaned against one of the scattered trees for moral and physical support after carefully maneuvering his gown around it. He would be fine. He was royalty after all and the first rule was to never let them see you cry. It would all be okay once he took a chance to catch his metaphorical breath. Though, the literal sense wasn’t a bad idea either. He imagined the breathing exercises that Virgil had gone through with him when the prince accidentally shown up at Virgil’s door in a less than royal state after the whole wedding debauchery and name reveal sham. The near panic attacking pulling him there unwittingly.

It was… it was nice. Roman and Virgil had been getting along better than ever after his own acceptance video, but it was like a new wall had broken down around the pair. Virgil had stationed himself as Roman’s personal bodyguard since the events that need not be named and… it was nice. A little lonely, but he appreciated everything that the anxious side was doing for him and especially appreciated how he kept between him and the-side-who-probably-lied-about-his-name-anyway.

Roman didn’t think he was ready to open up that can of snakes quite yet.

Hey Princey, it’s going to be okay, yeah? You’re better than this… and him.

The words rang around Roman’s skull once, twice, and then he straightened his shoulders. Even when Virgil wasn’t around, he was right. The prince could practically feel the anxious side aiming a smirk his way from somewhere in the incomprehensible distance. Still, it was good to remember.

He was better than this.

He was going to march right back to that photo-shoot, take some fabulous as fuck photos, and then march home with his head hell high because he was going to look damn good in the final set!

Hiking up his skirt again, Roman prepared himself for the trudge back, feeling ready to take on the world once again, except—

—except something caught his eye.

Well… there was a well… a literal one out in the distance. It was old looking, some of the bricks were broken or even just missing, and there seemed to be this misty haze that hung around it, a little thinner than full fog, but something about it felt slightly… otherworldly? With only a moment of hesitation, Roman found himself taking a step towards it and then another, and then another…

…the others would be fine without him for just a few minutes longer, right?

It was such an oddly beautiful scene, broken down and uncared for, but there was still something just so striking about it. Plus, how many chances would be get to interact with a real life well? This could be a great location to take some shots and he’d be remiss if he didn’t take advantage of it!

There was also one other advantage to it as well. It wasn’t often after all that real settings lended themselves so pefectly to the Disney aesthetic. Mind you, Snow White was by no means his favorite movie. The plot-line was a bit... outdated. Still, he admired the film for everything it represented as the first Disney classic of the golden age, the film that really started it all! Snow White was a marvel of animation for its time and the well song was the sound engineers of the time showing off.

He could respect that.

Roman crept closer, one careful step at a time until his toes of his sandles nearly touched the stone. He, ever so gently, let himself kneel down slowly, until his knees began to rest upon the well’s edge. He carefully let his shoulders relax as he watched the light reflecting in the water’s slightly cloudy surface. It was just for a tiny bit longer, after all. He let his hands slowly unclench from around the skirt as the velvety material draped and flowed around him. It was nice to have something else bear the weight of the heavy material for a little while.

“Make a wish into the well,” Roman whispered, letting his fingers trace over the loose stones circling the murky opening. To be fair, it was the tiniest bit more decrepit then the one pictured in the film. He sighed and slowly let his form drape across the layered bricks as he let one hand hang over the side as his fingertips danced across the water’s surface. “That’s all I have to do, huh?”

“And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true~”

The sweet bell chime of Snow’s voice only sang the next line within Roman’s own mind, but it was enough to spur his continuance.

“I’m wishing~” Roman quietly sang, trying not to feel too silly as his voice carried to no one at all. At least Snow had some animals to sing to. He had nothing but the ripples of a moss covered and slightly over-flooded well that had certainly acted as a catch all drainage for the recent string of storms.

Roman tried not to empathize with the stacked pile of rocks.

He wasn’t sure if it was the well or his own internal imagination still remembering the movie, but he could almost hear an echo reply back with, “I’m wishing”

“For the one I love, to find me,”

“To find me”

“Todaaay.”

“Todaaaaay~” came a smooth voice behind Roman’s back, causing the royal side to literally jump up and onto their feet from their previous position lounged across the well edge.

“Deceit,” Roman glowered, hiking up the lengthy gown to take a couple cautionary steps backwards. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he was seeing. There Janus was, decked out in an outfit modeled after his own typical princely gear, right down to the sash that was—wait—was that his cape?

“Not today,” Janus said simply, taking slow steps forward until the fake prince came nearly nose to nose with the real one. “Today, my darling, I thought I’d try something new, just for you.”

And then the humming started.

“Now that I’ve found you, hear what I have to saaay~”  Janus started, singing along to the familiar tune. “One song,~”

“~Ever entreating, constant but true~”

A gloved hand tried to weave its way between Roman’s fingers as the other hovered just to Roman’s side and would have been only a moment away from resting against his hip, had he not jerked away the moment those gloves touched him.

“There’s nothing ‘true’ about you!” Roman yelled, not caring anymore that the edges of his skirt swept the soil beneath him as he pulled away.

Roman had planned a second round of photos after his break, but couldn’t stand the thought anymore. No, Janus had ruined this for him, just like everything else he had systematically ruined in Roman’s life recently.

Roman was about to start again, blaming the Deceitful side for this, for mercilessly pushing and shoving his way into Roman’s space, his things, his life, except—

—expect he had this look on his face. Big, mismatched eyes stared back at Roman, wide, and shimmery and open. Roman had to remind himself that the hurt shining his way was probably just another trick, just another ploy to manipulate the prince again.

...Okay, not even Roman totally believed it.

“What do you want from me?” Roman whispered, he didn’t know if he was asking the other side or himself from how quietly his voice whispered the words.

“I just want one.”

One what?

“One chance,” Janus said, taking a slow step forward toward the prince. “One opportunity to apologize properly.”

As Janus moved forward, one of Roman’s feet took a preparatory step backwards for balance, ready to move, ready to defend or flee. But Roman stayed rooted in place as the snake in princely garb moved closer.

“One day, that I can pretend that my actions and intentions had aligned, my dear,” Janus said, only stopping once his chest nearly brushed against Roman’s own. “One day, to pretend that I was your savior.”

“I don’t under—“ Roman muttered, before he could curse himself for engaging with this at all. His brain was just the smallest bit frazzled from the proximity and Janus had no shortage of charm in the way he could deliver a line.

“Shhhhh,” Janus hushed gently, tugging the yellow gloves from his hand before he reached up to trace his thumb against Roman’s cheekbone. “Can’t we just  have a fantasy for a little while my prince? Just this once?”

Roman swallowed as Janus leaned further into his space.

“Fantasy is my specialty, I suppose,” Roman muttered, clinging to the fact that the sweet talk was simply to get him to conjure some kind of indulgent daydream rather than trying to lead Roman to some other kind of nefarious goal. “What kind of fantasy were you looking to dive into?”

“I want one where I gave you your happy ending in the way I intended Roman.”

Roman just stared, his jaw dropping slightly at those words.

Janus didn’t flinch, didn’t throw his voice, or quirk his eyebrows, or any of number of little tells that the Deceitful side expected the others to pick up on in conversation. No he just met Roman’s stare with something heavy behind those heterochromatic eyes.

“Please Roman? I know it’s selfish to ask, but we both know selfish is what I am. Just let me be one today. Can’t we pretend for just one day?”

“What ‘one’ do you even mean?” Roman huffed half-heartedly. Even he could feel the fire slowly extinguishing in his chest as the conversation continued. “Who are you today then? The liar or the saint?”

Janus paused a moment, his gaze unwavering from Roman’s own face. Roman watched the scales on his neck glimmer in the sunlight as he swallowed, before taking the last final step into the prince’s space as a gloveless hand sat itself on Roman’s hip.

“Neither today my dearest,” Janus said with a cocky smile as he used his free hand to brush Roman’s fluffy bangs from his eyes.

“Today, I simply want to be the one in your fantasy.”

[trulivin]

On the Job

Golden Eyes Part 2 | Part 1

A/N: SURPRISE SURPRISE. Here it is! (Finally). One down, seven more to go. Sorry it’s taken so long, but I hope you enjoy this! As always, send feedback! Enjoy! I figured you guys would like this better than another update. I got a lot of this done last night so I did my finishing touches tonight. Hopefully I caught all of my mistakes! 

Also I’m thinking about doing a tag list for whenever I post imagines? Lemme know what you think.

P.S Let me know if the link works for Part 1. My computer is being janky right now. 

Kaz Brekker x Reader, Six of Crows

Warnings: Slight abuse, cursing 

*Hopefully my gif works this time*

Y/N went straight to Jesper after she left Kaz’s room. “Well hello there Ms. Sharpshooter,” Jesper bowed, jokingly as she approached. Y/N shot him a grin before asking, “So Kaz says you have a job to do and I was wondering if I could tag along?” Jesper thought for a moment, but the mischievous look on his face told her she was already allowed. 

“Hmm? Let’s see you could take anyone’s eyes out in a moment or shoot them in the head. I think you can,” Jesper replied. “Besides, we need someone to draw our target out anyways. And with those golden eyes of yours I think you can do it.” 

Y/N’s face faltered a bit, but she nodded refusing to let the idea of playing the seductress ruin this. “Great so I’ll come get you tomorrow and fill you in before we go,” Jesper smiled before heading off to the Crow Club. “Awesome,” Y/N muttered, sulking again. Of course it had to be this type of job, she thought to herself. 

“There’s the girl I was looking for!” Inej exclaimed, dancing gracefully over to Y/N, snapping her out of her thoughts. Y/N gave her a small smile and Inej’s face dropped. “What now?” she asked. “Nothing,” Y/N said as innocently as she could. “Bullshit,” Inej pursed her lips. “Nothing I swear! Kaz finally let me go on my first job with Jesper,” Y/N said. 

Inej narrowed her eyes and prompted, “But.” 

“But,” Y/N huffed, “Jesper said they needed someone as bait. And I’m said bait.” 

A look of sympathy flashed across Inej’s face, before she grabbed Y/N’s hands, leading her to her room so they could talk in private. 

Once the girls were settled, Inej said, “You don’t have to go you know. Kaz wouldn’t think anything of it.” But Y/N shook her head. “I have to go. I just got everyone to shut up,” Y/N said. “But Y/N, we both know you got the worst of it at the Menagerie,” Inej said quietly. Y/N sighed recalling all of the horrible memories. 

“Look,” Inej started, “I’m just saying, you don’t have to do this type of thing.” 

“I’ll have to at some point. Might as well be now. Besides I’ve practically been begging Kaz to let me go, and I told him I’d be fine. Do you know how embarrassing it would be if I went to him now and said ‘oh wait I can’t do this cause I’m afraid a guy is going to try and feel me up’?” Y/N mumbled. Inej gave her a funny look but said, “Kaz wouldn’t blame you. He’s not one of the nasty men. I mean he doesn’t have a conscience I swear, but he still has some respect for women.” 

Y/N snorted, “It still makes me look weak.” 

“You aren’t.” 

“I know. It’s just time. I can do this Inej. I’ll be okay.”

Inej sighed and eventually nodded in agreement. “Okay, try and get some sleep. Jesper is a hyper one to work with so you should be fully prepared,” Inej smiled, standing up. “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Y/N laughed. “Goodnight!” Inej called before floating out of her room. 

Y/N laid awake for a few more hours telling herself she was going to be fine. “It’s been over a month and you’ve been doing great,” she muttered to herself in the dark. At last, after a long while the restless girl eventually fell into a deep slumber. 

The following morning, Y/N was immediately met by Jesper. Big Bolliger was lingering in the hall behind him and Y/N assumed this was the other guy on the job. Great, she thought to herself. The guy that absolutely hates me now for almost shooting his manhood off. 

“So, you ready?” Jesper asked with wide eyes. Y/N noticed how his leg seemed to be shaking and one hand rested on his pistol, tapping on the side of it. “Uh, sure,” Y/N said. Jesper’s face split into a grin and he rushed by her. “I’ll fill you in when we get to the spot!” he called over his shoulder. 

Big Bolliger shoved past her, obviously still unhappy over the previous day, following Jesper out. Y/N felt a pair of eyes on her and turned to see Kaz making his way down the steps towards Per Haskell’s office. His impassive expression was back, but his eyes were burning with something else. Anxiousness? Concern? Anger? 

No not anger. He’s always mad at something, Y/N told herself. Catching his eye for a moment, she silently told him she was going to be okay before hurrying after Jesper and Big Bolliger. 

Kaz stopped on the landing in front of Per Haskell’s office, finding Y/N’s eyes. Quickly, he found the girl staring at the entrance where the two boys just went through. He could tell she had doubts about going, but he knew she wouldn’t back out much to his dismay. As if she could sense his presence, Kaz saw her turn around and her golden eyes met his. He sucked in a breath and silently wished she would come up to him and say she wasn’t ready and that she changed her mind. 

Unfortunately, the look in her eyes told him the opposite. He saw her eyes soften at the sight of him, but just as quickly as they found his, they pulled away, and Y/N flitted out the door and into the sunlight. 

Unbeknownst to Kaz, Inej saw the whole exchange and grinned at the thought of Y/N and Kaz. 

Y/N eventually caught up with Jesper, having to walk at a very brisk pace. “Saints! Slow down Jesper,” she exclaimed, finally reaching him. “Keep up golden-eyes. I’m in charge today and I set the pace,” Jesper snickered. Y/N glanced around nervously. She felt too exposed weaving in and out of the hustle and bustle of Ketterdam. 

“What exactly is the plan?” She asked. “Wait no, what exactly is it we’re doing?”

“We need to get this slummy little Ravkan trader to cough up some coins he owes Kaz,” Jesper said, “But he is smart enough not to travel by himself because he knows how Ketterdam is. A real con artist if you ask me. Not a very loyal Ravkan considering he hoards most of the kruge for himself instead of actually giving it to his boss.” 

Y/N nodded, trying to dodge more bodies. It was already hot enough with the sun beating down on them. How in the world does Kaz wear a tie everyday? Y/N thought to herself. 

“So,” Jesper continued, “Your job is to get the guy away from his little friend.” Y/N looked around as her, Jesper, and Big Bolliger made their way to a table in front of a little bakery across the street from some club. Y/N was tense. It felt ten times hotter already, and she was very unnerved at how quiet Big Bolliger had been this entire time. 

“There’s an alleyway, just over there,” Jesper pointed diagonally across the street to the left, a few buildings down from the club. “You need to get him over there where I’ll be covering the backside. Big Bolliger will cover where you enter the alley and we’ll handle it from there. Easy peasy,” Jesper concluded. 

Y/N didn’t say a word thinking about how she would have to lure him away from his friend. Tante Haleen’s voice rang out in her head, “Be a serpent girl. Draw them in with those eyes and then strike. The men love it.” 

“You know,” Jesper’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, “If you aren’t comfortable with this you don’t have to do it. We can find another way.” Y/N glanced at Big Bolliger and he was eagerly waiting for her response. She would not give him the satisfaction. 

Y/N shook her head, “No, I can do this. I’ll be fine. Easy peasy, like you said.” Jesper gave her a wary look but nodded his head. Big Bolliger, however, had a look on his face that ran shivers up Y/N’s spine. He was betting on her to fail so he could chew her out and get her back for yesterday. Y/N gulped and sunk in her seat watching the crowd roll by and trying not to vomit all over the table. 

After about thirty minutes of waiting, Jesper nudged her arm, “There he is.” He pointed to two fairly pale, slimy looking school-boys. The target was the taller of the two, but almost sickly like. The boy had absolutely no muscle on his body, but had a slight gut popping out from his stained shirt. 

“That’s the con artist?” Y/N asked in complete shock. She stifled a laugh as Jesper rolled his eyes. “Yes he doesn’t look like much, but that guy is pretty good at what he does. His friend on the other hand is just along for the ride,” he said. 

“Jesper, this guy is like our age,” Y/N burst out laughing. “Yes yes I know. But Kaz needed him to run something to another guy. Then the other guy made the mistake of telling him to take money back to Kaz and well you get the idea,” Jesper said. 

“Let’s go,” Big Bolliger snapped, interrupting their conversation and standing up, walking away before the two could say anything. Jesper and Y/N then stood up and he turned to Y/N one last time. “Look it’ll be ok. We’ll be just around the corner and will be on the guy as soon as you get him in the alley,” Jesper smiled at her before disappearing in the crowd. 

Y/N took in a nervous breath before making her way towards the two guys in front of the club. Putting up her best facade, she waltzed up to them, eyes on the taller one. “Win good, boys?” Y/N smirked, batting her eyes. Everything inside of her was screaming to run. 

The two Ravkans eyed her curiously, but the target took the bait. “No not today, sadly,” he said with a thick accent. “Oh that’s too bad,” Y/N pouted, resting a hand on his shoulder. The guy reeked. 

“I’m sure there are other ways to make up for it though,” she whispered, biting her lip. Gag. The man liked where this was heading, and allowed his hand to slip over her back, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. Y/N stiffened as his hand slid dangerously low. 

She pushed aside her fear and said, “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private? I’m sure your friend won’t mind.” The guy smirked and turned to his friend, speaking something in their native language. She only understood bits of Ravkan, but this was surely something she didn’t want to hear. The two guys shared a disgusting look and high-fived before he said, “All set.” 

“Wonderful,” Y/N muttered as she turned her back to him, pulling him towards the alley. The guy stayed very close behind her. Y/N felt the weight of his hand on her lower back, slipping ever so slightly lower. She suppressed her shutter and kept telling herself, just a few more feet. Memories of slimy men flipped through her mind like a movie, and Y/N felt as if the walls were closing in around her. 

Every step she took, Y/N heard the comments about how such a little girl was so beautiful, but along with that Tante Haleen’s words echoed through her mind as well. Every beating, every client who made her cry, everything terrible. 

But one voice kept her walking, ignoring the man’s hand, ignoring his breath on her neck. I don’t want to see you get hurt like that again. You don’t deserve it. Kaz’s voice was the loudest of them all. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t care. He kept her from drowning, and his voice gave her that sense of hope that she could make it through this. 

Y/N felt a wave of relief rush through her as she could see the alley maybe six feet in front of her now. She turned towards the Ravkan and gave him a mischievous grin. He took the bait yet again, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. His head found the crook of her neck and started placing wet, nasty kisses. Y/N had to physically hold back her puke. 

Just as they were about to stumble into the shadows, a very familiar voice rang out, “Is that my serpent?” Y/N froze. Tante Haleen was staring directly at her with an ice cold glare. “You bitch!” she shrieked. The Ravkan pulled away from her and gave her a confused look. “You know this girl?” he asked the Peacock as she was approaching them. “Oh I know this one all right,” Tante snapped. “She wanted out of my house for the longest time. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s playing you right now! She doesn’t like when men touch her,” she sneered.

The Ravkan glanced around nervously. Y/N couldn’t move or speak. “If you’re going to act like this then I’ll just bring you back to where you belong!” Tante Haleen screeched pushing through the crowd. The Ravkan took one more glance at Y/N before bolting. Before Y/N had known what happened though, Big Bolliger’s body slammed into the Ravkan and dragged him into the alleyway, not before shoving Y/N onto the ground. Tante Haleen reached the girl on the ground and yanked her up by her hair. Memories of the night Y/N took the beating in public resurfaced. 

“I told you I’d take you back in chains,” the woman snarled in Y/N’s face. Tante’s hand ran across her cheek and Y/N could feel the tears burning in her eyes. She slapped her repeatedly and threw the girl back on the ground. You don’t deserve it. 

Y/N’s head cleared as soon as she heard Kaz’s words echo through her mind. They were as clear as day. “No,” Y/N mumbled, finally able to form words. 

“Excuse me?” 

“No,” Y/N said more firmly, meeting the woman’s gaze. “I will not!” 

Instinctively, Y/N kneed the woman in the stomach and sent her crumbling to the ground. She knew how to fight back. “I’m not scared of you anymore,” Y/N hissed, kicking Tante square in the face. The woman was knocked out cold. Y/N shook herself out and ran into the alley.

Big Bolliger had the Ravkan pinned up against the wall as he was struggling to get something from his pockets. “Thank you, thank you,” Jesper said as the guy handed him two pouches. “Alright I think we got it all,” Jesper said after counting. Y/N let out a sigh of relief as Big Bolliger let the man drop. The Ravkan immediately took off in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner. 

However, Big Bolliger then rounded on her. He came storming at her, shoving her against the wall. She felt his hands close around her throat. Everything was starting to cave in on her again and her mind went back to awful times when men pulled stuff on her like this. “Whoa whoa!” Jesper exclaimed trying to pull him off, but he just shoved him out of the way. “What the hell was that?” Big Bolliger snarled in Y/N’s face. Y/N found herself at a loss for words again, partially from being strangled at the moment.

“You try an act all tough, but I see right through you. And you just proved it! You could’ve ruined the whole job, bitch,” his words cut through her like a knife. “All you’ll ever be is some whore that Brekker decided to pull off the streets for himself.” Ouch. 

“Dude, let her go, she did fine,” Jesper interjected. Big Bolliger glared at Y/N for a moment longer before releasing her. Y/N collapsed, coughing and gasping for air. Jesper knelt down beside her placing a hand on her back, but she flinched away from him. 

Big Bolliger snorted, “I guess I was wrong. Can’t even take a man’s touch. Looks like you can’t even be a whore right.” Y/N felt tears start to fall. Why did Kaz pick her? She thought miserably. 

“That’s enough!” Jesper snarled at Big Bolliger. “Let’s go.”

“Whatever. It’s your funeral when Brekker finds out what happened,” Big Bolliger shoved past Jesper and disappeared back in the crowd. “C’mon,” he said gently, but did not touch the shaking girl. Y/N slowly stood, feeling the throbbing in her neck from his fingers. She still felt like she couldn’t breathe. There were probably marks left too. 

Jesper and Y/N made their way back to the Slat slowly. Big Bolliger was already back by the time the pair came in. Kaz’s jaw locked as soon as he caught sight of Y/N’s face. He was not happy. Inej was by her side in an instant, “What happened?” Y/N just shook her head and made her way over to where Kaz and Big Bolliger were sitting. Jesper laid the bags down in front of Kaz as Big Bolliger said, “We were lucky I got there in time. What were you thinking sending her on a job?” 

He felt pretty confident with Kaz. “I mean, she froze and almost lost the guy cause what?” Big Bolliger faced Y/N again. Kaz noticed how she physically shrunk away from his gaze, her golden eyes wide with terror again. Kaz also saw light bruising around her neck and her face stained with tears and red marks. 

“Cause the woman from the Menagerie came to talk to her,” Big Bolliger answered before Y/N could. If she could even speak. Kaz got the sneaking suspicion that the bruises around her neck were not from the Peacock though. His hard gaze turned back to Big Bolliger. 

“What happened to her neck?” he growled. Big Bolliger’s face went pale, but he didn’t answer. “What happened to her neck?” Kaz repeated, his anger rising. When no one answered, Jesper stepped in, “This lunatic grabbed her and threw her up against the damn wall! We got the job done didn’t we?” He exclaimed. 

Y/N had never seen it before, and she was sure no one else had either. Kaz completely lost it. The table was flipped in front of him and Kaz’s cane collided with Big Bolliger’s face. “What the hell!” He cried in pain. “I stepped in when she froze up! She needed to be put in place.”

Kaz kicked Big Bolliger in the stomach causing him to hunch over in pain. “You know damn well the job got done and was successful. She got the guy over to you. I don’t care if you’re the strongest, the biggest, the whatever, you do not lay your hands on her again if you want to keep them. Suck up your pride and get over what happened yesterday,” Kaz hissed, leaning over the quivering boy, with a fistful of hair in his hand. “And get the fuck out.”  

No one dared utter a word as Kaz lifted himself up from his squatting position. Big Bolliger’s face was swollen and his eyes were now swimming with fear. Y/N had never seen Kaz so angry, and the worst part was that his eyes burned with fury much like Tante Haleen’s did whenever she disobeyed. 

“Don’t you all have other stuff to do?” Kaz snapped. The crowd broke apart as everyone scurried away like mice. Inej clung to Y/N’s arm as Kaz turned to the two girls. “Go, Inej,” he said through gritted teeth, obviously not trying to yell at his Wraith. They stared at each other for a hard moment as if she was challenging him. Eventually, his eyes narrowed and he huffed, “I’m not going to hurt her.” 

Inej still didn’t budge. 

“It’s okay,” Y/N said quietly to her as Kaz glared back. After a moment, Inej dropped her gaze and muttered, “You have a real bad habit of saying everything is okay when it isn’t.” “I know, but this time it is,” Y/N managed a strained smile before removing her arm from Inej’s and moving silently over to Kaz. For the first time in the entire day, Y/N finally felt safe. 

Too many of the wrong hands had been on her and she didn’t want to feel suffocated anymore, and with Kaz, that’s exactly what she could get. He glanced at Y/N before heading back up the steps. 

Soon enough, he and Y/N found themselves back in his room just as they were the previous day. This time Y/N finally broke down as soon as the door was closed. The horrible memories of every beating came back to her, and the stench of the Ravkan filled her nose again. Before she could stop it, she finally spilled the contents in her stomach. 

When it was all out, she felt sufficiently better and stared at the nasty puddle of puke on the floor and realized what she had just done. “I am so sorry,” Y/N looked up at Kaz who seemed to be grimacing a bit, refusing to look at the floor. “I--” Y/N’s voice died in her mouth. 

“No, no, it’s uh fine. I’ll make someone else clean it up. I’m honestly surprised you lasted this long anyways,” Kaz groaned a bit motioning her to move away from the puke. He moved her to the window sill and pushed the window open to let some fresh air in. Y/N sat down as Kaz rested a hand on the frame of the building above his head. 

The fury in his eyes were gone as he studied her tired looking features. There was a prominent bruise forming on her face and a little cut under her eye. His jaw locked again as his eyes wandered down to her neck, where an outline of Big Bolliger’s fingers bruised her neck. 

Y/N squirmed under his gaze as she felt her face heat up. But he still said nothing. He honestly didn’t know what to say. 

Finally, Y/N locked eyes with him, and she saw him take in a sharp breath. It was her eyes, gold as ever. 

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m fine now. Yes I almost lost the guy, but I mean that damn woman,” Y/N started. “I don’t blame you,” Kaz interrupted. “You don’t have to do that,” Y/N hissed. Kaz seemed a bit taken aback at her outburst, but let her continue.

“You don’t need to baby me. I know I screwed up, but you babying me isn’t going to fix anything. We got the job done, I froze. That’s what happens to people like me. I’m broken, Kaz. I still don’t get why you picked me!” Y/N declared, standing up. “I’m broken. It’ll always be like this for me! Maybe I’ll get better but that pain will still be with me. I haven’t seen my family in years, I’ve been beaten, raped, tortured by the hands of disgusting men. I am completely and utterly--”

“Your eyes,” Kaz said softly, interrupting. 

“Wh-what?” Y/N asked, caught off guard at his response. 

“It was your eyes. That’s why I picked you. There was something about you that night. It,” he paused for a moment, taking a hesitant step closer to her. Y/N could feel her heart pounding out of her chest. 

“It reminded me of myself when I was younger,” Kaz admitted. They were chest to chest right now, and he was looking down at her with dark eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment and said, “It reminded me of when my brother died and who the person I was then. I--I used his body as a float. His dead body. All the way back to the mainland,” Kaz took a shaky breath, but continued, “But you. You were me. You were the little boy fighting to survive under the worst conditions. You were that person who didn’t deserve what the world threw at you. The person who didn’t have anyone to protect him. The person who had absolutely no one.” 

“Kaz…” Y/N whispered. He opened his eyes and saw tears running down her face again. Kaz brought a hand up, pausing. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his glove off revealing his slender hands. Y/N had always seen them from far away whenever it was just them, but never this close. She noticed the little scars that decorated his fingers and palm. Just like mine she thought. 

Kaz brought his hand back up to her face and she noticed he was slightly trembling. Y/N wanted to move because she knew he was uncomfortable. She didn’t want to put him in this position. But another part of her wanted to see what he’d do next. Her skin began to itch where his fingers hovered. 

Kaz wanted to do this. He knew what he did and that sick feeling began rising in his stomach without his gloves. Images of Jordie’s corpse flashed through his mind, but he stared into those liquid gold eyes. They were filled with warmth, not the cold water that nearly killed him. His mind screamed, begged him to put his safety net back on, but he wanted to feel her. And he wanted her to feel him. Not the mask of cool and rough material that could have easily reminded her of the rough hands in her past. 

Y/N didn’t dare move. She just let Kaz do what he needed. The next thing she knew, his fingertips were tracing the little scar next to her eye and down her face. For a moment, he allowed her cheek to rest in the palm of his hand while his thumb wiped away a stray tear. His hand was warm on her face and surprisingly soft. She had seen what those hands could do to a person, but  with her, they were gentle. He wasn’t the Bastard of the Barrel right now. He was Kaz Brekker. 

Kaz Brekker. The boy, Y/N had fallen hopelessly and completely in love with. 

And she was the girl with the golden eyes who he had, and would never admit to anyone, fallen head over heels for. 

He was pleased that she didn’t flinch under his touch, but as easily as those eyes melted away that drowning feeling, they still weren’t enough. He let his hand trail down to the bruises on her neck before letting it fall to his side. 

Y/N felt cold air rush around her and she longed for that feeling of warmth. But, she didn’t want to push it. 

“It’ll take time,” Kaz said quietly. She knew what he meant. And he knew she would. “Me too,” she whispered, a small smile on her face. 

Kaz’s mouth quirked up a bit as he saw the brightness in her eyes return. 

And for that moment, they were content in each other’s presence, neither asking for anything more than what they could give in that exact moment. 

_______________________________________________

I hope you all enjoyed this! That last scene with them I was listening to ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perry when I was writing to it, and that LITERALLY made it ten times better so I recommend going back and reading it while listening to that song lol. 

[spoondrifts]

They're at a park, of all places.

Jon liked them as a child. They were places he could wander off to and not be rebuked quite as harshly for; parks and playgrounds were acceptable, relatively, by his grandmother's standards. He found them boring, although sometimes there were interesting things to be found lodged in the mulch. Pennies, jewelry, four leaf clovers. He had, admittedly, been a bit of a hoarder.

It's funny, sometimes, how little things have changed.

Parks are still an escape, but they are a different variety now. Jon still hoards, but he hoards knowledge instead of items now. People, too, he thinks privately. Sasha. Tim. Martin. Melanie. Even Basira.

Daisy.

He is still collecting. His things are more valuable than nickels, these days.

The sun is low on the horizon, casting the wooded area in slim golden rays. The trees block out most of the hazy, deep blue twilight that slowly bleeds overhead, but Jon can see little patches of navy where the leaves part. A cool breeze leaves him tucking himself further into his coat.

The park is almost empty. A few kids run around, giggling and shrieking, as their parents slouch on benches and sip caffeine with dead eyes.

Some of them have stories.

Jon bites his tongue. The pain briefly draws his thoughts away from the harried mother across the park, whose traumas scratch and whine and claw at his attention. She reeks faintly of the Vast.

Maybe sensing that he's beginning to drift off, Daisy tugs on the cuff of his trouser. He glances down at her.

She's sitting on the ground at his feet, cross-legged, methodically weaving grass into knots and discarding them. Her hair is tied back in a tail with a bright red band that belongs to Melanie. Basira used to help her with her hair, when it would fall down in disarray after rough hunts and tangle around her shoulders, always begging Basira to gently work a comb through them-

Jon bites his tongue again, and the intrusive knowledge scatters. That's not mine, he snarls at himself.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks.

Daisy frowns. She does that a lot, now. "No." She sighs. "But it's better than the Institute."

He agrees. Beholding does not. It itches for him to return to his temple, where he has left it in the care of an acolyte to a different god. It isn't right. It feels like sandpaper on a chalkboard every day that Jon allows Peter Lukas to haunt the halls of the Eye.

Beholding, if it is sentient, is quite upset at Elias for abandoning his post like this. Jon takes no small amount of satisfaction from Knowing that he is the closest thing to the golden child currently.

"Did you really expect this to be fun?" Daisy asks, squinting at him.

"Well, not particularly. I just thought... I don't know. That I'd feel more nostalgia than I do."

Daisy rips up a fistful of grass and releases it to scatter in the wind.

The woman with the Vast statement now has a small child in her arms. She is comforting him as he sniffles, flooded with guilt over accidentally crushing a cicada on the sidewalk.

They're not here to have fun. Jon had asked her to accompany him under the guise of needing fresh air, but they both know the truth.

Jon watches Daisy attempt to braid a flower crown with trembling fingers, and wonders how those same fingers were possibly ever strong enough to grip a knife and press it against his throat. He wonders when Daisy's sharp stare became comfort instead of danger.

Perhaps comfort is too strong a word for what she provides him. For what they provide each other.

Daisy is not safety. The scars on his skin prove that. But she is steady. She offers some measure of stability as his entire world spirals hopelessly out of control. And maybe that's fucked up, but hell, when has anything been normal or healthy in the past few years?

Right now, she is his leash, and he is hers.

The woman with the Vast statement is- shit. She's walking towards them.

"Daisy," Jon says, tapping her shoulder. "She, uh, she has a-a-"

"Alright," she says calmly, rising to her feet. "Stay put, I'll do the talking."

Jon closes his mouth and clasps his hands in his lap as the woman stops before them. Laurel, Beholding unhelpfully informs him, is her name.

She has her son with her. Jon grits his teeth.

"Can we help you?" Daisy says brusquely.

"Hi," Laurel says. "So sorry to bother you, but my son Xander wanted to tell you something." She nudges the boy forward.

Xander's wide eyes flicker between Jon and Daisy nervously. "I like your scarf, miss," he says, voice high and youthful.

Daisy's scarf is a deep, rich scarlet, knitted by her grandfather for his only granddaughter. She got it for Christmas when she was nine. It went into storage when she was fifteen. Her mother unearthed it and insisted she take it with her to the police academy. After the Coffin, she retrieved it because it smelled like home and gave her a comforting reminder of-

Jon drags a fingernail down his wrist and tries to suppress his wince.

Daisy looks taken aback. "O-Oh. Yeah. Um... thank you."

Xander beams. "Also here!" He reaches into his pocket and scoops out a fistful of wildflowers, dropping them into Jon's hands. "I picked them because you looked sad and I wanted to cheer you up! No one should be sad at a park."

Jon gently accepts the flowers, holding them delicately as to not crush them, though many are already torn. "Thank you," he says, allowing himself the tiniest of smiles. "You've certainly succeeded."

Grinning, Xander then spins on his heel and runs back to the playground. Laurel gives them both an apologetic glance.

"Have a nice evening," she tells them genuinely, turning to leave.

"Wait," Daisy says. Laurel pauses. "I..." Swallowing hard, Daisy unwinds the scarf from around her neck, folding it into a neat square. She holds it out, eyes averted. "Here. For the kid."

Laurel makes a startled noise. "Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"It's fine," Daisy says. Her hands aren't shaking. "I don't really need it anyways."

Taking the scarf with many expressions of gratitude and warmth, Laurel finally goes to follow her son.

Silence reigns for a long time, the only sound the droning of cicadas. Jon looks down at the wildflowers, which are beginning to wilt, and finds he is having trouble swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Daisy slowly lowers her hands to her sides.

"That was sweet of them," Jon says quietly.

Her voice is rough when she finally speaks. "I'm a bad person."

Jon begins to place the flowers into his coat pocket, one by one. "Yes," he says simply. The scar on his throat burns with phantom pain.

He will never forget how it felt to stab that shovel into the dirt; to bury the one avatar who was actually courteous to him. He will never forget the glee in Daisy's eyes, the glint of her sharpened teeth as she slammed him into that tree and threatened his life.

He will never forget the shape of the bullet wound in Mike's forehead.

"You're trying, though," he says. Daisy doesn't look at him. "A scarf doesn't equal a life taken. But maybe it counts."

"Counts towards what?"

The Beholding doesn't have an answer for him.

"I don't know."

Daisy considers that. She extends a calloused hand to him. "Come on, Sims. I'll order some takeout."

Jon takes her hand and rises to his feet. All the way back to the archives, she doesn't let go.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Heathens - Soulless Reader x Demon Dean (Short Series)

A/N: Yes, I’m alive. I just don’t particularly want to discuss it in depth. For now? Have this. I have some stuff lined up to be posted, already. So, there’ll be some more over this next week that way. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Warnings: Harley/Joker kinda relationship. Unhealthy. Power driven. Implied/Upcoming smut. Etc. Each chapter will have individual warnings.

Word Count: Roughly 2,800

“Y/N?” Dean Winchester. A deep, gravelly voice you hadn't heard since Bobby died echoed around you. A voice that should have meant something. Instead, it made you turn slowly, a brow raised. Waiting for the consequences with a blank face.

He hadn't been sure it was you. Darkness covered you. But, that wasn't enough. The actions he'd witnessed too fundamentally wrong to be from the woman he'd known. Y/N wouldn't ever kill in cold blood. Wouldn't off someone simply for attempting to mug her.

But you had. Without even blinking. You simply took out your gun from the back of your jeans. Shot twice, causing the kid to fall to the ground. Picking up the bag, you slung it over your shoulders. Another bullet was slung, this time to the skull, before you walked away. Tucking the gun away. Only to find yourself stopped by Dean in the alley.

The Y/N he knew always cried after a hunt. After any kind of kill. His lifestyle had been necessary to you at the time, but taking a life had never come natural. If anyone had known that, it was Dean. You'd turned to him from the beginning. All the way until the day he'd shoved you away. Trying to protect you. Failing miserably from the look of things.

“Well, well, well.” Your head tilted to the side. Inspecting him as though he were a bug. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” Your lips kicked up humorlessly. “One of the great Winchester Duo paying little ole me mind again. What an honor.” The sarcasm might have made him flinch in his original state, but he was able to withhold in his newer form- barely.

“Happened to be walking this way, on a job.” He wasn't lying. Not completely, anyway.

Crowley had directed him that way. Promising that he'd have a kill ready for Dean. A means to keep the Mark under control. Even as a demon, the need to shed blood was fixed into his very being thanks to the raised scar etched into this forearm.

Once, you'd been repulsed, and even scared, of how easily Dean had lifted the gun and fired. He had gotten to the point where he barely blinked as a human, much less as a Knight of Hell. And yet, he couldn't help but to wonder what had taken the light out of your eyes. The guilt out of your head. What had turned you into him.

“I see you found her.” Crowley's low voice called out, in a way that should have sent chills up your spine. Instead, your lips pulled up even wider.

“You're working with the King of Hell?” You chuckled darkly. Losing what bit of tension there'd been in your shoulders. “Man, I've missed out on a lot. When did you become his bitch, Dean?”

“I'm not his bitch,” He bit out. His eyes flashing black under the alley light. Expecting you to shiver in revulsion.

“Even better.” Your smile fell a bit, but your face didn't lose that off feel to it. As if you were possessed. Or, maybe even under a spell. “You became his slave, instead.”

“I'm no one's slave, Y/N.” His words echoed another past memory.

“I'm scared, Dean.” You'd swallowed tightly, looking into his green eyes. Scared wasn't enough to cover it. You were petrified. A dead man could see it.

“Why?” If he was able, he'd fight off every one of your fears. Kill them before they could even begin to form.

“Because you're changing.” You whispered brokenly. The sound ripped at his chest. “You're becoming a...a slave. To this life. The guilt. Your fear... And I can't do anything...just sit by and watch.”

“I'm not a slave to anyone.” He'd bit out. Pride winning out against the urge to protect. “Or, anything. We'll be fine, Y/N. We always are.”

“Funny.” You snorted. Drawing him back to the present. “I've heard that before,” Your mind had traveled to the same place. “And, yet, here we are.”

“Yes,” Crowley had been watching the exchange curiously, “here we are. Eloquent words, darling.”

“I try,” Tilting your head mockingly, you got to the meat of the situation. Clearly not wanting to be bothered. Particularly by them. “What do you want with me?”

“It would seem that you're part of a contract that went wrong-”

“Oh, yeah.” A false, heavy sigh left your lips. “I almost forgot about that.” Dean's gaze turned back to his fellow demon for a moment. Attempting to piece together what was happening. “Thanks, by the way. Really loved having a hell hound come after me.” You pinched your index finger to your thumb in an approving gesture. “It only got better with the small hoard of demons you sent on my ass.”

“Such sass-”

“I was nicer before I lost my soul. Forgive me for my lack of manners. I seem to have trouble feeling these days.” Coldness seeped from your lips. A weapon honed by the attacks.

“You're soulless?” Understanding swam through him. Why, although you were so different, you were still so familiar.

The way you moved. How you detached. An empty eeriness clung to your features. It was completely unnatural. As if you were his brother when he'd come back from hell. Broken. Missing a large part of what made you, you.

“It's not as awful as it sounds.” You ran your tongue over your teeth as you glared at the superior demon in front of you. “Actually, I like it. A lot.” Your fingers twitched back to your weapon, “which is why I don't want it back. The only thing I want is to be left alone.”

“The contract isn't complete-”

“It wasn't my contract.” You cut him off, sneering. The tension lining your body. Prepared to fight to keep yourself destitute. “So, not my problem.”

“But, it is ours.” The shorter man hissed while snapping his fingers. Sending your body flying through the air until it connected against the brick. Your skull cracked with enough force to knock you out. But, you'd live. After all, you were there for a reason. “All yours.” Crowley motioned at Dean. Signaling that you'd be his kill.

“Why her?” Dean narrowed his eyes. Taking in the shameless king in front of him. Resisting the desire to step between him and your lifeless body.

When he'd turned, he hadn't become the usual demon. Bits that hadn't quite died off when Metatron stabbed a blade into Dean's body made themselves known on a regular basis. Killing Lester rather than the wife had only been the most recent offense.

The king of the underworld not only needed the job finished, but he needed that almost human part of Dean gone. Wanted the obstinate side of him to crumble. If Dean killed you? The woman he'd loved at one point- if not always...the problematic demon would morph. He'd be the perfect side kick.

“I believe that you already know the answer to that question, Dean-o.” Crowley quipped, following the movement of the green that had reappeared. Seeing the hesitation, and the connection being made. “You're almost to your full potential. There's just a smidge that needs fixed to get you there. This will make everything right.” His eyes were slightly crazed, as if he needed this. “It feels good, right? To continue to be a demon. To not be riddled with those pesky emotions. Fear. Guilt. Love. To do what you want, when you want, without being held back. Without consequence.”

“You're right.” Dean's jaw clenched lightly. The first blade came out of his denim jacket, and into his hand. “I am a demon.” His lips pulled up into a twisted smile of his own. Growing confident in his decision. “I feel nothing. I can do what I want, when I want.” Crowley backed away as Dean stepped between you two. His back facing your body. “And, I'll kill you before I kill her.”

–

“Dean?” Your head should have hurt far worse than the dull ache given the amount of blood you could see smeared onto the pillow and sheets in the mirror above the bed as you squinted up. But, that was nothing new. You'd been that way for weeks. “Where the hell are we?”

He'd been pacing by the window when you'd woken up. Completely ignorant to your eyes opening. You turned his way, watching the way he moved.

His hand wrecked his hair over and over again. The jacket was gone, thrown onto the table with a blade made from a large jaw bone resting atop of it. Red flannel was tossed over a black t-shirt. Even as a demon, he had to layer up. If you could have felt amused, you would have.

“I'm not telling you.” His eyes flashed back in warning. As if that would matter to you. “You're a problem for me, Y/N.  Always have been. Now? You fucked this up, too.”

“Oh, yes... Let's blame the soulless girl who's been back into the equation for five minutes.” Your eyes rolled heavily as you got to your feet to stretch. “Your problems came from your own hands, Winchester. The minute you sold yourself for Sam, it was over. I was the one unwillingly pulled into the fray.”

“Watch it.” The green was gone for a longer period this time. His anger showing in another snarl. “Go too far? That blade will land in your throat.”

“If you were going to do it, you would have already.” That devilish smirk crossed your lips. So certain now that emotion didn't rule you. “I've been out of your life for years, Dean. It should have been simple. Especially since you're sporting the Mark of Caine.” Your eyes landed on the reddened flesh. Too well versed to not recognize the symbol. “Take it this is the first blade?” You walked over to the weapon. Dried blood coated the yellowed, aged, bone. “You actually cut Crowley with this? To get me out of there?” Your brows rose as the weapon twisted in your hands. Mind churning as you inspected the rusted flakes clinging to it. “How sweet... I suppose you want paid back... the usual good enough?” Dean liked sex. That was no secret. He'd accepted more than his fair share from women he'd saved back in the day. His full lips pulled down into a deadly frown at your words. No doubt second guessing the decision to keep you alive. “Oh, lighten up.” Your eyes rolled at his grumpiness.

He'd be lying if he said that the offer wasn't appealing. Demonhood hadn't diminished his sexual appetites. If anything, they'd only grown stronger. Everything carnal expanding inside of him. However, he had bigger things to focus on. He'd nearly offed the King of Hell. Other demons would be on his ass sooner than later.

“You have any idea how you ended up in a contract?” Finding out who'd asked for your soul to get collected was the first step. That was about as far as he'd gotten.

“No clue.” Your finger was pricked by the point of the knife before you set it down. You sucked at the irony liquid out of habit. Grinning lightly at the way Dean's eyes followed the action. “I don't even really think one exists.” You finally stated, licking your lip clean of the rust flavored spot that had landed on it.

“You think he was trying to manipulate me?” He didn't seem surprised. Furious enough to have ignored the dart of your tongue.

It should have seemed odd to you. Dean with black eyes. The Winchester embracing the bad rather than the good. Not attempting to fight it anymore. But, you took it in stride. It was amazing how simple of a task it was when you didn't have any worries left.

“Tell me it doesn't make sense.” He couldn't. You knew it. “And you're just going to take that laying down?”

“He has an army of demons at his disposal. I just have me.” You looked at him expectantly while pointing to yourself. A grunt of acknowledgment left him. “And, you. But, that'll only last as long as he holds onto your soul.”

“Good point.” You pursed your lips. It was your turn to pace. Self preservation being the only thing you had left. “So, what're you planning to do about it?”

“You think I'm going to run.” He heard it in your voice. His pride hadn't been damaged by death. It rose its venomous head as you shrugged, pretending that wasn't what you were thinking. “So, what do you think I should do? After all, you seem to have it all figured out..” He plopped to the bed, looking at you expectantly. Daring you to come up with a better idea. Mocking you with his words. Still so similar to the man he'd been.

A low hum left you. Your eyes turned out to the window. Gazing at the world beyond as you moved. When it finally came together, you turned your head his way.

“You stopped the Apocalypse. You destroyed the Leviathans. And who knows what else since I've been gone.” Your pacing turned into more of a prowl until your hands rested on his shoulder. His eyes turned black immediately, again. You weren't sure if it was in response to your touch, or out of distrust. But, neither stopped you. “That was as a human. As a demon? I think you could take over Hell, and take all of the power for yourself.”

That caught his interest, “Yeah?”

“Let's face it, Dean.” Your lips brushed against his ear as you sat down on his lap. Drawing forth a low shiver. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you got to work. “Most demons know your name. They fear it.” Your hand brushed over the hair by his ear as you leaned back to look into his eyes. Staring into the bleakness. “You could have killed Crowley today. Easily.” He was too well trained not to be able to. “I know it. You know it. And, I'm sure he does.” Your lips curled up deviously. Setting the bait. “You've earned the crown, already.”

“And what's in it for you?” His eyes narrowed distrustfully. Knowing there was a catch. That no one, even those without a soul, came without a price.

“Besides you? And protection?” You shrugged nonchalantly. As if it meant nothing, “I rule by your side.”

“And here I thought demons were the power hungry ones.” His blackened eyes searched yours as you leaned forward.

“We soulless people have drives, too.” Your lips brushed against his lightly as you talked, making his breath hitch. “I want to live. I want to be safe. Unchallenged. I want to feel powerful for once in my pathetic life.” Your tongue wet your lips, grazing against his in the process. “And, this? This is how I can get all of that. You and your body are just a hell of a perk.”

“And your soul?” The million dollar question.

“I want it locked away.” There wasn't a moment of hesitation. “I meant what I said earlier. I don't want it back.” The almost empty E/C eyes searched his warily. The next question would determine everything. “And, your demonism?”

“It's me.” He answered gruffly. As if it was insulting you'd bothered to ask. “I don't want cured. I don't want to go back.” His dark smile made your lips kick back up. “I love this disease.”

“So, we have a deal?” Your grin grew. It was oddly chilling to Dean, even in his form. But, that didn't stop him from nodding. “Where you're a demon, does that mean we kiss on it?”

“Something this big, it takes a lot more than a kiss to seal it.” His raspy tone made your body break out in goosebumps. Your emotions may not have been there, but his words alone felt like a caress to your skin. As if your senses were amplified in those regards.

“Better get to work then,” Your lips met his as he pulled you down onto the bed. Signing over everything to you.

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​

[tarralin]

Whirlwind

SFW ((Word count: 3496))

A/N: This is almost a month late but here we go! A few of us were greatly inspired by this glorious creation by the amazing @pastel-hideout (thank you for doing the Lord's work👏👏) when fangirling led to brainstorming which led to this smut-off challenge issued by @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts and @xathia-89 with a few others of us joining in. Part 2 will be hosted over on @spicytarralin at a later time

Sir by @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Yes, Professor by @jennacat84

A Towel is Optional by @xathia-89

~☆~

She should have been home hours ago yet here she was burning the midnight oil on a Tuesday after both of her teammates packed up their desks with no prior notice, leaving her to thread together the monthly financial reports alone. Truthfully, it really could have waited until tomorrow-- or even Thursday-- but working so close to the wire always filled her with dread and stole her sleep anyway.

A few too many power surges during video game marathons as a kid had drilled home a habit of frequent saves and a need to hoard duplicate reports like a dragon collecting its treasure. Habits she was eternally grateful for in times like this as they enabled her transform the seemingly mountain-sized workload into a manageable molehill.

Aaaaannnnnddddd I'm done!

A perk to being the only soul in the office was no one around to witness the unladylike victory dance as she pranced barefoot to the printer or her horrible rendition of a Broadway musical number with the innocent corporate report portfolio as her prop. Until lively clapping sounded immediately behind her, startling her to the point of knocking her off balance from the grand battement she was performing and sending her promptly to the floor.

A chuckle rumbled from the white-haired culprit as he extended a hand to help her up. “I was unaware we had a little mouse scurrying about during the nights and giving free entertainment.”

Her ears burned from being caught as a cold sweat ran down her back at the embarrassment. She accepted his hand to right herself and inspect the portfolio's contents before correcting him. “Only tonight. I'm not in the habit of pushing things off to the last minute… and I thought I was alone.”

“You were until a few moments ago,” another chuckle as his gaze latched onto the reports in her grasp. “I was just informed two of my lead accountants left the company without warning this afternoon and abandoned their work. I just came to take care of it myself but it looks like I was beaten to the draw. It's reassuring to know there are reliable individuals here who will rise when others fall. Let me take those off your hands.”

He reached for the folder only to be denied when she pulled it back out of reach. “I'm also not in the habit of releasing sensitive documents to just anyone who claims to be a boss. Especially when I, personally, have never seen his face. I apologize for any offense but I'll drop them off at the office myself, thanks.”

The casual smirk faded as surprise flashed through in his golden eyes before his grin returned, outstretched hand sweeping the room in an open gesture for her to lead the way.

Emboldened by his quick acceptance, she trotted away toward the elevators--

“Ahem…”

--until his voice stopped her and she watched the man bending to retrieve her heels from the floor. “Don't you need these?”

I'm going to have potato chips for ears before the night over if I keep this up. She managed to avoid eye contact as she slipped back into the death traps of fashion but caught sight of a growing grin as he waited patiently.

“I've never actually been to the executive floor before.” The typical droning elevator music had been cut at the end of business hours, plunging the ride to the top floor in the eerie silence she hated and felt a need to fill the void. “So this is a bit of an adventure.”

“Nothing too grand, I assure you. Just a few conference rooms and the private offices of the department heads.”

She shrugged at that. “Still a first and-- whoa!”

The entire floor appeared encased in sparkling crystal in the moonlight. Frosted and etched glass separated each room and office instead of plaster and drywall, giving an illusion to privacy. Dimmed lights along the wall base lit the floor path to the center hub where a circular receptionist desk sat like the heart of communication it probably was to the handful of walkways.

And he said ‘nothing too grand’.

“I have a strict open door policy.”

“ ‘Open door’? There are no doors at all to open.” Her eyes scanned the area for where the portfolio was supposed to go until they landed on a silver box to her left similar to a post office mail drop. As she approached it, an engraved plate denoted it as the ‘after hours’ report drop.

“Feel better?” The gentleman questioned with a raised eyebrow and the same smirk from earlier after her bundle landed inside the box with a distinctive thunk.

“Yes, I can now sleep soundly without it looming over my head.” She answered firmly, turning back down the short hall. She only made it a few steps before the jingle of keys sounded throughout the floor. She turned just in time to witness the man unlocking the box as if he had a thousand times, tucking the portfolio under his arm like a morning newspaper.

Yup, my ears are definitely burning to crisps.

She tried to evade him but the elevator just wouldn't move fast enough and he stepped onto the platform right as the doors closed behind him. She didn't dare say a word, thinking back to earlier and worried about how long he had watched her gather the reports together. She was so sure she had been alone until he appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.

I'll probably be fired in the morning.

The landing bell signaled the end of the line and they both exited into the parking garage, waving to the security guard before he caught her attention by holding up the folder. “I assume you'll be available for questioning should I require any clarifications?”

“Actually, after that performance, I planned to live under a rock for the rest of my life.”

“Depriving the world of such a delight? And people call me a tease.”

She shook her head with an eye roll, fighting against the fresh wave of embarrassment that threatened to singe her ears and cheeks again. She never had trouble remaining professional at work before, why was it so hard now and especially in front of this man? She needed to wrap things up and be on her way before she made a fool of herself any more than she already had.

She turned to him once reaching her car. “It was an honor and a pleasure meeting you, but now I have a suitable rock to hunt down and so I bid you goodnight.” There. That was mostly professional, right?

“The honor was all mine,” he extended his hand casually for a parting shake. She hesitated when she caught a glimpse of mischief sparkling in those golden eyes but shook off the feeling and accepted his hand firmly. Of course, it was a trap. Instead of releasing her after the appropriate time, he turned her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips. “As was the pleasure.”

That promptly turned her brains to mush incapable of words. With only a nod, she retrieved her hand and loaded in her car to finally make her way home.

~~~

Instead of being fired the next morning, Mitsuhide Akechi himself walked the finance floor until finding her desk to hand her a crate loaded with binders of financial reports for the last two years.

“I have some concerns but can't locate exactly what's wrong. I've already distributed your usual work to others as this will be your priority for the next week. You'll report directly to me only and the conference room at the end of the hall is yours for the time being as well.” Like a whirlwind, he was gone again, seemingly oblivious to the excited chatter following the shocked silence he rendered across the floor with his mere presence.

Even with such vague instructions, it didn't take long for her to find his ‘concerns’. The reports before her spelled out a textbook case of money laundering. However, the culprits were good at covering the tracks and distinguishing the pseudo-businesses from the legitimates would be the most time-consuming. But not impossible. All she had to do was find the patterns within the numbers…

It didn't take the whole week. By lunchtime on day three, she had her final report ready with her findings. Even with the evidence in hand, it was hard for her to believe that she had been working alongside the culprits for so long. No wonder they up and left all of a sudden, they must have known their thievery had been found out.

But why didn't Akechi seem surprised?

After presenting the information, he only smirked up at her as usual. “You even tracked down the ‘business’ owners. Impressive.”

When you say it like that… “Y-you already knew?”

A sigh as he righted the report in front of him into place. “I've known of those two's illegal activities since before they began.”

“Then why didn't you stop them?”

“ ‘Never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake’, plus it was quite entertaining to watch their poor attempts for a little while.”

“ ‘Entertaining’?! Who on Earth would just sit back and watch while people steal from their company? And what was the point of having me investigate it if you already knew?”

“Because, my little mouse, if you brought me the correct names it meant you played no part in the scheme.”

Ice flashed through her veins. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He stood at that, circling his desk to loom over her. The gaze he leveled her way froze her feet in place and, for a moment, she really did feel like a mouse caught in a predator's trap. “You didn't really think there was no backup plan, did you?”

Only sheer will kept her from trembling as realization struck. Just a few weeks ago, her identity protection plan had notified her of suspicious activity but assured her they had it taken care of. “They… they tried to pin it on me.”

“Indeed, luckily it appears you made some smart choices. And of course, I happen to be a little more than the average businessman.”

And here I called Dad paranoid for buying me that protection...

“Also,” his voice switching back to business mode as he paced back to his chair drew her from her panic. “Your thorough investigation shows you capable of filling one of the empty lead positions.”

“You're promoting me?”

He blinked up in genuine surprise. “You have an objection?”

“No!” She recovered. “It's just… a lot to take in and definitely not the direction I thought things would take.”

“Oh?” He grinned with genuine interest. “What direction was that?”

"A few days ago I thought I was fired!"

A chuckle while he sipped at a coffee mug. "I'll email you a briefing on your new duties and you can visit HR once you've moved into your new office."

"Thank you!" She turned excitedly on her heels to begin her new journey.

~~~

Akechi became a familiar face on the finance floor after her promotion, claiming an interest in overseeing her transition and supplemental training himself. Though it seemed he had more of an interest in seeing how far he could push her past her limits. For weeks, each visit rendered her with a heightened pulse as his words always held a double meaning that never failed to pull very not safe for work images to mind. He never touched. Nor pushed further if she showed the teeniest hint of resistance, switching back to complete professionalism that only flustered her more most days.

That changed one day when she needed paper for the floor printer.

The supply closet located to the left of the elevator and stairwell was so small it was nearly impossible for two people to fit into the space packed with Xerox packages and janitorial supplies.

Nearly.

“Little Mouse.”

She jumped at the shattered silence until recognition of his baritone registered. “Mr. Akechi, can you please stop doing that?”

“But you make it oh so tempting, I can't help myself.”

“And you said you were more than an average businessman.”

His familiar chuckle pranced across her ears, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “Up to now, I have been. Took pride in my self-control. Imagine my surprise when I witnessed a carefree spirit dancing on my financial floor and suddenly taken by an overpowering urge to join her.”

She blinked up at him silently while he stepped so close she could feel the heat wafting off him though, as usual, he never touched. His words sounded more and more like a confession, an impossible confession. She was just an accountant-- No, wait… Her throat finally opened up for her to ask the question suddenly screaming for an answer. “Did you really promote me for my capabilities, or only to get close to me then?”

The question was out but she looked away, unable to witness the answer with her own eyes. Slender fingers whispered across her jaw, coaxing her to look back up to him. Those same fingers traced her bottom lip once she did, the liquid heat of his eyes taking her breath from her.

“I was already infatuated before walking you to your car, I will admit. Then I pulled your employee records. Spotless with nothing but positive words from your previous superiors. That, alone, wouldn't be very impressive to me but were you aware you have a letter of recommendation from Tokugawa? Those are not easily achieved. Honestly, I have no idea how those other two ever thought they would manage to frame you for their misdeeds. Which is why I gave you the chance to prove yourself first but had the termination papers ready to sign should you have failed that little test, feelings present or not.”

“But I passed.”

“I knew you would-- hoped even. You are talented and earned that position yourself, have no doubt in that.”

“Alright…” Now, how the hell am I supposed to address the other thing?

As if he read her thoughts, he brought the tip of his finger back across her lips to softly silence her. “I know this is not the typically ideal setting for such a conversation but I couldn't hold back any longer when your snark offered the perfect opportunity, Little Mouse. However, you need not worry about rushing me any reciprocation. Take your time to think about it and I will deal with my own troubles in the meantime. Should you choose to explore further, you need only call me by my first name.”

Her heart raced again. He really had thought of everything, even a clear route to refusal… One she didn't need. She didn't need any more time.

He had just turned to leave when her hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in place.

“Mitsuhi-”

His lips were on hers before she finished the name, demanding entrance that she gave willingly. Her fingers tangled in his blazer lapels in a feeble attempt to hold onto the world around her while blindsided by such feverish desire as he all but devoured her, his tongue coaxing hers to dance with him.

It wasn't until the prep counter edge hit the back of her thighs that she realized her skirt hiked up past her stocking bands as he settled her effortlessly atop its surface, the cold of it a stark reminder to their location.

“Wait,” she gasped once gathering the resolve to break the trance.

His palms dropped from her hair to the counter instantly at her plea while his forehead rested on hers, patiently waiting for her next words.

She smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket her fingers had created as her breath returned. “Not yet, not here.”

“Too soon.” He nodded in agreement as his own eyes cleared of desire's fog. “I'm sorry, it has been quite some time since I've lost rein of my emotions and it looks like I still have a ways to go before I can properly control myself around you.”

She couldn't help the soft giggles bubbling at the confusion clear in his brow. “Usually, I'm the one who has to control herself.”

“No, I don't believe that.”

She ignored his usual teasing while hopping off the counter to right herself again. His fingers brushed lightly through her hair to fix wry tufts while hers continued to focus on his blazer lapels and shirt collar. Only when she finished did she look up into his eyes while claiming his hands in hers. “I am interested but I've also rushed into things a lot in the past and they always ended horribly for everyone. I'm only just now starting to feel confident in my position and think it best-- given my track record-- to go slow.”

His head rested leisurely back to hers and she wondered how he could stand the heat emitting from her flushed face? She barely could. His smirk returned to its rightful place as his thumb ghosted over her bottom lip. Whatever he was about to say, was lost to the door handle clicking.

Mitsuhide had two paper boxes on the counter in the next instant and another occupying his hands before the door cracked open to reveal one of her subordinates. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, what perfect timing!” Mitsuhide grinned to the intruder. “We were just thinking we would need the trolley, but not with an extra set of hands.” The box in his hands shifted so suddenly the poor man at the door nearly fell backward as he tried to catch it, just for Mitsuhide to load another box on top. “You got those, I'll take these, and you can handle that last one, right Little Mouse?”

Proving he truly was a whirlwind incarnate, Mitsuhide was out the door without another glance behind him.

~~~

The premiere performance of Madama Butterfly sold out almost immediately and yet what was it he waved in front of her face one autumn Thursday morning? He even arranged her the day off to prepare for the evening. No dress? He arranged that, too; curating a selection to choose from, as well as a hair and makeup appointment if she desired it.

The show itself was as beautiful as it was heart-wrenching, even with Mitsuhide distracting her a sizable portion of the time by monopolizing her hand with soft caresses and softer kisses over every inch of skin. Afterward, he insisted on showing her the best view in the city which happened to be the rooftop of the office building.

“I didn't know all this was even up here.” She didn't even try to hide the awe in her voice as she took in her surroundings. If she didn't know any better, it would be easy to believe they were in Central Park with the colorful flower beds lining sections of expansive lawn covering a majority of the roof. A covered patio near the door sat upon a raised dais that overlooked the city with an outdoor kitchen and bar. No additional lighting was needed due to the glow provided by the surrounding city life.

“There are only a select few who do, plus the gardener who values his own secrets enough to keep mine.”

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

“Probably not.” Rumbling laughter as he looped an arm around her waist to guide her to the patio where a sake warmer awaited. If anyone had told her at the beginning of the month she would end up enjoying an exotic brew with the boss on the rooftop lounger, she would have laughed in their face! But here she was gazing over the city skyline in an elegant dress and gorgeous hair, a nearly forgotten sake glass in one hand while Mitsuhide occupied the other as he's had during the opera.

Each deliberate drag of lips across her knuckles sent heat racing through her veins that had nothing to do with the sake. Only when he was satisfied no part of her hand went untouched did he move on to continue the trail across her wrist and forearm. Molten gold irises held her own captive as the knuckles of his other hand softly traced her jaw.

"Have you had enough of the view?"

There was no mistaking the true question being asked. The weeks since their closet confessions saw many dinner and lunch dates. Weekends were designated ‘adventure’ days when they found local activities to do together, even if just strolling the shoreline or boardwalk. Almost every outing ended with at least a soft kiss on the top of her head, more than a few escalating to being pinned to the wall much as she had the counter in the stock closet. But every time he would cut it short with a clear question and an easily accessible way out for her to choose.

This time, she didn't.

~☆~

[pixie-mage]

#SamLives - Pt.7

[Previous|Next]

[This story has been edited and reposted on the official #SamLives Tumblr. The new post of Chapter 7 can be found here.]

(There are a few differences between this version and the new version of Chapter 7. Jack has a hard time saying Anti’s name, for one thing...and at the end of the chapter he calls his Ma instead of Signe.)

“What was it you were saying about belief, on the phone?”

With all the stress of what had happened in the apartment, Mark had suggested he and Jack go out and grab lunch somewhere in Brighton. Jack, of course, had vehemently agreed. So here they were, currently hiding away in the corner of some coffee shop, eating sandwiches and - in Jack's case - drinking coffee like he might just die if he didn’t. Mark had brought the mesh pet carrier along, so every few minutes he could sneak bits of food in for Tim to munch on while Jack did the same with Sam in his pocket.

“...how the hell does Sam even eat?” Mark had asked, to which Jack just shrugged.

“Absorbs it, sort of. I dunno. I stopped tryin’ to make sense of him the day I found out he can fly.”

“He can FLY?!”

And, oh, the looks they had received after that outburst…

“Belief?” Mark repeated, slipping another piece of his crust to Tim. He snickered. “You mean when I was trying to draw parallels between life changing events and a videogame?”

“Yeah, that,” Jack chuckled a little himself. “You were talkin’ about Bendy, right? Joey Drew? His whole insane monologue with belief and cheating death an’ stuff?”

“Well it wasn’t that insane…”

“It was a little insane. I’m pretty sure he started a cult.”

“Okay, yes, in that context it was pretty nuts. But – hey, don’t laugh! This is some serious shit!”

Jack tried to stifle his laughter, hiding his grin behind his cup of coffee even as he saw Mark trying to do the same.

“Sorry!” he giggled. “Sorry, continue with your serious shit. I’m listening.”

“Thank you!”

Mark sighed dramatically as a waitress walked past their table, making a big show of gesturing at Jack with both hands.

“This guy! Never lets me get a word in edgewise, always making fun of me! Worst friend ever.”

“Hey, I’m your best friend, you said so yourself,” Jack retorted while the waitress giggled to herself. “Now get on with your “belief” rant. I’m waiting.”

“Okay! Okay!” Mark rolled his eyes and leaned forward across the table, lowering his voice for dramatic effect.

“Belief. It can do amazing, impossible things. It can bring together hoards of people or help a single man reach stardom. With enough belief a lone YouTuber might even be able to reach the highest shelf in the kitchen even though he’s always been too damn short to get to it–”

“Is there a point to all his?” Jack was really fighting laughter now. “By Jaysus…”

“Sorry, serious face. Serious shit.” Mark tried to pass off a laugh as a cough and took a sip from his coffee, smiling all the while. “Actually serious this time. I promise.”

“Thank God.”

“Okay. So.” Mark glanced around to make sure nobody at the nearby tables was listening in before starting. “So in Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew was talking about how belief can do impossible things. Like, just belief, by itself.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jack nodded, holding his steaming cup of coffee beneath his face to warm himself up a little. “I’ve played it before. A lot, actually.”

“Just so you could hear your own voice in the game,” Mark scoffed.

“Hey! No! That is not the only reason!” Jack protested, pointing a finger accusingly at Mark. “Serious shit, remember?”

“Yeah, okay, serious shit.” Mark schooled his expression. “Anyway. Tim showed up a few years ago. At the time, it scared the shit out of me, because how the hell do you explain to somebody that your imaginary character from YouTube suddenly came to life in the middle of your recording session and you have no idea how or why he’s there?”

“I feel ya,” Jack muttered knowingly, passing another piece of sandwich into his pocket for Sam.

“Right. So he showed up and I just kind of...accepted it? Because he’s my little biscuit, and he was so scared and nervous, and how could I leave him alone when he needed me? And it wasn’t like he was causing trouble. It was like suddenly having a...well, a pet, kind of. Or a baby, but less needy.”

“A familiar?” Jack murmured into his coffee, taking a sip.

“YES! Yes, exactly!” Mark snapped and pointed at Jack, nodding. “That’s exactly what it’s like! So, ya know, there was nothing bad about it. So I never really got around to figuring out how he came to be. But then…” Mark lowered his voice and ran a hand through his hair, glancing around. Double checking. Jack started bouncing his knee beneath the table, his nerves getting the best of him. “...weird things started happening, more recently. And I mean like - in the past six or seven months, recently. Before I even knew Sam existed.”

“What kinds of weird things?” Jack asked tensely.

Mark opened his mouth, closed it, and stared down into his drink. He didn’t speak for a moment, the brief pause filled only be the sound of dishes clinking and the soft babble of other conversations carrying through the cafe. Sam shifted in Jack’s hoodie pocket, getting more comfortable.

Then Mark cleared his throat and shook his head, his train of thought changing for a moment.

“I’ve...er...been thinking about it a lot more recently. Why Tim even exists, I mean.” Mark swallowed thickly. “With the things I’ve been seeing, I’ve had my suspicions for a few months now, but nothing solid ever came of it on my end. I never had proof. So when you called me about Anti...well I knew I had to be right, or at least thinking in the right direction.”

“What th’ hell are you talkin’ about?” Jack asked. His words came out a little more sharply than he intended, and Mark winced. Brown eyes raised to lock onto blue.

“...the truth is, I don’t think Anti is the only one who exists now,” Mark told him. He sounded hesitant, as though a little scared to even say it.

“Who else do you think exists?” Jack asked. “Besides Sam and Tim and Anti, I mean.”

“Dark.”

“Darkiplier?” Jack hissed, and Mark shushed him quickly, looking around. Jack lowered his voice to a loud whisper and leaned forward across the table. “Darkiplier? Like, wears a suit, red-and-blue, creepy evil-you Darkiplier?”

“What other Darkiplier would I be referring to?” Mark whispered back sharply, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Yes, Darkiplier! Evil-Me!”

“Darkiplier and Antisepticeye. Holy fuckin’ hell...” Jack sank back in his chair and dragged a hand over his face, his exhaustion seeping through to the surface. “Christ almighty. Both of ‘em. This...this is ridiculous…”

A little hysterical giggle escaped him. It slowly built into a distressed groan and he let out a few dramatic, fake, whining sobs.

“Maaaark, we’re gonna diiiiie….” He folded his arms on the table and let his head fall onto them with a muffled thump. He whimpered dramatically. “Th’ hell are we supposed to do noooow?” He dragged his head up just enough to look at Mark’s face through his hair. “...you’re sure he’s actually real?”

Mark had been watching the entire display with an expression that fell between tense nervousness and humor-lined disbelief.

“About ninety percent,” he shrugged, still keeping his voice down. “I keep...hearing my own voice when I’m getting a drink in the middle of the night. Or I keep seeing red and blue out of the corner of my eye. Things keep moving from their spot when I’m not looking, and I know it’s not just Amy moving things and not telling me because it happens between glances when nobody else is in the room. It’s weird.”

“You haven’t actually seen him though?” Jack asked, confused, his chin resting on his arms now. “Anti’s been showin’ face as often as possible, jus’ not when I’m actually looking. The stream last night was the first time he…”

Jack trailed off and looked away, gripping his own arms tightly to keep the memory at bay. Sam sent a little mental hug along through his thoughts and Jack was more than grateful for it.

“Yeah, I know,” Mark said softly. There was understanding in his tone and he quickly tried to move forward in the conversation.

“See that’s the thing,” he said enthusiastically, leaning forward across the table. “Dark and Anti are different. They’re both - well, evil, I guess. But they’re different people, different characters. Anti seems to like a spectacle. He likes being seen, and he wants as many people to see him on screen as possible. He seems to like showing off. Which...I mean, it’s just a theory–”

“A game theory?” Jack muttered automatically, and Mark blew a raspberry at him.

“No. Shut up.” He blinked, glanced away. “...where was I?”

“It’s just a theory?” Jack suggested with a soft smirk.

“...yeeeaaaah,” Mark nodded slowly, then quicker when he found his train of thought again. “Yeah! Okay. So it’s just a theory, but I think that’s why he’s only been showing up in your videos but not anywhere else. Not yet anyway.”

“He’s been in my videos more than I’ve been uploading actually,” Jack told him, shifting in his seat and resting his head sideways on his arms now. He watched the steam rise from his coffee cup on the table. “I told Robin to keep cuttin’ him out because I didn’t want people to think I was plannin’ anything. I’ve got stuff coming up next month but...not yet.”

“Oh yeah, he mentioned that when he showed up last night,” Mark muttered. It sounded like he was thinking. “He didn’t sound too happy about you taking him out of your videos. That’s probably why he made such a scene on the stream. He had a hell of an audience.”

“What about Dark?” Jack asked, trying to switch gears. He really didn’t want to think about the stream right now. His throat was still sore from what Anti had done to him…

“Dark’s more subtle,” Mark said quietly. “He works behind the scenes. He doesn’t deal with face-to-face conflict as much. He mostly sticks to the shadows. I mean, I gave him his backstory, I should know this.” Jack heard him pause. “...honestly, it makes me wonder if ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ wasn’t a horrible, horrible idea.”

“...why?” Jack sat up, frowning, looking up at Mark...and he was a little surprised to see the genuine worry that had set in across Mark’s face. He was dragging a hand over his mouth and staring down at his plate, lost in thought, a worried crease furrowing his brow.

“Mark? You okay man?”

“I was talking about belief before,” Mark said after a long moment, his hand falling into his lap. “It’s the theory I have for why Sam and Tim exist, and it’s the same theory that applies to Anti and Dark.”

“You still haven’t explained what you meant by that.”

“How many subscribers do you have?”

The question threw Jack for a moment and he stared at Mark in baffled silence before answering.

“...what? Uh...I dunno, ‘bout eighteen million.”

“Eighteen million people,” Mark repeated. “And how many of them probably know who Sam is?”

“A lot of ‘em. Almost all of them, most likely.”

“And Anti?”

“Not as many, but...I mean still, the number’s in the millions.”

“That’s a lot of people, all centered around one YouTube channel, all looking for another sign of Anti showing up. All drawing art or making little plushies for Sam. A lot of them probably want to believe it’s real even though logic tells them it isn’t.”

“...what are you saying?” Jack asked slowly, still trying to follow Mark’s explanation. Mark looked up, worry still etched in his gaze.

“I don’t know how, but I think...having that many people thinking about the same thing, believing the same thing? I think it’s powerful enough to make it real.”

An inexplicable chill ran down Jack’s spine.

“...that’s...that’s insane….” he breathed, shaking his head.

“Is it though?” Mark insisted, still trying to keep his voice low. “Think about it! Sam showed up how long ago? A few years ago, right?” Jack nodded mutely. “Same as Tim. Back then, they were the only real characters that had any sort of solidity on our channels! The fan base made Darkiplier and Antisepticeye, but it wasn’t until after we made them real that they started showing up in the real world. Weird stuff started happening around the time my friends and I had the idea for ‘Who Killed Markiplier’. It was after ‘A Date With Markiplier’, and after ‘Darkiplier vs Antisepticeye’. Like, not long after the second one, actually. Which I thought was kind of weird at the time but...I mean I figured it was nothing. Except...I don’t think that’s the case anymore…”

Somebody dropped a plate back in the kitchen and both Jack and Mark jumped, two pairs of wide eyes flying toward the source of the disturbance. Jack let out a shaking breath and sank in his chair, letting out a quiet groan.

“God...the stress an’ fear is gonna kill me long before Anti manages to do it.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark muttered. He was gripping the table’s edge so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Mark…?”

Tim’s voice sounded quietly from inside his carrier and Mark ducked a little so he could see into it.

“What’s up buddy?”

Jack tossed a glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody was looking their way.

“You okay?” Tim asked softly. “You sound scared.”

“Yeah of course I’m okay,” Mark murmured hurriedly. He rested his hand on the front edge of the carrier’s opening and Jack saw a tiny mitten-shaped hand poke out from the shadows. He smiled softly. “Don’t worry buddy. Ol’ Markimoo just got scared by a plate. Kinda silly, right?”

“Super silly.”

Tim giggled from his hiding spot and Mark shushed him softly, chuckling to himself a bit and looking around. Nobody was paying them any mind. After letting the pair have a few moments of comfort, Jack cleared his throat.

“What were you talking about before?” he asked in an undertone. Mark tore his eyes away from the pet carrier to look at Jack again. His smile slowly fell.

“...oh, right.” He kept one hand at the carrier’s opening as he continued his explanation. “I thought it was a little weird, how strange things started to happen around me after we made that Anti vs Dark video. An entire video dedicated, rather jokingly, to our dark alter egos, and then I start seeing weird things? Hearing things? But looking back it makes a lot of sense.” He jabbed his finger toward his phone, which was sitting on the table. “That’s when the fanbase got a spike in Dark and Anti interest. The amount of hype that video got was ridiculous.”

“It got a lot of attention from Septiplier shippers too,” Jack pointed out, snickering a little. Mark opened his mouth, closed it, and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, yeah, that too,” he agreed. He was trying not to smile. “But regardless. Anti and Dark were getting a lot more attention all of a sudden. Dark only showed up first because he’s been around for longer.”

“Okay, woah, wait,” Jack help up a hand. “I’m stoppin’ you right there. I brought Anti into my videos for the entire month of October back in 2016. ‘Say Goodbye’ was his, like, big reveal. You didn’t start usin’ Dark in your videos until ‘A Date With Markiplier’.” He pointed at Mark. “An’ trust me, I know my shit, because I got a ton of messages from people askin’ if I was pissed about you copyin’ me.”

“Copying you?!” Mark spluttered. “What the hell? No! Nonono!” He scooted his chair closer to the table. “Okay. Rewind, back to the beginning of my entire YouTube career. I used to make these random creepy short videos for fun when I first started on YouTube, and that’s where the whole “Darkiplier” thing came from. Those videos were around waaaay before you even got your little boost from Felix.”

Jack laughed.

“Excuse me, are we makin’ jabs about channel popularity now?”

“Well – no, I only meant – Dark was a thing way before Anti was, okay? That’s all I’m saying!”

“But you just had to slip in that little “boost from Felix” comment didn’t ya?”

Jack was fighting off laughter now, snickering to himself, and he could see Mark was doing the same.

“Well sorry! Geez! Just trying to make a point sorry if I hurt your feelings.” Mark scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, being dramatic, tossing his hair in a show of sass. “Whatever, man.”

“God, you’re such a drama queen!” Jack finally let out, laughing openly and leaning back in his chair. He heard a small giggle from Sam in his head too. “Fine, okay, point made. Moving on. Lord above, we’re horrible at staying on topic…”

“We’re the worst,” Mark agreed, chuckling a little. It built into a fuller laugh and he ruffled a hand through his hair, fixing his floof. “Sorry. Serious shit, right?”

“Yeah, heh,” Jack nodded, grinning. “Serious shit. Okay.”

“What I meant,” Mark planted both palms on the table, “was that Darkiplier had more buildup than Anti did by the time Dark started showing up. Because Darkiplier spawned from years of me posting creepy content at random intervals, his creation was a slower progression than what you did with Anti. Dark’s early appearances weren’t planned the way your Halloween event was. But when I uploaded two videos within four months of each other that both features Dark as a main character, then I hinted at having plans for Friday the 13th, it really isn’t any surprise that the fanbase got a little hooked on the idea of him showing up again.”

“Okay, fair point,” Jack nodded. He sipped at his now-chilled coffee and made a face. He’d have to get another fresh cup soon. “So what about Anti?”

“I thought about that too,” Mark nodded. “That video you made for Halloween, where he killed you? That was his first appearance on your channel. That whole month was about him. So that more than makes up for the fact that he didn’t exist in your videos before then. And then you did nothing with him for a while, no hints or anything. Then we made ‘Darkiplier vs Antisepticeye’, and even though it was a joke it gained a lot of attention. Then….” Mark paused and frowned. “What was it you did next?”

“It was two months between that one and ‘Kill Jacksepticeye’,” Jack muttered. “There weren’t any hints leading up to that either. I just thought it’d be a cool video, so I filmed it as if my doctor persona was trying to save me from Anti. Which...didn’t go well, because I died in the game.”

This entire conversation would have been rather hilarious in another context, in a context where Anti wasn’t a very real, very tangible threat. Jack probably would have laughed at the silliness of his own wording.

“Doctor...what’s his name?” Mark asked. “Sheeple?”

“Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestien,” Jack smirked a little, putting on the accent for show. “Zhe very best surgeon, 100% real doctor. Everybody knows zhat he is vonderful at his job~” He winked.

Mark snorted.

“Oh my god, is that really how he acts?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, grinning a little, his mood lifting in the moment. “It’s a little ridiculous but, god, he’s fun to play.”

“What happened in the video?”

“Schneep didn’t save me, like I said,” Jack shrugged. “He got corrupted by Anti and...well, he didn’t die. I played it off like he did, but he didn’t, because I’m plannin’ on bringing him back. Then Anti said he’d be back again soon and that’s the last I did with him.”

“Really?” Mark frowned, looking confused. “But there’s all this hype on Tumblr right now, about Anti and Doctor...Sheep-guy.” Jack rolled his eyes at the name. “What’s that about?”

“Just fanbase hype, I guess,” Jack shrugged. “The game I was playing had dates in it – I mean in the actual gameplay – and people keep sayin’ things like... “Ohhh, it’s March 5th, that’s the day Jack died in the game, ohhhh he must be plannin’ something–” ...but I didn’t even pay attention to those dates honestly.” He chuckled a little, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve been messin’ with people though, because of it. There was this whole ‘WHERE IS DOCTOR SCHNEEP’ meme goin’ ‘round, so I kept making references to doctors in my videos. Figured it’d be fun to mess with the community a little.”

The Irishman was grinning all the while, more than just enjoying the fact that he was setting his own community on fire and pouring gasoline over the flames.

“That’s what did it.”

“...hm?” Jack brought his focus back to center and found Mark chewing on his thumb with that same thoughtful look on his face, the one that Jack was beginning to associate with deep, complex problem solving. “What did what?”

“That...that theory hype. The anniversary of your ‘death’,” he made air quotes. Something occurred to him in that moment and his entire expression changed, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in a gasp. “OH! Ohohoh! And Sam! #SamLives! Oh, my god, how did I not see that before…?”

“What th’ hell are you on about now?” Jack asked flatly, suddenly very aware of the little eyeball who was shifting in his hoodie pocket.

“People were already hyped about Anti before Sam showed up in your video, right?” Mark said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Right??”

“Right, yes,” Jack stammered out quickly. “What about it?”

“And then Sam’s there, and suddenly Sam exists, and #SamLives goes trending and –”

And suddenly Jack caught on, his own eyes widening almost comically.

“Oh my god.”

“See???”

“Oh my god!” Jack clutched at his hair with both hands, the revelation leaving his mind whirling. “People believed that Sam was real, so they started to wonder–”

“If Anti couldn’t be real too!” Mark finished for him, leaning so far forward in his seat it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen out of it. “People always want the egos - the personas - whatever, our characters to really exist so they can meet them. And despite all logic pointing toward them being fictional–”

“There’s enough belief there and enough people with that belief to make it real and – holy shit, I accidentally used YouTube to bring a demon to life.”

“...okay, yes, that’s probably true, but – but still! Dude! DUDE! This is insanely cool! Horrifying and terrifying and fucking insane but also so fucking cool!”

“Oh Gooood…” Jack dropped his face into his hands and let out a muffle grumble. “...fuck my life. We’re talkin’ about some demon-glitch-bitch who wants ta kill me an’ my best friend thinks it’s cool.”

“Hey, woah, I didn’t say it wasn’t bad,” Mark quickly corrected. “It’s pretty bad! It’s...really, really bad. But–” He glanced around, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But Jack – Seán – we’re talking about something impossible here. Something that can’t be explained away by science, even with all the logic we’ve managed to attach to it. These characters shouldn’t even exist, but somehow they do. Tell me that doesn’t at least sound a little bit amazing to you?”

Jack didn’t deign to reply, instead letting out another muffle groan and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. After a long moment of silence he sighed and pushed away from the table, standing up and holding out his hand to Mark.

“...I should call Signe. I texted her earlier but…”

Mark watched him for a few seconds before nodding. He dug around in his pockets and brought out Jack’s phone, which he’d been holding onto since they left the apartment. He held it out for Jack to take and there was a brief moment, a very brief and very tense moment, during which neither of them was sure if the Irishman would actually grab the phone. Jack’s hand was shaking a little, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his expression stiff. Then he plucked it from Mark’s hand before he could change his mind.

Technology, it seemed, was becoming a newfound fear of his, and not one he thought would ever exist for him. His life was technology. His livelihood and his income spawned from technology...but so too had his newfound greatest fear. His greatest threat.

Jack swallowed thickly, nodded to Mark with a shaking smile, and stepped just outside the cafe to make the call. His back pressed against the cool brick of the building and he let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed and phone held to his ear with a still-shaking hand. All the while Sam sat curled up in his pocket and gentle soothing waves of thoughts and comfort crossed through their mental link. Jack took a breath.

“Signe? Hey...y-yeah...yeah, I’m fine. Sorry if I worried you. I love you too…”

[A/N] Back from con! Sorry for the delay in getting this one posted, but Convention Crunch really took its hold! Either way, here’s the pseudo-explanation for why Anti is coming to life. Same with Sam and Tim and...well. You get the idea. :3 Hopefully it makes sense, and hopefully it’s not too long-winded. Critiques welcome!

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[Chapter List]

[girl-next-door-writes]

All I Want

Characters: Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: Post Civil War Tony feels he deserves everything that is coming to him.  Being his own worst enemy and locked in his own head will he grab the small ray of hope or will he drown himself in self-pity?

Word Count: 1475 words

Prompt: Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran

A/N: This is the first of my little somethings for @yellowtheremarvelfan  and her amazing celebration challenge.  It’s a bit of a rewrite of a Dean fic (like a complete overhaul) and I warn you that it is a little angsty but for those of you who know me I couldn’t resist a fluffy ending.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been blasting classic rock constantly in the lab for the past few days which was a sign to everyone to steer clear, that’s if anyone was actually there anymore.  The songs, although each with a kicking beat and some epic drum and guitar solos, all had a theme.  The singers were pouring out their hearts and though the name of the girl was always different the sentiment was the same, each bringing back memories of that one girl they had once loved and had lost.  The unspoken thought that maybe life would have turned out so differently had they just held onto her and Tony sat at a console with this head in his hands, eyes closed as he fought his demons alone.  His eyes flickered up to the bottle of scotch.  It would be so easy right now in his sleep deprived state to just drown his sorrows, numb the pain so he could just pass out and get some rest.  

Letting out a frustrated yell and slamming his fists down on the bench in front of him he cursed himself for everything, each chastisement he had ever received playing on a loop in his mind until he gave in and unscrewed the bottle cap, not even bothering with a glass he took a large swig of the incredibly expensive and smooth amber liquid which burned the back of his throat.  He shouldn’t be around people.  He was toxic. Instead he had tried to lose himself in work, maybe something that would help Rhodey.  The guilt of that whole situation flooded over him and once more the bottle made its way to his lips.  

Perhaps partying would have been a better way to go, more of a distraction.  It had been months since his last meaningless drunken hook up and although he was sure there were several potential partners in the nearby bars this evening he knew he’d once again be waking up alone.  There was something missing.  He wasn’t sure why these brief encounters did nothing but make the ache inside his chest worse.   No, that was a lie.  He knew exactly why but he wasn’t about to let that thought linger in his mind.  He certainly wasn’t about to think of her. Letting that thought in gave it potential to grow and he was having enough trouble fighting it without it getting any stronger.  It just wasn’t going to happen.  Girls, no, women like her, they weren’t for the likes of him.  Just look what had happened with Pepper.  He didn’t deserve a love like her, not after everything he had done.  No.  He had been right to barricade himself here in the lab and work.  He couldn’t hurt anyone if he was alone.  

Just as the lure of the alcohol had grown too much, the temptation to call her was increasing with every sip.  Slamming the bottle down as if it had betrayed him, he rose to his feet and began to pace the room like a caged tiger.  He had been so certain he was doing the right thing, had been on the right side but the images of his friends in those cells, Rhodeys body laying broken, the hurt and confusion in her eyes as he refused to listen to her, they all haunted him to the point of madness.  Something had to give, and maybe that would be his sanity.  

He had pushed them all away, so desperate to save everyone he had ended up here, alone, slowly turning his blood into alcohol. Did he not deserve some comfort? Just the tiniest hint that he was not the bad guy.  Maybe he should call her, maybe tell her how he felt, hold her in his arms, lose himself in the scent of her shampoo.  No. All he needed was a little time. All these feelings should burn out sooner or later given enough time and alcohol.  His hand gripped the bottle once more and by the time it hit the table again it was half empty.  He was definitely well on his way to alcohol poisoning.  He huffed out a chuckle at that thought.  A fitting end to a not so super hero.  

The image of her from happier times slid effortlessly from his subconscious.  She was sitting at the kitchen counter watching him make breakfast, eyes bright as she had laughed and leaned across, reaching out her hand gently wiping the smudge of pancake batter from his cheek.  A jolt of electricity had raced through his body at her touch and his eyes fell on her soft lips.  All he had wanted in that moment had been to lean across and taste those lips but Steve had appeared and the moment broken.  

It was these brief moments that his brain seemed to hoard and pull out just to torture him, especially when he was tired or drunk, probably both.  Knocking back the whiskey he felt the edges of the world getting fuzzy as the heat of the liquid slid down his throat.  Lately he had been craving more of those little moments.  His life had been so dark, so suffocating without her around. Selfishly he want to draw out the happy moments until they all ran into each other leaving him with just one life filled with her.  When he was with her he felt safe, like he could finally rest.  Looking down he saw his phone in his hand, her picture smiling up at him and the urge to press the button and hear her voice was alluring.

Shaking his head he dropped his phone as if it was a piece of molten rock.  Maybe he should just let her go, let the thought of her disappear.  Hell, there was no maybe about it.  He would only end up hurting her either emotionally or physically, maybe even both.  No.  He had to let her go.  She deserved so much better than him.  

And yet… The soft lilting tones of Ed Sheeran drifted through the room and his brow furrowed at the sudden change.  Turning a little unsteadily his eyes fell on the open door and mixed in with the memory of her laughter, her sarcastic tones, the way she looked first thing in the morning when she hadn’t quite woken up yet was the very solid form of her standing there, her arms folded across her chest and eyebrow raised.  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  The corners of his mouth twitched up and the urge to run to her, hold her, taste her lips rose within him.   His heart beat loudly in his chest and he gripped the nearby desk to steady himself. Yeah, he was gonna tell her.  It might be the alcohol talking but suddenly he was so sure.  He wanted love.  He wanted her love so badly.  

“Tony?” her voice was soft and low, as if she didn’t want to startle him and he could hear her concern and with that one word from her the thought that maybe he could be saved sparked inside him.  She crossed the room, her eyes scanning his face and when she reached up to cup his cheek his eyes fell closed and he leaned into her touch.  A touch that felt like fire and ice, soft and solid all at once.  Gently taking him by the hand he followed her from the lab wordlessly like a child.  

Once inside his room she tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it into the pile of laundry that looked it had been building since Pepper had left.  He became aware that he probably smelled really bad right now, he hadn’t washed for days and stale sweat combined with alcohol was never a seductive scent.  She turned and he felt a panic raising in his chest. Reaching out he grabbed her arm.  “Stay.”  He looked so young and lost, she smiled warmly.

“I’m just gonna grab something to sleep in.  I’m not going anywhere okay.  I’ll be right here with you.” He nodded, feeling relieved and a little bit silly for coming across so desperate, he just needed her.

Nothing more was said as they both changed for bed and slipped under the crisp Egyptian cotton sheets and as he felt her curl into the crook of his arm, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, he felt at peace.  He needed love, wanted to beg for her to love him but instead he bent his head and placed a tender kiss to the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her. Exhaustion began to take over as he sighed out “I love you.” And he could have sworn he heard her say those same three little words before he descended into sleep.  

Tag: @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @nea90sweetie@knittingknerdy@feelmyroarrrr @vintagevalentinexx @goody2shoessmut @cojootromuelle@palaiasaurus64 @littleblue5mcdork@littlenerdgirl16@iwillbeinmynest @buckyhawk @almondbuttercup @beccaanne814-blog @canumoveyourseatup-no @callamint @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

[ficdirectory]

Blink (An AU Fosters family fic) Chapter 55

CHAPTER 55

 Pearl has tried to psych herself up all day, but going to the post office simply is not happening.

She’s started to get ready half a dozen times.  Sometimes, she’s gotten as far as starting the car, but just sitting in the driver’s seat made flashbacks grip her hard.  (Jared in the seat next to her.  Telling her to drive.  Now.)  Any pressure at all makes Pearl remember that pressure.  That night.  

 It’s beyond imagining why at sixteen, Pearl could endure what she had, but at 31, she can’t run a simple errand.

 It would be okay if this could wait.  But without pressure, Pearl also lacked motivation.  It’s crunch time now, because she knows she has to go.  It’s for work.  Someone paid for their cute little Lhasa Apso to have a sweater and the last thing Pearl wants is for an adorable little dog to freeze because she’s incompetent and can’t make a post office run.

 She just can’t make herself do it.  The more the pressure, the less motivated she is.  Instead, she curls up on the couch with Gracie.  She knows she needs to touch base with somebody, but Char has an actual in-person support group thing (mortifying) and it’s Pav’s husband’s birthday.

 And that leaves Jesus.  Who hasn’t really been in the touching base place for her.  Which is fine.  It’s just that, if left to her own devices, Pearl would hole up here, and never leave.

 It’s happened before.  It was her life before she got Gracie.

 As if she knows what’s on Pearl’s mind, Gracie licks her face.  

 “I know we can try again tomorrow, but I don’t want to go into town at all,” Pearl whines.  There’s nobody here but her and Gracie.  Nobody to judge her totally childlike moment of just being done with everything.

 Gracie cocks her head.  

 “I don’t know why.  Do I need a reason?” Pearl asks, pulling a blanket up around her.

 --

 Friday afternoon, Jesus walks into therapy with Dr. H. carrying his new backpack from Mama. He still has his scarf on.  And his new bracelet.  And Jesus really wants to be able to talk about some of this stuff.  Why it’s significant.  Why it helps him feel safe.

 His phone chimes with a text from Pearl:

 It’s official.  I am officially a failure at going to the post office.  Gracie told me I should go, but I couldn’t get out the door.  Now I have to go tomorrow or this stupid dog sweater will be late.  Not how I want to spend my Saturday.

 Quickly, Jesus sends a string of emojis back her way.  A heart.  A dog.  A present.  And a message that says:

 Call when you go.  I can be your backup.

 After that, he turns the volume down on his phone and gets to work.  

 First, he gets grounded, and then he updates Dr. H. about the last twenty-four hours. He tells her about relapsing, and getting hard feedback on his essay and how that triggered him.  How they talked it out and Mama explained why she did what she did and how it was different.  That it led to some great conversations, especially with Mama, where Jesus was able to open up.

 “I’ve been able to share stuff with her I haven’t really told anybody in my family yet.  Like about my disappearing and how it has different levels and all that.  She asked what she could do to help and I told her some stuff.  Today - this morning - she noticed I was having trouble, and she came and helped me before it got bad.”

 “How did that make you feel?” Dr. H. asks.

 “Not invisible,” Jesus says.

 “I see.  And what emotion were you feeling when your mother noticed you were having trouble?”

 “I felt...hopeful…” Jesus ventures.

 “Why were you feeling hopeful?”

 “Because she was following through.  Because she didn’t just tell me she would do something to help she actually followed through.  Not in the way she thought I needed...but the way I actually needed.”

 “I understand.  You deserve to feel hopeful, Jesus.  It sounds like you and your mother have made some great steps in a short period of time.”

 He nods.  Then they pause to breathe and refocus.  Dr. H. asks if he wants to share about the things he brought to the office.

 “Well...speaking of following through in the way I needed…  Remember earlier this week when Mama threw the food in my backpack away?  And she didn’t ask me?”

 “I do.”

 “And we talked about what I’d need if there was ever a next time and I said I’d need her to give me another backpack with food in it before she took the other one.  So,” he holds out the bag.  Swallows back the lump in his throat.

 “I’d like you to breathe and see if you can finish your thought, Jesus.  I can see you’re feeling emotional.  That’s okay in here.  Your feelings are safe.  You won’t be mocked or hurt in any way.”

 Jesus drags in a shaky breath.  Looks at Dr. H. even though she’s all blurry.  “Mama gave this to me…” he confesses softly.

 “What feeling does that bring up?” she checks.

 “Overwhelm…” Jesus hedges.

 “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, Jesus.  That’s perfectly reasonable. Is it safe to assume there’s food in this backpack, as well?”

 “Yes…” he breathes.  “I need to do a sidenote.  But it’s still on topic.  You know how when I was at the cabin a lot of stuff came up about Isaac?”

 Dr. H. nods, listening.

 “Well, I realized, talking to Pearl one day that I was hoarding all the food in that backpack kinda like...for him…” Jesus ventures.  “Like, I couldn’t save him, but I could save the food.  And our main connection was really me bringing him food.  We talked about it.  Once I stole cupcakes from The House when he said it was his birthday.  The Hostess ones.  And so there was two, and I helped him eat one.  But he wouldn’t take the second one.  He said it was for me.  Because we found out our birthdays were a week apart…”

 “So, is it fair to say that food is something very powerful that you two shared?”

 “Yes.  Can I show you what’s in the bag?” Jesus asks.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  Just carefully assembles everything on the low table between them.  The food from Mama.  The box of cupcakes from Pearl.  The letter from Mama.  The letter he wrote for Isaac.  And the picture.

 “I see Hostess cupcakes.  That’s significant.  From your mother?” Dr. H. asks.

 “No, Pearl sent those when she realized what happened with the other bag.”

 “How did that resonate?  Did you find it difficult to receive them?”

 “No, actually.  It’s like...she paid attention to what I was saying.  And sent me something that she knew mattered to me.”

 “You found it validating.”

 “Right.”

 “And when your mother got rid of the food in the other backpack?  I can see why that felt like a very big loss.”

 “Yeah,” Jesus sighs.

 After a pause, she asks.  “Would you say you hoarding at the cabin was just about Isaac and your grief over him...or was it also about you, Jesus?”

 “Oh, it was for sure about me, too.”

 “How so?”

 “Because it was a new place,” he starts deliberately.  He knows how easily he could get carried away in the fear of these memories.  “I was away from home.  I hadn’t been away from home since I got back.  So being away, of course, meant that I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat.  Or how long I’d have access to food that was there.  And...I kept misinterpreting, I think?”

 “Tell me about misinterpreting.  What did you misinterpret?”

 “Well, like, one morning, Mama had said something like, ‘Go take a shower and then we can eat breakfast.’  Now, I get that she probably meant if I showered first, by the time I was done, breakfast would be ready.  But I heard...that I wouldn’t get breakfast unless I showered.”

 “That must’ve felt very unsafe.”

 “It did,” Jesus nods.

 “Do you still feel the compulsion to hoard now that you’re home?” Dr. H. asks.

 “I feel the compulsion to do other things…” Jesus mutters, looking away.

 “Feel your feet on the floor? Press down.  Sit up straight.  Head up, please,” she cues.  “Now take a breath.  She waits while Jesus does.  “Do you feel safe right now?”

 “My skin is crawling…” he admits.  Without thinking, Jesus takes the scarf off from around his neck and winds it around his left wrist, which got the worst of it, and still has bandaids.  The only bad thing is now he can’t see his new bracelet from Mama.

 “Let’s give your hands something else to do.  Something to keep them busy.  Would you like to put things back in your backpack?  Draw?”

 “Both,” he blurts.  And Jesus reaches out to put everything back in its place in the backpack.  Then, he accepts the sketch pad from Dr. H.  He doesn’t realize he’s basically curled in the chair until Dr. H. asks if he can put his feet on the floor, please.  (It’s so she has an eyeline to his hands, he knows.)

 So Jesus makes an attempt to organize himself.  Repositioning the sketchpad on his lap, with his feet flat on the floor.  Starts drawing.

 Dr. H. is quiet, not asking Jesus to split his focus, which he needs all of to reroute the seriously intense urges happening right now.  He concentrates on what he’s doing.  And slowly, starts to talk.

 “I drew a really awesome picture of my baby sis today,” Jesus confides, choosing to share this - something that gives him pride - over something that might cause him to slip up (like hoarding.)

 “Would you like to tell me anymore about it?’ Dr. H. asks, and Jesus talks about how Frankie had pretended to be his art teacher and asked him if he wanted to draw what made him happy.

 “She makes me happy, so I drew her.  And she really liked the drawing.  Said it was like a picture you take with your phone.  It was probably one of my best…  Mama even framed it and put it in her room,” Jesus muses letting his mind get consumed by pencil strokes against an empty page, not by giving in and letting the unhealthy part of him have another win.

 “We have about five minutes left,” Dr. H. says calmly.  “How are you feeling?”

 “Better.  It’s gone for now.  The weird sensations,” Jesus realizes.

 “I think you handled that beautifully, Jesus.” Dr. H. says.

 “How?” he wonders.

 “You alerted me to how you were feeling.  You picked another activity to focus on and you talked about something positive while you did it.  I’m very proud of you.”

 Jesus can feel his ears get hot.  “Thanks,” he mutters, keeping eye contact, because it’s what they do in here.  “Um…  Here…” he says, laying the sketchpad on the table, facing the doc.

 “You’re extremely talented, Jesus,” Dr. H. tells him, looking honest-to-God intrigued.

 “I wanna say before I have to leave...it’s not the hoarding that’s an issue for me anymore.  It’s...managing this…” he admits, nodding at his wrist, still wrapped in the scarf from Pearl.  Dr. H. listens, in case he has more to say.  Turns out, he does.  “I have a question.  Are you disappointed?  I mean, that I relapsed yesterday?”

 “No.  I’m not disappointed that you relapsed yesterday, Jesus.  Relapse is expected.  It’s a part of recovery.  And by your own account, it sounds like you’re beginning to trust those around you to help keep you safe.  And that’s an impressive thing, indeed.  Over the weekend?  Keep it up.”

 “That’s it?”

 “That’s it.  Practice coping in a way that prioritizes your mental health and your safety.  Practice alerting your safe people when you feel overwhelmed.  Perhaps, tell your mother, when she comes to pick you up, about needing to keep your hands busy when you’re feeling triggered to harm yourself.  Choose something you enjoy that takes a lot of your concentration.  I highly recommend sketching or drawing.  This is impressive, Jesus,” Dr. H. emphasizes, still studying the picture he drew.  “What inspired this?  Can I ask?”

 “It’s something that helped me cope,” he shares.

 “May I hang it up?  It’s possible, seeing it might help someone else cope…”

 “Yeah.  That would be awesome,” he nods.

 Jesus gives his drawing one last glance before he leaves the office.  Snapping a pic to send to Pearl before he goes:

 Because on the page, Jesus has drawn a tree.