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humanpurposes · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable.

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor.

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise.

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty.

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved.

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since.

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns.

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm.

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession.

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too.

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings.

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle.

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed.

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to.

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible.

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says.

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says.

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath.

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite.

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple.

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation.

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone.

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face.

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage.

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers.

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt.

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?”

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust.

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his.

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her.

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug.

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side.

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive.

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says.

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression.

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion.

And finally, he eases himself into her.

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths.

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her.

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains.

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse.

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be.

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room.

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me?

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth.

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

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devilat-thedoor · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet to Taste II

blame @ignite-my-fire she asked for it👀

This one is really nothing but forbidden twin filth. But shoutout to these babes for being so supportive💖 @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @gvfpal @jakesguitarsolo

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader x Sam Kiszka

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI(Voyeurism, Fingering, Pussy Slapping🫣, Oral(m rec), Unprotected Sex, Spanking, Very Mild Edging, Squirting) Dom!Jake & Soft-Dom!Sam deserve a warning of their own, let’s be real. Oh, and the aftercare🥹

🌟🌟🌟

“Y/N, your 5 top at table six needs refills.” Your coworker, Jess, nudged you, yanking you from your daydream, “Are you good? You keep, like, zoning out…” She placed her tray down, eyeing you.

Standing up straight, you tucked your pen into a pocket on your apron and turned around to grab yourself an empty tray, “Yeah, I’m fine… It’s just been a long shift.” You pulled your notepad out, reading over the table six drink orders, and began filling new cups. Putting on the friendliest face you could muster, you picked the tray up and dropped the drinks off, picking up the empty glasses. Walking back towards the kitchen to get rid of the dishes, your mind began to wander again. Every thought, for the past two weeks, has been Jake and Sam and the night you’d shared with them. You woke up the next morning, tangled between the two of them, and though you had no shame about what went down, you couldn’t be sure they felt the same. When you climbed over Jake to go to the bathroom, he grabbed your waist with one hand, weaving his fingers through your hair with the other to pull you in for a kiss. You could feel Sammy’s eyes on you but you didn’t think anything of it until you finally broke away from the older boy to use the bathroom and came back to find both of them gone. When your calls and texts went unanswered that day, you knew something was up. You gave it a couple of days before you tried to reach out again and when you did, you finally got an answer out of Sam, letting you know that they’d be out of town for a bit. That was a week and a half ago and you haven’t heard anything since…until now. Your phone began to vibrate in your apron pocket and you dug it out to read the caller ID. Jake… Dropping the tray of cups by the dishwasher, you rushed out of the kitchen, “Jess, can you cover for me for a few minutes?” You held your phone up, signaling that you had a call, as she nodded in approval.

“Hello?” You held the phone to your ear as you stepped outside.

His voice came through, sending butterflies through your stomach, “Hey beautiful. You busy tonight?”

You tried to play it cool, but you were practically vibrating with excitement, “Depends… Did you have something in mind?”

“I did.” He paused for a moment, “Josh is having a party at his place tonight. Come. I want to see you… We both do.”

You knew he meant he and Sam, but you were a little disappointed that you wouldn’t have them alone, “Umm. yeah, okay. What time?”

“Be there by 9. See you.” He hung up before you could even say goodbye and the confusion in your brain only multiplied.

You had barely gotten a shred of attention from either of them since that night and now you’re being asked to go to a party because they miss you? It was definitely weird, but you were aching to see them, so of course you’d show up.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

After you’d gotten off work at 6, you went straight home to shower and get ready. A bit of mascara and some lip gloss later, you were pulling on your favorite casual dress. Black and form fitting, hugging your body in all the right places, with thin straps that tied into bows on your shoulders. You fastened your hair into a high ponytail, letting it dangle down your neck. Pulling on a pair of boots and your leather jacket, you took one last look at yourself in the floor length mirror before grabbing your phone and keys to head out. You pulled up to Josh’s, his driveway already lined with cars and people scattered around the outside of the property. The music was loud, filtering through the opened front door as you made your way inside. You made a beeline for the kitchen in search of a drink.

As you stood at the counter, pouring tequila into a cup, a pair of hands landed on your waist, snaking around to wrap you in their hold, “I was wondering when you’d show up.” He bent down, lips right against your neck as he whispered, “I like this dress, babe…a little short though.” He pinched the hem between his fingers, letting his knuckles graze your thigh.

“I knew you’d like the dress, Sammy.” You spun around in his arms, slinging your own over his shoulders, “But I expected you to spend the night avoiding me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Avoid you? I could never.” He dropped a hand to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he held eye contact, “You and Jake were pretty cozy… I was just giving you the space to explore that.” The smirk on his lips was hinting that he was up to something, “In fact, he’s looking for you now.” His hands left your body as he pointed behind you, “You should probably go say hi.”

You looked in the direction he was pointing to find Jake watching you intently, but even from a distance, you could see the playful smirk on his face. Turning back to Sam, you grabbed his wrist before he could disappear, “You have my attention right now. Jake can wait.” You hooked your hand into the front of his waistband yanking him against you, “Unless you have someone else waiting on you?” Your fingers wiggled against the short bit of hair just beneath his jeans.

“Nobody who’s attention is worth more than yours.” He bent forward, his hand grasping the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. You bit down on his lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest, “Make yourself a drink and come find me.” He broke away from you, slipping through the sea of people littering the kitchen. Turning back to the counter, you picked up your cup, tossing back the clear liquid in it.

“You want some lime with that, mama?” Josh appeared at your side as you poured more liquor.

You put the bottle down, pulling him into a hug, “Nope, having it straight tonight. Have a shot with me!” You handed him the bottle and took your cup.

He fake clinked the bottle with you, “Cheers, Y/N!” He brought the neck to his lips, taking a couple chugs while you swallowed your own. Josh shook his body out with a grimace, “I’ll catch up with you later, mama. Have fun!” He grasped your face, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to your cheek before skipping into the crowd. You allowed yourself one more shot before going to search for Sammy.

Rounding the doorway out of the kitchen, you saw Jake talking with a few people in the corner or the dining room. His eyes flicked to you for the tiniest second before going back to the girl in front of him, barely acknowledging you. Oh really? You sauntered towards him, a sweet smile plastered on your face, “Not even a hi, Jake?”

He let his gaze settle on you a little longer this time, taking in your outfit, “Hi.” He returned to his conversation as you stared at him. When he realized you weren’t leaving, he turned to face you completely, “I’m having a conversation.” He leaned in, dropping his voice for you and only you, “Be a good girl and go find Sam to keep you company until I’m finished.”

You couldn’t deny the rush you felt at his command as you whispered a “Yes, sir.” and scampered off to look for Sammy.

You found him sitting on the couch in the living room, puffing on a cigarette between his fingers, “Josh would kill you if he found out you’re smoking in his house.” He waved his hands dismissively, unbothered by your claim as he licked his lips, staring at your legs, “You’re an ass. Gimme.” You plucked the stick from his hold and dropped into a random cup on the coffee table, listening to the sizzle as the cherry went out.

“C’mere, babe.” Sam yanked on your hand, pulling you down on his lap, “When can we get the fuck out of here?” He flattened his palm against your abdomen, pushing you to sit back against his chest, “I just wanna peel this dress off…” His breath was hot on your skin as he whispered in your ear, bunching the fabric up in his fist.

You tilted your head to him, flashing a devilish smirk, “Why the rush, baby? Isn’t the party just getting good?” You circled your hips, effectively grinding into him. When you turned your attention back to the rest of the room, you scanned the crowd for the other Kiszka, finding him in a conversation with another man.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Y/N.” His teeth nipped at the shell of your ear, “If you think I won’t throw you down in front of all these people, you’re sorely mistaken, babe.” Sam’s hand left your sternum to rest on your leg.

You watched his hand tickle along your skin, squeezing the inside of your thigh, “I think you know I always finish, Sammy?” The music was loud and the lights too low to emit any kind of glow over the two of you, “Don’t make empty threats…”

You felt his tongue glide up your neck, “You wanna make him watch, don’t you?” His hand lingered on your thigh, fingers teasing higher.

You tore your eyes from his hand, looking up to see Jake across the room, surrounded by other party guests but his gaze unmistakably transfixed on you, “I just think he might enjoy the show, Sammy.” You shivered as he finally made it beneath your dress.

His eyes widened as he dragged a finger over you, “You’re not wearing- Fuck, babe…”

“Oops…must’ve slipped my mind.” You shrugged as you held eye contact with Jake, his stare burning deep into your skin. A gasp escaped you as he slid through your folds and you parted your legs just an inch further.

He teeth were just barely digging at your shoulder as he stared down, “You’re so fucking wet, babe.” He was swirling his calloused fingers over your clit, smiling to himself as you fought to keep your whimpers down. He dipped his hand lower, pushing the tip of his middle finger through your entrance to feel you instantly clench around it, “Shit… She needs me, huh? Practically begging for my fingers.”

You struggled to keep your eyes on Jake as Sam pushed his finger deeper. You could’ve sworn you watched his gaze narrow, his tongue darting out over his lip, right before your eyes flitted. All of your focus went back to the younger Kiszka, “More, Sammy.” You cupped your hand over top of his, dropping your head to his shoulder, as he added a second finger, “Hmmm…”

He let out a quiet chuckle, “I bet she’d prefer my cock, wouldn’t she?” His eyes were flicking around the room, making sure your display stayed unnoticed, “If you just sit up a little, I could slip right inside, babe. No one would even know.” The deep rasp of his voice was enticing, making you want to throw all your inhibitions out the window, “He’s getting pissed… You think he’ll stick around to watch you cum on my hand?” Sam curled his fingers, eliciting a high pitched whine from you. His free hand came up to grip your face, turning your head enough to sink his mouth onto your own, swallowing up the noise.

You were completely lost in the feeling of Sammy, you didn’t catch Jake storming through the plethora of people, “Are you fucking done?” His fingers wrapped around your wrist, plucking you from Sam’s lap.

You yelped as Sam retracted his hand before gazing up at Jake with a giggle, “Well, I was almost done.” Looking back at the younger boy, he was laughing as well, but Jake didn’t share the amusement.

“Upstairs, now. Guest room.” He growled the command into your ear, “I need to have a word with my brother. Go.”

“Jakey, we were just-“

His nostrils flared as he stared at you, “One more word and I’ll see to it that you don’t cum at all. Go.” He pointed towards the staircase. You didn’t argue, just turned and scurried up to Josh's guest room, closing the door behind you. You sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do or what was to come, as you fidgeted with your hands. Kicking your boots off, you climbed onto the mattress, sitting with your legs tucked beneath you and waited for them. Several minutes had passed when the door finally opened and the brother’s came through it, both wearing wicked grins, “I hope it was worth it, baby… Didn’t anybody ever tell you that your actions have consequences?” Jake was coming across the room as Sam locked the door.

You swallowed hard, building the courage for what you were about to say, “What’s the matter, Jake? I thought you’d enjoy watching?” You tried to look as innocent as possible.

He was in front of you in a flash, holding your jaw in one hand while he undid his jeans with the other, “You think that was your idea? Think you’re in charge?” He let out a deep laugh, taking his hand from your face to dig into his pocket, “Baby, you’re not the only one who likes to make bets.” He pulled out a hundred dollar bill, passing it to his brother while keeping his eyes on you.

“He didn’t think you’d do it. Not in the middle of the party… But I know you, babe.” Sam took the money with a smile, “To be fair, I was gonna let you cum before he interrupted, but I think he felt left out.” He nodded to the older boy.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, “You guys- Wait… What was the bet?”

“Well,” Jake grasped the hem of your dress to lift it over your head, “Sam kept going on and on about how you’re always down for anything, never one to shy away from a challenge.” He waited for you to raise your arms, removing the garment to toss it to the floor, “I bet him that he couldn’t get you to open up for him in a crowded room tonight- lay down.” He pushed on your shoulders, guiding you to lay on your back, “Deep down, I knew you’d fold… But I was a bit surprised at how quickly you spread your legs for him.” He pulled you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs apart, “Putting this sweet pussy on display for anybody to see, no hesitation.” He bit down on his lip, petting your clit with the pad of his thumb.

The light touch made you whine, “No it- Fuck… It wasn’t for-“ Your breath caught as he applied more pressure.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what was that?” His thumb continued its movement while he pushed two fingers through your entrance, “Come on. Use your words.”

“You, Jake.” It was a breathless huff, your hands digging at the blanket below you, “It wasn’t for anyone…It-It was for you to see.”

Sam crawled onto the bed behind you, taking your hands into his and holding them, “She was so fucking wet, Jake. She likes being watched.”

“She’s still soaked, brother.” He pulled his fingers from you, rapidly flicking them over your cunt to hear the vulgar, splashy sounds, while Sammy moved his hands to your tits, pinching your nipples between his fingers.

You were writhing on the bed, the stimulation from both of them driving you wild, “Please… I’ve been waiting for weeks.” You were lifting your hips to meet Jake’s hand, “Aaah. Fuck, Jake.” You whimpered as his hand cracked down over your pussy, sending a shockwave through you.

“Normally, I’d like to hear you beg, baby…” His fingers pushed back into you, “But we’re gonna take our time with you tonight and begging won’t move things along, only compliance will.” He thrusted deep, curling his fingers against your sweet spot, “Understand?” He repeated the action a second time.

Acting purely out of feral need, you rolled your hips into his hand, earning yourself another harsh slap, “FUCK. I’m sorry. I-I understand.” You gripped onto Sam’s wrists as he continued massaging your breast.

Jake ripped his shirt off and pulled himself from his already unbuttoned jeans, “That’s good, beautiful.” He grabbed his cock, stroking it as he stood between your legs, “I wanna hear you make all those dirty noises.” He slipped his head through your folds, allowing the wetness to coat his tip, before burying himself inside of you, “Don’t hold out on me.”

You winced at the stretch, digging your nails into Sammy’s arms with a hiss, “Christ, Jacob!” You looked up to see the smug smile planted on his face as he began drawing his hips back. He moved slowly, making sure you felt every fine detail.

He left only the tip in, bringing his fingers back to your clit to draw a series of whines from you, “That’s it, baby. Let me know just how good I make you feel.” Jake slammed back into you without warning, smiling at the cry you let out. He kept this up for what felt like an eternity, drawing out to tease your throbbing clit just to fill you back up for a short second.

Your mind was swimming, unable to form any thoughts outside of release. Knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere with Jake, you turned your attention to Sam, who always had a soft spot for you, “Sammy… Baby, please.” You gazed up at him, brows pinched as shaky whimpers fell from your lips, “P-please, I need-.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, babe. I’ll take care of you.” He let his fingers graze your cheeks in the softest touch before looking to his brother, “Jake, let me have her.”

Jake met his eyes, the two of them caught in a staring contest, before he finally relented, “Fine… You give into her too easily. She’s got you wrapped around her finger.” He pulled himself out of you, allowing the other boy to take his place, “Flip her over, I want to fuck her pretty face.”

Sam gripped your legs, flipping you in a swift movement and placing your feet on the floor, “I think I like this view better anyways.” He kept your chest pressed into the mattress and slapped his palm across your ass, enjoying the way it bounced and rippled, before bending to leave a kiss right over his red handprint. He took note of how your body shuddered from the contact, “Did you like that, Y/N?” He slapped your ass again, adding a red welt to the other cheek.

“Mhmm. Do it again, Sammy.” Your plea was followed up by a dulcet hum.

His palm came down harder, leaving a sharp sting, “Your pussy is fucking dipping, babe. She loves it.” He rubbed his hands over your flesh, soothing the skin, “Let’s see just how wet she can get.”

You heard the sound of his zipper right before he was pushing into you. He had a tight grip on your hip, filling you slowly, “Oh god, baby. You feel so fucking good.” You dropped your face to the mattress, allowing the thick comforter to muffle your loud groan.

His hips began snapping into you, the thunderous sounds filling the room, “I feel better than him, don’t I?” His tone was mocking and you were sure he was looking directly at Jake as he spoke, “I know just how to spoil your sweet pussy…make her cry for me.” He was pounding into you, making it impossible for you to utter anything other than pitched cries.

You felt the bed shake a bit before a hand was twirling around your ponytail to lift your head from the blanket, “I’ll give you something better to muffle those sounds, beautiful.” Jake sat back on his heels, resting just close enough that your mouth was right over his dick, “Open up, baby.” He knotted the hair around his fist, lowering your head back down. You parted your lips, letting him slide into your mouth with ease, “You’re listening so well tonight. Being so good for us.” He allowed you to bob your head, taking him slowly as you moaned around his length. After a few moments, he pressed down on the back of your head, holding it in place as he hit your throat. Tears filled your eyes, gags heaving from the depths of your esophagus as you attempted to push yourself off of him, “Ahh. Sam, grab her hands.” Sammy hooked his hands around your elbows, pulling them behind your back, his thrusts never faltering. Jake lifted your face from his cock, watching proudly as you fought for a breath, more saliva dripping from your mouth with every gasping cough, “Go ahead and breathe, baby.” He gave you a few more seconds before bringing your mouth back, gliding along your tongue as he dragged your head up and down on him.

“Shit… Everytime you make her gag she fucking squeezes me so tight.” Sam’s voice was low and husky, breaking through the groans in his chest, “You’re so fucking close, babe. I can feel it.” He pulled harder on your arms, forcing an arch to your back and eliciting a loud wail from you at the changed angle. His cock was hammering into your g-spot, winding the coil tighter and tight with each pass.

Jake pulled you from his length again and released your hair, “Let her down a little bit, Sam, just a few inches.” He waited for his brother to comply, loosening his hold on your arms. You watched him stroke himself through blurry vision, “Your tongue, Y/N…” His free hand went to the back of your head, guiding your mouth to his balls. You stuck your tongue out, lapping at them hungrily before sucking them into the warmth of your mouth and moaning around them, “That’s- Oh fuck, baby. That mouth is heaven.” His breathing picked up along with the pumping of his hand, “You think we should fill her up, Sammy?” You could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t going to last much longer, “Think she earned it?”

“I think we earned it, brother.” Sam spoke through gritted teeth, “But she’s there, Jake. Any second…”

You let him fall from your mouth, “Pleeeease. I need it, please let me cum.” You pouted up at Jake, begging for the release, “I’ve been good, Jakey, please.” Your moans were becoming more desperate with every stroke of Sam’s dick.

He brushed the loose hairs from your face, “Swallow all of me and Sam will let you have it, pretty girl, I promise.” You gave a weak nod, ready to explode at any given moment. Jake was sliding back into your mouth in an instant, “I could stay here forever, you do so fucking well, baby.” He was guiding your head up and down but when you sucked your cheeks in, tightly suctioning your mouth around him, that was it, “Y/N, fuck-.” He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, his cock twitching frantically against your tongue, “Jesus, I- Fucking take it, baby. All of it.” He drove into the back of your throat, cursing under his breath as he held you in place, spilling into your mouth. Jake watched in awe as you gulped him down without a problem, savoring every last drop. He shuddered as he pulled you from his cock with an incredulous stare, “I don’t think anybody could ever compare to you…” He caught the pained expression on your face as you silently prayed for your own orgasm, “Let her have it, Sammy.” His thumb just barely ghosted over your lip when Sam was yanking you up by your arms.

“You’re so close, babe. Just let me have it.” He was in your ear, speaking through grunts as he slammed into you.

The sound of your cries was drowned out by the blood thrumming through your ears as the tension finally broke, “Sammy. Oh fuck, Sammy…” You choked out the words despite the fire spreading through your entire body, “God, I-” Your words were cut off by the flooding gush that forced Sam out of your cunt.

“No fucking way…” Sam kept a tight grip around your torso as he gaped at the puddle on the floor. He stared in awe for a couple more seconds before letting you drop to the bed to grasp your hips. He slid his cock back into you, only getting a few thrusts in before he was inevitably filling you with his release, muttering mindlessly through his heaving breaths. He carefully slipped out of you, watching his seed leak out, before Jake was distracting him.

“Sam, don’t let go of her! She’s gonna-” He was rushing to pull you onto the bed before your legs buckled beneath you. He tugged you against him, holding you close as he looked at your tired eyes, “She’s fucking spent, man. Go get something to clean her up…and a towel for the floor.”

Sam yanked his shirt over his head, giving it to his brother, “Put her in this. I’ll steal a pair of boxers from Josh’s room.” He waited for Jake to pull the shirt over your head, buttoning his jeans back up, before heading out of the room.

“You okay, baby? We didn’t go too far, did we?” He got your arms through the sleeves as you shook your head with a soft hum and your eyes started to close, “You’re tired, I know… Just wait until Sammy gets back with a washcloth and then we can go straight to sleep, pretty girl.” Your legs were still trembling as you curled into him and he rubbed gentle circles on your back.

Sam came barreling back into the guest room, tripping over his own feet, “I grabbed her some water, I think she lost a lot.” He said it with a chuckle as he dropped a towel over the mess you’d made and climbed onto the bed with the rag, “Here, babe, let me see.” He pushed your legs apart, making quick work of wiping you down, taking extra care around your sensitive bits, “Okay, can you just lift a little bit for me, Y/N?” You watched through barely opened eyes as he dropped the cloth on top of the towel and slid the stolen boxers over your legs. You lifted your hips with Jake’s help, allowing Sammy to secure the waistband in its proper place.

“Alright, baby.” Jake broke away from you to climb off the bed, prompting his younger brother to do the same, “We’re gonna let you rest.” He made sure you were nestled snug into the pillows before pulling the duvet over you.

You felt Sam press his lips to your temple and reached for him before he could pull away, “Stay with me. Both of you.” Your voice was raspy, riddled with sleep already, “Please.” You tugged on his hand, dragging him to lay down with you. Once you felt Sam settle in, you held your hand out to Jake, “Jakey…” You mewled, coaxing him towards you. He finally took your hand, sliding into the blankets beside you. Fully enveloped in the warmth of your two favorite boys, you started to drift, sleep taking you fast.

You felt your body relax into the mattress, the last thing you heard as your consciousness slipped away was Sammy’s voice, laced with an arrogant pride, “I made her fucking squirt, Jake.” . . . . .

#jake kiszka #sammy kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake gvf #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #forbidden twins x reader #forbidden twins smut #forbidden twins #gvf #greta van fleet #sam kiszka fic #jake kiska fic #sinsofstardust

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wanderingcas · 1 year ago

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since ao3 is down and we're all suffering here's chapter 1 of my destiel lighthouse keepers fic (not the prologue. that's a secret)

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas summary, written badly, because i did this in 2 minutes: Cas is trying to escape his past by taking a job as a lighthouse keeper. Little does he know the love of his life is waiting for him there. Historical au. Gay sex later. Just read it.

Chapter 1

1949. Autumn.

The bus drops Castiel off on the outskirts of Kittery, just over the bridge connecting Maine and New Hampshire’s borders over the water. He watches the bus as it hisses, lifting its aching joints and meandering down the windy highway 101.

Castiel decides to stand for a long moment, staring out into the empty field.

Behind him is Kittery Foreside, the center of town: beyond it, the harbor, with the lighthouse just a speck in the distance. It’s a clear afternoon, not quite twilight, so he was able to track the dot through the window as they crossed the bridge.

But now, he’d rather stare at the field and the deep blue of the sky as the sun sets.

In his left hand is the official letter detailing his new job. In his right, a leather suitcase containing everything he now owns (three outfits, one wool sweater, a toothbrush—and a stack of letters, stained in the left corners where he dropped them accidentally into a puddle).

He watches a seagull’s trajectory as it lands on the fence post, scratching at a wing with its beak.

A lighthouse keeper—arguably an insane job to take, considering he has no experience. But the sailing portion on his resume (from a handful of times he sailed at his family’s lake house as a boy) seemed to set him apart from the rest of the applicants. And the job was going to put him exactly where he wanted to be: away from society. Away from people.

Taking a sharp breath, he turns on his heel, and follows the road to the town center, street lights illuminating the pavement in the twilight.

There’s only one hotel that took his reservation at such short notice; as he fills out the registration form, the bellhop eyes his lack of luggage suspiciously.

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Castiel takes the key from the woman at the front desk. “Do you have any recommendations for somewhere to eat this time of night?”

“Only thing open on a Wednesday night is the Roadhouse, sir,” the woman says as she files his paperwork behind the desk. She shoots him a smile. “It’s good food, though. Place is almost as old as the town itself. I recommend the lobster rolls, personally.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Bela,” she replies.

“Bela,” Castiel repeats. “Can you tell me which direction to go?”

Pulling out a map, Bela splays it on the counter, uncapping a pen.

The Roadhouse is clear on the other side of town, across yet another bridge. The amount of islands that the area is divided into baffles Castiel. It’s well past dark when he arrives, pushing the door into the warm embrace of the diner.

A rush of nostalgia hits him as he realizes it’s similar to the one in Boston that he frequented, just a couple of blocks from the parish—their similarities extend even to the paraphernalia on the wall. Whoever owns this diner seems to have an obsession with John Wayne, just like the ones in Boston.

“Be one sec!” a waitress calls as she flies past him, a tray of drinks balanced on her shoulder. “Just pick an empty one!”

Dutifully, Castiel slides into a chair by the window, setting his cold hands on the table. He glances around at the buzzing diner; there are more people than he expected, considering that the town seemed to already close its eyelids as the sun went down. A family with two whining toddlers are crammed into a booth in the corner, another taking up multiple tables shoved together, kids running around and chasing each other as their parents snap at them to sit down and eat. Other tables are filled with men in fishermen’s overalls and boots, a group of women poking at their plates of food, babies in their arms.

One baby, held by a woman in a plaid dress, coos and holds out his hands towards the plate. The woman smiles down at the baby, kissing the top of his blonde head.

Castiel’s heart constricts and he looks away before the familiar tears can prick at his eyes.

“Whaddaya havin’?”

Castiel whips up his head at the same waitress from before, blinking. “Oh. I don’t have—”

“Ah, damn it, I didn’t give you a menu did I?” she says with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a plastic one from underneath her arm and setting it on the table. “Sorry, the dinner rush is crazy on Wednesdays. You wouldn’t think it, my brother had the big idea to make Wednesday the day we offer crab at market price, so everyone’s goin’ nuts.”

Castiel stares down at the menu, feeling a little shell-shocked, and realizing he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone for weeks—especially not someone so energetic. “Should I not order the crab, then?” he asks, solemnly.

“Not order the—?” She lets out something closer to a snort than a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, you’re yanking my chain, huh? No, order the crab if you want, damage is already done. I’ll just give you a minute, okay? Oh, and name’s Jo, if you need to yell at me across the room.”

Before Castiel can reply, she’s already walking away at a quick pace, ponytail swinging.

He orders the lobster roll when she finally comes back around to his table twenty minutes later; when he explains it was on Bela’s recommendation, Jo scoffs, “And you trust her?” She waves a hand at his raised eyebrows. “Whatever, she’s right, actually. Lobster was fresh caught this morning, too. Any fries with that roll to keep it company?”

Castiel nods, handing the menu back to her. “And an iced tea.”

She takes the menu, narrowing her eyes. “Say… if Bela gave you the recommendation, does that mean you’re staying at the inn?”

Castiel sucks in a breath. The lines he rehearsed are already slamming into his head like a film playing too quickly. “Yes. I just got into town.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, welcome! What brings you to Kittery?”

“A job.”

When Castiel doesn’t elaborate, Jo leans in, smile conspiratorial. “And what job would that be?”

Castiel considers lying. But he already has enough lies to keep track of. “Second assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse.”

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up her brow, and she says, emphatically, “Oh. The stag light, out on the harbor? Really?”

“I don’t seem the type?” Castiel jokes weakly.

Jo doesn’t even try to hide the way her eyes scrape up and down his suit and trench coat, more tax accountant than sailor. “No, actually. Not at all.”

“I’m trying a career change.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have sailing experience.”

Jo purses her lips. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

It was beginning to feel like he was interviewing for the job all over again. Castiel crosses his arms on the table and stares her down as intimidatingly as he can: the same stare he gave the children when they forgot lines of their catechisms. “Is that all?”

“Hey,” Jo says, hands raised, “just making conversation. I’ll go put in your order.”

Castiel watches as she makes her way to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she goes. There’s a small window where the orders are passed between the kitchen and whoever is at the counter: Castiel can see Jo talking to another man through it as they glance intermittently at Castiel.

He scrubs a hand over his face and curses under his breath. Lying would have been the better option.

The news spreads like wildfire: from Jo to the cook to other patrons in the diner to an older woman at the till. They all stare at him with curious glances, sizing him up. When Jo delivers his lobster roll, Castiel can barely eat it, his stomach is so twisted up in knots.

Someone is going to ask questions; investigate. Or, worse, someone is going to recognize him from the papers. His suitcase is still at the hotel; he could run back to his room, grab it, get out of town. He could just ditch the suitcase altogether if it weren’t for the damn letters. He curses himself again for not putting them in his pocket. He begins to fish out his wallet, fingers shaking as he pulls out a few bills because he can’t just add dine and dash to his list of offenses, but the walls are also closing in and everyone’s looking at him and—

A man appears beside the table. Castiel stares up at him, eyes wide, hands hidden under the table.

He’s wearing waterproof overalls and gumboots, like the rest of the fishermen types at the adjacent table. He scratches his beard and narrows his eyes as he sizes up Castiel.

Castiel wonders if he could take him in a fight. Based on Castiel’s lack of fitness and the size of this man’s arm, his guess is a resounding no.

“You the new keeper at Whaleback, huh?” he asks.

Castiel wills his voice not to shake. “Yes.”

The man stares at him for another long moment, frowning, scratching at the dark beard peppering his jawline. Finally, he sits down at the chair across from Castiel, leaning toward him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Castiel asks, frowning.

The man shakes his head. “Just… watch yourself out there. Okay? Place isn’t exactly… normal.”

Something akin to cold water rushes down Castiel’s spine, extinguishing the fire of anxiety freezing his limbs—people aren’t wary of him. They’re wary of his new place of occupation. He almost laughs with relief.

“I can manage,” he says, placing the bills back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, see, there’s—” The man blows out a gust of air. “The Principal Keeper, you see. He ain’t right in the head.”

“I’m sorry, who even are you?” Castiel snaps.

“Cole!”

Both Castiel and the man turn their heads in time to see the older woman from the register approach and cuff Cole over the back of the head. “Spreading rumors again, huh? Got nothin’ better to do?”

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with a scowl. “Not rumors if they’re true, Ellen,” he mumbles.

“Then the next thing you can gab about is how I kicked your ass across this diner and out onto the street,” Ellen snaps, smacking at his shoulder. “Go on, get up and join your buddies, you good-for-nothin’.”

With a roll of his eyes, Cole rises, then points his finger at Castiel. “I mean it, okay, guy? Just watch yourself around that psycho.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen growls, shoving his back as he goes. She hooks a thumb over to the table of fishermen. “Ignore those superstitious idiots. They latch onto a Jonah in town and don’t stop talking about it.”

“A Jonah?” Castiel asks.

“That’s what they call anyone who’s bad luck enough to stop them from getting a catch.” Ellen shrugs a shoulder. “But they’ve had the best fishing around here in decades since Dean Winchester rolled back into town from the war, so it’s just prejudice.” She nods down at Castiel’s plate. “Lobster roll no good?”

Castiel blinks down at it; he’d forgotten the food in front of him. “Just haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Smile sympathetic, Ellen nods over to the counter. “If you want, we can move you over there. Then the eyes of the town will be on your back. Easier to ignore.”

Despite himself, Castiel’s lips quirk up into a grin. “I like that idea.”

With a wink, Ellen scoops up his plate for him, holding it aloft as she weaves through the tables. “Sorry about them,” she says over her shoulder to Castiel as he follows. “You’re not exactly the first keeper this year to come into town for the job, so they’re just a little excitable.”

Castiel slides onto the stool at the counter, frowning. “I thought the job just opened up last month?”

“Oh, it did.” Ellen rounds the corner to the other side of the counter, depositing Castiel’s plate. She quirks her lips, thinking for a moment. “You’re the fourth, I think.”

Castiel gapes. “Fourth?”

“This year, at least.”

“I…” Castiel works his jaw to find the words. “Did they—are they…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, too absorbed in the image of his body splayed out onto the rocks as an ending to this story.

“Oh—no,” Ellen scoffs, waving a hand. “They didn’t die. It’s a dangerous job, but people don’t die… often. No, these men quit after a few months. One didn’t even last a week.”

Because she keeps glancing at his plate, Castiel picks up the lobster roll and takes a bite. Perfectly salted lobster and toasted bun explodes flavor in his mouth. He makes a mental note to thank Bela profusely for the recommendation.

He realizes, two bites into his food, that he forgot to pray.

He frowns, wiping his face with a napkin, inwardly chastising himself. That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore.

Jo skips up to stand beside Ellen, placing her empty tray down on the counter. “What are we talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her about it, either,” Ellen tells Castiel firmly, taking the tray. “Jo’s got fanciful notions about the sea.”

“Oh, we talking about Whaleback?” Jo’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans forward to say to Castiel in a lowered voice, “It’s haunted, you know. That’s why all those keepers quit. Only the Winchesters stay there ‘cause they got used to the ghosts by now.”

“I see,” Castiel says slowly.

“But, hey, kudos to you for trying it out,” another voice says, patting him on the shoulder. Castiel balks at the man who’s suddenly appeared next to him, a hand offered in greeting. “I’m Ash, Jo’s brother, Ellen’s reluctant son. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel rubs his temples and sighs. “This is beginning to feel like a circus.”

“Let me give you the skinny,” Ash says, pushing back his hair that’s somehow short in the front and long in the back—something Castiel can barely get his mind around. “Lighthouse used to be totally normal, right? Besides the normal rumors that lighthouses just always have. Daddy John Winchester and little brother Sam Winchester looked after it while older brother Dean Winchester was off fighting the Nazis—he came back and that’s when things started getting weird.”

Weary from traveling and the overall conversation, Castiel decides to tuck into his lobster roll, hoping that if he doesn’t reply, they’ll all go away.

“Tell him what happened with his uh, uh—what do you call it?” Jo asks, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, yeah! Dean’s agoraphobia,” Ash says. “Shifts at the lighthouse are usually 25 days on, 4 days off, right? Well, Dean stopped going to shore more and more, until he just stopped leaving the lighthouse altogether. Don’t think that kid’s been out since—what? ’47?”

“Of course he has,” Jo says with a roll of her eyes. “He stopped coming to the mainland when his dad died last year, remember?”

Castiel lifts his head at that one. “He died?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, shaking his head. “John Winchester—he was the Principal Keeper for, what, twenty years at least. Fell over the railing on a clear day. Since then, people keep sayin’ they see weird things—like a woman in a white dress walking up and down the landing, lights flickering on and off during a power outage… Weird things like that. But people are jumpy after the war, they need something to talk about. Get their minds distracted.”

Castiel sipped at his water, mulling over the information. “Who was on shift with Mr. Winchester when he fell?”

Jo grimaces, exchanging a look with Ash. “Dean was in the kitchen when it happened. Saw his dad falling past the window.”

“He’s Principal Keeper now,” Ash adds. “So you’ll be serving under him. Sam Winchester is the first assistant. And Adam, their half brother, still in high school—he helps out from time to time, picks up shifts if Sam needs it. But now, with you here…” Ash lets out a chuckle. “Well, as long as you last, anyway.”

Castiel takes another long gulp of water, wishing it was beer so he could calm his jangling nerves. “The Coast Guard didn’t tell me I was walking into a situation.”

Ellen, who stayed on the sideline of their conversation, comes back to lean against the counter. “Officially? You’re not.” She points her finger at Castiel. “Loyalty runs deep in this town. No matter how weird Dean gets, he still fought for this country and he’s done a lot of good for the town since. So any sideways look or word against him, and people will sooner run you out of here than take your side. Got it?”

Castiel sets down his iced tea. He nods. “I got it.”

“Good.” Ellen leans back, arms crossed. “That all being said—if you last after a shift, be sure to visit here while you’re on shore, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ash chimes in, “we’re placing bets. So last at least two shifts so I can stay low, okay?”

“Or at least three,” Jo adds. She nudges his elbow on the counter with her own. “Don’t worry, champ, I got faith in ya.”

Incredulous, Castiel scoffs into his water. “Yeah. Right.”

The bell to the diner door rings, heralding a group of sweaty children in baseball uniforms and their parents. The sudden flood of people distracts Ash and Jo long enough for Castiel to finish his lobster roll in peace. When he’s done, he places a ten dollar bill, enough to cover the meal and then some, beside his plate as he shrugs on his coat, winding around the crowd clamoring for a seat to sit.

He hunches his shoulders against the damp shock of cold, blowing warm air into his hands. Living in Boston was cold, but not like this: here, the very air feels hostile, stealing your breath to toss into the harbor’s winds. Castiel paces down the main street, past the dark windows of a flower shop, antique store, and a movie palace. At the end of the road, nudged up a slight hill, is a drug store—and a payphone tucked in beside it.

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea. But then he thinks of the letters in his suitcase, and the answer is made for him.

Picking the phone off its cradle, he dials for the operator and asks to make a collect call to Boston, fighting the tremor in his voice.

The line trills once. Twice. Castiel’s palms spring sweat despite the cold. On the fourth ring, the receiver is picked up.

“Hello?”

Hearing his sister’s voice releases the vise that’s constricting his chest. “Anna,” he chokes out.

There’s a long silence on the other end. Then: “You have to be kidding me.”

“I know I shouldn’t be calling—”

“I told you not to. I’m hanging up.”

“Just—” Castiel clutches the phone tight to his ear, his body a taut string. He can hear forks clinking in the background on Anna’s end. They’re probably having dinner. “How is she?” he asks, unable to hold the words back. “Her and—”

“They’re fine,” Anna says with a sharp sigh. “Listen, someone could be listening in. It was stupid to call. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “You get in okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden tears that spring into his eyes. “I start the job tomorrow.”

“Good.” Anna’s voice is gentler as she adds, “They’re fine, little brother. Just—don’t call again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel can hear a familiar laugh over the line. He quickly slams the phone back into the cradle; an instinctual reaction.

Panic, fear, sorrow—it all mounts in his chest as he stumbles away from the payphone, blindly down the road. His feet find their path away from the downtown, toward a cluster of trees and green overlooking the harbor.

The lighthouse is on now, its lens bright and twirling across the water like a ballerina suspended on a string. Castiel follows the movement as he breathes unsteadily, desperate to catch his racing heart.

Eventually, as it always does, his pulse slows. The fear, the panic—it all leaves his body like water trickling off a ledge. Regret and shame remains, pooling sourly in his gut.

The water below is dark, murky. It would be so easy to get lost in, with one step in the wrong direction.

He stares at the lighthouse for a moment longer. Then, with a straight back, he turns away and walks back toward the town.

****

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse.

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time.

It provides him with shelter from the outside world.

But it traps him in, like a caged animal.

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor.

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel.

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited.

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing.

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold.

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.”

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar.

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid.

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince.

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette.

“You punched him in the face, Dean.”

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it.

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says.

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters.

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.”

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.”

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the gallery, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.”

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him.

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night.

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t.

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed.

A bang echoes through the air.

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows.

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow.

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan.

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!”

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

#where there is darkness #destiel lighthouse keepers au #destiel #THE HACKERS WILL NOT WIN #HERE'S SOME GAY STUFF

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aylish91 · 1 year ago

Note

aughhhh i've been loving your short stories smmm!! if it's not too much work, may i request reader making nightmare flustered?<3

Sorry it's been such a hot minute! Summer is killer (not the good kind) around here. Was stuck traveling for almost 30 hours this last week alone. (Bad weather does not a short plane ride make, plus driving. So much driving...)

But I managed to get this put together for you! Thank you so much for reading!!! You guys are always so amazing!

Gods Too Need Rest

The study was quiet except for a slight shuffling and the scratch of a pen. Crumpled papers and several stacks of fallen books scattered across the normally pristine room. Draped over a table was the giant map usually taking up the better portion of the wall, the workings of an inkwell and feather pen resting on the old paper. It looked as though several new areas had been added judging by the loose sand still sprinkled over various areas.

Nightmare hunched over an old leather-bound book on his desk, searching its pages while occasionally switching books and taking notes. You could only shake your head. Pushing past the door with a tray of his preferred tea and a few finger foods, you made your way across the rather large expanse.

Nightmare’s eyelight narrowed at your footsteps, pausing long enough to watch your approach. You ignored it, continuing forward to clear a space for the tray.

His words were low from his barely contained annoyance. “I will have you know, that if it had been any other, they would not have made it past that door. Consider this a privilege few possess."

Ignoring him again, you busied yourself with the tea set, turning to force the cup into his hands. Sputtering, he dropped his quill in order not to spill the still steaming beverage.

“You have secluded yourself in here for days.” Grabbing a little sandwich, you offered it. “It’s time you take a break.”

His answer was almost a growl as he waved your hand away, wiping the stray crumbs from his work. “There is too much left to do. I cannot simply stop on the whims of a…"

Placing the sandwich down, you were far from impressed. Walking around, you kissed the side of his skull, managing to catch the skeleton off guard by delicately cupping his jaw and whispering next to where his ears would have been.

“The others worry about you. I, am worried about you.” Slowly, you stood up, fingers trailing away as he looked up with a wide socket. “I cannot force you to do anything that you don’t want to, but you should at least have a little something before you continue. If not for you, then for everyone else's peace of mind. It might do you more good than you think.”

You watched his eyelight dilate and constrict a few times as he tried and failed to speak. Eventually, he forced a clearing of his throat.

You weren’t sure if his face always had that much color, or if it was just a trick of the light.

“Yes, well… It is foolish to…” More color seemed to creep down his neck as he huffed and stood, noticeably looking away. “If that is all, I need to finish. You may go.”

You looked him over before reluctantly bowing your head. “Of course, my King. I wish you well.” Making your way back to the door, you paused. “You know, no one would think any worse of you. Even gods need their rest.” With a final nod, you passed through the door. You never got to hear his response.

…

“Such a bold little thing…”

…

No more than ten minutes later, you and the boys were more than pleased when Nightmare joined everyone in the living room with his tea and sandwiches in tow.

#my writing #undertale au #requests #nightmare sans #nightmare sans x reader #nightmare #nightmare x reader #x reader #relationships have to start somewhere I guess #such a grumpy fellow #He likes you #we all know it

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gretavanglimmers · 1 year ago

Text

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

Warnings: Alcohol and smoking. Pissed off Jake. Oral male. Dirty talk. Full sex. Violent fucking. Throat grabbing. Bar fighting.

Smoke hung in the air as you extinguished your cigarette. Gentle plumes of white rising up from the ash tray on your desk, the urge to light up another taking hold immediately.

You wanted the numbers to make sense. You wanted the profits to balance. Nervously tapping the edge of your pen against the books, none of the intake matched what should have been coming in. You stared at the pages incredulously, waiting for any of it to start tallying.

A gentle knock on your door gave a welcome reprieve. You threw your pen down, sighing in exasperation and leaned back into your chair. The swamp of papers on your desk blurring into your periphery as your door opened a crack.

"Fuck me or marry me, Josh. I don't have time for anything else." You said, noting the head of curls peering in.

He was Jake's twin brother. Singer of the band. A merry breath of fresh air when compared to his counterpart and somebody you suspected knew about what had been going on after hours. But he'd never dare say, and you'd never take the time to drag it out of him.

"Well, if those are my only two options I guess I'll have to make an honest woman out of you." He replied, slipping in and slumping into the red leather couch opposite. "You wanted to see me?"

You threw him the papers and waited for him to peruse over them. His brow furrowed in concentration, waiting for him to notice the anomaly. Taking the time to roll up another smoke.

"What am I looking at?" He asked, turning the pages over like you'd handed him a bedtime story.

"Fucking underhanded thievery." You replied, exhaling through your nose. "Look at those numbers and tell me I'm not getting fucked."

His lip curled in a smirk that wasn't unlike Jake. But with Josh, there was never any underlying agenda. You liked that about Josh. What you saw with him is precisely what you got.

"You think it's one of the bar staff?" He queried, flipping the pages up and down, "Looks like they're skimming off the top."

"They'll skim my knuckles if I catch them doing it." You hissed, taking a savagely long drag. "I've decided to haul everyone in and see if the snakes reveal themselves."

He raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the piles of paper in front of you. Sleeves rolled up and a devilish grin forming on your lips.

"You're in my corner, aren't you? They're scared of me but they'll listen to you."

You knew you had to rule with an iron fist. Any hint of weakness and the chain of command would break. Josh had always been good at fairing any weathers the Vagabond Blues stormed up. His cheery disposition was without confrontation or malice. You needed him.

"I don't know what sort of power you think I have here, Cookie." He shook his head, slipping the papers back onto the edge of the desk. "But it 'aint enough to charm the snakes."

"You underestimate yourself." You assured him, "What other choice do I have? I can't ask Jake."

Josh huffed and extended his arms out on the back of the couch. He knew as well as you did that Jake would lead with his instincts rather than calculating them first.

"You've got your hands full here, boss." He sighed, "Why don't you let me and Sammy take care of it for you?"

You hadn't thought to involve Sammy. He was barely old enough to play there, let alone drink. But he was their little brother and Jake had vouched for his ability to play the bass and keys. You'd been impressed, allowed his youth to be overlooked.

"What's your plan here, Kiszka? Get the scumbags to admit they've been stiffing me and then get little Sammy to show them the door?" You laughed, referring to his age rather than the fact he towered over both of his older brothers.

"You got a better idea? Jake runs around like your personal henchman, they wont expect it from the boy." He suggested, "And besides, the money you'll be saving can be our Christmas bonus."

You rolled your eyes. "Better make sure Danny's working tonight, too. You're going to need all the help you can get."

Danny had always had an air of calm. But in the face of adversity, you'd seen him bring men twice his size crashing down the earth. He was the Vagabond Blues band's drummer, although somewhat unofficially he'd become a little more than that lately. It felt like you were recruiting musicians in covert security positions. In lieu of being able to afford to hire actual security.

Nobody fucked with the band. Without the music, the bar was just a sink hole for drinkers and debauched waifs and strays. People who had nothing better to spend their dime on. The music was what kept them from remembering that sobering truth.

"You worry too much, Cookie." Josh said, pulling the cigarette out from your lips as he stood to leave, stealing a drag before he walked out. "You're a mighty woman, but you're still only one person. You should think about letting the reigns out a little with all this."

You shook your head as he tried to return the cigarette.

"Is that an offer, Joshua?" You asked, intrigued.

He'd been growing out his facial hair lately. Trying something new. It suited him, took him further away from looking like his twin. Not that you'd ever considered that they ever looked quite as identical as they could. There was something about him that would never reflect in the other. And it was why you were having this conversation with Josh, and not Jake.

"I could help you, if it was what you really wanted." He shrugged, taking the cigarette down to the butt before stubbing it out in your now over flowing ash tray. "Legit, of course. I'd want to sign contracts and such."

You lent him a knowing grin. "I'll think about it."

You didn't want to be there at the end of the night. This one wasn't going to be the usual. You anticipated some violent fall out and had been on tenterhooks all night. The regulars poured in early, followed by the rag tag revellers that sought out something a little harder than their usual Saturday affairs. The Vagabond Blues could provide that. It had always been a place for outsiders. Something you'd initially taken on the chin, but not when it effected your profits.

Jake was doing his thing. Like a caged animal unleashed, he was pissed off. You could see it in the way his eyes kept searching you out over at the bar, his lips set in a thin line and his nostrils flared. Pissed because he knew he wasn't going to get his way with you tonight. No doubt he knew what was coming.

But the intervention took precedence. You'd called it a "staff meeting" but it wasn't. It was a finger pointing accusation fuelled witch hunt for the profiteering cunt who had been stealing from you. And you were on a knifes edge about it. Jake being pissed at you was the least of your worries.

"Benny and Savannah are outside."

Lutz was the newest barman you'd hired. Didn't know enough of the ropes to know how to stiff them, yet. He was leaning over the bar, empty glasses in his hand, waiting for your response.

"You tell them no fuckery tonight." You replied, shooting your most stern face over towards the saloon door where they waited. "One step out of line at it's a permanent ban."

Lutz nodded and went to give them the good news. Even though you knew, sooner or later, they'd fall foul of breaking the rules again. They always did.

You couldn't help but swing your suspicions around. Watching everyone's movements like a hawk. Lutz was on the periphery, but not completely out of question. Bonnie was someone you'd be damned to accuse, on account of the fact you'd given her the job as a kindness to her sister who had begged you to help give the poor girl some stability before she went completely off the rails. Jerry was your prime suspect. He'd worked the bar the longest. Practically created the ropes, knew the inventory like the back of his hand. But he was older, why do it now? It didn't make no sense. He'd worked there even before you'd taken it over.

It felt like you couldn't fucking take it anymore. Retreating back to your office, slamming the door shut behind you to muffle out the chaos and pulling out a bottle of rum from your desk drawer as you sank into the old couch and kicked off your boots.

You didn't want to think about the damn place. It was already too late to try and pull the knife out of your back. All you wanted to do was sink into an oblivion where nothing and nobody was your responsibility. Least of all drunks and vagabonds.

You knew it wasn't Josh at the door when the knock came far more aggressively than he would've tapped. You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily into the darkness. You just needed a moment to breathe.

"Not right now!" You called, hoping they'd take the hint.

You hadn't noticed the distinct lack of guitar behind the closed door. So when it opened you were surprised to find your lover standing there. You checked the time on the wall clock in the light from the hall outside, certain there was still a few hours of playing time left.

"I said, not right now." You repeated, leaning your head back to try and stave off the headache that was brewing.

Jake closed the door and plunged the room back into relative darkness. The neon light from the sign outside shining in through the broken blinds on the window.

"If not now, then when?" He demanded, leaning on the edge of your desk with his arms folded.

"I aint your girl right now, Jake." You reminded him. "You're clocked in on playing time, I'm your fucking boss until midnight. Get back out there."

He didn't budge. "The fuck you are. Talking about letting Josh help you out. Letting him take care of shit with Sam and Danny. Like I didn't throw those drunken fools out last weekend."

He had no intention of leaving the room without having this conversation. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. What was already turning into a tumultuous night seemed to be leaning straight into being one of the worst nights of your life.

"I really don't need this right now, Jake." You huffed, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I got enough shit from every other fucking employee, I don't need it from you."

You'd never seen him pissed off before. Mildly vexed, perhaps. But not like this. You could see the whites of his eyes and the way his breathing was short. He would back you into a corner, regardless of what you said.

"This isn't about anyone else." He said bluntly, " This is about you and me. And the fact you wont let me fucking help you, even though you know... don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Know, what?"

You'd kicked the hornets nest, now. He stood up and curled his fists until his knuckles were white. His mouth trembling on words he knew he couldn't take back if he let them spill out.

"You're a fucking bitch, Cookie." He snorted, "If you can't see what's under your fucking nose. As if I'd wait for you every damn night just for a casual fuck. It aint about that. I want to see you home safe."

He softened a little. Like admitting it had taken all his strength. And even though you just wanted to be alone, you could feel him reeling you in like he always did. In ways you couldn't see, or smell, or taste. That were completely invisible other than you felt it and always let it take you.

"You know what I need right now, Jake?" You relented, patting the side of the couch next to you. "I need to forget that I run this fucking shit show. I need to forget that it fucking exists. I need to sit here and drink this rum and pretend there's nothing outside this god damn room."

Whatever magnetic force had brought you together in the first place drew him towards you. He was covered in sweat, his shirt saturated and his neck had a glistening sheen as he passed the light of the window.

"There's no happy ending for me, Jake." You whispered in the dark as he sank into the space beside you. "When are you gonna start getting it?"

His jaw was clenched. Half of his face shrouded as he regarded you. You were laid back, bottle in hand. On the verge of crying, but you could never seem to let the tears fall.

"You're full of shit, Cookie." He placed a well meaning hand on your knee. "You're not broken, you don't need fucking saving. Least of all by my fucking brother."

He would've taken anyone else over Josh being the one to step in and save the day. You could see the way it boiled his blood. The way he wanted to be the one to come to your aid.

"You know damn well it's got absolutely nothing to do with me." You explained, slamming the bottle down on the floor and rising to meet his gaze. "Josh doesn't give a fuck about me. He wants a contract, all legit. He's not doing it as a favour. He's gonna take care of the books for me and make sure nothing else goes missing. It's not a security detail, he's not taking people out by the scuff of their necks like you do."

"No, that's what Danny's for." He was adamant, reducing you to a cold and hard silence that you couldn't argue with.

"Why does it matter to you, Jake?" You questioned, "You're paid to play the blues. So play the fucking blues."

You leaned back down and retrieved your bottle. He didn't move. Sat there eyeing you as you tried not to spill the rum down your cleavage.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you're like this?"

You almost choked on it. Coughing on it and sitting back up just to clear your airway of what he'd said.

"You want in on the action? It's out there, not in here."

You could've talked at a brick wall and gotten more sense out of it. He could hear you, but he wasn't listening. And a part of you didn't want him to, anyway. The part of you that needed something to take the edge off where the rum simply wasn't doing the job.

"I beg to differ." He whispered, "Look what you made me do..."

He held your gaze as he took the bottle out of your hand. You swallowed hard. He shuffled closer. Placing your palm against the twitching bulge beneath his jeans.

"You feel that? It's all for you, Cookie. It's always for you."

You weren't sure if you preferred it when he was pissed off. When you could be angry with him and not have to pretend that you weren't falling for him.

"Oh, so now you're not even waiting until closing time?" You wondered, letting it happen regardless.

You could have fought it. But your mood was so low that you didn't want the stinkin' bar anymore. Let it run into the ground. Jake was offering you a way out. Let them knock on the door and see what he does to you after hours.

"Are you going to argue with me about it?" He asked, raising a speculative eyebrow.

"I should." You replied breathily, letting the space between the two of you inch closer. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are barging in here and barking orders at me. Questioning my authority."

His mouth stilled close to yours. Teasing breath from each other, wondering who would be the first to allow their tongue to betray them. Your hand was deftly squeezing his bulge, making him hum onto your lips.

"I just....oh, fuck. I just want to..." He stuttered, letting you keep him close as you slipped his zipper down. "Damn it, Cookie... I just want to keep you safe is all..."

"Mmm'hmmm." You murmured, pulling him out fully hard and pulsating. "I'm a big girl, Jake. I got it covered."

He shoved himself into your palm. Thrusting without mercy or apology, letting you grip him so tight he gasped. And he felt so damn good. There was a rush of moisture to your core, a visceral need to have him as your subordinate.

"You gonna let me have my way?" You asked, snaking your body down until your knees were pressed against the edge of the couch with his thighs on either side of you.

"Looks like you already are." He allowed, freeing himself completely as he watched you in the neon light from outside. "Take what you need, Cookie."

He understood.

As you licked circles around his tip, he gathered up your hair into his fist. You could taste the salt of his pre-cum already, in steady droplets that formed as you swept your tongue across his little slit of an opening. Once he had you in his grasp, you sank his end into your mouth and began sucking on it like a lollypop. Letting his head ride against the wave of your tongue. Listening to him breathe so much deeper, huffing out groans that were getting louder and louder.

"Your mouth feels so fucking good." He told you, in strangled words that came out more like he was struggling for breath. "What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?"

You were done talking about it, thinking about it. Whatever was happening out there wasn't important. The way his cock felt was your focus. The way he stared down at you, the way his jaw was slack. The way his stomach moved up and down as he fought for breath.

"You, Jake."

For a moment he was incredulous. In disbelief that you'd allowed such a sentiment to escape. So were you, holding his cock in your hand as you waited for him to say something that would absolve you of the emotional little slip.

"You wanna slow it down a little bit?" He asked, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "Light a candle or something?"

He was playing with you. Softly, but in a way that made you giggle involuntarily. You fucking hated it, whenever he drew from you things which you weren't prepared to give.

"Why don't you do what you do best and talk me through it, huh?"

You busied yourself with sucking him off. Sinking him back into the depths of your mouth. Rolling your tongue over his head, swirling up and down his shaft. Jerking him off as you swallowed, lifting the underside up so that you could paint a stripe from tip to the curve of his balls.

"You're suckin' that so good I can't...fuck... got me all speechless here, Cookie."

"Distract me." You suggested, his cock resting in the pouch of your cheek as you spoke.

He choked out a deep breath. Tightening the grip on your hair as your head bobbed up and down.

"Ok...ok.... I want you to imagine me bending you over the pool table. I'll get down and eat your ass, stick my tongue right into your little pussy hole... Slap my cock against it and slip into it deep and slow. Just how you like it. Fuck with your nipples a little bit, tug on them while you get fucked. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hummed your approval against his balls. Sucking them into your mouth, letting your tongue slide all over them, your hand keeping him hard and solid. You could picture it in your mind. The empty bar, just you and him like it always was. You were fucking saturated.

"Fill you up with my cum and fuck it back into you. Watch it spill out of your tight little cunt. Oh god, Cookie...I can't hold on."

You spread your knees apart. Fighting to free yourself. Your spit was dripping down his big, thick shaft. You watched it pool with his pre-cum as you practically clawed at your panties. He ate you up as you straddled him on the couch, looking up at you like you were a fucking unicorn.

Nobody had ever looked at you like you were a mythical creature before. Like you were this beautiful, unattainable thing he wanted nothing more than to possess even if it was just for a fleeting moment. He just wanted to own your essence.

Would it be so bad if you let him?

"Sssshhhh..." He placed a finger to your lips, poised to let him penetrate. "You hear that?"

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, throbbing from your head right down to the tip of your hard clit.

"I don't hear anything." You replied dismissively, gripping his base as you lined him up.

He grabbed your hips. "Yeah, exactly."

The silence was deafening as you impaled yourself on him. Bouncing hard, feeling him stretch you mercilessly as you fought for release.

The music had stopped.

"Cum in me, Jake." You demanded, feeling the tide of climax reach for shore. "Cum so fucking hard in me, baby."

What other choice did he have? You were an animal. Determined to fuck him with all the pent up frustration that was threatening to strangle you otherwise. Taking fists of his hair and pulling his head back, kissing him with your tongue so deep into his mouth you could taste what he had for breakfast.

When he couldn't take it any more, he wrapped a cautious hand around your neck and held you steady. Thrusting upwards, violent and so hard you almost lost balance.

"You want me to cum in this pretty little pussy?"

You nodded vacantly.

"Yeah, you do." He whispered viciously, taking away every thread of stress and anxiety that weaved through your nervous system. "You better wear those panties after, want you walking around the place filled with it."

The music had stopped. Above the white noise of your heavy breathing and the blood rushing to your head, you couldn't hear much else. Jake pounded into you until it felt like your mortal coil might spin right off and leave you dead for the sake of a mind blowing orgasm.

You could feel it when he came. The heat and the wetness. And the way he lingered with his tongue at your mouth until you were brutally finished. Sweat drenched and satisfied as he fell back into the couch and let you go.

"Did you realise the music had stopped?" You asked, hastily pulling up your underwear as you climbed off.

Jake ran a palm down the length of his face. "Yeah? The fuck did you think I was going to do, though?"

When the music stopped it only meant one thing. Carnage. And even though he was reluctant, Jake rapidly dressed and followed you out of the office and back into the bar.

You were still trying to straighten yourself out as you walked into the middle of a brawl. Not just a two man show of ego, either. You could already see the blood on the floor, mingled with beer and whiskey. Your muscles felt weightless as you tried to intervene, your body entirely ruined by what you'd just done.

"Break it up!" You screamed, yanking on collars and hair, never quite sure who you were reaching for.

Your previous calm dissipated into fear as you realised you were out of your depth. Crying out for him in the middle of it all. Feeling yourself being jostled and pulled in all directions, slipping on blood and fists flying.

All of a sudden the air shifted from your lungs. You felt yourself being pulled back, everything moving too quickly for your to properly respond. Chairs and tables were being used as weapons. All of it ruined. Everything you'd worked your ass to the bone for.

"Cookie, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

Jake was holding you back. The heat of his body still smelled like the sex you'd just had as he held you close.

"You gotta make them stop, Jake! I can't!" You begged, knowing there and then that you were at the end of the line.

He left you there on the side lines. Distraught and helpless. You watched him disappear into the fray. Terrified, perhaps, for the first time in your life for someone else's safety. You'd never cared much about the fights that had happened there before. It felt like not much really mattered as long as he walked out of it in one piece.

"Just fucking stop!!!" You yelled, certain no one could hear.

All you could do was stand there. And watch. And hope. You could see Danny pummel someone to the ground. Young Sammy was covered in cuts and bruises forming already. You could see the regular fist swingers in there, no doubt nothing to do with the initial cause but they sure did love to pack a punch regardless. Josh was in there too, fighting for breath as he fought off swing after swing.

Where was Jake? You couldn't see him anymore.

Chapter Three: Look at me, Don't look at him... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @klarxtr @myownparadise96 @lipstickitty

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #gvf #josh kiszka #jake gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van smut #fanfic #sam kiszka #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka x reader

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rmd-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Firstprince eating off each others plates! (See my DM about specific vibes if I’m allowed 😂)

I’ve assigned each prompt I received a number and am using a random number generator to choose which prompt to write because I got quite a few from you all! If you’ve sent me one, I promise I will get to it!! Because I’m using these prompts to try to shake words loose after a bout of writer’s block, these are all just whatever I can come up with in ~20min and barely edited 💖

Thanks for the prompt, Ally! Hopefully I’ve captured the vibes you asked for here 🙏🏽

Seeing as it’s Sunday night, I’m taking the opportunity to use this as my seven sentence/snippet Sunday post!

24. Eating off each other’s plates

“Hello, strumpet,” a familiar voice says from the doorway.

Alex twists in his chair to confirm what he knows – Pez is standing in the doorway.

“You look in dire need of an intervention, poppet,” Pez declares as he crosses the room.

“Hey Pez,” Alex says, leaning forward to accept the cheek kiss that Pez offers. “You’re looking fabulous.”

“Always,” he replies, spinning so that Alex can get the full effect of his cropped, lavender hair, floral blouse and tight black jeans cuffed above embossed black patent leather combat boots. “This is an intervention by the way. Henry sent me up, certain that I might have better luck coaxing you out of this den.”

Alex looks around. There are stacks of paper covering his desk, and the floor. As well as textbooks, pens and several empty coffee mugs strewn across his desk.

“I’m studying, I don’t need a fucking intervention,” he insists.

Pez wrinkles his nose. “Oh honey, you do. Trust me. Up you pop! Haz tells me you’ve found some amazing food trucks close by and there are empanadas calling my name.”

—

Alex sits beside Henry, their shoulders and knees pressed together as they eat, while Pez sits across from them moaning obscenely as he eats the empanadas and declares them “the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“High praise, considering the long list of things that have been in your mouth,” Henry says drily.

Pez is clearly delighted by his friend’s response and Alex grins. He loves it when Henry is like this – happy and relaxed enough to let his snarky side out. There are very few people who get to see this side of him, but it might be Alex’s favourite.

Alex had ordered every kind of empanada on offer in rapid-fire Spanish, gesturing at Pez and explaining to the woman behind the counter why he and Henry weren’t just ordering their standard order.

There’s an array of paper boats holding the crescent-shaped pastries on the table and Alex has one in front of him.

“Is that the chorizo?” Henry asks him. Alex nods. “Here, swap, I have your favourite spicy beef ones.”

Alex sucks a bit of filling off the end of his thumb before reaching for the paper tray in front of Henry. He doesn’t miss the way that Henry’s eyes dip to his mouth as he does so, or the way that Henry’s pupils dilate a little. He smirks.

And if he makes sure to get some of the coriander crema on his finger when he dips his empanada into the container so that he can lick it off again, well, no one can prove it was deliberate.

(You can read all of my intimate moments prompts here)

Thanks for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @redshirt2 💖

Tagging @welcometololaland @lightningboltreader @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @rosedavid @lilythesilly @nontoxic-writes @stutteringpeach @inexplicablymine @daisymae-12 (art wip maybe?) @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @stereopticons @kiwiana-writes @carlos-in-glasses @liminalmemories21 @reyesstrand @freneticfloetry @strandnreyes @three-drink-amy @alrightbuckaroo to please leave me with snippets to wake up to??? 💖

#firstprince fic #rwrb fic #rwrb #firstprince #snippet Sunday #rmd writes #rmd writes: rwrb snippet #intimate moments prompts #prompt fill

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peterfields · 1 year ago

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Get inspired! Today with...

-Valle Overshirt by @portugueseflannel

-Beanie - wine by @lebonnetamsterdam

-Socks Wool Bungalow - beige by @chupsocks

-Leather Pen Case and Brass Ballpoint Pen by @the_superiorlabor

-Round Brass Tray by @foglinenwork

-Solid Brass Anchor by @smoky_sumis_store_

-Brass Ruler and Brass Pencil by @travelers_company

-Bullet Ballpoint Pen Perfection by @penco_jpn

#menswear #inspiration #mensfashion

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lovelylogans · 1 year ago

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the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: epilogue

Two very similar boys help their two very different families assimilate into one.

⁂

“Aw, Pa, do we have to?”

Patton—still entirely unused to driving on the left side of the road and therefore relegated to the passenger’s seat—gives Remus a Look through the rearview mirror.

“Even if this wasn’t suggested by the lawyer to clearly illustrate the harm that judge had on your upbringing, yes, I absolutely would have pushed for this on my own.”

“It’s a big upheaval in your lives, anyway,” Janus says, absently reaching over to pat Patton’s hand as he cranes his neck to watch for incoming traffic. “Too right you should have someone to talk to that isn’t related to you.”

“Or Virgil.”

“Or Virgil,” Janus amends. “And before either of you get any ideas, if you absolutely hate it there: fine. We shall find another child psychologist. But if you prank your way out of there, then that means you’re going to another child psychologist and your time in therapy will increase, as pranking the people you dislike is not a healthy way to express your feelings.”

The twins exchange a look.

Patton hopes that look means darn, any potential plan is foiled! but even he can see that there’s still some mischief brewing in those matching heads of theirs.

But any complaints are cut short by Janus pulling into the parking lot; sorry, the car park, he’s still getting used to all that.

Patton and Janus herd the boys in; they shuffle in, all together, to a cozy-looking if slightly bland waiting room, the other three taking up all the seats on the available couch as Patton approaches the front desk.

“Hi,” Patton says. “Appointment for Remus and Roman, under Parker-James?”

“Parker-James?” The person at the desk says, flipping through their agenda calendar. “Remus and Roman Parker-James… yes, I have you right here, he should be ready pretty soon…”

Janus flips through a spare copy of Vogue; the boys play some kind of hand-slapping game they must have learned at camp; Patton pretends to read the magazine in his hands while watching them both out of the corner of his eyes.

“Parker-James?” A voice calls from inside the office.

All four of them stand and make their way into the room.

The room is set up in mostly earth-tones; brown couches, leather armchair, nice wooden bookshelves stocked up with the books chock full of the latest therapeutic breakthroughs, a few plants tucked away in the corners.

The pops of color come from the cartoon decor; little figurines, paintings, a few stuffed animals tucked into strategic locations. Rubber ducks and Disney heroines and plucky child protagonist and superheroes, stretch as far as the eye can see.

And there’s a great tarp set up on the floor and transparent plastic wrapped over the chairs, hanging in front of the bookshelves with their decorations and books, with a variety of incredibly tempting, messy-looking acrylic paints ripe for any child to cause chaos.

“Hello there, boys,” the therapist says with a smile, setting aside his pen and notebook. “I’m Dr. Emlie Picani. I’ll be your therapist. Do either of you enjoy painting?”

The boys exchange a look, this one much less loaded with mischief, but both nod.

“Good!” Dr. Picani says. “Me too. I’d like this first session to be much less formal—and don’t worry if you get a bit messy with it, I’ve got all these tarps laid out and I believe your Dads have brought spare clothes if necessary. And, on that note—Dads, if you’ll take your leave?”

“Be good,” Janus says, smoothing a hand over Remus’s then Roman’s hair.

“Have fun, boys!” Patton says, and they take their leave.

Patton has a pretty good feeling about this.

⁂

“All right, Remus?”

“All right,” Remus says, getting pretty used to the way the British exchange this particular pleasantry. “Uncle Logan’s sent down—”

“Ah, a cuppa!” Grandfather exclaims, taking tray off Remus’s hands. “Now, I’ll be mother—would you like one?”

“What is it?” Remus says.

“Earl grey, looks like,” Roman says, taking his nose out of the book he’s reading long enough to look.

“Yeah, I’ll have one,” Remus says, flopping onto one of the numerous couches in the study. “Thanks, Grandpa Toby.”

Grandfather putters about with the tray for a moment, taking a moment to add something to his—Remus spies the amber-colored liquid in the glass bottle Grandfather keeps in an isolated place where the children can’t reach it.

“Here you are, Roman, bit of honey—Remus, yours with enough sugar to kill me—”

“No brandy?” Remus says, giving Grandfather a hopeful look.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, as if he didn’t literally just sneak away a healthy slug into his own teacup. “You’ll stick to your wines, and you’ll have to ask your fathers to indulge in that, besides.”

Remus considers this. “How many years until that wavers?”

Grandfather pauses.

“When you’re eighteen!” Roman squawks.

“Yes, certainly,” Grandfather says with an approving nod to Roman. “When you’re eighteen. That’s the responsible answer.”

Roman nods in satisfaction and returns his attention to his book.

“When I’m twelve?” Remus whispers.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, just as quietly.

“Thirteen.”

“No.”

“Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“...Eighteen.”

“Oh, puh-lease, as if you didn’t have moments of underage drinking, you can’t judge me for wanting to try things.”

Grandfather pauses, then waggles his hand side-to-side.

“Knew it,” Remus mutters, and he picks up a section of Grandfather’s newspaper. The sports section—Remus has been told in very certain terms about which teams the Jameses do and do not support, but it’s all gone in one ear and out the other—and pretends to read the articles while he really keeps an eye out to see if they’ve put any of the fun, rude chants in the paper.

(Tragically, no.)

And so they sit in silence, sipping their tea and reading their individual pieces of interest, and neither twin breathes a word to their fathers when their Grandfather cracks open the study window and busies himself with packing his pipe the instant the tea is done and spends the afternoon merrily smoking away.

⁂

Janus had initially been surprised that Patton had so willingly gone along with his insistence on filing a legal custody arrangement, even though they were once again back together.

The Patton he married nearly a dozen years ago probably would have insisted it wasn’t necessary, that they were together now and there was no point in it, but the Patton of today had fervently agreed and pored over the agreement with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb.

A decade without one of your sons was enough to change a person, Janus supposed.

Even if Patton tended to call it the Worst Case Scenario document.

“Okay,” Janus says, examining it. “Each boy returns to their original schooling, if necessary.”

“Even year summers are mine; odd year summers are yours,” Patton says. “The boys spend your birthday with you, and my birthday with me, when possible.”

“You have American Thanksgiving, always, which would mean I would always Bonfire Night.”

“Even year Christmas-and-Boxing-Days are yours; even year New Year’s are mine.”

“And Easters and other minor holidays in which the boys have a break from schooling alternate, with potential to revise the custodial arrangement until the boys are eighteen, at which point they’ll be free to spend holidays as they choose.”

They examine the paperwork in silence.

“Do you think we missed anything?” Janus says.

“I don’t think so,” Patton says uncertainly. “I’m sure Remy will tell us if we did.”

“Yes, that he would,” Janus says.

They stare at the paperwork some more.

“And now,” Patton says. “To file it away with Remy and hope we never need it.”

“To hope we never need it,” Janus agrees fervently, and Patton leans in for a kiss.

⁂

Not to be dramatic, but Remus has been dying from excitement looking forward to this moment literally since the moment their parents decided to send Remus to Roman’s fancy British school.

The fact that he has to wear a suit and tie kind of sucks, though. But it’s kind of nice that he’s going to be in all the same classes as Roman, if solely to spend more time teasing his brother and nothing else sentimental.

The school is smaller than Remus’s public California school; it’s all red brick and ivy, with a SOCCER field out back, a little bit outside of the edges of the city proper. He rides on the bus (also new—Virgil usually drove him to and from school, back home) and Roman escorts him to the office to make sure all of their paperwork is filed, like Dad told him to.

It is—he has to do hardly anything, just carry a form for his new teacher to fill out. He ignores whatever map they’re offering and just falls into step behind Roman.

The teacher meets him in the hall, signs his form, and goes into the classroom to introduce him.

Remus smiles to himself. Excellent. A dramatic entrance.

“Class,” the teacher says. “We have a new student this year—a Mr. Remus Parker, from California, in America. Come in, Remus, we can find a place for you next to your brother.”

Remus walks in, to whispers of wow, Roman has a twin! and American?! unhearing to all of it, his eyes searching the room for one familiar face.

He finds it.

All of the blood has drained from Dick Davies’s face, making him look even more pale and awful than usual. He’s slithered down in his chair, looking moments away from letting out a pathetic, awful whimper.

Remus offers his most bloodthirsty, shit-eating grin.

He does find a spot near Roman—near the back of the room, which is excellent. None of his American teachers would have made that mistake.

He waits until class is underway before he starts making mischief.

Like fucking Spalding he writes on a piece of paper, crumpling it into a ball, which he proceeds to chuck, full-strength, at the back of Davies’s head. Davies picks it up, frowning, and reads.

He lets out a really undignified squawking noise, which gets him giggled at by his classmates and scolded by their teacher. Roman grins sheepishly into his notebook, exchanging a look with Remus.

Yeah, Remus thinks. It’s going to be a fun year.

⁂

Janus loves London dearly.

He was born and raised there; he’s raising his children there. London is like another member of the family.

But Napa was certainly very nice at this time of year.

Janus lets out a pleased sigh at the sight of the sun, hands braced on the balcony railing as he looks over the vineyard sprawling below them.

“You’re like a cat,” a familiar voice says behind him, amused.

Janus smiles, but he doesn’t turn to see his visitor; instead, he simply theatrically tilts his face into the sunrays, taken up by the sweet, simple treasure of his body inundated by the sun’s glow.

“Sitting in the little sunspots and soaking up all the warmth,” Patton continues, pressing his lips to the nape of Janus’s neck; Janus can feel him smiling there.

“The boys are off,” Patton murmurs. “You’ll probably see them galloping out if you stand here long enough.”

Janus grins. “I’m sure Roman’s eager for the excuse to dress up as a proper countryman.”

“They look pretty cute in the flannels,” Patton says, and he wraps his arms around Janus’s waist. “You do, too.”

“It is yours.”

“Ah, that must be part of it,” Patton murmurs, and Janus laughs.

“I’m sure you were probably coming to soak up the sun before you return to the frigidity of London.”

“Well, I won’t lie—that’ll definitely be a nice part of being here again,” Patton says.

“And the other part?”

Patton presses another kiss to his neck, more lingering, more heated.

“Nice big house,” Patton says, “I think we’re the only ones in it” and Janus laughs; even after all these years, Patton can barely bring himself to say anything past the implication of innuendo.

“All right, then,” Janus says, turning to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck. “Bring me in we’ll do our best to keep each other warm.”

And Patton, pulling him along to their bedroom, certainly does.

⁂

“I guess there’s a lot to do on a vineyard this time of year.”

Roman surveys the grape vines, buzzing with employees and tourists alike, from his place tucked amidst the trees, atop Sprout. He is—once again—wearing the full wannabe cowboy outfit: flannel shirt, jeans, boots that Papa got for him practically as soon as they arrived in California, and his truly excellent cowboy hat.

Remus—a more experienced rider and therefore permitted to ride Papa’s Cinnamon—looks over at him with an expression that reads duh.

He’s also in jeans and boots, but he’s wearing a band t-shirt with one of Virgil’s old flannels thrown over the top, and a black cowboy hat. Basically the all-black, goth-equivalent of Roman’s red-and-white, wannabe-cowboy outfit.

Roman decides to read it as fond, reasserting his grip on the reins. “It is nice to feel warm weather, though.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Remus says. “I’ve never seen snow like I’ve seen in London—and it doesn’t even stick around very long! All the cars water it down to gray slush—”

“—and Dad and Uncle Logan would not be pleased it you started tracking that inside,” Roman says hastily, lest Remus resume his ideas of dirty snow snowball fights. Roman does not want to deal with slush down the back of his newest jumpers, thank you.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Remus sighs, waving him off, and turning his face to the Napa sun. Weak as it is, Roman thinks, it’s certainly much warmer here than it is back home in London, where carolers and bell-ringers have set up shop on practically every corner.

It’s not their first time back in Napa since their parents resumed their romance, but they are here for the longest; they’ll be back in London in time for Christmas, Boxing Day, and New Years’ with Grandfather, but the James-Parkers have decided to take advantage of the stretch of much better weather down in Napa while the pair of them are off school.

So: plentiful horse rides in the vineyard, getting up the courage to maybe splash around the much chillier pool, occasional jaunts into nearby cities and towns, baking cookies with Virgil and Uncle Logan.

Roman’s really looking forward to it.

“You know,” Roman says, contemplative. “The last time I was around this spot, Papa was trying to tell me he was going to marry Maddox?”

Remus makes a dreadful gagging noise. “Ugh, could you imagine?”

“I bet we’d be stuffing his Christmas cookies full of cinnamon so he’d choke on them.”

“Stuffing his stocking with dead fish!”

“Wrapping up a list of numbers for divorce lawyers as a present for Papa!”

“Pushing him out on an iceberg with the penguins!”

They both crack up at the memory of Maddox flailing in the middle of the lake.

“I’m really glad our fathers sent us to the same camp.”

“Ugh,” Remus complains, then, “yeah, I guess I am too.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while. There are a few birds, perhaps on their way south for the winter, chirping quietly in the trees. The distant murmur of people in the fields reaches them in a hush. The fields are less verdant than it was in the true depths of summer, but everything here is certainly much greener than anything in London. The scent of wildflowers wafts on the slight breeze, distant but there.

It’s really very nice.

Then:

“Raceya!” Remus shouts, and him and Cinnamon are off like a shot.

“Hey, no fair!” Roman yelps, digging his heels into Sprout’s side, and they speed off after his brother, kicking up dust behind them.

⁂

Logan thinks that Janus has placed a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway leading from kitchen to dining room solely for the purpose of attacking Patton with kisses whenever he goes to get everyone more wine.

Not that Logan is complaining. It works to his advantage, too.

Logan waits, quiet, as the sink shuts off, as the last cabinet closes, and then he takes a purposeful step forward.

Just in time to catch Virgil coming back from washing the dishes.

“Oh,” Logan says. “Look at that. We’ve been caught under the mistletoe.”

Virgil grins at him. “Accidentally, I’m sure.”

“Was I being too subtle? No, I want to kiss you.”

Virgil laughs. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Merry Christmas, Virgil,” Logan whispers back, and Virgil leans in, pressing their lips together, Logan leaning back against the doorframe and wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck.

They thoroughly fulfill the criteria of kissing under the mistletoe.

⁂

It’s almost weirder to Patton that he isn’t experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

Sure, it’s his second wedding day; sure, it’s in the same place as it was last time; sure, it’s to the same man, but other than that, there isn’t much else that’s the same.

For one thing, their relatives have managed to make it this time, Patton’s dearest regret of eloping the way he did; his sister, Linda, is standing beside Janus’s father, their heads bent together, discussing something very intently.

Their boys, in matching suits of white—Remus with a basket of flower petals, an errant rose probably plucked from a floral arrangement stuck behind his ear. Roman holds the rings, smiling up at Patton.

(They’d considered the boys for the opposite jobs—Roman surely would have liked to be tossing flower petals everywhere—but then Patton thought priceless wedding rings and Remus’s brand of mischief and they’d quickly swapped them around.)

Patton smiles back at his son, reaching down to ruffle his hair, thinking better of it, and instead squeezing his shoulder.

“You ready, Pat?” Virgil murmurs from his rightful place at Patton’s side as his best man.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready,” Patton confesses, adjusting the lapels of his silver-gray suit jacket, mindful not to crush his boutonniere of a tiny, pale pink rose and white alstroemerias. “I should be more nervous, right? I should be nervous, but I’m just really excited.”

A corner of Virgil’s lip quirks up, his eyes straying back toward where Logan is ducking back to see to any of Janus’s last-minute needs.

“Or maybe,” Patton suggests innocently, “all this talk of weddings is maybe leading you to think about…?”

Virgil laughs, a nervous, gleeful giggle, as Remus blitzes down the aisle, pelting anyone and everyone with rose petals.

“What, your wedding could make me think about my potential wedding?”

“Maybe you should,” Patton says, “think about a potential wedding, I mean” and Virgil snorts.

Roman gives Virgil an excited look at the thought of another occasion for fancy outfits, and he has to prodded into remembering his entrance timing by Vendela.

“How about we get through this wedding before we start worrying about another one?” Virgil says.

Patton grins, links arms with Linda—Janus’s father has gone back to join Logan and Patton’s once-groom-now-groom-again—and waves Virgil off on his walk down the aisle.

And now Linda squeezes his arm, rubbing up and down.

“Last chance to back out,” Linda jokes, her brown eyes and tan skin accentuated by the pale rose gown and matching shawl that Janus has put her in.

“Not on your life,” Patton says, breathless and giddy, which makes Linda laugh.

“Ready?” Vendela murmurs and, before he can answer, she says “and go” and suddenly Linda’s walking him down the aisle.

He feels a little awkward with everyone’s eyes on him, but he finds it’s easy enough to tune it out when he smiles and waves to his friends and family—the folks who help him at the vineyard, cousins and aunts and uncles, friends from school and beyond.

He finds it easiest of all when he focuses on the end of the aisle: the officiator, Virgil with his hands behind his back, smiling at him fondly; and his boys, handsome in their not-quite-matching white suits, discreetly elbowing each other.

When they reach the aisle, Linda stands to kiss him on the cheek.

“Love you,” she murmurs.

“Love you too.”

She departs to her seat. Patton takes a moment to once again squeeze Roman’s shoulder and to ruffle Remus’s already-messy hair before he stands at the altar, staring down the aisle.

It somehow takes forever and also just a moment before Janus makes his entrance.

And Patton loses the air from his very lungs.

Janus—handsome, always—seems to have moved from beautiful to ethereal.

He’s stunning, wearing a self-made suit with a tailcoat in all white, from his intricately-knotted tie to his shining white oxfords, except for the soft patch of pink over his heart that denotes his boutonniere that matches Patton’s.

Patton blinks out the first of many, many joyful tears of the day.

Patton can barely notice the way Logan is smiling shyly at Virgil.

(He does notice, in fairness. But it’s very difficult to not be staring at his ex-husband/husband-to-be.)

Janus smiles at him, that familiar wicked curve of his mouth, the port wine birthmark across his cheek, those mesmerizing eyes, and Patton beams back, cheeks aching and sure that he looks very silly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

At last, at long last, Janus’s father kisses Janus on the cheek, gives Patton a very firm handshake, and goes to offer the boys a paternal pat on the shoulders before he finds his seat beside Linda.

Logan ascends, taking a brief moment to give Virgil an unchoreographed kiss on the cheek before he flees back to his place.

But then Janus is standing before him, smiling. He’s so handsome. He’s so incredible. He’s so happy that this is the father of his children, the man he’s married once, the man he’s going to marry again.

Janus offers his hands. Patton seizes them, squeezing hard, almost blinded by his happy tears.

“I love you,” is all Patton can say, murmured under the swell of music.

“I love you too,” Janus whispers back, under the rustle of everyone sitting down again.

He can hear Roman’s daydreamy sigh and can only hope that Remus will suppress the urge to go “UGHHH” at an inopportune time in the ceremony.

“Ready?” The officiator murmurs. Patton and Janus nod, not taking their eyes off each other, and the officiator turns on his microphone.

“Friends, family, and loved ones, we are gathered here today…”

Janus squeezes his hands. Patton smiles at him.

Yeah.

They’re ready.

previous chapter | masterpost

#my fic #my fanfic #tpt fic

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b0n3s-is-gay · 2 years ago

Note

Can I please request a Levi x reader fic (reader is not a cadet - either same rank, doctor or civilian) where they get caught with Levi pleasuring reader by some cadet who either has feelings for reader or Levi

Ah yes my lovely Anon, you ask and you shall receive! \(￣︶￣*\))

Sorry, it took awhile, I got caught up in School and Travel

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Love is in the heart and mouth

Tags: Smut, fingering, soft levi, Semi-public sex (his office), Oral (F! receving), caught in the act, Captain Reader, Established relationship

Synopsis: While you and Levi are having a little fun spread out on the desk that held his paper work. Until, his cadet Petra Ral, Walks in with her cups of tea.

18+ under the cut

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I knocked on the door to Levi's office and waited on him to open the door. His quiet footsteps rang out from under the door till he opened it. "Hey Y/n, what do you need? cause if it's not important then I'll have to get back to work." I smiled and walked into the office after him and pulled up a chair next to him.

"Why don't I help you do your paper work? I've already finished all my work, Levs." I said while picking up a pen and started working on it. Levi stalled for a second and continued his work.

We kept at this for an hour till he rested his palm on my thigh. "What are you doing Lev's?" I asked while turning towards him. Levi smiled and pinched the meat of my thigh. I shrugged it off as I continued on with his work.

The more I got done, the higher his hand traveled. I stopped and looked at him. He'd quit working and was just smirking as he watched my face. "Levi, let's get this done then we can have fun." I said as I felt him pick me up and set me on his work desk full of paper work.

"Levi, please. Can we just get the work don- Mmph!" I was cut off by a kiss from his soft lips. He chuckled as kissed me again. I looked at him with a pout on my face. "You're so cute when you pout dear." Levi whispered.

I watched as he swiftly undid my uniform. "Y'know, I will never get used to the fact that you're mine and I am yours. It's kinda hard to accept" Levi said as he bit into me. "Y-you'll get used to it! I p-promise." I whimpered.

Levi chuckled as he kept biting me while slowly thrusting his fingers into my core. I moaned out as I felt his fingers work there magic inside my sopping hole. "F-fuck Lev's you're doing so good for me~" I praised him while softly stroking his arms and chest. his head rested against my chest as he fucked his fingers deeper into me.

I smiled as I pet his head as he lowered himself down. "Go on dear, It's alright. I know you'll do great." I praised him as he ground his hips into his leather chair. He looked up at me as he licked a stripe up my folds.

"Okay, now you're just being an AsS- AaH!" I looked down at him and watched his face. Levi smiled as he attacked my clit with his warm tongue. He may not look like it, but the cheeky fuck knows how to use his mouth.

"Levi, we have to stop. Someone could walk in... Hah~ S-stop while your ahead Levs." I whimpered out as I peered at the door. Levi ignored me as he kept trying to please me.

I looked back at him and forgot about my pleas to stop as his tongue hit the right spot. "F-FUUUCK! Levi, that feels so fucking good!" I grabbed his head as my eyes rolled back. Levi groaned as my grip on his hair tightened. I laughed at him as he kept licking and sucking at my core.

"Hey Captain Levi, I brought you some te- ..." I whipped my head around and saw one of the cadets under me and Levi, Cadet Petra Ral. She had a tray of tea that fell to the ground with a clatter.

"Cadet Ral, please leave. You are dismissed, we will talk about this later." Petra saluted as she walked out the door. I sighed as I sat up and looked down at Levi.

"Don't say it-" Levi groaned as he covered his face with his left hand. I smirked as I looked at him. "I told you so-" I said as I fixed my uniform. Levi playfully rolled his eyes as he grabbed my hand.

"But the rush of getting caught is what makes it fun, No?" I sighed and kissed him. "Now lets get that shit off my floor and pray to the walls that my cup isn't broken."

"What about Cadet Ral? We still got to talk to her." Levi looked at me for a second. He was thinking as he swept up what was broken and saved what wasn't.

"Double cleaning for not knocking, 40 laps for breaking my fine china, and two hand written apology notes addresed to both of us. Sound good?" Levi asked. I nodded as I grabbed his tea cup. "Hey, the walls heard your prayers! Your cup is fiiiine."

#attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi attack on titan #attack on titan fandom

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littlecarnet · 4 months ago

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Some gifts I got for myself were for my apothecary/tea trunk shown here. The new items are a white marble mortar and pestle, a wooden tray to transfer herbs to the little teakwood bowl, and wood spoons. A portable glass borosilicate tea kettle and flowering tea in rose and chamomile in cute glass vials. The teas and raw materials in the glass jars are from years of collecting from my own garden or wild foraged. The little booklet holds all my recipes and favorite mixes, and the white folded things are cotton teabags for infusions and such. Tea mixing is part of my self care rituals. The process of mixing, the smells, tastes, or using them in beauty products or medicine is satisfying.

Fun fact: Traditionally in my mother's culture, a young woman was taught basic herbal medicine as part of her skill set as an adult, which can also include embroidery, musical talent, poetry, leather working, wild foraging, budgeting the home and business, and in much older times, divination, astronomy, proficiency in using a weapon and falconry. It's said the more skills a woman knew, signified her family's high status and a higher dowry.

I have powdered incense like this already, but not the tools. These are a lovely brass. They'll get a lot of use this winter, when I typically use incense. Making incense is part of my self care rituals just like tea mixing. The process of milling herbs into powder to roll or turn into cones with makko powder, then to dry and burn later is very therapeutic.

My mom got me a Five Year Memory journal, something I spotted at a bookstore while we were shopping. The other gifts are things she collected for me leading up to my birthday. The bracelet is really pretty, made in Nepal and ceramic scarab charm. A brass African sun coin (a sun sign since I'm a Leo), a trilobite replica, and jewelers loupes.

Art supplies I got: A soft cover floral journal with a pen pouch, a mini sketchbook, a basic set of Daniel Smith split primary watercolor set, and a watercolor journal with watercolor pigment incorporated into the pages themselves!

I've eyed these for so long! These paints have been used in nearly every Ghibli film and a lot of other high profile studios in Japan. I've always wanted to try my hand at these. I heard they have properties of both watercolor and gouache.

#birthday gifts #sorry for the delay #i wanted to wait until i got all my deliveries in before sharing everything #i still need to photograph the ginkgo trees i was given too #yes two of them #there's a reason for that ill explain later

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heottokes · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

“i’ll love you the way you deserved to be loved.” to my dear changkyun, you were my first friend, my first love, and now my first goodbye. these are my letters to you.

word count: 16k

꒰ m.list ➭ before ꒱

Since I’ve said my peace, I can finally walk down this aisle and promise myself a new beginning; a new fate; a new life without you. I’m finally moving on. So, tell me, why after all these years am I seeing your face again?

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

Falling in love with your best friend and writing handwritten letters made you feel like your life is a cliché B-rated rom-com movie. You had been writing your letters to Changkyun for the past couple of months. Every now and then you would dedicate your time to release your feelings on pen and paper. It was exhausting to say the least. First, you had to understand your feelings into words besides pterodactyl screams, ugly crying and cuss words. Second, your hand needed to function long enough to get everything out in one go – which doesn’t happen, so you’ve resorted on taking notes on your phone and then transferring them on paper when you get the chance. And lastly, you had to keep this a secret from your nosy roommate who had free access to visit your room at any time. You managed to survive and here you were, the letters neatly sealed in an envelope with no address to send it to. Maybe you didn’t think this through. Maybe it was for the best that you didn’t know. You didn’t write these letters for a response or answers. He doesn’t need to know how you feel. You just wanted closure. You just wanted a proper goodbye. Besides, you had no idea where Changkyun was much less where he lived.

As you held the letters in your hands, Jooheon messaged you. You almost shiver at the timing. Jooheon never brought Changkyun up since he held you for days that summer but if anyone were to be in contact with Changkyun, it would be him. Oh well, it couldn’t hurt to ask. You sent Jooheon a text asking him to come over.

You opened your first letter to read over again. Although he brought you a great amount of pain, you can’t help but smile as you reminisced. It was bittersweet. The memories you had with Changkyun were only good ones; the fact that he became a memory wasn’t. You were deep in your thoughts you didn’t hear Jaebum’s knock until you saw your door crack open. In a hurry, you scramble to hide your letters. You spread your arms across the papers to cover as many words as possible you can from Jaebum. He raises his eyebrow at you. “Bad timing?” His eyes are already calculating your form.

“No!” Not suspicious at all. “I mean, no – what’s up?” He glances at the papers on your desk. You stand up stuffing the papers in their envelopes as quickly as you can. You put the envelopes in the filing tray by your desk facing down – a detail you hope Jaebum doesn’t recognise. “I was just cleaning up.” You give him a smile. “What’s up?”

“I was just letting you know I was heading out.” Jaebum gave you a meaningful look – one, you both made to let the other know that you were not coming home tonight. You nodded not one bit phased and started tidying up your desk. Jaebum doesn’t say a word and closes your door once again. You sigh in relief and fix up the letters in the envelope.

Half an hour later you hear Jaebum get the door as you get up from the couch to make room for Jooheon. The two exchange pleasantries. “I brought Chinese.” Jooheon showed off once he saw you. “It’s only for two though, sorry Jae.” Jooheon says over his shoulder.

“All good. I was about to head out anyway.” Jaebum shrugs as he puts his leather jacket on. “Don’t wait up.” He says to you, and you mumble a ‘see you’ not even looking his way as you sit back down on the couch to watch your current favourite series.

Jooheon watches the two of you until Jaebum closes the door behind him. You tore your eyes away from the TV at the sound of Jooheon’s sigh. “I don’t know how you can have such a relationship with him.”

You smile as he joins you on the couch and you open the container. “Not my fault you’re too possessive to share Honey.” You teased him with a wink.

“Call me old-fashioned or a prude but a casual open relationship is not my style.” Jooheon turns his nose up at the idea.

You poke his dimple making him smile which made his dimple deeper. “I don’t think you’re either. You’re just a romantic. It’s good, there’s few out there nowadays. Too many scarred and broken to want to love like that anymore.” You said without any real meaning behind your words. It was just an observation of how society became.

Jooheon wasn’t as observant as Jaebum or Changkyun but that doesn’t change the fact that Jooheon knows you very well. He is your oldest friend after all. He understands there could be a meaning behind your words, and he didn’t like it one bit. “You’re not too scarred or broken to love, y/n.”

You give him a light smile brushing off the idea. “I wasn’t talking about me, Honey.” He frowns not believing you but lets the subject go anyway.

━━━☆

It had been a couple of hours since Jooheon came over when you decided to rip the band-aid off. You two had an old drama that was popular when you were younger playing in the background while you two talk. The opening song for the next episode started to play when you decided to ask, “Have you kept in contact with Changkyun?”

Jooheon’s eyes bulge out of its sockets at your question. If he was drinking water, he would have choked on it. You would have laughed if it wasn’t for the weight on your chest from the question. Jooheon stopped gaping at your sudden question trying to regain composure. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I have.” He answers in a whisper almost like he was ashamed to tell you.

You didn’t know why you wanted to cry. You didn’t feel betrayed by Jooheon – Changkyun was his friend as much as he was yours. Maybe even more of his friend than yours. He has every right to continue to be friends with him. But you had mixed feelings and a lot more questions now. “Can you do me a favour? Can you send him something for me? I’ll pay for postage.”

“Y/n,” You can hear the disapproval and sadness in his voice.

“I don’t want to talk to him. I’m not ready for that just yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but I need to do this for me.” For the second time of the night, Jooheon shuts his mouth knowing there was no point in convincing you otherwise. If this was what you needed to heal and he could help with that, then that’s what he’ll do. He wraps his arm around you as you both turn your attention to the TV, but you couldn’t focus on anything else after that.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

SEVEN MONTHS LATER.

Today was the day. You had no idea the day would come so soon but it has, and you are excited for it. It has been a long time coming. You can see everyone waiting in their seats for the bride to walk in. “Are you nervous?” Jooheon whispers to you.

“No, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” You reassure yourself and him. He smiles giving your hand a squeeze before walking down the aisle with his paired bridesmaid. You let out a heavy breath to steel your nerves as you wait for your turn.

When did time move so fast? You swore you could still remember the feeling of the steel benches you had to sit on in your high school cafeteria. You can still remember the faint ringing of team spirit for the football team when you close your eyes. You can still remember the sound of the clock ticking a little too loudly when the class was boring and dragging for way too long. But that time is long past, that is made apparent by this new milestone. You started walking down the aisle feeling nostalgic. Your eyes meet familiar faces, and you share a smile. Everyone is sharing the same warmth and glee as you. It was a day filled with happiness. You look ahead to finally see the groom in question. He is someone you treasured and adored for years. He is the person that deserves this love and happiness the most. He should be the happiest one standing at the altar at this moment. So why is he looking at you with what looks like apprehension? Is he worried about you? There wasn’t any reason to worry anymore. Since you said your peace and had your closure, you can finally walk down this aisle and promise yourself a new beginning; a new fate; a new life without him. You felt elated at your new resolution. You held your head high as you reached the end of the altar. You stand in your place facing the guests. You were finally moving on.

So, why is it after all these years are you seeing his face when you search the crowd? Why when you're finally moving on, is he right in front you making all your emotions flood right back? You felt your throat close as your eyes landed on the second row at the groom’s side. There was no mistaking it; you knew those deep watchful eyes from anywhere. Changkyun was right before your eyes after all these years, and he was looking straight at you. Your heart felt heavy with pain at his presence, but you feel butterflies in your stomach from his stare. This was not supposed to happen. Today marked your fresh start. Why was he here? Is that why Hoseok is looking at you like that? Someone’s head overshadows Changkyun breaking your eye contact. It was Chansoo trying to get your attention waving at you and smiling widely. You found yourself giving him a small smile and wave to not distract the rest of the guests. You watch Chansoo beam and whisper to Changkyun who didn’t tear his gaze away from you. It seemed to all fall in place. It wasn’t that surprising if Hoseok had invited Chansoo to his wedding given the two were classmates and close friends in high school but that didn’t explain why Changkyun was with him. You turn your attention to Hoseok who was watching you the entire time. You watch him mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ while he sported his infamous puppy-dog eyes. You give a smile to ease him. Today wasn’t about you or Changkyun, you needed to remind yourself and Hoseok of that fact.

━━━☆

As happy as you are for Hoseok, you couldn’t focus on the ceremony at all. How could you when Changkyun is only a couple of feet away? You were stiff the entire time. You had to strain yourself to focus on the couple in front of you because you knew you would start crying if you were to look at him one more time. Changkyun, however, was the opposite. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He was taking notice of what had changed since he last saw you. It was the first time he had seen you with coloured hair – he thinks it suits you. You looked more mature, which made sense, but you had a different air around you which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he watched you walk down the aisle so confidently, he had the wind knock out of him. A flood of emotions went through him; regret that he couldn’t watch you become the woman you are now, melancholy as he is reminded of the memories he shared with you, and trepidation at the thought of what he would say to you and what you would say to him.

“I, now, pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The infamous line breaks you out of your daze just as Hoseok kisses his wife. You joined everyone in cheering for the two – finally feeling a sense of happiness since you’ve seen Changkyun. You dare to look at him as the couple walk down the aisle to see he’s still looking at you. You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t even find it in you to give him a small smile and he couldn’t either. It was painfully awkward. Luckily, it wasn't long until it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

Jooheon meets you in the middle of the aisle confusing your partners, but he links arms with you without hesitating. “You saw him, right?” Jooheon whispers as you pass the man in question.

His eyes never leave your form as you continue to look ahead. “How could I not?” You answered with gritted teeth. “Did he receive my letters?”

Jooheon nodded which made you swear under your breath. “Didn’t you want him to read it?”

“Of course, but that’s because I thought I would never see him again in my life.” You sigh as you wait in the lobby for the photographer to call you back to take photos.

“Isn’t this good though? You guys can talk about what happened.”

You turn towards Jooheon to make sure no one can hear your conversation. “I’m not interested in talking about what happened Honey. I just wanted to say everything I didn’t get to say and be done with it.”

Jooheon’s eyebrows furrows in confusion. He understood where you were coming from, but he couldn’t help but think you were being selfish. “How is that fair on Changkyun, y/n?”

“How was it fair on me, Jooheon?!” You snapped before you could stop yourself. The people close to you look your way. You turn to Jooheon in a quieter voice. “Let’s just drop it. Just not today, okay?”

“You always want to drop it, y/n. Not today, not ever.” Jooheon rolls his eyes finally letting out the truth.

You frowned. “It’s Seokie’s wedding Jooheon. There’s a time and a place.”

“Really? Because in these past five years there didn’t seem to be such a thing?” You are shocked at Jooheon’s sudden frustration about the subject. During the past years, he had done nothing but avoid the topic. Clearly it wasn’t because that’s what he thought was the best but because he knew he couldn’t talk to you about it. “You’re not the only one that had a lot to say, y/n.” Jooheon says.

You gritted your teeth. “He was the one that left without a word. Not me.” Before Jooheon could argue further the photographer called the wedding party up.

Of course, the photographer wanted a photo of Hoseok and the bride with their high school classmates. You cling to Hyungwon and Jooheon to protect either side. You notice Changkyun stands a couple of meters behind you with Chansoo and Hyunwoo. “Can we have the tall one switch with you?” The photographer points to Hyungwon and someone from behind. Hyungwon gives you a smile before switching with the said person. You let Hyungwon go and look over at who he was switching with. Your heart stops as you watch Changkyun make his way over to you. He had changed a lot. He looked thinner but he was still as fit as ever. His jawline was as prominent as his nose and his shoulders looked broader than you remember – if that was possible. For once, he didn’t meet your eyes as he walked over to you and that gave you the confidence to stare at him. You couldn’t really see him all the way from the altar. He had pierced his ears and long dark hair that framed his forehead. You hated just how good he looked without you. Jooheon and the rest of the student council watched the two of you. You turn to look ahead once Changkyun reached you. “Perfect!” The photographer says giving everyone a ‘thumbs up’. Your body heated up at the feeling of his arm brushing against your shoulder. It was sheer torture. It was the longest three minutes of your life. Thankfully, the photographer requested everyone who wasn’t a part of the wedding party to step down, which made sure there wasn’t any room for either of you to say anything.

━━━☆

Due to the photographer being so efficient, the photoshoot was no nonsense and very professional. You couldn’t even have the time to pick up where you and Jooheon had left off because right when the photoshoot ended you were being swept away to head to the reception. It looked like the world wasn’t entirely against you since you weren’t “coincidentally” made to sit at the same table as Changkyun like in the movies. You sat with the newlyweds along with their parents and the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. You momentarily forgot about your predicament while listening to everyone’s heartfelt speeches. You laughed and held back your tears. It was a truly magnificent experience – one you really wanted for yourself someday.

“Y/n! I’m so sorry I had no idea that Chansoo would have brought him as his plus one.” Hoseok apologises the second he could. After the events finished, the bride and groom started making their rounds of greeting and thanking their guests.

You smiled at the wonderful man. Even at his own wedding, he still looks after everyone else. “Seokie, don’t worry about it. It’s your wedding, act like it.” You lectured lovingly.

He kisses your hand in appreciation. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” You chuckle and send him away to his lovely bride to continue greeting their guests. Jooheon had left your side to socialise with his coworkers – as if he doesn’t see them daily. He was clearly avoiding you which made you roll your eyes.

“It’s been a while, little one.” A warm familiar voice catches your attention. You turn towards the voice to see Chansoo hovering over you with a smile.

You stood up to greet your childhood friend. “Chansoo, it’s so good to see you.” You both hugged each other naturally. “You haven’t changed one bit.” You laughed taking in his appearance.

“Wish I can say the same about you. You’re not so little anymore.” He replies getting his hand swatted away when he tried to rub your head like he used to. He laughs seeing that you haven’t forgotten his little habit towards you. “Do you wanna dance?” He asks extending his hand out for you. You give him a smile despite the ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. Your eyes tried searching the room for any sign of Changkyun, but you couldn’t find him. It was the first time that night you looked for him. “What have you been up to?” He asks as he places his free hand on your waist.

“The usual; managed to graduate for my bachelor's and I’m a fashion designer now. What about you?”

“Fashion designer? Who would have thought?” You smile in agreement. “After my service, I decided to become a policeman. I finished my training two years ago.”

He spun you around making you laugh. “That’s really good.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Chansoo asks as he pulls you to his chest.

“Not really,”

“Not really?” He repeats amused raising an eyebrow at your answer.

Before you could explain you hear someone clear their throat from behind you. You both turn to the interrupter, and your knees went weak. “Can I cut in?” No.

“Be my guest,” Chansoo answers for you. No. You wanted to scream. “I hope to see you more from now on, y/n. I’ve missed you.” Chansoo gives you a kiss on the cheek before handing you over to his brother.

He transfers your hand to Changkyun’s not giving you time to run away or refuse. Your hand tingles at the feeling of his calloused hand on yours. You felt like you had been frozen in time unable to function. The feeling of his hand on your waist was a different feeling compared to Chansoo’s; it ignited a fire inside you that you didn’t want to exist. You placed your hand on his firm shoulder and began to follow his movements. “It’s been a while.” You flinched from his touch upon hearing his voice. You stepped back and stared at his face; the two of you no longer dancing. It's been a while? That's all you have to say after all these years? Tears filled your eyes just as quickly as he appeared back in your life. You ran out of the room not wanting him or anyone see you cry. You ran into the garden sobbing. “Y/n,” He called after you. Just like old times, always chasing after you when you were upset. The thought felt bittersweet. He pulled you into his chest and cradled your head. “I’m sorry,” He whispers into your hair making you choke. “I shouldn’t have come; I knew I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, I’ll leave.” You squeezed your eyes feeling a sense of déjà vu. You couldn’t believe that the boy who only brought you happiness and love now only caused you pain and heartbreak. “I just needed to let you know; I love you, I always have, I always will. I’m so sorry.” You were processing his confession when he kisses your forehead and lets you go for the second time. You felt numb as he placed an envelope into your hand and turned to leave. You watched his figure walk away from your vision before dropping on the stone bench next to you. Your mind was reeling, and you were sure your makeup was just as much of a mess as your heart was. You turn your attention to the envelope in your hand. It was the same envelope you had used to send your letters, but it had been worn out from the travel across countries, and it was thicker than you remembered. You pull out the letters you had written to see he had written ones himself. You gasp and start sobbing once again. Why did it turn out like this? It wasn't meant to be like this. Not when it came to him. You cried as you began reading his letters.

━━━☆

Y/n, the first thing I wanted to say after all these years is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you, and most of all I’m sorry for not being strong enough. In truth, I’m not the amazing person you wrote about in your letters. In truth, I’m cynical and judgmental, I’m selfish and harsh. In truth, I never believed that I deserved to be in your life. I know you have several questions and I know that’s because I never chose to share my feelings or thoughts with you.

I never seem to do anything right when it came to you. When I first met you, I feared you. You were something so bright and innocent unlike myself who was so shy and gloomy, so I hurt your feelings and pushed you away. But after the first day we met, and I saw how upset you were by my words, I didn’t want to see you upset ever again. You were something foreign to me – kind of like an alien. For days, I watched you play by yourself talking to the sky and smiling as if it said something back. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I knew you were different than the rest. When my parents told me, your parents were rarely home I felt the need to protect you just like I protected the idea of dinosaurs existing. As I got to know you, I found you fascinating. You were so fierce yet so pure. You were something so unknown to me, and I wanted to figure you out.

I liked you from the start. At first, I excused it as brotherly-affection and the need to protect you. But I knew it was more when my blood boiled, and I saw red when I found out about the people who were bullying you. You had no idea how much I had to restrain myself from not beating them up from where they stood but I knew it might change the way you thought of me. You might become scared of me and that was the last thing I wanted. I did as much as I could without you knowing. I didn’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you.

I knew it was more when I felt a tinge of jealousy when you liked Jooheon. I thought, what was so great about him and not me? I was confused when that thought crossed my mind when I noticed your infatuation. I didn't understand why I cared so much to the point I resented Jooheon for a while. Everything I liked about him as a friend, I suddenly couldn't stand. I would compare myself against him and wonder what did he do to make you look at him like that? I knew it was more when I felt relief when you didn’t like him anymore. Everything with Jooheon went back to normal once you got over your crush on him. I didn't overthink everything I did in contrast to him. I didn't tense at every single interaction you had with him anymore. Even though I didn’t understand why I felt that way, all I knew was that it was because of you. It's always you.

It doesn’t excuse the pain I have put you through. But I thought you should know why I left without a word or warning. I was in love with you, y/n. I was head over heels in love with you. I would have done anything for you. I took care of you and loved you with my whole heart. And no, I did not expect anything back in return nor did I want anything back. I was completely satisfied being your best friend for the rest of my life. I swear on my life, everything I did for you was from my heart with nothing but pure intentions. I was content with being able to be in your life. All I wanted was to be there for you and make sure you were okay. I didn't love you because I wanted you to reciprocate my feelings, I loved you because of who you are, because of everything that you are.

When I accepted my place in your life, I knew that meant I would have to see you love and be loved by someone else. When Hoseok came to the picture, I could see it happening. I watched as you fell for him just like I had fallen for you. It was painful to know that you would never look at me with a light in your eyes like I hung the stars up in the sky for you. But I promised myself I would be okay with it, I told myself I was willing to go through that pain and I held on for so long. I swear to you I was going to stick by you with everything I have. I swear I was going to.

But then I did something stupid. For once, I let myself be selfish with you and it ruined my resolution. When I watched your heartbreak when you saw him kiss another girl, I felt like I was staring at my own reflection. It was like I was watching myself cry over you while you love someone else. I was filled with a lot of emotions; anger that someone made you feel heartbroken and sadness that you couldn’t spare me a look. With all the chaos that was going on in my head, I opened pandora’s box by kissing you. That kiss ruined me. It gave me a glimpse of what could have been. How can I stand by your side as your friend when I know how you taste? How can I be your best friend when all I wanted was to make you mine? It's insincere. I can't look you in the eyes and lie to you. I tried, trust me y/n, I really tried. Fuck, I was even your “friend”-date for prom, y/n. I held you in my arms multiple times, but you were never mine to hold. This doesn’t excuse a thing and it was selfish on my part I know that. But I couldn’t handle the idea of not being able to love you with all of me. I couldn’t handle the idea of someone else loving you in my place. I wanted to be that person for you. I wanted to be your person.

I watched you become an independent and strong woman and it made me fall in love with you even more. You were always the strong one between us, y/n. I watched as you became someone that didn’t need me in your life – maybe you didn’t need me in the first place, but I fooled myself to believe that you did. Because I watched you grow into the person you are, I thought you would be better off without me. I felt guilty to be by your side while thinking of you in ways you never thought of me. I began to doubt our friendship. Were we only friends because I was in love with you? Was everything I had done for you was because I wanted you to look at me as a man? I didn’t know what to believe anymore. But I felt like I was taking advantage of your friendship. Everything you had done for me came from pure intentions, out of the goodness of your heart. At the beginning, when I didn’t realise my feelings for you, I can guarantee it was the same for me. But when I realised how I felt, how can I say for sure? The lines blurred. I didn’t know what was what anymore.

I wanted to distance myself from you, y/n. Even though you had moved on from Hoseok just like you did with Jooheon, I knew there was just going to be another one. I knew that I would never be the one for you. I was really frustrated at the time. I wished I could go back to the days where I thought nothing more about the way my stomach fluttered when you took my hand in yours or the way my heart swelled in pride and adoration when you fell asleep next to me. I really wished I had never figured out the way I felt about you because once I knew, I knew I wouldn’t be able to be in your life anymore. The idea of never being able to have you haunted me for years. The feeling of your warmth suffocated me at night and our first kiss consumed all my senses.

That was the reason why I left. It doesn’t excuse a single thing, but I wanted to give you, my reason. There wasn’t a day that went by where I don’t think about your face that day – your heartbroken expression, the trembling in your voice when you begged me to stay, and the feeling of what could have been promised by your kiss. I wanted to give you the world, y/n – as a friend and as someone who loved you. Regretfully, I failed to keep the promises I made to you and myself. I promised myself to never hurt you, but I ended up hurting you the most. I promised myself to take care of you like no other, but I ended up pushing you away. I promised myself not to ruin our friendship, but I did. I am so sorry for the way everything turned out between us. I am the only one to blame. I am sorry for being a coward. I am sorry for not being able to love you in this life. If you still mean what you said, I hope to meet you in another life as well and I promise, I will love you with no reservation, with no fear, and with all of me. You will always be my person, y/n.

━━━☆

Changkyun walked to the reception to grab his things and leave. He congratulates Hoseok on the way before making his way to the exit. “Kyun!” He hears Jooheon call for him. “Where are you going? Did you talk to y/n?” Jooheon asks once he reached him.

“Yeah,” He answered somberly. “You were wrong Joo; it was a mistake coming here.” He watched his friend’s expression fall. “I should go.” Jooheon watches Changkyun leave to hail a cab before going to find you.

Changkyun gets in the backseat of the cab with a sigh. He presses his head on the side of the window as he recalls your face. He squeezed his eyes as your pained expression lingers in his head. He can’t ever do anything right. Why did he think it was going to be a good idea? You weren’t living in a fairytale. There is no happy ending. He ruined any chances of that a long time ago. It was naïve to believe there was any hope. He didn't deserve it; he didn't deserve you. Changkyun sinks himself further into the seat as he reminisces about the simpler days.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

“Pwetty pwease.” You begged executing the most puppy dog of eyes you could. Changkyun watched your expression in amusement, half wanting to make fun of you and the other half wanting to give in. “It’ll be fun, I promise!” You bargained with an empty promise.

It didn’t fool him at all. “What will I get if it’s no fun though?”

“Whatever you want!” You exclaimed desperate to get Changkyun to play pretend with you. Your answer made Changkyun smile and finally accept your request. He always puts up a fight whenever you asked him to play pretend, but he always ends up agreeing. “Yay! Okay let’s play a wedding game!”

Changkyun nearly choked on air at your suggestion. “What? Why would we play something like that?!”

It was your turn to be amused. “Why not? You’re not scared of cooties, are you?”

“Cooties are for babies.” He rolls his eyes.

“Great, let’s get ready for our wedding then.” You say before running off to grab your props. Changkyun stands there stunned and flushed. He already regrets agreeing to play pretend with you. He watched as you pull your grandmother towards Changkyun’s direction. “She will be the person that says the things. I don’t know what they’re called.”

“A wedding officiant.” Your grandmother advised you, but you didn’t care as you ran back into the house. “Are you excited to marry my granddaughter, Kyun?” Changkyun groans in embarrassment at your grandmother’s teasing.

“Chansoo! Just do it, for once.” You pulled Chansoo into the backyard with you. If Changkyun was embarrassed by your grandmother being a witness to this play pretend, he wanted to die now that Chansoo is involved.

Chansoo sees Changkyun’s expression and smirks. “It would be my pleasure to walk you down the aisle, y/n.” Yeah, he is never going to hear the end of this.

Your grandmother announces the bride’s arrival. Changkyun watches you walk with Chansoo towards him. Despite him dreading this, he found himself giving you a shy smile when you beamed at him. The “wedding” itself was boring in his opinion. Your grandmother was talking about how weddings work, and he didn’t really pay attention to that. Why would he anyway? “Now for the vows,”

‘Vows? What are vows?’ Changkyun thought. Luckily you decided to go first taking the lead as usual. “I promise that you will always be my number one person and that you can always count on me!” You promised to Changkyun making him smile.

You and your grandmother look at Changkyun for his turn. “Do I make a promise now?” You nod your head excitedly. “I promise that I will be your protector from anything and that you can always count on me too.”

“You can’t copy my promise, Kyun!” You pouted.

“I don’t know what else to promise.” Changkyun shrugs.

“That’s fine, Changkyun. I, now, pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Your grandmother continues with the ceremony.

Changkyun refuses with indignation making you roll your eyes. “I knew it, you’re scared of cooties.”

“I am not!” He shouts.

“Then kiss me!” You were only teasing him. It was fun to make the stoic “mature” boy flustered. He began to sputter excuses making you laugh. “Fine, fine. Let’s just pinky promise to seal our promises.” Changkyun agrees and you lock pinkies. You close your eyes and smile. “I promise our friendship will never go extinct like the dinosaurs!”

Changkyun smiles at that and closes his eyes in turn. “I promise I’ll never leave your side.” That was the first promise you had made to each other, and you both intended to keep your promises. But that’s not how life goes, and promises are made to be broken.

━━━☆

“Stop staring at your girlfriend and concentrate!” His club mate scolded him since he was watching you walk away from dropping him off his clubroom.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He grumbles in discontent but looks away, so he doesn’t get in trouble.

She rolls her eyes and smirks. “Yeah right, none of my friends would drop me off every single day at my club whether they’re a girl or boy. If you two aren’t together, you must like each other.”

“You must have shitty friends then.” Changkyun retorts earning a shove from her. He was used to this banter. Ever since you two were in kindergarten, your friends would find it weird how close the two of you were. Both of your families found it endearing so you never really cared. Chansoo gives Changkyun a hard time every now and then by teasing him about you and your “marriage”, but it never really phased him. If anything, the only reason why it annoyed Changkyun was he didn’t understand why there was a need to romanticise your relationship.

Because of your closeness, he knew you like the back of his hand. So, when you came into class the next morning sporting a plain band-aid on your knee, alarm bells went off in his head. You told him everything but instead of heading his way to tell him your “embarrassing” story of how you hurt yourself, you gave him a wave before sitting on your seat. “Trouble in paradise?” One of your classmates teased Changkyun making him roll his eyes.

You were unusually quiet for the rest of the day. Changkyun doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask but he never had to before. You would always tell him anything and everything with no reservation. You were an open book, at least with him. Whatever was bothering you must have been something serious so he shouldn’t pry. You would tell him if you wanted him to know. That’s what he told himself but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try to make you feel better. “What’s this for?” You asked Changkyun as he hands you an unopened orange juice box after you drop him off to his club.

Changkyun’s heart felt lighter at your smile. “Compensation for dropping me off all the time.”

You laughed for the first time today. “No need, I’m more than happy to drop you off. It’s our time together after all.” That was the last thing you said before you stopped dropping him off at his club.

You gave him excuses upon excuses as to why you had to leave school as soon as possible but he saw right through it. He knew something was up when he ran into your grandmother on his way home dressed to the nines when she was supposed to be “bed-ridden with the cold” as you said. Changkyun had devised a plan to get you to spill your guts but that failed when you decided to lie once again but this time it was about your grades. You were failing Mathematics? He knows you average eighty-five at least. “You guys go ahead. I’ll wait for y/n.” Changkyun tells your friends as they reached the school gate. They didn’t even question it. They left him fake kissing each other before Eunkyung hit the back of their heads to knock it off. Changkyun chuckles and waits till they’re out of his vision before he retraces your steps.

He was rounding a corner when he saw your figure being crowded by a few familiar faces. He hid behind the wall out of instinct. “Didn’t your mother teach you some manners and say please?” He hears a girl crudely speak to you.

He was about to intervene when he heard your voice. “Didn’t yours?” It was the first time he ever heard you speak like that. As he continued to listen, he learns that they were giving you a hard time because of him. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. Is that why you didn’t tell him? Because he’s the reason why you’re going through hardship?

Changkyun hears footsteps fading away before he hears your voice. You were on the verge of tears and at moments like this, Changkyun was always there for you. He wants to be there for you, but he can’t. “Stop being pathetic, y/n. Changkyun can’t be there for you every single time.” He hears you scold yourself. “Grow up.” You said to yourself bitterly. You were right and you both knew it. So, Changkyun didn’t help you for the very first time in your friendship.

Changkyun noticed you wore your old school shoes the next day. He didn’t see what happened yesterday, but he assumed it had something to do with that. You had been wearing it for a week without any complaint. Whenever anyone brought it up you brushed it off with a lie. “Hey, Eunkyung.” Changkyun greets your mutual friend. “Give this to y/n, say it was yours.” He hands her second-hand school shoes. It was used but it was still in good condition.

Eunkyung looks at him confused. “First of all, where did you get this? And second, you give it to her.”

“I bought it from the shop, and she’ll find it weird if I give her girl shoes.” Changkyun shrugs.

Eunkyung looks at him with a smirk. “And they say romance is dead. Did you spend your allowance on these just because she’s been wearing her old shoes?” Changkyun mumbles a ‘yes’ avoiding her eyes. “It’s not that romantic if she thinks it’s from me. She won’t fall in love with you if she doesn’t know about the things you do for her.”

“Shut up and give it to her.” That made Eunkyung laugh and accept his request.

It was eating him alive watching you go through this. He didn’t know whether what he was doing was right or wrong. It started getting worse. Changkyun walked into school to see you sitting in front of an old desk filled with graffiti. You didn’t even look at him. Do you hate him now? Are you blaming him for this? Your eyes never left the front of the classroom for the entire morning. After the first period ended, he chased after your homeroom teacher in the hallway. “I need a new desk.” He pants as he enters the teacher’s lounge.

“Hello to you too, Changkyun.” Your homeroom teacher greets him. “There’s nothing wrong with your desk. Y/n’s desk on the other hand.”

“Are you going to fix it?” Changkyun cuts him off by stepping in front of him.

He looks at him with a smile. “Of course, I’ll have it fixed by lunch.”

“If you’re busy I can look for one.”

Mr. Lee raises his hand to stop his student. “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it. If this happens again though, I’d have to get y/n’s parents involved.” Mr. Lee watches Changkyun scrunch his face in confusion making him chuckle. “If y/n is getting bullied then her parents should know so we can take the necessary steps.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, it depends on the parents. They might want to confront the kids and if so, they might get suspended but that could make matters worse, or they might want to transfer schools.” Changkyun’s stomach dropped. At his expression, Mr. Lee reassures. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be okay. Y/n’s a good kid.” Changkyun nods agreeing before bidding him goodbye.

Like Mr. Lee had promised, your desk had been replaced. Changkyun watches your face relax for the first time that day. He didn’t know what to do. Should he step forward and admit that you were getting bullied and risk the chance of you moving away or does he continue what he’s doing and try as best as he can to minimise the damage? He sighs resting his head on his desk.

Changkyun decides to be your guardian angel as best as he can. He was the one that placed your gym shoes back after they had been stolen and hung up to mock you. He started sneaking in extra snacks once he noticed your lunch was getting stolen. It was all worth it if it meant that he made your days a little less crappy. He still questioned everyday if he should confront you or go behind your back and put an end to it, but he didn’t want to upset you any further. He contemplates what he should do usually at the break of dawn as he walks to school. The streets were quiet. He had overheard your bullies talk about doing something to your desk after school, so he decided to go to school early to assess the damage. He ate a granola bar on the way not wanting to have breakfast at home and wake his parents up. He entered the classroom and head straight towards your desk. It was stained with juice. He sighed before making his way to the janitor’s closet. He started scrubbing the desk as best as he could. If all else fails, then he’ll swap your desk with his and clean it throughout the day. This went on for a week or two before you caught him. He had woken up later than he was supposed to, so he was frantically trying to get everything cleaned when you came in. You ran into his arms and broke into tears. That’s when he knew he had made the wrong decision. He shouldn’t have kept his mouth shut. He shouldn’t have been satisfied with helping you in the background. He shouldn’t have been selfish or a coward. He’ll take care of you as he promised.

“Hyung, I need your help.” Changkyun begs as he enters his brother’s room.

Chansoo was laying on his bed tossing a football up in the air when he came in. “What do you want?”

“Y/n’s being bullied, and I don’t know how to deal with them.”

Chansoo sits up properly taking the subject seriously. “And why are you asking me of all people?”

“Well, you’re my biggest bully so who’s better to deal with a bully than someone who is one themselves.” Changkyun retorts sarcastically.

His answer doesn’t please his brother as he goes back to lie down again. “Alright, you’re on your own.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.” Changkyun negotiates.

Chansoo raises an eyebrow interested. “Really? Even join the football team with me?” Changkyun groans. He’s hated football since he was young when Chansoo constantly threw the ball at his face. It was also unnecessarily tiring. Why would anyone enjoy something that drains them? He doesn’t like sports; he hates any form of exercise, and he wouldn’t ever be caught dead engaging in any form whatsoever, but this was you they were talking about.

“Fine,” Chansoo beams. “What are you going to do?”

Chansoo gets up and ruffles his little brother’s hair. “Don’t you worry your dumb little head bro. Just worry about getting the girl.”

━━━☆

“Ayo, I’m Joohoney onehunnid.” The new kid introduces himself, making the entire class laugh. Changkyun smirks amused while your face scrunches up in annoyance. “I’m kidding, I’m Jooheon. Nice to meet you.” He goes to his seat greeting his fellow classmates with confidence.

As he passes the two of you, he meets your gaze and salutes you. You scoff finding him obnoxious. “I already hate him.” You whisper to Changkyun.

“He seems fun. Do you hate fun, y/n?” Changkyun teases.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m friends with you.” You stuck your tongue out at him.

Jooheon became a hit in your year. Whether or not you like him, you knew him – was a common line whenever Jooheon was brought up and it was true. Most of the girls shared the same opinion as you and steered clear of him but the boys loved him. They found him funny and cool. Unfortunately for you, Changkyun was one of those people. As time went on, Jooheon had become the closest person to him – excluding you, of course. It was nice for him to finally have a close male friend that wasn’t older than him or related to him. However, due to their closeness, Jooheon was constantly in his ears about you.

“Yo, tell your girlfriend to stop glaring at me whenever I open my mouth.” Jooheon nudges Changkyun as they look your way. Sure enough, you were glaring at him, but your eyes softened when they shifted to Changkyun.

“Don’t say something that’ll make her glare at you then.” Changkyun chuckles giving you a dimpled smile. “And I already told you, she’s not girlfriend.”

Jooheon looks at Changkyun like he had just told him his cat died. “Bro, when I say ‘hi’ she just gives me that look.” Changkyun chuckles knowing it’s true. “And I guess she’s more like your crush then since you two aren’t officially together – you guys might as well be though.”

He has heard this so many times, if he had a penny for every single time he heard it, he would be rich. But when there’s smoke there must be fire, right? He’s not oblivious. He noticed that you two are closer than normal friends. He knows that you both would go the extra mile for each other and treat the other like no other. But you've known each other since you were little and at this point you are like family to each other and that explains your closeness. That’s what you always told people so what would compel Changkyun to entertain the idea, in the first place? Changkyun never really thought about you in any other way. He understands where everyone is coming from; he can see where they’re coming from.

Even when he did try to test the waters to see what it would be like; you wouldn’t give him anything to go by or he couldn’t bring himself to see you that way. You simply brushed it off like it was nothing because to you it was. Changkyun watches as you don’t even bat an eye at his “confession”. He thinks he could like like you, but you wave it off as nothing clearly shows you don’t entertain the idea. You’re unwavering when he looks you in the eyes and tells you, you're the prettiest girl in the world knowing he genuinely means it, clearly shows that you don’t hold meaning to his words. You being able to look him in the eye and tease him for it clearly shows that to you, it’s not even a possibility. He was fine with that; again, he didn’t see why he had to think of you any other way.

━━━☆

He swears he never thought about you that way. He always thought of the world of you; you were a delicate flower growing despite the harsh environments surrounding it. He admired your strength and heart. That was all it was. He swears as he watches you in your peaceful slumber. Your head on his shoulder causing your hair to fall over your face. He lightly brushes it away and you twitch in your sleep. He pauses, his hand hovering over your cheek. You hum and nestle your cheek against his hand prompting them open. A small smile plays on your lips as if you know his touch even in your sleep. He swears he never thought about you that way. But how can he not think about the way you searched for his touch? How can he not think about the way your hand squeezed his searching for his presence? How can he not think about the happiness evident on your face once you find him? How can he stop thinking about you that way once he started? Every single smile, every single touch, every single look was no longer the same for him.

You were the same. The same unwavering spirit he always admired. You looked, smiled, and treated him the same. It was only different for him. He swears he’s okay with that. If you are in his life, as long as he’s in your presence, he’s happy. He’s happy he gets to hear your thoughts, he’s satisfied to hear you laugh at his jokes, he’s complete if he gets to be there for you when you need him. He swears he’s okay with it. Ignoring the ominous feeling in the back of his mind when he saw you kept Hoseok a secret. Ignoring the way his stomach dropped when you finally told him you liked Hoseok. The feeling he had when you liked Jooheon resurfaced but this time he understood why.

“It’s scary liking someone, you know?” You asked rhetorically, Changkyun knew that. He knows you didn’t think he would be capable of knowing. But he does. He knows all too well. The despair of watching someone you like fawn over someone else. The helplessness you feel when the person doesn’t seem to catch the hints you’re giving. The ugliness brewing inside you in jealousy and contempt. He tries to feign disinterest as much as he can.

But sometimes, it was hard to not let jealousy rear its ugly head; especially when he sees you and Hoseok talking dangerously close about a presumptuous topic that could lead to it. He hated himself for it. The look on your face was enough for him to want to run the other way to give you your privacy back. He didn’t like that side of himself. That’s why he stupidly does nothing after you told him you were going to confess your feelings. What could he do? He couldn’t be selfish with you; he had no right. That’s what he told himself. That’s what he promised himself.

All of his resolve went out the window upon seeing your heartbreak. It was like looking at himself in the mirror. He just wanted to take the pain away for the both of you. He had played it safe for all his life and, for once, he took the risk. He leans forward and meets your lips. It was a rollercoaster of emotions. Anger washed through him as he felt your tears fall against his cheeks. He wanted to pull away, realising he had made a terrible mistake. This was not the right time. As he thinks to move away, your hands reach for his collar grasping it tightly as you kiss him back. His heart soared at the feeling of your kiss. His mind filtering through millions of questions at what this could mean for the two of you. His words left him before he could stop and think about the repercussions of what he was saying. “A kiss may just be a kiss, y/n. But your first should be special; it should be with someone who loves you and cares about you. It shouldn’t just be some guy. If it has to be anyone, it should be me.” He finally lets his selfishness get the better of him as he confesses his feelings to you.

━━━☆

He was a fool. The kiss meant nothing. It changed nothing. When you finally parted, you ran off excusing it as “student council duties”. You avoided him for a couple of days, making him regret his greediness. He had ruined your friendship for a moment of what if. Eventually, you couldn’t avoid each other, and it was awkward. You were visibly uncomfortable, and it broke his heart. So, he pretended it was nothing. He forced a joke and you laughed; genuinely laughed. He watches your face brighten and your shoulders relax. That was the day he accepted his fate. If he had known there was no possibility of you two happening, he wouldn’t have kissed you. If this was all he could be for you; a best friend, a jokester, a confidant, a supporter; then that’s all he will be.

Changkyun had to find a new strength, he didn’t know he had. The love he has for you to be pushed to the back of his mind; replaced with being the best friend you deserved. He ignores the flutters in his stomach as you smile up at him. He distances himself when the thoughts of you suffocate him, which was often since you were always on his mind. Everything about you consumed all of his senses. The way you light up every room you walked into. The way you softly say his name to catch his attention. The way you touch him; light as a feather as if you didn't want to leave a mark on him. But it did. It left trails of sparks from where you had touch him. So much so, he insists that he can feel the ghost of your touch just by looking at it. Every day was a battle to not cross the line again; to not answer his what ifs; to not risk losing you. The days felt long but once they passed, they blurred into one.

It was your senior year, the final chapter of high school. Changkyun helped you run for president; not that he needed to. You won by a landslide. You had cemented the position even before you started your campaign. Gaining respect, admiration, and popularity throughout the years as treasurer. “What do you think of an ‘under the sea’ theme?” Changkyun scrunches his face causing you to laugh. “Yeah, I thought so too.” You sigh running your hand through your hair. Changkyun watches you unwillingly. A wave of adoration floods through him as he takes in the way your hair fell perfectly to frame your face. How can you look so beautiful even when you're visibly tired? It wasn't fair on anyone.

“Shouldn't the social committee be doing this?” Changkyun points out as he rocks your desk chair back and forth.

“The student council needs to approve it. I'm just going through their ideas.” You show the papers in your hand. You were sitting cross-legged on your bed with a sea of paperwork surrounding you.

“The more important question is, who’s going to be your date for the dance?” Jooheon asks walking into to your room after helping himself to your homemade chocolate chips cookies.

Your attention was back to the paperwork in front of you. “Changkyun and I are obviously going together.” You answer offhandedly.

Changkyun’s emotion betrays him as a look of shock flashes through his normally stoic façade. Jooheon takes notice and chuckles, “Does Changkyun know about that?” You raise your head to look across the room at Changkyun.

Your eyes innocent as you analyse his expression. Embarrassment washed over you as you realise your brazenness. “I'm sorry, I don't know why I just assumed that.” You tuck the loose hair behind your ear. “You must have wanted to ask someone else. Don't worry about what I said.”

Changkyun gets up and takes a cookie from Jooheon’s hand. “Hey!”

He walks up to you and offers you the cookie. “There's no one else I would think about but you.” He looks down at you analysing your expression. The sheepish smile on your face as you take the cookie. Did his words get through to you? Is the idea of going together to a dance mean anything more to you? Or is it just second nature to you? A logical assumption based on previous statistics.

━━━☆

Changkyun shifts from one foot to another. He has been to your house more times than he can count. It was a second home to him. But as he stood by the front door in a suit he’s never worn before, he felt like a stranger. You shared everything with him but in the weeks leading up to the dance, you kept him in the dark. He thought you would take him dress shopping like you normally do but you went with your girl friends instead. Only telling him what coloured dress you got so he could match if he wanted. “Time has flown by so fast.” Your grandmother sighs dreamily. “I still remember when you two were just this tall.” She holds her hand out by her hip. “I still remember the two of hating each other.” Changkyun and your grandmother chuckles fondly at the memory. “But now, you’re thick as thieves; partners in crime.” That was the perfect description of yours and his relationship. Two sides of the same coin. Each other’s confidant and right-hand man. Not the love interest; not even star-crossed lovers. The sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floors cuts his conversation short. You appear at your grandmother’s line of vision first. Her gasp causing Changkyun’s heart to race. She places her hand over her heart and her eyes glossing over with happiness. He clasps his hand in front of himself to ground himself. Your grandmother starts recording through her camcorder when you finally appear in Changkyun’s site.

He inhales sharply like he had the wind knocked out of him. You smile down at him softly. Your eyes bright and sparkling complimented by the makeup you put on. Your hair parted on one side; perfectly framed and flowing. One hand uses the handrail to descend the steps gracefully and the other lifting the front of the dress enough for your matching heels to peek through. You reach him letting go off your dress. “What do you think?” You ask giving him a slow twirl. Changkyun feels his knees buckle. His mind imagining the beautiful midnight blue dress into white. You look at him expectantly; none the wiser of what he truly thinks of you.

“Beautiful,” He breathes. He hears your grandmother chuckle causing his ears to turn red. “You look beautiful.”

You smile widens. “I think you look beautiful too.” It was his turn to chuckle. He rolls his eyes making you reach out and give him a light shove. “I mean it.”

“Let's take a photo before you two head out.” Your grandmother breaks the silence. You move naturally to Changkyun’s side. He instinctively placed a light hand on your back. “Okay, you two, big smiles!” You grinned from ear to ear while he offered a small smile. The flash goes off and your smile relaxes. “One more! Be closer, you guys aren't strangers.” You wrapped your arms around Changkyun waist. His arm around you moved to your shoulder wrapping you in a hug. You nuzzle your head into your chest which breaks his cool nature. His smile growing wider as your giddiness rubs off on him. Feeling his happiness, you look up at him. He takes notices and looks back at you. He sees affection in your eyes. Changkyun won't fool himself to think it’s love in your eyes. You look up at him sentimentally; of adoration; reminiscent of who the kid he used to be. A flash breaks Changkyun out of his thoughts. “Beautiful!” Your grandmother commented looking at the photo. “You two should go or you'll be late.” At her reminder, you pick up your dress and give her a hug. Your already at the door when Changkyun gives her a hug before leaving as well. “Enjoy yourselves, okay?”

He smiles. “I'll get her home safe.” Changkyun opens the door for you and offers his hand to help you out. You take it naturally waving goodbye to your grandmother as he ignores the warmth flooding through him from your touch. He opens the car door for you and helps you in before getting in the driver's seat. “You excited?” He asks turning on the engine.

You hum patting your dress down. You think you look ridiculous. Your dress too big and flashy for a student council president. But your grandmother insisted – this would be your last dance in high school after all. “Yeah, I am. I can't wait to see everyone’s reaction to the auditorium.” He chuckles. Of course, you weren't thinking about yourself. “What about you?”

He ponders for a second before shrugging. “This isn't really my type of thing. But if you're happy, I'm happy.” You smile and reach for his hand to hold. Changkyun’s smile falters as he lifts his hand to grip the steering wheel. He stops himself from looking at you when he sees you keep your hand to yourself and visibly shift away. He clenches his jaw knowing he hurt you. But the alternative hurts too much. He's constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he loses himself in you, it only serves as a painful reminder of what he could never have. If he pulls away and sets a clear line between you, he sees your heart breaking. Your happiness is his happiness. Your pain is his pain. There's no winning. The drive to school was in silence; only the songs on the radio occupying the space. Changkyun gets out of the car and opens the door for you. He offers his hand to help you out, but you don't take it. You give him a tight-lipped smile and avoid his eyes. That's fair. You used the car door to step out.

Once your feet touch the ground, committee members rush to you. “Pres, there's an issue with the audio.” Your smile drops from the bad news.

“You look amazing, by the way!” Another member offers before hurrying you.

You pick up your dress about to leave when you remember Changkyun. “I’m sorry!” He waves you off with a smile. “I’ll see you in there!” Once the gym doors shut, Changkyun sighs. It's going to be a long night; he thinks as he rests his head against his car.

As he was about to get out of his car after parking it in the parking lot, his phone rings. He stops and stares at the unfamiliar number on his screen. “Hello?” He answers hesitantly.

━━━☆

“There you are!” Changkyun flinches at Jooheon showing up at his side out of nowhere. “We’ve been wondering where you are.” He taps on the car window, but Changkyun gets out instead. “We thought you decided you were too cool for this and bailed.”

“We?”

“Y/n,” Changkyun nods numbly as he realises the sun has set. He didn't realise how long it had been since he took that call; too many things he needed to think about to care. “You, okay?” Jooheon grips his shoulder to snap him out of it.

“Yeah,” Changkyun answers dazedly. Jooheon can clearly see he was lying but he knew better than to push. Changkyun is never the type to succumb to peer pressure and will only revert further in his shell when pushed. The two walk back to the auditorium in silence.

As they neared, music thumped against the walls. The dance was informal – the door was open, and some students were outside the building having their own private conversations. Jooheon leaves Changkyun’s side the second they enter the room. Changkyun didn’t mind and made his way to the food and beverage table. He helped himself as he contemplated the offer – as if he hadn’t been doing that the past couple of hours. He feels hands on his waist before he hears your honeyed voice. “There you are!” Changkyun had a sense of déjà vu as he turned around to your playful grin. Your cheeks were flushed, and your hair was messier than when he last saw you. He was relieved his disappearance didn’t ruin your night. But the ugly side of him was disheartened at the same time. “Where were you?”

“My dad called.” He lied knowing you knew his dad was overseas and couldn’t reach out often. You believed him easily. “How much did I miss?”

“Not much, we’ve just been dancing. You came just in time, they’re about to announce the homecoming royals.” Changkyun groans as you take his hand and lead him towards the crowded dance floor. The music soon cuts off as the social committee president appears on the little makeshift stage. Changkyun doesn’t listen to the president harp on until he hears your name. A spotlight shines on your figure effectively casting him in your shadow. He watches your figure as you make your way to the stage. Your beautiful gown sparkling under the light; your smile outshining everything else. His jaw clenches when he sees Rowoon offers his hand; a sash and crown adorned on him. You take it graciously and stand on stage for the social committee members to place a tiara on your head and a bouquet of flowers in your arms.

The host asks Rowoon to say a few words before you. As he steps up to the microphone, squeals echo through the room. “I am so touched you all voted for me; it’s a big honour. I usually wouldn’t be able to accept this but with the very own Council President by my side, I feel relieved.” Changkyun rolls his eyes at the corniness. The two shared a smile before he continued. Were the two of you close? When did that happen?

“Be careful,” Jooheon warns out of nowhere causing Changkyun to flinch. “Don’t let his fans see your distaste.”

“When did they get so close?” Changkyun asks as you make your own speech mentioning Rowoon as well.

“Hm, I don’t know. I guess through her student council duties and since he’s the president of the theater club they talk through there.” Jooheon shrugs. Of course, he wouldn’t pay attention to such details. “I’ve seen them together sometimes; having lunch, running errands, walking around. You were off somewhere else every time, so I didn’t get to ask you about it.” Oh. That’s right. Changkyun realises the true weight of the distance he placed between you two. Since he is no longer by your side twenty-four-seven, he misses out on things about you; trivial or not.

The crowd parts to make a circle in the middle of the dance floor. He watches you hand-in-hand with Rowoon as he takes you out on the dance floor. He sees you whispering to each other with coy smiles on your face as you face each other. “I hate to admit it, they look good together.” Changkyun hears a girl comment behind him.

“What do you expect? They’re both good-looking, popular, and cheerful people.” Her friend agrees bitterly. Changkyun watches you dance around the room like he was in a trance. All he could see was your smile lighting up the entire room but he’s still in darkness. All he could hear was yours and everyone’s laughing at a joke he didn’t hear about. He is the one that placed the wall between you. He cannot be angry or upset if you’re no longer standing on the other side of it. This was what he wanted after all.

━━━☆

The boys watched you key a song in when a classmate approached you. Everyone knew Soonyoung as he is a close friend of Jooheon. The boys watch you laugh at what the boy was saying. “She’s changed a lot.” Hyungwon says turning his attention back to his cold fries.

“Yeah, she has.” Changkyun says with a melancholic smile.

Everyone at the table noticed Changkyun’s mood. He has always been quiet and standoffish, but this was different. They could see the longing in his eyes whenever he looked at you. He always looked at you softly and affectionately but this time there was sadness in it too. “What’s going on Changkyun?” Hoseok asked the question everyone was thinking.

“I’m going to the U.S. for university.” The air in the room shifted, at least only to the guys at the table.

“Well, congratulations!” Kihyun offers. They’re happy for him of course but it is a shock. Their first thought automatically goes to you. They would never expect Changkyun to move overseas especially since it’s been established that you’re staying in Seoul.

“When did this happen?” Jooheon asks trying to piece together Changkyun’s train of thought.

“During the formal, I got a call – an offer to study in the U.S. from my dad. I had a lot of time to think about it and I’ve decided to go.”

After knowing he has thought it through, Hyunwoo breaks into a smile. “Well, that’s awesome.” He pats him in the back. “It will be a cool adventure.”

“And challenge.” Minhyuk points out getting a kick in the shin from Hoseok from under the table. “Ow!” He jumps. “What? It is?”

“Y/n’s always said she wanted to visit New York. Now she has a good excuse to.” Hyungwon offers to lighten up the mood.

“Y/n doesn’t know.” He answers their unspoken question. “I don’t want her to know.” He says with conviction. The air heavies as conflict and worry looms over the table.

“Changkyun –” Jooheon starts to argue but you walk over. Everyone stiffens at your presence.

Your smile only darkens their thoughts further. “Come on, let’s dance.” You take Changkyun’s hand without any answer and lead him to the dance floor. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he allows you to use his hands to wave around. “I regret not letting go like this with you at our formal.” You giggled and he could offer a nod in response. As the song ends, a slow piano begins to play. The melody light but the mood is more romantic. Everyone slows their pace and pairs up. You look up at him bashfully. How could you still be shy with him even after thirteen years? He offers his hand, and you take it as the singer starts to sing.

Time after time, I tell myself that I'm so lucky to be loving you.

“I regret not dancing with you at our formal.” You confessed. His heart ached at the missed opportunity. His ugly side getting the better of him once again as he left not be able to withstand watching you dance with someone else. But that night, he accepted his feelings. He could no longer ignore the fact that he was not a person deserving to be by your side. That night, he accepted the reality. No more false pretenses. He could no longer be in your life.

I only know what I know. The passing years will show, you've kept my love so young; so new.

━━━☆

“I’m sorry, Kyun.” He hears Hoseok’s sadness on the other line. “I couldn’t not tell her. She loves you more than anyone in the world.” He wanted to scoff. He wanted to deny it and argue but the words didn’t come out. Changkyun tells him it’s okay even though they both know it wasn’t. “Have a safe flight, keep in touch.” Changkyun bids him goodbye as he hears his name being shouted from across the room.

He turns and sees your angry expression first. He hated how beautiful he thought you looked even in your disheveled state. He hated how endearing he found you in your fluffy heart pajamas. As you make your way towards him, he sensed his impending doom. You pushed him with all your might, and he lets you. “You idiot!” You screamed with tears building. Changkyun doesn’t care about the stares. All he could think about is you. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His heart ached. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. “Why did you act like nothing was happening?” If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to hold back anymore. “Why did you make me think you were only going to be a couple of hours away?” If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be okay. “Why?” Your last cry shot straight through his heart.

He grabbed your arms, and your tears fell as if you were waiting for your anchor to let go. He’s known you all his life. He always had the idea that he had to take care of you; that he couldn’t leave you on your own, that you needed him. But that wasn’t true. You are just fine without him. He was the one that needed you, but he knows he shouldn’t. He is the one that couldn’t be without you, but he knows that he has to. “I’m sorry.” Is all he could give you without weakening his already broken resolve. Overwhelmed with emotions, you kissed him. It was your last plead. He wished he pulled you closer, searing the memory of you into his mind. But he didn’t and your memory faded.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

It had been a week since you last saw Changkyun. It had been a week since you last spoke to anyone. It had been a week since you left your bed. You gave up rejecting calls from Jooheon; opting to let your phone die. You locked yourself in your room; ignoring Minhyuk and Hyungwon even when they came to visit you. Only ever leaving your room when you hear the door shut after Jaebum tells you he’s leaving. You already felt awful, but you felt worse for ignoring everyone. But you knew what they would say, more like what they would ask. What happened with Changkyun? What does it mean? Has this changed anything? You don’t have answers to their questions and the ones you do have, you weren’t ready to share. Your head turns towards the stack of paper by your bedside. The ink faded through time, the paper crinkled through the handling, blotches of tears stained across the letters. You have read his letters over and over since he gave them to you. It was all too much to get your head around. What were supposed to do with this new information? What did you want to do with it?

Your head turns towards your door, and you hear your knob rattle. A shadow cast against the crack beneath the door. Their whispers muffled as they argued with each other. It must be Minhyuk and Hyungwon again. You sigh and turn over, bringing your blanket to cover you. They will leave soon. That’s what you thought when you suddenly heard your door bust open. “It worked!” Minhyuk’s cheery voice boomed through your quiet room. You cringe not wanting to face them. “It smells!” You roll your eyes at Minhyuk’s teasing.

“Then, get out.” You retort flatly.

“She’s alive.” Hyungwon says calmly with a hint of sarcasm. You feel your bed dip behind you. “How long are you going to be like this for?”

“Hyungwon, she deserves to feel the way she does.” You hear Kihyun’s voice in front of you before you see light from your window shine through your blanket. Of course, he would open your blinds.

“Yes, of course but maybe she should at least move on to the next stage of dealing with it.” Hyunwoo’s deep and logical voice reasons by your feet.

Your curiosity gets the better of you and you peak your head outside your blanket. “Jesus, how many of you are in my room?” You see five pairs of eyes already looking at you. Kihyun was leaning on your desk which was against the window of your room. Hyunwoo was at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed and Jooheon stood next to him with bags under his eyes. Your heart tugs at the sight. Were you the cause for that? Hyungwon was lying on top of your blankets while Minhyuk stands next to him by your bedside drawer. You shot up and reached for the letters opened for anyone to see. Minhyuk had surely seen some of it, but you still held the letters close to your chest. Tears pricked your eyes as you felt pathetic with their pitiful eyes looking down at you.

Jooheon gets on your bed and hugs your head. “It’s okay, you can cry. I’m here.” A tear falls from his comfort. You see the light go darker as Kihyun and Hyunwoo join the hug. “We’re here for you.” You thought you had already cried to last a lifetime, but the flood gates broke through like it was a dam. You feel their hug become heavier when Hyungwon and Minhyuk join. Your crying turns into sobbing as you feel their love and care. The guilt you felt only amplifying.

You cried for what felt like hours; wrapped up in Jooheon’s arms while Hyunwoo rubs your back and Kihyun hands you tissue to blow your nose. Hyungwon holds the bin for you to throw away your used tissues and Minhyuk offers comments to make you crack a smile. “I don’t know what to do.” You sigh sitting up. The boys give you their undivided attention prompting you to confide in them. You tell them what happened at the wedding and how seeing him and speaking to him felt like a shot in the heart. How the hurt you felt throughout the years hit you at once. “He loved me?” You cried exasperatedly. “All this time?” It wasn’t a shock that tears flooded back as you recounted the moment. The silence around you piques your attention. You wipe the tears away and see their body language change. Hyunwoo gave you a tight-lipped smile, Minhyuk avoided your eyes, and Jooheon was clenching his jaw. “What?” They share a look between themselves as if you couldn’t see it. You roll your eyes. “Just tell me.”

“Y/n, the only one who didn’t know he was in love with you was you.” Hyungwon carefully explained.

You tilt your head in confusion, so Kihyun adds. “Y/n, everyone saw the way he looked at you.”

“And everyone saw that you didn’t look at him the same way.” Minhyuk tells you the truth you asked for. “And that’s perfectly fine!” He adds to reassure you. “No one expects you to feel the same way or give him a chance; that’s your right to feel however you feel but…” Minhyuk looks over at the others for back up.

“But we also understood, how painful it would be on his end; to love someone wholeheartedly and never ask for anything in return.” Jooheon lands the final blow. The boys sit in silence as they watch you process this newfound information. Tears prickled your eyes in frustration. How could everyone know but not you? How come no one said anything? Well, that's not true. Everyone always assumed you two were a couple; that had to count for something. Upset by the what ifs flooding through your eyes, you squeezed your eyes and wipe your face. “I'm sorry, y/n. We should have told you.”

“No, it's not your fault. It's mine; I should have said something.”

“Well, Changkyun didn't say anything either.” Minhyuk assures you.

You give him a weak smile. He's right. You both were the only ones responsible for the hurt the other experienced. “So, what happens now?” Hyunwoo asked.

“I don't know.”

“What were you trying to achieve sending him those letters?” Kihyun frames the question differently hoping to unlock clarity in you.

You sigh. “I wanted closure; to move on. I didn't expect him to reply. I definitely didn't expect him to say he felt the same way.”

“So, what are you doing to do about it?” Hyungwon asks causing you to stifle a laugh.

“What is there to do? That was in the past; he had feelings for me. I am just grieving what could have been – which is useless I know, but I need to feel all of this.”

“What if it wasn't?” You furrow your brows at Jooheon’s question. “In the past, I mean.”

You finally let out a laugh. “How could he have feelings for me? We haven't seen or spoken in years.”

“You really don't understand how much he loves you.” You become irritated at their constant highlight of how much he feels for you and how ignorant you are of it.

You get up out of bed for the first time of the day feeling suffocated. “Of course, I don’t know! He chose not to tell me anything. He was the one that decided to leave without a word. I may have been a fool for not seeing what you all see but he was the one that also decided not to tell me. You all decided to not tell me.”

Jooheon gets up and rubs your arms to calm you down. “You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as a jab or anything. I just mean maybe you will know what to do if you talk to him; honestly and without holding anything back?”

━━━☆

Jooheon was right. The boys knew that. You knew that. But you were not in the right frame of mind to do the right thing. Of course not. That's why you're pumping your arms aimlessly as you lose yourself in the music and alcohol. The boys were against the idea but promised to support you in any way you needed. Of course. That's why they're standing aside watching you with barely any alcohol in their system. It was the first time you left your house, the first time you dressed up, the first time you smiled in a long time. It was a baseless happiness; temporary and shallow. But that's what you needed right now.

At least, that's what you thought. You weren't ready for a conversation; to face the music; to experience another heartbreak. So why are you standing in front of a door you haven’t stood in front of since senior year of high school? Of course, you kept in touch with his parents. Checking in on each other on birthdays and holidays via online messages and the annual call. You haven't been home since you left for college – your parents didn't care enough to have you visit and since your grandmother passed away there was no reason for you to. His parents invited you multiple times for the holidays and you always gave them an excuse; plans with your friends, interning for the summer – they were all true, but you could work in a visit if you really wanted. But how could you go and be reminded of the memories you shared with him and his family? How could sit at the table and talk to his parents without any underlying tension on what happened between you and his son? And you were sure they would tell you what he has been up to in America. Living the high life easily without you. Or worse, run the risk of seeing him after years of radio silence.

All of your worries and hesitations quashed thanks to the influence of the alcohol in your system. How many did you have to drink? The night was a blur. You were too determined to forget the night, you completely lost yourself. All you could remember is the burning of your throat as you force down the shots at the start of the night and the multiple incidents of throwing up on your way to his house. You remember flashes of you dancing despite the soreness in your arms and neck. Laughing and talking to people you can't even picture. Everything was going well. You were forgetting your troubles and dancing the night away. You were doing well to numb everything when a familiar tune starts playing. Your movement stops as nostalgia hits you. It was a song you were obsessed with at one point in time. It was the first song Changkyun had played through his window to drown out the fight your parents were having. It was the song you had danced with him more times you could count. Your thoughts drift back to the bar. The alcohol in your system wearing off from the flood of emotions. You were stumbling on your way to the bar when you looked back at the boys. It was only one second; a moment of distraction before their attention falls back on you; an opportunity to slip away. Despite your fogginess, you maneuver yourself to hide in the crowd as you make your way to the exit. You hurry to hail a cab before they can stop you.

It was a forty-five-minute drive. Forty-five minutes to change your mind. Forty-five minutes to regain clarity. The purging of the alcohol in your system helped you sober up quicker but by the fifth request to pullover, the driver didn’t want to take you any further. It was a fifteen-minute walk. By that point, you were completely sober. The alcohol flushed out of your system. The night breeze refreshing your sweaty skin. Your legs were on autopilot as you walked the streets you’ve walked for the most part of your life. The houses looked smaller than you remember, the street shorter. Fifteen minutes flew by and here you stood. All of the houses dark; the streets quiet given the time of night. What were you doing? Tears pricked your eyes as it finally sinks in. How could you bring yourself to confront him after all this time? You move to step back when the door rips open. Changkyun in the middle of putting his jacket on when he sees you. His hair sticking up in the same peculiar ways it used to when he wakes up from slumber. Like always, Changkyun shows up right in front of you right when you need him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice soft and broken as the tears slip down your face. Like always, he reaches for you. But this time, he stops himself. His hands hovering over your skin unsure and hesitating. “How could you have not known? How could I have not known?” Your question hurts the both of you; acknowledges the blame is on the both of you.

“I’m sorry,” Your tears stop at the sound of Changkyun’s voice breaking. In your years of knowing him, you had never seen him cry or lose his temper. The unwavering land to your swirling ocean. For the first time, you see distress on his face. You notice the eye bags under his eyes. His unkempt hair sticking out not like he was rolling around in his bed but from pulling it with his fingers. “I wish I did things differently. I wish I did everything differently.” He doesn’t answer your question; he doesn’t need to. The questions you both had for each other were answered in your own respective letters. You were both young, naïve, and insecure. You both placed each other on pedestals; believing one didn’t deserve the other. You both convinced yourself it was one-sided instead of confirming the truth for the fear of permanently losing the other. You both knew if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, you would have to let them go and move on with your life without them in your heart.

“What would you do now?” Fear seeps into your heart as you asked the question you didn’t have the courage to ask when you were younger.

“Y/n,” He says softly.

He reaches out to touch you. Your stomach drops as you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Of course, time changes things. Distance doesn’t let the heart grow fonder. His love for you was years ago. Before, he separated himself from you. Before, he met different people. Before, he became a completely new person that you didn't know anything about. Everyone else had moved on. Hoseok got married. Jooheon has a growing social circle. Changkyun is not the same boy you knew. You were the only fool living in the past. You pull away from his touch like he burned you. “No, it’s okay. That’s a stupid question. Forget it. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m here.”

You turn to leave; to run away but Changkyun spins you around. He cages you in between his arms. His warmth enveloping you. His touch littering goosebumps across your exposed skin. You look up wide-eyed into his sharp eyes. “Even without loving you, you are and will always be my greatest love, y/n.” Your bottom lip quivers overwhelmed with the rush of emotions you’re going through. He takes the hand on his chest and rubs his thumb across your palm; a habit he used to do to soothe you. “I could never lose the love I have for you in my heart. Believe me, I tried. I thought time apart from you would help me move on and forget about you. But there was not a single day where my feelings for you weakened.” You blink to let your tears fall so you can see him clearly; take all of him in. It has been too long since you’ve gone without seeing his face; hearing his voice; feeling his touch. “When I got your letters; when I read how you felt about me, I foolishly thought I might have a chance to right my wrongs. I thought there was a possibility for us to be together. If you tell me, you’re willing to give us a chance despite the hurt I caused you; I would take it in a heartbeat.”

When you wrote the letters to Changkyun, you did it to move on with your life; to close that chapter of your life. Not once did you ever consider that he felt the same way – that he still feels the same way. When you showed up to his door, you hadn’t thought about what you wanted to get out of it. You wanted to yell at him and tell him just how much he hurt you again. You wanted to cry into his arms and beg for answers you already knew the answer to. Your intentions weren’t to love and be loved. Not once did you consider reconciliation – much less a relationship. But maybe things between you two were meant to fall apart in order for the pieces to fall exactly where they needed to be. “Promise me something.”

“Anything and everything.”

“Promise me, you won’t hold anything back this time.”

“I promise.” Changkyun kisses your knuckle endearingly. Your heart starts beating hard in your chest you could feel it vibrating your entire body.

“Promise me, we’ll make up for the lost time.”

“I promise. We’ll take it slow. We’ll start fresh.” He kisses your tear-stained cheek making you smile.

“Promise me, you won’t break my heart again.”

“I promise.” It was your turn to initiate a kiss. You lean forward brushing noses before you meet his lips. He reciprocates your kisses slowly and gently. His hands cup your cheeks and your fingers run through his long dark hair. You felt like you were fifteen years old again. Standing by the bonfire and kissing your best friend for the first time. This is your second chance; a second beginning. This time you won’t run away. This time you will take a chance on love. This time you will love him without any reservation.

[a/n] the epilogue is finally out! only took fifty years - i'm sorry to anyone who anticipated this when the series first came out. i hope you enjoy the final instalment of this series. thank you for reading my work, i really appreciate it <3

꒰ m.list ➭ before ꒱

#monsta x fluff #changkyun fluff #monsta x #changkyun #changkyun angst #monsta x angst #i.m #i.m fluff #i.m angst #monsta x oneshot #changkyun oneshot #i.m oneshot #d.writes #x

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