#really need to figure out a way to differ between eyebags because tired and eyebags because old

[energeticpoltergeist]

FE Secret Santa (4/10)

Linhardt for @froggopi

edit: forgot to at @feshippingpolls

[omiscurls]

Diluc, zhongli and childe reaction to their s/o breaking up with them after something they said, maybe after a week or so after they argument they think the s/o forgave them but they break up instead? I WANT THE ANGST

consequences

plot: reader decides to break up with the character after not speaking to them

contains: diluc, zhongli, tartaglia (idk how am i going to do this to my special boy but ill try my best)

warnings: angst, breakups, implied past toxic behavior

a/n: OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO HARD- I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO BREAKUP WITH PEOPLE

diluc

hopeless thoughts ran through your head as you fought with yourself about wether to enter angel’s share or not, hand halfway through to the doorknob. your mind hadn’t been made up just yet, you were still in between two very different scenarios - the urge to forgive him for his hurtful words growing stronger each day, as anger and other emotions subdued to loneliness and the feeling of a part of you missing, ever since the two of you stopped talking.

your mind flashed back to the exact moment when you looked into diluc’s eyes, always so soft and calm for you, forming a way of anger he never expressed towards you before. to the feeling you got right then and there that this man is not the same one you’ve met and fell in love with.

the process of coming to terms with that conclusion was as painful as the first strike of his angry glare, and even though he seemed to have realized the weight of his words right after saying them out loud, no matter how hard you tried, you could not erase them from your memory.

one strike of that pain, one memory of that night was enough to make you go through with your plan, door to the bar opening with a little screech.

it was like just another late afternoon, with charles tending the bar, knights and townsfolk filling the hot room, and the smell of alcohol traveling through the air.

“hi” you said to the bartender “is master diluc around?”

charles, busy with his work, quickly replied that he’s out back, opening a barrel. you nodded and went where his directions guided, pushing open yet another door to see the back of the man you loved, looking just as always from this angle, working over said chore. he didn’t even seem to mind the fact that someone walked in on him working.

“diluc” you said with a sigh, and he almost immediately turned around, tools falling from his hands and onto the ground.

“darling, hi” he replied quietly, walking over to you but stopping half way, eyes set to analyze your expression, figure out what was going on in your mind. “i’m glad you’re here safely, i haven’t heard from you in over a week” he added cautiously, as if weighing every word before deciding to say it out loud.

“well” you sighed again, once again going over wether you should actually break things off right then, mind taking pity on his troubled expression, tired eyes, on the obvious eyebags that were much more apparent than before, a sign that he didn’t catch too much sleep. “i had to come to terms with what i’m about to say”

he wanted to tell you he was sorry, he really did, but words didn’t seem to come out of his throat. obviously he was sorry, it was a bad day and he meant none of what he said, but you knew that, right? you knew he always cared for you and loved you… right?

he wasn’t the best with words, hence, the idea of apologizing with a gesture after you were done teaching him his lesson came to mind. a brilliant idea, one could never go wrong with a thoughtful deed for their significant other, just give him one more chance.

“and my conclusion is, we need to take a step back and… reevaluate things in our lives. i’m not saying this is the ultimate end, but what you’ve said, and how you’ve said it made me realize…”

you were making a good point. you were talking about your feelings. he should listen, but the only thing he heard was the blood pumping through his veins, and the two single words

the end

so there won’t be another chance? he won’t be able to prove himself? what do you mean, the end? the best thing that ever happened to him in his sad life was coming to an end because of him? but he was so careful, he treated you like his treasure, because that’s how he truly felt, like his lifeline, something he could never lose…

and all it took was one sentence too much, one glare too intense. for the first time in what, six, maybe seven years, his eyes began to water, as he blinked the tears back at a rapid pace.

“… and that was a shitty thing to do. i hope you know that. i don’t know if i had anything else i wanted to say, perhaps i did, but… that’s all. see you around, i guess” you mumbled, loosing confidence in what you were saying, taking one last glance at his lost eyes before turning around.

turning around from him, from the love of your life, was perhaps the hardest thing you ever had to do, and yet you did do it.

before you could reach the door again, though, a cold hand caught your forearm. your eyes met his, with just a glimmer of hope that he would magically say all the right words and somehow make you stay, you didn’t want to leave, yet knew you had to. if you wanted to preserve the respect you had for yourself, you had to leave.

why were you giving him time to say something?

his helpless gaze seemed to speak with a thousand words, begging, pleading you to not leave through that door, but as much as his lips did part, not a single word left.

he couldn’t say anything to hold you back, and you ripped away from his grip, turned, and walked away.

and just like that,

he was all alone, again.

he was gonna need a drink.

zhongli

tears flooded your vision, blurring every details of zhongli’s face, causing you to only see a pale color palette, instead of your favorite person, ever. maybe it was for the best, maybe it would make it easier, you thought, but that was a foolish thing to hope for.

even through the salty tears, you could make out his eyes, it’s glow never failing to guide you, and comfort you, now seeming to burn their way through you, through your body and soul.

“you’re stuck in another love, zhongli, we both know that!” you exhaled a bit louder than you intended to, the outcome sounding more like an accusation than a fact. “how can you ever say you love me, when it’s so obvious, and so apparent, that every time you look at me, you see someone else? you HOPE for someone else?”

you could only wish the words you spoke didn’t come out as a complete mess, because of those tears you were constantly choking on. desperation seeped through your voice, as the feeling of helplessness rose every time you looked at your lover and at the anguish, and confusion he presented.

how could he make this so hard? it’s not like you’ve presented some statement he didn’t know already, right?

you hoped your eyes would say all the things you didn’t trust your voice to. you hoped he’d somehow hear how all you ever wanted was to be enough, was to meet his standard, how it tore you open that every time he said <i love you> his eyes wandered everywhere but onto yours, how all his touches seemed absent, how all his compliments were truly about some other face, some other smile, some other kind soul.

the worst part was, how could you blame him? how can anyone, ever, blame someone for being in love, of all things? love was something beautiful, and once you’ve experienced it, you’re drowned in it forever, and don’t even want to see the surface again.

love is beautiful. when you’re the one who’s receiving it. love was beautiful, to you, too, when you loved how his wisdom flew through his words, how his kindness hugged your spirit, how his aura brought you comfort. you loved his eyes, you loved his cheeks, his lips, every single detail of his skin.

the love you felt made you complete, made you warm, until you finally realize the thing you should’ve seen much sooner.

that you were merely a mirror for him to look at someone else, someone long gone.

suddenly all the warmth you felt was directed back at you, burning you inside, making you wish you never felt it in the first place.

“aren’t you gonna say something?” you whispered.

his long fingers found their way to your hand, but you snatched it away.

if you fell onto his charms now, you wouldn’t be able to get out once more.

his breath hitched as he gathered himself to speak

“i want nothing more than to love you” he said, although quietly, it rang through your ears like the loudest of screams.

you scoffed.

“we both would’ve wanted that, then”

“and i’m sure i can, if you just—“

now, laughter was all that you were capable of letting out.

“zhongli, you can’t train yourself to love someone. and even if you could, then how do you think that would make me feel? like i’m so unlovable you had to force yourself through it to grow accustomed to a feeling similar to love?”

“that’s not what i—“

“that’s what it means! let it go, please, please just… let me go” you sighed, standing up from the bench over at liyue harbor that you were sitting on. the sun has begun to set on the other side of the sea, and you couldn’t help but notice, it would’ve been the perfect date.

“i do sincerely hope you’ll find someone who’ll love you just the same” he finally stated, as he gave up on trying to make you stay.

“why?” you chuckled “so i could make them suffer the same way you made me?”

tartaglia

(archons give me strength)

you found nothing but guilt, looking into the endless ocean trapped in his eyes. for the first time in forever, they glistened, but not with a spark of joy, like you always hoped they would, they shone a sickly shine, caused by a thin layer of tears, that didn’t dear to spill over his porcelain cheeks, almost as if afraid of making contact with the ruthless face of the number eleven of the fatui harbingers.

he could’ve easily been crying if only he let himself go. he would’ve been in tears, sniffing and coughing, but he just… wasn’t. he held those tears in the gates of his eyes, as if his life depended on it.

the guilt you found inside them, wasn’t his, but yours. you felt guilty, watching this composed, confident man fall into pieces right before you, crumbling before your sight. why were you doing this? you seemed to forget all those terrible things you’ve heard just from the way his irises begged for forgiveness and brows furrowed in inexplicable sadness.

but you couldn’t, no, this time you couldn’t.

“my word” you swore on dear life you’d burst into tears if your voice shook right now “my word is final. we’re over. and that’s… that’s it. you need to understand that there won’t be another chance.”

the moment his lips parted, you knew you were lost.

“i have told you so many times already, but i will say this as much as i need to, it will never happen again! i swear, on everything i love and everything that i am, i swear on life itself, i won’t ever let that happen again! you know i won’t! come on, i promise you, if there’s anything you can say about me is i do keep my promises, don’t i? darling, please…”

“promise yourself to heal and become better, first” you stated coldly, watching faith disappearing slowly from his fixed look.

“im sorry, you know i am, im sorry, im sorry, im so fucking sorry!” a scream left his throat as desperation took over both reason and self-respect.

“sorry isn’t gonna cut it”

“then what will? i’ll do anything, anything in the world, anything to prove myself to you. i get that you can’t love me, i understand that, but please, let me win your trust again.”

he said unnaturally calmly, compared to what he did before, and you got concerned immediately.

i understand that you can’t love me, his words rang through your head. oh god, what were you doing? guilt stroke again, right at where you felt your heart to be.

right when you wanted to turn around and leave, he must’ve sensed that, and pulled you into a tight embrace. not suffocating, as they often describe it, not toxic and desperate, but… as loving as every other hug you’ve ever received from him. as calming and grounding, even though you could feel his heart racing. he didn’t refuse for you to leave, he didn’t trap you.

you understood after a while,

he was saying goodbye. all the love trapped inside his heart seeped out onto you, all his feelings surrounding and engulfing you.

“let me promise you this” he whispered, voice shaking painfully “the next time i’ll see you, i’ll be a better man. someone you will be able to be proud of, someone worthy of both your trust, and love. i won’t stop until i’ll be enough for you to look at me without the disgust and fear you have now. i promise. i’ll be better.”

“until then, then.” was the only thing you were capable of saying before leaving.

as soon as the door shut behind you, you rested against a wall and covered your mouth with a hand, unable to hold your tears any longer.

you heard a cry through the door. so he does have some feelings left, after all

your daily reminder that requests are open [here]

[ktheist]

02 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 1.9k

➙ warnings. explicit content. oral (f receiving).

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05  | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. 

“can we have morning sex?”

“not today.”

x

“is that my brother’s shirt?” is the first thing kim taehyung says to you after a whole night of you declaring war against him for choosing his girlfriend over you.

your body clock’s designed in a way where no matter how late you go to sleep, you’ll always wake up at 8 in the morning. the question of whether you can go back to bed or not varies. like right now, when your stomach is grumbling because it’s decided to deem that the spicy carbonara ramen you had has lost its sustaining-abilities.

“uh, is that a woman-choosing, best friend-abandoning human i see?” you say, eyes squinted at said human.

“whatever,” that seems to have taken taehyung’s interest off the creme colored sweater hanging off your shoulders and way past your butt. you could’ve not word shorts when you went out to get yourself a bowl of cereal. mainly because the brothers have a similar habit of sleeping in until the sun’s shining directly into their faces and they’d have no choice but to wake up - that is, in the event that they forgot to shut the blinds.

“what are you doing up anyway?” you ask but it’s a no-brainer because every friday night, kim taehyung and you would never fail to release a week’s worth of pent up frustrations over playing video games until the crack of dawn, “don’t tell me you haven’t slept.”

“unlike some people, i’ve got things to do,” he steals away the bowl of cereal you just finished preparing for yourself, “places to be.”

you can’t even get mad at his brazenness, not when those eyebags make him look like he’ll pass out with one swing of your punch. and you do punch like a girl - besides the fact that you are one, it’s already a settled fact that you’re really not fond of the idea of wasting your energy on something pointless - so you tend to give the least amount of energy for, for instance - if you do choose to - punching kim taehyung who’s walking away with your bowl of cereal.

so you fix yourself a new bowl, savoring it while watching an episode of the tale of nine-tailed and spending the entire morning catching up to the latest episode. it’s only until half an hour past noon, do you strut back into seokjin’s room, noticing the lump under the sheets now shifting with a sign of wakefulness.

“morning!” you greet, hearing the sound of hymns trickling into chuckles as seokjin pushes the sheet off his face and steals a glance at the uncalled for being that’s perched on top of him.

“you’re up early,” he remarks, arms stretched over his head, muscles flexing deliciously.

“can we have morning sex?” you put on your best smile, lashes fluttering in what you hope to be a coquettish manner rather than someone who looks like they have dust in both their eyes.

“not today,” he says but his large hand latches on your right breast, massaging with a expertise before pinching on your nipple and making you jump in surprise.

“ah!”

but before you get to complain, he’s pulling you down and engulfing you into a warm but shirtless hug (on his part at least).

“not fair,” you pout but snuggle closer anyway, forehead leaning against his chest.

but it’s short-lived because thunderous footsteps start echoing in the hallway and sounding dangerously close with each passing second. for a split second, you watch seokjin watch you, panic spreading across his face before your hands instinctively push him away. then the panic dissolves into alarm as he calls your name, accompanied by another timber-like voice that’s shouting out the same syllables.

“___!”

and then your butt hits the ground, then your back and your head at the same time.

“whew chile, that sounds painful, you okay?” taehyung sounds concern, but he doesn’t take any step towards you to further assert your head - you could’ve had a concussion for all he knows!

“um, gee thanks for making sure,” you want to roll your eyes, but you’re too busy rubbing the spot where your head made contact with the floor.

but seokjin, ever the thoughtful person, is already climing over the bed and pulling you up with one heave.

“why are you shirtless?” taehyung suddenly inquires.

 the cozy creme sweater clinging onto your body feeling immensely inadequate as you ice up. he looks between you and his brother, screws twisting in that head of his before he asks another question.

“is that really my brother’s shirt?” his eyes scream concluded assumption.

well, it’s true, but-

“would you give me your sweater if i said i was cold?” you don’t give him a chance to respond, “no. right. so shut up. what do you want anyway? hurry up cause i wanna take a nap.”

“let’s play, the squad wanna go one more round with you before we all go to sleep,” he says, the matter of why seokjin is shirtless or if it’s really said man’s shirt you’re wearing now no longer a matter of importance.

you like how his brain works.

“the fuck? you came all the way here just for that?” you narrow your eyes, as if visually asking him if he knows whether he’s making sense or not but you get up anyway, walking towards your laptop that’s perched on the desk where you left it last night.

your friends greet you with less enthusiasm than they did last night - everyone sounded like they either need sleep or need a fuck. there’s no clear answer to what they need but you guess you’re up for one game.

“alright losers, let’s geddit.” your cheer is met with groans and tired version of ‘wooo’s and ‘yeah’s.

five minutes into the game, you feel a peck on your cheek and a smiling kim seokjin gazing down at you with bed hair and puffy cheeks. the smile you offer him back is fleeting because you have a character to maintain and a team to support. this time, you choose the supporting role while hoseok takes on the fighter role.

once you realize that the figure casting a shadow over you remains still and unmoving, you peek up at him for the briefest seconds to ask ‘what?’.

you’re only met with a higher tug of his lips.

and then he falls down on his knee - and you don’t even have the chance to wrap your head around it when he grabs hold of your ankle and spread your legs apart. lifting your ass up as he pulls down your shorts seem to be a muscle response than your brain actually understanding what’s happening. but by the time it does, seokjin’s face is already buried deep between your thighs.

“wah- yikes!” you manage to divert your surprise to the enemy that came on screen, forcing out a laugh, “th-that was a close one, whew i was about to die.”

“the fuck? you already had 8 hours of sleep what are you messing up for?” taehyung says into your headphone.

seokjin licking a strip up your love nub.

but that doesn’t stop you from retorting, “oh my god, did i tell you to play all night and not sl- sleep?” you bite back, barely managing to end your sentence with a consistent amount of sarcasm when the tip of seokjin’s tongue slips into your entrance.

“okay, okay, we’re all a little sensitive here,” jeongguk, the most competitive and non-losing-accepting out of the five of you actually tries to placate.

oh, you’re sensitive alright.

then he says something about how “we’re a team” and “if you wanna fight, fight the enemy team.” or something. you’re not so sure because you’re too busy clasping your hand against your mouth whilst trying to dish out healing powers to your team that’s fighting a few feet in front of you as seokjin tugs on your thighs, positioning them in an angle where his tongue can reach deeper inside you, so much so that your ass is almost hanging off the air.

“fine,” you almost choke on your supposedly vindictive reply as your toes begin to curl, back arching as the only sound that manages to escape you is a sob-like whimper whilst sparks erupt from the depth of your stomach and course through your veins like sweet, sweet poison.

seokjin kisses the inside of your thigh once your breathing slows down and you’re slumping on the chair like you have no energy left in you. jimin’s voice demanding you to cover for him barely registering in your brain as you click an ability that showers him with a protection spell.

“sorry, got distracted,” you say into the mic simply before hearing jimin’s “it’s okay, nobody died.”

literally.

if anyone of you died, it would’ve definitely been on you. last night, you got away with saying you weren’t in your ‘zone’ but today, your underperformance will be the reason you get kicked out of the squad for good. probably.

and because you’re under fire, you can’t stop seokjin when he slips away and out of the room, leaving you to make up for your mini blunder.

the game lasts a good 20 minutes before the golden symbol of victory flash across your screen and more energetic sheers erupt in your headphones. everyone starts bidding each other farewell and ‘good night losers’s before the headphones go quiet.

only then, do you bound down the hallway and into the kitchen where you know the reason of the sizzling, salivating scent is because of kim seokjin. a still shirtless kim seokjin with his beautiful, broad back on you as he chops something on the chopping board and gracefully pours it into whatever he’s cooking.

“that wasn’t fair - you should at least give me a warning,” you stand with your arms crossed over your chest.

“did the enemy you go against give you a warning before ambushing you?” he asks in a matter of factly, teasing smirk on his lips that makes your heart go flip flop.

he’s never smiled at you like that before.

“that’s- that’s different,” you refuse to back down, “they couldn’t even if they wanted to because the system doesn’t let us communicate with the enemy team.”

he nods whilst stirring the - you’d peeked - fried rice that’s sizzling in the pan, “i did give you a warning.”

“um where?” you can fee your eyebrows knitting together.

“the kiss,” he taps his cheek twice before shutting off the stove, devious smirk playing on his lips.

“i thought that was a bona fide peck!” 

“that’s on you,” he shrugs, pouring the fried rice into four plates, “like namjoon says - never assume.”

“okay, maybe he did say that,” you concur, taking a seat across from him where he places the plate and offers you a fork and a spoon that he took out from their respective drawers under the counter.

“something smells good,” taehyung comes popping out from the hallway, bowl of empty cereal in hand as his eyes light up at the sight of the two other plates placed between you and seokjin, almost as if knowing that the only other thing that coud summon the kim brothers out from their dwelling is seokjin’s cooking.

“i’m starving,” namjoon announces, seconds apart from taehyung’s assertion.

so you have breakfast - or lunch, really - together like you would. just four kids from the same hometown who found home in each other’s presence.

you might’ve found something else that you like in seokjin’s pants - but that’s besides the point.

x

note. and here we go for the 2nd installment! hope yall enjoyed!

taglist. @scalubera​ @aretha170​

[mattzerella-sticks]

Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

           Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

           Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

           They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

           Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

           Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

           Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

           Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

           Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

           Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

           It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

           Not how he always envisioned it, but…

           Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

           Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

           “Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

           He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

           Knock Knock Knock

           Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

           Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

           “Hello, Dean.”

           “Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

           Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

           Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

           He’s back!

           “I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

           Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

           “Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

           Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

           “For you?”

           “For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

           “Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

           “Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

           “What the hell?”

           “He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

           Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

           “I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

           Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

           “We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

           “I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

           “Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

           “Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

           Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

           “…I don’t see any problems with that.”

           Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

           “Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

           Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen. ________________________________________________________

Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

It takes two to Tango.

It’s always like this after using it, but of course a quirk like this would come with some dangerous side effects.

You watch your reflection in the mirror, all dark eyebags and bloodshot eyes. At least the bleeding has finally stopped, but the sink is a bloody mess, and the trash can is full of paper soaking in blood.

It feels awful, really. Physically and emotionally.

You could still feel Dabi’s bones bending under your quirk. His muscles and tendons stiffen like hard rock as the blood stooped its flowing inside of him.

As always, you let the anger get the best of you. It’s your worst defect, and now it will cost you dearly because there is no way the league lets you live after what you’ve done to Dabi. Shigaraki will decay you and that will be all, and if you weren’t as exhausted after all the crying and the bleeding, you would be fucking losing it.

A soft knock in the door forces you to clear your face from the tears before opening, shoving down the nausea at the idea of facing your imminent death.

“can we talk?” Toga asks, her soft face adorned with a little frown.

You let her in and close the door again, sitting over the toilet.

“I’m very sorry for what I did, Himiko-chan.” You sob quietly.

“I know. Hey…hey, don’t cry. I’m not mad.”

“I hurt you, I didn’t think clearly, I was so mad...”

“hey, it’s fine.” She states, her little hand touching your shoulder, trying to calm you. “I mean, when I first came to the league, Tomura, Dabi and I almost killed each other, so…I understand.”

“it’s not the same, Toga. My quirk is…I almost killed Dabi and I didn’t even touched him. I just…I, I’m supposed to help people, try to keep it down, but when I get angry…I’m a monster and now Shigaraki is going to kill me…”

“No, don’t say that. That’s not true.” Her voice is soft when she clutches in front of you. “look at me, hey. Look at me. We are friends. You just got angry. And you didn’t hurt me, and Tomura and Compress are fine. It didn’t hurt. It was weird but didn’t hurt. And Tomura-kun is not going to kill you.”

“really?”

“If Tomura-kun wanted you dead, you would’ve been an hour ago.” She answers, rolling her eyes. “can you tell me about what just happen? What is with your quirk?”

“it’s pretty simple, actually. It is call Torment. Is the ability to manipulate living tissue, tensing nerves, contracting muscle and bending bone. It’s a useless variation of a healing quirk, but I cannot grow new tissue, only manipulate it. I can keep wounds closed, I can relax your nerves, I can break your bones and stop your blood from flowing. I can stop your heart just by moving a finger and torture you by contracting all your muscles and nerves, but it’s dangerous for me. It’s too much effort to control a whole body, less alone four of them. I bleed, and I ache.”

 “wow. That’s why you look so terrible.”

“yeah” you laugh cleaning your tears. “I guess I do.”

“how do you feel now?”

“a little better. Still like shit, but I’ll be fine.”

“Compress and I will be going to the store. Do you want something?”

“To the store? With what money?”

“A girl has her ways.” She teases softly “want some sweets?”

“Yes. I need to eat something. It’s…Dabi there?”

“no, he went out. Tomura-kun told him to go chill outside.”

“Okay. I’m going to get out now...”

“don’t be scared. You’ll be fine. Dabi asked for it anyway and…he sometimes can get very nasty with Tomura. He deserved it.”

“Himiko…thank you.”

You gather your courage and step out of the bath, finding your apartment as messy as you left it an hour ago, but this time is empty.

Thank god.

You give yourself to the task of collecting your destroyed laptop and removing the broken table from the view, looking for a way to repair the detached leg, trying to clean and erase any trace of the fight, enjoying your solitude for the first time in more than a week.

“this is going to cost me.” you say to no one, preparing yourself to the idea of buying a new computer as you move to your room. “I don’t have any extra money to-”

“I always knew you were hiding something.”

“FUCK!” You scream letting the pieces of your laptop fall again, covering your face with your hands when you notice Shigaraki’s arm crossed figure leaning against the wall besides your door. “dammit, Shigaraki. You cannot just…appear behind other people’s doors.”

“that’s debatable.” He remarks, an amused grin plastered in his face.

He watches you and something inside of you twist between excited and scared as his eyes scan you head to toe, the gears of his brain turning inside his head.

“What.”

“C’mon. I’m curious about it.”

“I bet you are.” You spit annoyed.

“Careful now. Look where that bickering mouth of yours got you an hour ago.” He warns you entertained.

“Don’t you dare to patronize me.” You warn already tired, a hand rubbing against your temple.

“I’m just asking about that funny little quirk you have. That and the little display of rage, who would have thought!”

You stare at him, weighting your options to no avail.”

“I can manipulate living tissue. Muscle, bone, nerves, blood. That’s all.

“That’s a pretty boring answer to such a memorable show.”

“This is stupid. What did you expect me to do, huh?” you snap.

“What makes you think I expect you to do anything?” He asks cunningly.

“You know what I mean.”

“no, I don’t.” he laughs.

“It’s just…I hate bullys. And he’s been trying his best to get on my nerves since day one and I could…I mean, i…I just…”

“you what.”

“I cannot stay there and let him berate people like it’s not important!” You can feel the verbal vomit gathering inside your throat, if you keep like this, you are going to say something you will regret.

“but it’s not.” He states rolling his eyes. “I didn’t care about what he said. You didn’t have to say anything.”

“but I care!”

"About what he does? or is about wh-"

"it's about what he said of you!"

"It doesn't matter wh-"

"Yes, it does!" 

“why d-”

“because I like you!”

The moment those words are out, you smack your palm against your mouth, fully convinced you made a horrible mistake, so honoring your sense of self-preservation and improvisation, you oblige yourself to make some verbal stunt just to get out of this one, because you have a horrible scary feeling about the hungry look he’s giving you.

“I mean, I thought we could get along…all of us. Despite everything, I think highly of you, and I know you are a villain- villains who wants to destroy everything, but I thought we could be…”

“Friends? are you hearing yourself?” He spits; his mouth twitched in a hateful grimace.

Fear shoots through you in less than a second. Suddenly he looks more taller and menacing, as his steps makes you retrieve, until your back hits the wall on the corner of your room.

Yeah, you may not be afraid of Dabi, but Shigaraki Tomura is a completely different story.

“What are you doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Get away from me.” you bark scared, as your eyes ignite in clear warning. The dark feeling pooling at the pit of your stomach send shivers through your spine, lifting the hairs of your neck in terror.

“Make me.” Shigaraki growls lowly the moment one of his hands trap your chin roughly, his pinky safely curled against his palm, but even like that you can almost feel how close you are from certain death.

He is pissed out of the blue, your brain failing at finding the exact moment shit went down before he decides to finally kill you, yet you don’t get it, all you did was…

Oh…

He winces scanning your face searching for something, and the moment his eyes stops over your lips, you recognize the feeling.

He snarls like a wolf, looming over you, looking like he’s ready to kill you.

Or eat you.

“Are you done playing dumb?” he asks darkly, and you can feel the warm of his breath against your own lips and something far more complex and exciting than plain fear roaring inside your chest, begging you to push forward, begging you to kiss him.

“I said…are you done playing-“

“WE ARE BACK!” You both snap your heads to the door the moment Toga enters, screaming cheerfully while leaving a bag with candy over the counter, and before you know, Shigaraki is at the other side of the room, staring at you like you transfixed, digging his nails deeply in his neck, before storming out of the apartment, leaving you there, rooted in your room, finally remembering how to breathe.

“What’s wrong with him?” Compress asks as he handles you a pack of gummy bears.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand against your face, your lips still tingling with longing.

“I have no idea.” You lie.

Chapter 11

[graysonsdarlings]

ice cream cake

notes: this is my first time writing for dick! sorry if he’s a little (or a lot) ooc. i adore him so much, so i thought i’d start writing for him. as always, feedback is appreciated!

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none

An agonizingly long mission had taken up the majority of the day. Everyone was exhausted out of their minds and had decided to call it a day as soon as they made it back. But you were still up, foot tapping the tile of the dimly lit kitchen with a small ice cream cake in front of you. A pack of candles, which were purchased before you realized they’d make the cake melt even quicker than it was already, had been lazily tossed on the counter beside it. You had snuck away from the others after the mission, running to the first store that was still open this late, purchasing one of the only cakes they had left.

Your arms laid crossed on the cool counter as a sigh left your lips. “Happy birthday to the loneliest Young Justice member,” you muttered, spoon going in to cut the confection.

“What are you doing up so late?” asked a low voice, making your head snap to the direction it came from.

“Dick?” you breathed as your eyes made out his form, trying to regain control of your quickening heartbeat. It was always hard to keep steady whenever Dick was around. One look from him made butterflies fill your stomach. Even when he always wore those stupid sunglasses, you still could feel his gaze. You gave him a once over. “I could ask you the same.”

You had been an admirer of Robin since his early days of staking out on rooftops with Batman, and began to develop a slight crush on the Boy Wonder after the two of you became a part of Young Justice. His constant flirting and banter with you didn’t help the small ache in your heart you’d get from seeing him. You always wrote off his passes at you because he was like that with almost everyone he met. It was all a part of his charm as the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. But Dick’s blue eyes pulled you in like ocean waves. It didn’t take much for you to lose your footing and get pulled from shore.

“It’s your birthday?” he questioned, ignoring what you had said. Dick frowned when you nodded. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well we were kind of trying not to die, y’know?” you shrugged. “Not something you just bring up while you’re dodging punches. Hey Robin, I know we’re in a life or death situation right now, but hey! It’s my birthday! Yeah, a little distracting, don’t you think?” You purse your lips, looking down at the cake. “And I'm not really one for parties, especially if the attention is on me. Everyone was tired anyway, and they deserve some rest. As do you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be spending your birthday alone,” he said, walking over to you.

“I didn’t. I was with you all.”

“Fighting criminals,” he deadpanned. “Doesn’t sound like the best thing to do on your birthday to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now help me eat this cake before it melts.”

He smiled, gratefully accepting the spoon you offered. The both of you quickly regretted digging in so fast, because before you knew it, your head and teeth began to ache like hell. Being superheroes and all, you and Dick have endured much worse pain, but pain was still pain.

You groaned, keeping the ice cream on your tongue to let it melt. “Shit- brain freeze.”

Dick winced as he finished his piece. You looked at each other and began giggling hysterically. Simultaneously sharing a brain freeze wasn’t all that funny, but a chorus of laughter began filling the room anyway. The two of you quickly forgot the others were still very much asleep, all too wrapped up in each other’s company. Your fit of giggles soon died down and you hoped you hadn’t woken anyone up. Most of them were heavy sleepers anyway.

“Maybe we shouldn’t eat so much at once?”

“Good idea.”

You soon fell into easy conversation and moved over the couch. The ice cream cake was eagerly devoured, in a normal fashion this time to prevent any further aches. The silverware had been long forgotten on the table as you traded childhood memories, hopes and desires, and basked in the presence of one another. There was something about Dick that made you feel safe. Nothing but him seemed to matter and all of your worries vanished in an instant when he’d flash you that smile of his, blindingly bright and oozing with charm.

It was so easy to fall for Dick Grayson.

There was a glimmer of hope that would fill you sometimes. A small wish that maybe he felt the same way about you. You noticed how his gaze would linger on you for that tiny moment longer, or when he’d smile at you lopsidedly in a way that was different from anyone else. The way that he was gazing at you now made your stomach swirl. He had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes were tired, but the warmth you felt from them was all the same. Dick wore a boyish grin. The distance between you was small, smaller than you recalled it being. You don’t remember moving closer to him. Or did he get closer to you?

A small smile tugged the corner of your lips. They were slightly chapped from when you licked the excess ice cream off of them earlier in the night. The room was silent, but there was something peaceful about the silence. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. A soft yawn left your lips as your head gently laid on Dick’s shoulder. The soft material of his t-shirt coaxing you to sleep.

“Happy belated birthday, angel,” Dick whispered to your sleeping form, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

The sunlight shined brightly on your face, forcing you awake. You rolled over to escape its beams, pulling the covers closer to your body when a thought hit you. You don’t remember falling asleep on your bed. How did you get there? Your eyes shot open, a muffled groan escaping your lips as you realized that Dick must’ve carried you. You kept your face hidden in your pillow, praying to God you didn’t say anything in your sleep. Who knows what came out of your mouth, drowsy and most importantly, unfiltered.

A few minutes went by before you slumped up reluctantly, realizing you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. You rubbed your tired eyes and slowly pushed the warm blanket off of you. The cool air nipped at your skin, making you shiver. You scurried over to your dresser to grab a sweatshirt, and quickly pulled it over your head. You glanced at the clock before gazing at your reflection, taking in your eyebags and dull skin. You sighed, rubbing your face and began to brush out the knots in your hair.

The groaning of your stomach made you realize how hungry you were and you slipped out of your room to make breakfast. You were in need of caffeine as well. You didn’t run into anyone as you quietly walked to the kitchen. You figured everyone was still asleep. That or they had gone out early. But when you made it into the kitchen, you found someone.

“Good morning,” chirped Dick. “Made some breakfast. You want some?”

“Cereal?” you questioned, eyeing the bright green box of Apple Jacks in his hand. “Since when does that qualify as ‘Making breakfast’?”

“Oh shush,” he said sheepishly, running his fingers through his dark hair.

You walked over to the refrigerator to grab eggs, but it was empty. You sighed, hoping that someone will remember to get them if you don’t. After grabbing a bowl and spoon from a cabinet, you took your seat on a stool. You grabbed the box of cereal and poured it in along with your milk. “So...”

“Hm?”

“Did we go to my room last night?”

“Oh.” Dick laughed, his cheeks beginning to turn rosy when remembering the way you unconsciously wrapped yourself around him. “No, I carried you to your room after you fell asleep. I didn’t want to leave you on the couch.”

“Thanks,” you said, chewing another spoonful of cereal. “Also… I didn't get to thank you for last night. I'm glad that it was you I got to spend my birthday with.”

Dick placed his hand over his heart for dramatic flare. “I’m honored.”

You snorted. “Shut up, you dork. I’m trying to have a nice moment with you.”

He simply smiled and gazed at you with an emotion you could only describe as adoration. “I’m glad that it was me who you got to spend your birthday with.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I have a present for you.”

“Really? You didn’t have to.”

“Just close your eyes.”

“That’s a bit ominous, I’m not sure if I want to-“

“Y/N.”

“Okay, okay.”

You closed your eyes in anticipation, wondering what he could’ve gotten you only a mere eight hours after learning it was your birthday. You felt Dick get closer to you until you could feel the warmth of his breath. His nose brushed against yours and his lips hovered over your own. You could almost hear the gears in his head grind before finally deciding to close the distance between you. Dick’s lips are chapped, but they’re still soft like you thought they’d be. You’d be a liar if you said you’ve never imagined kissing him before.

He pulled away and you instantly missed the feeling of his touch. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed from the action. There was doubt in your mind. You still weren’t sure if that had really happened. Maybe you would wake up again and realize that it was all in your head. But you were still here with Dick looking at you with love.

“I have to admit,” you whispered breathlessly, “that was the best birthday gift I’ve ever received. Can I have another? Maybe a really early one for next year?”

He laughed. “How about you can have as many as you like whenever you want?”

“Deal,” you said, eagerly pressing your lips against his.

[an-ambivalent]

Uchiha Therapist: Part I

Synopsis: Yandere! Madara x Reader x Yandere! Sasuke 

 [Name] is a struggling post graduate psychology student who has more on her plate than she can handle. Between her practicums to gain work experience and writing reports, to trying to maintain a decent lifestyle and look after her own mental health, there is little to no time left to work an actual paying job. Yet, money is essential for survival. So,  she does the next best thing that has been trending recently to assure a good paycheck; she becomes a sugar baby. The only thing is, [Name] is unaware that she’s become sugar baby of the Madara Uchiha, the notorious CEO of Uchiha Corporation. She is also unaware of the fact that she’s the therapist of his nephew Sasuke Uchiha, who has begun treading over the professional boundary of a patient, and has started developing an abnormal fixation for his therapist since she seems to be the only one who actually understands him.

Warning: Although this story will come to contain yandere themes that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read, there are no yandere themes present  in this chapter. It does have mentions of negative and tiring thoughts that may be triggering. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional and any yandere or other toxic behaviours that may be present in the future, know that I do not condone such behaviour. 

Word Count: 4K 

--

Story start; A day in the life of [Name] 

On the night that started it all, when [Name] was feeling particularly disheartened and dissatisfied with her life, she had vented her frustrations and sorrow to her good friend Ino Yamanaka. Although many things in her life were going right, and she was privileged enough to have the chance to pursue her wanted career, it came at a cost. Her entire life schedule was fixed around her post graduation studies, other little spared time was for cooking and doing chores, and the rest was for sleeping. [Name] lacked the time for earning money, and doing things that were higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — dating to find someone to create a meaningful connection with, or working on her previous hobbies. 

The two friends had been consuming enough booze to be a little more than tipsy but not enough to be drunk. Some words were slurred, the fine motor control had decreased a bit, and with their faces slightly flushed, Ino was convinced that she had the best idea to [Name]’s problems. 

Giggling at her own idea, Ino had snatched [Name]’s laptop from in front of them, and tapped various keyboard keys for joogle to search up. Once she saw the results, she clicked on one of the many websites shown as a result, and after a few more minutes of more clicks and keyboard taps, she had turned the laptop towards [Name] to see, with a triumph grin on her face. 

“A sugar daddy,” Ino claimed proudly. 

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“A sugar daddy — it’s the perfect solution for your troubles. Not only will you get to earn more than enough, it covers the dating aspect too! Someone to spend your time with, to sleep over with — just without getting too attached. You’ll have a social life once again that doesn’t consist of you drinking booze with me or our other friends and you can finally afford to look decent again,” Ino explained straightforwardly. 

[Name]’s eye twitched. “What do you mean finally afford to look decent again?” she inquired in a low voice, and glared at Ino, who smiled sheepishly at her. 

“Well you’ve been a fashion disaster for sometime now—“

“Sorry I don’t have rich parents like the rest of you to buy me extravagant brands,” [Name] retorted, and a tick mark of anger bulged on Ino’s head. 

“Well Sakura is a commoner like you too and even when she was a starving student, she still had a fashion sense. You don’t need to buy something expensive like jucci to look decent!” Ino snapped, and [Name] scowled at her. 

“Whatever. This discussion is pointless anyway since I’m not going to become a sugar baby,” [Name] responded, and went to grab a bottle to consume more alcohol.  However, the uneasy and anxious expression that Ino wore made her halt amidst her movements. All of a sudden, a cold shiver ran down [Name]’s back, and she felt a sense of dread building up in her gut. 

“Please tell me you didn’t,” [Name] pleaded and Ino winced inwardly, before she turned the laptop around to show [Name]. 

“I did… I already signed you up. You have a date with him this Friday night.” 

“INO!” 

That was the gist of how [Name] had become entangled in her predicament with Madara Uchiha, and what was meant to be nights for [Name] giving her daddy some casual sugar, turned into an diabetic sugar addiction. 

It was baffling really, how as children, people can be better in following orders than they can be as adults. And for someone like [Name], who had been studying psychology for years now, and began to work with the theories, one would think that practicing what she preached would be easier; she was great at helping her clients, but not much at helping herself. 

“Make sure you don’t go with strangers” — a lesson that had been engraved in children at school and from their parents for their own safety. It was one of the most basic rules of common sense to evade danger; however, it was the rule [Name] failed to follow. Instead of not going through with her fixed date with a sugar daddy, who was a complete stranger and who knows pose what danger, she had gone through with it. And she had not even taken any caution to have their first meeting in a public place, no. She had gone to his home, which was the only place he accepted for their meeting, because she was too anxious to say no or not go through with it. 

She really wondered how she was able to help her clients so well when she could not even manage her own anxiety. 

So, now, here she sat. Since by Ino’s definition, [Name] was a walking fashion disaster, the blonde had refused to let her go without her help. Their tastes differed, but even [Name] had to admit that Ino had done an incredible job in helping her choose an outfit that was suited to her tastes. Granted, it was skimpier than what she usually wore and more figure defining, but it did make her look really nice. She did not look like a savage mess with evident dark eyebags who appeared to have just gotten out of bed and went to work straightaway like she did on a daily basis. But she felt exposed and uncomfortable in the setting she was not accustomed to.

The penthouse she had been invited to was extravagantly luxurious; the small dining for the two of them (her and soon to be her sugar daddy) was right next to the giant window in the living room that showed a beautiful night view of the Konoha city. Lighting in the room was ambient and romantic, and there was a small pizza, that looked ridiculously expensive for what it's worth, and red wine settled before her. While she did not want to indulge in such luxury, feeling on the edge of the seat because of how her sugar daddy to be was scrutinizing her with calculating onyx eyes, and never being the one to refuse free food, she mindlessly ate it, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“You know, usually you’re supposed to make conversation and sell yourself to try and convince me of why I should stick with you rather than someone else,” Madara spoke, and this was so abrupt and unanticipated on [Name]’s part that she froze half way through biting her food. Her cheeks felt hot in embarrassment, and she awkwardly coughed loudly before looking up at Madara. Although he found her antics to be somewhat adorable, he kept a straight face. After all, to gain the attention of a man of his status, there were many who did the strangest things to appease him. Madara was not a man to be tricked so foolishly. 

“Why should I sell myself when you haven’t convinced me to why I should be your….uh, sugar b-baby rather than s-someone else’s?” [Name] responded. She had started off strongly, but near the end when it came to referring to herself as a sugar baby and realisation of the situation sunk in, she felt herself become more flustered. 

Now, it was not odd for people to be intimidated by Madara. However, acting in confidence at the same time, and to question his authority, that was new. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in amusement. He leaned back in his chair and raised a fine black eyebrow at [Name]. 

“And why should I have to sell myself to you? I’m the one who, essentially, is paying for everything,” he challenged, and [Name] scoffed at him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s really costing you,” she mumbled under her breath, before clearing her throat. “Someone else can pay me too.” 

“You had no reviews on your profile, you’re lucky that I even chose to click on it. Usually, it’s hard to get started since no one bothers with anyone with no reviews.” 

[Name] shrugged. “That was your own choice, don’t shift the situation onto me. And besides, how do you know it's only reviews that count online? I might know a lot of other sugar daddies I had in my past that desperately want me but it's lucky that I chose to give you, a stranger, the chance.” 

Madara was amused by the fact that [Name] had used his own logic against him, and could not help but smirk. Even though it was more than obvious through her behaviour that she was an absolute newbie to this, he decided to humour her. 

"Well, I am an Uchiha," Madara said simply, as if that sole reason explained everything. 

[Name] blinked in confusion. "Uhhh, okay…? Well, I'm [Surname]. That explains why you should choose me.” 

This time, her response really did leave Madara confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was clear confusion written on his face. 

“You don’t know the Uchiha?” he asked incredulously. The urge to sigh in an exaggerated manner and snap at him was strong, but [Name] decided against it. With the way he spoke in that condescending tone, and expected [Name] to treat him as if he was of utmost importance, made it more than obvious to her that he was used to being treated as the highest authority. Perhaps he was of importance and not watching herself around him could lead her into a huge mess. But [Name] did not particularly care about his status or whatever he had going on that made him expect her to seemingly kiss the floor he walked on. If she cared about authorities and sucking up to people, then she would not be training to be a therapist in the first place. There were going to be times when she would have to fight authorities and regulations with her sweat and blood for the sake of her clients. And really, if [Name] did care, she would not have been here in the first place -- having dinner with a complete stranger. 

“Uh I do?” she said, but it sounded more like a question. Madara opened his mouth to respond to her, but he shifted the focus of the conversation to another topic. He felt even more perplexed by [Name] now because how could she not know the Uchiha? 

“Nevermind, it’s not of importance. Tell me, why are you in this line of business? You don’t seem,” fit for it, he wanted to say, but chose his words carefully. “The type to want to do this.” 

In response, [Name] felt flustered. She wondered if it was really that obvious that she was not used to it and Madara was simply humouring her. She could very well tell him the truth that it was because Ino had tricked her into it. However, that would make her seem gullible. Now that she may be committing to this, she knew she needed to build a good reputation for herself. She decided to tell the half-truth. 

“I need the money,” she answered in a murmur, before she brought the glass of wine to her lips, and took a huge drink from it. 

Madara watched her with analytical eyes as she downed her alcohol, taking no moment to savour the taste. He had also noticed how she was on her third plate of their dinner and wondered if she had any decency and how she was capable of eating so much. 

“Your job doesn’t pay you enough?” he asked in a genuinely concerned tone, before he followed [Name]’s example and downed his remaining wine in one go too. He had never done that before, and after finishing it, he had to admit there was an odd sense of satisfaction of not savouring its every taste and drinking it all together at once. 

Madara was staring at her with anticipation and worry embedded deep in his ebony coloured irides. Frankly speaking, [Name] had not have someone look at her with such concern in a long time. Generally, on the rare occasions she did speak freely about her worries, whoever she shared her problems with would give her their own input rather than simply listening to her and asking her the right questions that would help her discuss or figure out her own problem. The sight of it made her heart beat faster, and she unknowingly found herself talking before she even what she was doing.

“It’s not that… Well, actually I don’t even work. I barely have time to breath, working is my last priority right now,” she murmured, nervously fiddling with her fingers, as she observed Madara from the corner of her eye.

“While I cannot relate to your financial struggles, I understand the situation you’re in. Becoming so busy because of a goal you once had, that you question whether it’s even worth pursuing it anymore. You lose sight of who used to be and the things that brought you pleasure. There’s always something to do that you can’t even remember the last time you truly felt alive,” Madara said thoughtfully, and his words caused [Name]’s eyes to widen. 

“And no matter how much you want to try and change things, it just feels like you’ve been stuck in the same cycle and it keeps repeating over and over and over again,” [Name] murmured, sighing dejectedly. “I really hate the world.” 

Madara chuckled at her declaration as he lifted another bottle of wine that was on their table. 

“Me too. Why don’t we discuss more things we hate about the world and learn about what we in common over more wine?” he suggested. The edge of suspicion and tenseness he held before was no longer present. Instead, he was now feeling much more relaxed than he had in awhile, and felt intrigued about [Name]. The twinkle in his eyes in hopes to talk to her more caused her lips to stretch into a cute flustered smile. 

“Sure.” 

____________________

It was the week which was like the last and there was no change but stress levels felt higher. Even after a decent ten hours sleep, [Name] felt exhaustion crawling like bugs underneath the epidermis layer of her skin. Dark bags were swelled prominently underneath her eyes. Her hair was tied carelessly in a messy bun that fell to one side; it wasn’t pretty like the one’s beauty gurus showed. It was loose but the knot was tight enough to make the weight of the hair feel too evident with each passing moment. Taking a quick sip from her steaming mocha, she greeted the administrators on the front desk that were the first point of contact between clients and the therapists who worked further back in the office. This office was where [Name] was presently working to gain practice experience in her second practicum. Generally, students in training were simply meant to observe and learn. If permission given by their supervisor, they could step in. But in [Name]’s case, for the sake of the story’s plot, the office she had chosen this time were understaffed. And since she already had finished one practicum and had quite a lot of other experiences from volunteering under her belt, she was trusted to work independently with whatever clients may be assigned to her. 

“Good morning Moegi and Konohamaru,” [Name] greeted, and the two looked up from their screens. When they noticed it was [Name], they beamed at her and returned her greeting in response. 

“How was your weekend [Name]?” Konohamaru asked, as he handed her the appointment schedule of everyone she would seeing today. 

[Name] was ready to give her autopilot response of it being "okay" and then quickly shooting a "how about you" like she usually did. However, before those words left her mouth she paused to ponder: truly, how had her weekend been? 

It was okay. Actually, it had been more than okay.

It had surprisingly been a lot of fun. When she had went through with her sugar daddy date, she had somewhat expected that she may end up having sex with a rich man she would not have been attracted to and receive compensation for sleeping with him. But that had not been the case. Madara was quite attractive, and although the dinner date had begun with a few subtle jeers thrown at each other, she had ended up having a good time with him. The fact that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him in the way she didn't even feel that level of comfort with her friends, and shared things she hadn't even known she was bottling up - - it was such a profound experience. To go from discussing their hatred for many things, to confessing secrets and feelings they weren't judged for, but rather, listened to, to getting so drunk that they sang cheesy songs and ended the date with their own unplanned karaoke night, it left an odd feeling of satisfaction and joy in [Name]'s chest that she had not felt in a while. The knowledge of knowing that she would be seeing Madara again soon left her feeling embarrassed. 

"It was," she began, and she covered her face with one hand to hide her embarrassment. "Really nice and fun. I had a good time," she murmured somewhat quietly. Then, right away, she scurried off towards her office before they could question her further or talk about their own weekends.

[Name] had left Moegi and Konohamaru surprised with her response, and the two turned to each other wondering if they had heard right. 

It was after lunch when [Name] was indulging in some [favourite fruit] iced tea, hoping some sugar would help her stay awake when she had an appointment with a client she would be seeing for the first time. She had settled her drink on the table beside her, walked through the hallway, and into the main office with reception and waiting area for clients. 

It was there she saw a young man not much older than herself. He had warm ivory skin and black hair bangs that framed his face. The back of his head looked like a duck’s butt. He must have heard her footsteps because before she even called out his name, he had looked up. When her eyes met his, she took a sharp intake of breath because he looked oddly similar to Madara. The way his obsidian eyes scrutinised her made her feel uneasy. Nonetheless, she gave him, what she hoped appeared to be a welcoming and reassuring smile. 

“You are Sasuke?” she assumed, and he stood up. 

“Hn,” Sasuke responded simply, and at the lack of any greeting or even a facial expression caused [Name] to sweatdrop. But nonetheless, she carried on like she did with all of her patients. 

“Before we start your session, did you want anything? A hot chocolate, coffee, water?” 

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at this before he replied nonchalantly. “A black coffee.” 

[Name] nodded and just before she could speak once more, a head of messy black curls invaded her vision and she was greeted with a smile that was almost too falsely cheerie for her taste. 

“Hello! I’m Shisui, Sasuke’s cousin. And stoic face over there is Itachi, Sasuke’s brother. You forgot about us Miss. Therapist,” Shisui greeted brightly. At his exuberant persona, Sasuke glared at him. The one who he had introduced as Itachi, sighed, and [Name] looked at them apologetically. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t notice you. Can I get anything for you as well? If you’ve been with Sasuke until this point, I can assume you’ll be staying with him.” 

Itachi nodded and stepped up front and held out his hand for [Name] to shake, which she obliged to almost instantly. 

“Yes. We are here to oversee my little brother’s recovery at my Father’s orders and make sure there is progress,” he explained simply. His words were harsh. It was evident in the way Shisui had become tight lipped, and how Sasuke had now averted his glare onto Itachi. [Name]’s eyes shifted to observe their reaction and then returned to Itachi who was looking at her stoically. It wasn’t too obvious. However, she noticed with the way Itachi’s jaw was clenched more tightly than it had been before. This change in his body language clearly indicated that he had not wanted to say what he did and he did not want to be here. And from the intense glare Sasuke regarded him with, [Name] safely assumed that whatever was going on with Sasuke, Itachi seemed to be a part of it. Underneath Itachi’s pretty eyes, she noticed a sense of tiredness that was all — physical, mental, emotional and more. She saw that same sense of exhaustion on her own face each day. 

The session had not even started and this was already turning out to become so complicated. [Name] hoped she would still have her sanity by the time she graduated and came to do this full-time. There were some of her colleagues who never bothered with rules or following basic procedures to assure their clients comfort and wellbeing. Lucky for her clients, she did. And when she needed to, she would bend over backwards and willingly go beyond her capabilities for them. 

She knew from the way they all held themselves, and particularly with how Itachi had spoken that they were of important status. Their ‘father asked [them] to be here’ was a subtle way of implying that she could get in huge trouble if she did not comply with them. But [Name] just didn’t care. 

She turned to Sasuke with a stern look on her face and motioned towards Shisui and Itachi. 

“Do you want them there to support you or would you feel more comfortable with just you? Either way is fine. It’s your decision,” [Name] said smiling at him. 

The three raven-haired males that had been introducing themselves moments ago stilled and their eyes widened in shock. Shisui was the first one to snap out of it. 

“Uh, Miss. Therapist, I don’t think you know—“ 

“I know what I’m doing. Please refrain from implying such things and let my client decide for himself,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. Shisui went to warn once more, but he was stopped by Itachi, who shook his head. 

Itachi’s gaze went to Sasuke, and then back to [Name] as he spoke. 

“I’m sure she knows what she is doing. We all wish for Sasuke’s wellbeing. We won’t intrude if he doesn’t want us to,” he proclaimed. That was his way of hinting for Shisui to drop the subject, and reassuring both Sasuke and [Name] that he was on their side, particularly with Sasuke, letting him know that he would not let their father find this out. 

“Aniki,” Sasuke murmured in disbelief, staring at his brother for a few moments. Then, he looked back at [Name] to see she was still giving him the same sweet and gentle smile she had greeted him with. 

Maybe, perhaps, this time, signing up for therapy would be worth it. Maybe he could allow himself to talk to her and not fear judgement and consequences like he had with his previous therapists. 

“I’d like it to be by myself,” he murmured, looking away from her with slight pink cheeks. As his eyes had drifted away from hers and met Shisui’s, who gave him a warning look, his shoulders tensed and his eyes snapped back to [Name] right away. “P-Please and t-thank you.” 

He did not need to glance at Shisui again to know the oldest male was now grinning at him. 

Seemingly, his politeness seemed to be unexpected and Sasuke wanted to scoff at how [Name]’s eyes had lit up in pride. It almost annoyed him because did they really think he was that dimwitted? 

“You’re welcome. Now, follow me please. Shisui and Itachi, our session will be around an hour so you can come to pick him up in that time,” [Name] said. The two of them nodded and waved the two goodbye as Sasuke followed after [Name] to her office. 

-------

A/N:  (tbh, uhhh, I plan for this to be a yandere story [whispers: eventually] but this chapter is fluffy. I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this or if I’ll add more Uchihas as love interests and turn into a reverse harem for [Name], I’m gonna make shit up as I go along and hope it turns into something decent lol gang gang. I just need to write a story I can write without worries and just enjoy the process of it rather than caring about where it leads. So yeet. I hope you join me on this journey <3)

[supernatural-book]

A Pretty Big Win

Title: A Pretty Big Win (Prologue!!!!)

Summary: Things are getting pretty stressful in the Winchester's lives. In the middle of all the stress, Dean Winchester proposes that the two of you go on a road trip together, just to get away from it all. After all, spending time with his loving girlfriend was just what he needed- a win.

A/N: Oooooof okay. Heres the first part to a series I want to start! I already have the storyline written out, so I hope to take less than a year to finish it, lol. Anyways, I was originally just gonna do one long fic, but decided this would be better.

Ugggh. 

It was way too early to be awake but, truth be told, he never got to sleep in the first place. Dean Winchester rubbed his hands over his scruffy face and sat up in bed before deciding to just sit and watch his girlfriend for a moment. He would inevitably have to drag his ass out of bed, but for now, he wants to take the time to appreciate your presence. God, look at you, baby. You looked so calm, so small and helpless lying next to the disgruntled hunter, the lumbering oaf that was Dean Winchester. Sometime during the night, you had curled yourself around him in an intimate embrace, one that Dean hadn’t been used to before knowing you. 

Dean Winchester was a good man, but he did have his faults.  For instance, his post-hunt ritual wasn’t always to shower and snuggle up in bed with his one true love. Rather, he’d drive himself to a bar to get tipsy and find any woman who he wanted to lose himself in that night, only to leave as soon as he could in the morning. Sure, he’d have someone to hold on those nights, but laying with a stranger after sex could never compare to the embrace of two lovers who shared each other’s hearts and souls. He knew that now, and he found himself wondering- once again- what he did to deserve someone like you. Someone who’s such a contrast to his cold, dark life. 

He knew from the moment he met you that you were going to be the death of him, and he was ready to accept that fate happily. When he was younger, he had flirted innocently with you every now and then, just watching to get a reaction out of you, wondering if you would ever be his. You made him feel things. Good things- hell, great things. Things he hadn’t felt in such a long time. 

God, that was so long ago. How did it take him so many years to get a hold of you?  ‘Not my fault’, Dean mused, ‘she makes me feel like an awkward kid again. She makes me all flustered and shy when she smiles. And her laughter, God, it’s so beautiful. And the way she says my name…’ His face was flushing just at the thought.

In your sleep, you snuggled closer into Dean’s side and used your leg- which was tossed over his own- to try and pull him closer to you. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Gotta get up now.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and when you still didn't stir from your slumber, he realized just how tired you must have been. Recently- he'd be completely honest- things haven’t been going so well in the Winchester’s life. Things weren't quite as bad as they'd been in the past- there was no looming apocalypse, thank God- but the stress of all the hunts was still taking its toll on all of you. Especially you, bless your precious heart. Who knows what you were trying to do, staying up late to research and wearing yourself out like that for him and Sammy. Dean would never, ever be able to find the right words to thank you for all you've sacrificed for them. The most stressful thing about all of this was that there was nothing you could do yet. Read through all of the books in the library, sure, but you had absolutely no leads and therefore no place to start. And among the stress of trying to figure out what to do, there seemed to be so many cases. Much more than usual. “God, I’m sorry (Y/N). You deserve so much more than this life.” He decided to let you sleep in a while longer and grudgingly pulled himself out of bed, groaning when his feet hit the cold floor. He turned back momentarily- he could never really get enough the girl who gave up everything for him and gave him everything, could he?- and tucked the blankets warm and snug around your form, smiling to himself.

‘Oh baby, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that? And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Okay, something was off. 

It was early morning when you woke up to the sound of your lover's heavy, booted feet moving around on the hard floors of your shared bedroom. You cracked your eyes open and looked around for any indication of what time it was. There were no windows in the bunker, but your eyes fell on the digital clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning? What’s Dean doing up at 3 am? You drearily noticed that Dean had his and your duffel bags on the edge of the bed, each half-filled already.

"Dean?"  You shuffled around on the bed, indicating to him that you were awake. In your half-asleep state, you immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. Oh God, something bad happened and now we have to get out of the bunker before we die. "What's happening? Where are you going?" Dean looked up at the sound of your voice, a genuine smile taking over his face at the sight of you in his bed. It wasn’t odd for you to sleep in his bedroom- you’d been dating for two years now- but you could always see how thrilled Dean was to see you there every morning. 

And God, it had been way too long since you saw him smile at you like that, despite the eyebags.

Dean had a habit- maybe not a habit, a curse- of staying up too late for his own good and not getting any sleep some nights. Not his fault, and you couldn't blame him- hell, if you had half the emotional and psychological trauma he did you wouldn't be able to sleep either. Most of the time it was nightmares -his time in hell, in purgatory, a particularly bad hunt- and sometimes just plain old memories. He was often haunted by memories of the past, guilt over things long gone, the deaths of people who he could never save and still blamed himself for, and the worry- scratch that, the fear- of losing you. You would always be able to tell when he had a night like that. Aside from the telltale eyebags and many, many cups of coffee, he'd carry himself less proudly, be less talkative- it was always worrying when he didn't crack jokes with you- and overall be the spitting image of a broken man.

Something was different today- ahh, this morning, at 3am. He was… excited.

"Morning, sleepyhead." He leaned down to lay a kiss on your forehead, dragging his hand over your messy hair. "I was just about to wake you up." His gentle gesture and happy demeanor calmed your worried mind. Nothing bad was happening; he doesn’t seem worried or rushed. In fact, he seemed… softer, calmer than usual. You sat up in bed, watching him lay items out on the bed to pack. 

"So… what's going on?" You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

"You and I are going on a road trip for the weekend. Or however long we can be away." 

"Without Sam?" 

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a romantic getaway if I brought my little brother with, would it?” He caught your confused gaze and laughed. "What, I can't go on dates with my girlfriend?"

"That's not what I meant. Is there, like, a hunt or something?" Dean opened your dresser and tossed you a pair of your jeans and one of his big Led Zeppelin tees. 

"No. No hunts this week. Told Sammy we all need a break. Gotta get out of here, don't you think? I’m suffocating" He turned to you again, leaning in to give you a squeeze and help you out of bed. “Anyway, we need to go on a date again, ya know? It's been a while. Come on, get up, sweetheart. I’ll keep packing, you go get dressed. We’re wasting driving time." You happily jumped out of bed to get ready, taken aback by how sweet Dean was acting, considering how stressed he had been the day before. Not even 24 hours ago, Dean was downing a bottle of whiskey and stressing over everything that had been happening recently. “I just need one win. Just one.” he had muttered into his glass before downing it and letting the familiar drink burn down his throat. It was odd that he suddenly seemed cheerful and happy again, but you’ll be damned if you’re not gonna cherish every single moment of Dean’s sweet side. ‘God,’ you thought, thinking back to your past with him.  ‘His sweet side is what made me fall for him in the first place’. 

When you first met Dean, you knew immediately that you’d fall in love with him. 

You were born into a family of hunters, who eventually- of course- met a tragic fate like many others, while you managed to get out of the life and were in the midst of your college education. Two FBI agents- odd, it didn’t really require the FBI- came to your dorm to ask you about it. 

They were both tall and imposing, one a bit taller than the other, and they were both quite handsome, you’d admit, but your eyes lingered on the shorter of the two. He had short dirty blonde hair and, once they sat down across from you and you could see him closer, you noticed the freckles sprinkled across his face. And the way the light hit his cheekbones- God he was pretty. You had to stop yourself from staring at his eyes- they were so beautifully green- while he questioned you.

And boy, this man sure didn't seem to care if there was a difference between questioning and flirting. Because you got a decent amount of both, leaving you flustered and fucking aching for him before you even knew his name.

They asked strange questions, but questions that struck a familiar chord in you. “Did you smell anything strange when you found them?” You knew why they were asking, and it reminded you of the information your parents told you to keep you safe. Sulfur equals demons. Were these guys hunters too? So, in the midst of their interrogation, you broke out your own questions. “Do you believe in demons?” They froze- surprised when they learned you came from a hunting family and asked for your help on the hunt. They introduced themselves- Sam and Dean Winchester. “The Winchesters?” Your parents told you about John Winchester- their father- and here you were, meeting his sons. 

Well, their parents sure make pretty babies.

After you helped them on the hunt, you knew there was no way you could continue living normally, but Sam and Dean helped. They introduced you to a friend of theirs- Bobby Singer- and persuaded you to stay with them to ensure your safety. Sam told you later that Dean was the one who suggested having you stay at Bobby’s and who wanted to keep in touch with you.

You stood in the doorway of the bathroom, brushing your teeth and watching Dean dig through your dresser and looking up every now and then to have you confirm the outfits he chose. You answered in small sentences, still lost in memories of when you first met. 

You weren’t going to lie- the first things you noticed about Dean was how handsome he was. Not only in appearance, even though he was goddamn pretty- but in the way he held himself. He was confident, but not egotistical- just enough to be attractive and flirtatious without the whole douchebag vibe. He knew how to make you (and basically every hetero girl he ever interacted with) flustered with just a look and damn, he knew he was good at it. You eventually learned he wasn't just a pretty face. He had the best sense of humor- some of the funniest lines you'd ever heard belonged to him- and was always super selfless, even to the point of self-sacrifice. And, when he wanted to be, he was sweet. He went out of his way to keep you safe and comfortable, no matter the situation. Need a bodyguard while in a bar? 'Got you, sweetheart'. You're scared about walking into this next hunt? 'Just stay behind me. Nothin' will hurt you long as I'm here'. You just plain need a hug? 'Aw. C'mere, kid'.

You could still remember the conversation you had with Dean before they left you with Bobby after that first hunt together. “Remember, you’re only staying here so you don’t get hurt. Don’t just throw your life away for hunting, kiddo.” 

“I’m not a kid, Dean. I’m twenty-two. I’m only six years younger than you.” He gave you a stern look. 

“Don’t change the subject, (Y/N).” You sighed, but couldn’t help but smile. He cares about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

“Alright. I won’t go looking for hunts, but If you’re in trouble, I’m not just gonna sit by and watch. I'm gonna help.” After they had loaded their stuff into the Impala and were ready to drive off, Dean looked at you again, making you promise to stay safe. “Only if you do too.” You could still remember- vividly- how Dean gave you a quick wink and a smirk right before they drove off. 

Little did they know, that was the beginning of your long friendship with them.

Smiling at the fond memories of him, you left your spot in the doorway to wrap your arms around Dean’s waist from behind, earning a soft grunt from him. “Well, hey there.” He turned around in your arms and kissed the top of your head, taking a moment to breathe in your scent. 

“I love you, Dee.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” You continued to pack your stuff up and get ready, seeing that Dean had already laid out most of your toiletries and your favorite outfits- consisting of mostly Dean’s shirts. When you finish, you grabbed a big, warm flannel out of Dean’s duffel bag and pulled it on, surrounding yourself with Dean’s scent and warmth. He gazed at you with an attentive grin; he always loved when you wore his clothes. After shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his duffel bag, Dean turned to you and looked you over one last time, a big, toothy grin taking its place on his face. “You ready?” 

“One hundred percent.” you grabbed one of his hands in yours as you made your way out to the garage, where your black beauty awaits you. Dean smirked and twirled the keys to the Impala around his finger.

“Then let’s get out of here, baby.” 

Taglist!

@music-lockscreen, @bella-ca, @yetanotherreader

[sickficgalore]

Day 12 - Free day (Overwork/Lance)

my last fic for @vldwhumpmas2017 and since it’s free day, i decided to be creative with it and made it a college(kinda) K-pop dance cover club/team au!

the dance they were covering was Crazy Sexy Cool by Astro, and this is their official dance practice video for reference!

“Lance, why are you so slow at picking up the dance routine today? We’re filming the cover at the end of this week, we don’t really have much time.” Allura, the leader of their dance cover and the one who was teaching the dance, was now extremely frustrated. The team had to repeat the chorus countless times because Lance kept fumbling with his moves.

“I’m so sorry… I’m tired, and it’s finals week.” Lance sighed, the first to sit back down on the floor when Coran turned the music off.

“Well, then I’m sorry too, but our fans are waiting for the Christmas cover, which won’t happen if you don’t stop being lazy.” Allura said firmly, “Crazy Sexy Cool isn’t so difficult that you shouldn’t be able to handle it. Also, it’s finals week for everyone here, why are you the only one who’s complaining?” Allura continued, the mood in the dance studio now tense.

“Allura. I think it’s time we call it a day.” Shiro, the assistant leader for the cover, said in a low voice as he walked up to Allura and subtly pointed at the clock that was mounted on one of the walls of the studio. It was almost thirty minutes past eleven, their original practice ending time.

“Right. We’ll meet again tomorrow, same timing, and I do hope we can get past the chorus.” Allura announced, glaring at Lance intentionally before the team dispersed.

Lance pursed his lips, trying his very best not to break down from the stress he was feeling as he picked up his bag from the corner of the dance studio. He had so many tests to study for and so many assignments to complete this week, and he was starting to regret participating in this cover. He was sure other members of the club would have willingly taken his place.

When Lance arrived back at his apartment past midnight, he put his bag down hastily before leaving yet again to his nearby gym to practice. He went over the dance they had learnt earlier countless times until his moves were smooth and on-par with the rest of the team before learning the gist of the entire choreography, wanting to learn ahead of the team so as to not be a burden at practice. It was almost four in the morning when he returned home.

Allura was nothing but pleased at Lance’s fast improvement later that day at practice, and was glad that her words had spurred him to work harder, obviously unaware of the extent Lance was going.

Lance’s routine continued for the rest of the week. School in the day, dance practice with the team until close to midnight, then heading to the gym to practice even more and then returning home to catch up with revision and his incomplete assignments into the wee hours of the morning.

—

It was Sunday, filming day for the cover, and Lance woke up feeling the worst he had felt that week. He was aware of his body feeling progressively more sluggish as the days passed, but he gradually grew numb to that same tired feeling he felt everyday. This one was different. His entire apartment was spinning and his body felt like it was being weighed down by a big bag of bricks.

“Whatever,” he told himself, “just complete this dance cover, and you can come back and take a good nap for the rest of the day. This hell week is finally coming to an end.”

While making breakfast, he zoned out while pouring milk into his bowl of cereal that when he snapped back into reality, he found his bowl of milk overflowing. In the end, he barely ate half of it in fear that he would barf. Later, while driving to the filming location, he almost drove past a red light and into a tree. It was fair to say that he really needed sleep.

Lance was thankful that the filming location was at an empty rooftop carpark and he was able to park his car a few steps away from where the team was, because he didn’t think he could walk long distances with the way his head was spinning.

“Lance, your eyebags are seriously popping.” Keith teased, “talk about some authentic Gucci eyebags you have over there.”

“I want to die.” Lance groaned, sitting down on one of the parking blocks in the carpark that they were filming at.

“Are you alright?” Hunk asked, concern evident on his face.

“Nope. This week was hell.” Lance responded, burying his face in between his knees.

“ALRIGHT, TEAM. LET’S START FILMING!” Coran, who was their outfit coordinator and cameraman, announced, “also, here are your Christmas hats and reindeer headbands. Glad to see you all remembered to put on red outfits for today’s cover! Lance, nice Christmas-themed socks.” he said enthusiastically.

Lance looked down at his feet, only now realising that his left sock was red while his right sock was green, and was not intentional.

“Did you really come here in mismatched socks..” Pidge chuckled, standing in position next to Lance.

“Shut up.” Lance groaned.

The song started playing, and Lance’s body followed the music like how a puppet would. He felt like his limbs were just flailing about, but he could do nothing about it.

“LANCE! Your facial expressions are terrible, and your movements are on time but lack any energy! Let’s do this again.” Allura shouted after monitoring the footage, pressing the play button on the music player once again.

Allura was beyond angry when she monitored the second footage, where Lance was dancing visibly worse than before. His movements this time were not even in sync with the song or everyone else.

“Allura, before you say anything, I think Lance needs to sit down.” Keith eyed Lance uneasily. Lance was swaying on his feet, his eyes downcast and focusing on nothing in particular. Not to mention the way his face was as pale as a ghost and there was an unsettling sheen of sweat all over his face and down to his neck.

“Lance? Lance?” Shiro repeatedly called his name, and only after the fifth ‘Lance’ did he show any sort of response.

“Yes? Are we doing it again?” Lance asked, voice almost a whisper that only Shiro could hear, “please don’t make me do it again, I feel like i’m about to keel over..” Lance sounded like he was about to start sobbing.

“Lance, you should sit down.” Shiro said. Hunk was already ahead of him and brought a stool from god-knows-where to Lance’s side. Lance was so out of it that Shiro had to ease him into the chair.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pidge asked the question that everyone on the team was dying to know the answer to.

Shiro put a hand to Lance’s forehead and neck, before checking with his own, “His body temperature is normal.” Shiro furrowed his eyebrows, “Lance. Lance. Can you hear me?” He tried to grab Lance’s attention.

“W-what?” Lance responded a few seconds late, turning to Shiro.

“How are you feeling now? Describe it to me.” Shiro said.

“I’m…..so extremely dizzy. And I’ve never felt this..tired..all my life. I can’t focus on anything and..and…” Lance broke out into tears, “School was so stressful this week, and dancing was so stressful. Did you k-know that I started hating dancing..at one point this week? I stayed up till the wee hours of, of the morning t-to perfect this dance and today I still c-can’t do it right.”

“Stop crying..” Shiro pulled Lance into his embrace and patted his back, like how he would to a sobbing child, “You’ve been working yourself way too hard. Seems like you’re experiencing the effects of a burnout.”

“B-but.. the Christmas cover. We have to do it…” Lance cried.

“No, we don’t.” Shiro turned to Allura, who sighed but gave a nod of approval, “We can reschedule the filming, maybe next week, we might still be on time.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure our fans would want your health to come first.” Coran commented.

“Allura will k-kill me..” Lance was calming down by now, but was still shaking and unable to talk clearly.

“No, I won’t. Things like this happen. I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.” Allura apologised, genuinely guilty for being so harsh to Lance the other day which she figured caused all this in the first place.

“Alright? You heard her. Now let’s get you home.” Shiro said, squeezing Lance’s shoulder.

“I’ll drive him. I just live a few blocks away.” Keith volunteered, already working on supporting Lance out of the chair.

“You didn’t come in a car.” Pidge stated.

“But Lance did, and for some reason he made it all the way here in one piece. I’ll drive his car.” Keith said.

“Please don’t crash it. You know how much Lance loves his car.” Shiro said as he went up to the blue car to attempt to find Lance’s car key to start the car, but was surprised to hear the soft purr of the engine coming from it, “What in the world? He even forgot to turn off his engine.”

“Evidence that he was definitely very out of it.” Keith said, loading the weakened Lance into the backseat before getting into the front seat.

“Take care of Lance!” Coran shouted.

“I will!” Keith responded before closing the door behind him. He turned around to see Lance lying down in the back seat, eyes closed as he slept.

It was a silent fifteen minute drive before Keith heard rustling in the back, and observed from the rear-view mirror to see Lance’s eyes fluttering open.

“Wait, aren’t we supposed to be filming?” Lance said, confused.

“We did film, well, tried. You almost collapsed. You were so out of it you probably don’t remember. You’re overworked, so I’m sending you home.” Keith explained.

“Oh.” was all Lance could reply before he went back to sleep.

[dahcyst]

A Flower for the Bee [Chapter 7 : My favorite flower]

[AO3 link : ]

Mila had literally killed him, he could swear it. Yakov had shown up after lunch, his eyebags a little darker than usual. He didn't say anything about the night before, but there was probably nothing to say, really. Yuri and J.J.'s constant quarrels were now kind of a habit and it only made people sigh -actually smile, most of the time.

The training had been something. Yakov was silent for a big part, letting Mila lead the thing the way she wanted. It wasn't like ballet at all and for the whole afternoon, he understood what would be the main problem for this program. It needed his full strength in addition to his abilities for spins, loops, jumps. He knew he was able to do all of this. Of course. Why couldn't he?

But at his umpteenth attempt for a move he couldn't get, wasn't able to properly understand yet to recreate the way they needed for the choreo, Mila had put a stop. "You're tired," she'd sighed. "And so I am. Let's do something we're more used to do for now, okay?"

The first day of this new training ended with Yuri still frustrated by his own skills. His lack of skills actually –and it was rare for him to think that way. Exhausted, he'd gotten something to eat on his way back, and was already done with it when he reached the door of the small house. The last thing he did was going in his room, fall on his bed, his bag lost somewhere in the entrance. He'd let if fall without even thinking further about his stuff in it. He would see in the morning. Eyes burning like hell from tireness and the cold air at the rink, he just needed to sleep, with the hope that it would help with the dull pain ramming along his body. Between the suddenly different training, his lack of sleep, and his current growth, it had been a day in hell. And Mila was Satan. Next to her, Lilia, Yakov and Victor were barely some cute devils, he could swear.

His whole body muffled in that pain didn't let him find a nice position to sleep. In the end, he just found himself half sleeping on his side, his fingers brushing the edges of his phone resting near his pillow.

He hadn't answer Otabek since the morning practice, since the man had been eating that lettuce thing. Since what he'd said. Not that he didn't like it, actually knowing that Otabek was treasuring their conversations at the point he would be denying his need for sleep really made him happy. Really. So much, even. But he didn't know how to answer that in the right way and every time he didn't feel confident enough to answer Otabek, he ended up with an absence of answer.

Checking his mailbox, he'd read a few more messages from the Kazakh and he sighed. He needed to see his nickname amongst his notifications. There were some retweets, then a picture of the ice rink in Almatin popping in his feed. The place was empty, it was probably late when he'd taken it. There was only a figure still skating, and it had taken Yuri a few seconds to understand that it was Otabek. Someone else might have taken the photograph for him, and he had squinted his eyes a little to be able to read the caption under it. 'Beka never sleeeeppppp wanna go home'. It wasn't Otabek picture, he finally understood, but someone had tagged him in it and it had appeared in Yuri's news feed somehow.

If he enlighted the screen, he knew his phone was still on the profil page of the person who had taken the picture. There was those huge dark eyes, that long hair, that slightly tanned skin, on the profil picture. He immediatly disliked her name 'Nadya'. What a lack of originality, really. There was nothing interesting in her feed. Pictures from Almaty during the day, during the night, the ice rink, people skating on it, Otabek going out of the changing room half naked with that annoyed scowl on his face, the cafeteria, a bunch of coaches talking together, a stupid dog...

Wait.

What?

Yuri blinked a little and made the pictures pass back to get back to that one that took him off guard and he frowned a little. It really was Otabek, and the man looked almost angry through his usual so-called blasé face. Something had upsetted him somehow, probably that Nadya he was looking at -if she was the one taking the picture. With a hint of curiosity, he pressed on the picture to get the caption. 'hes so embarrassed ahahah!' A towel around his hips was all that was hiding his body, and in the back another girl was laughing at them.

Yuri sighed. He'd never heard about a girlfriend before, or anything, and had always thought that the Kazakh was a bit like him -too much of a busy skater and student to actually get one or even think about that. But maybe he wasn't the same, and in a sort of way it couldn't be a bad thing after all. But...

Stretching a little on his matress, with his blanket sliding against his body, Yuri sighed and groaled at the same time. He wanted to send a message to Otabek, didn't know what to put in it. It was quite ravaging, keeping him away from sleeping.

At some point, the thought that he still hadn't called Otabek crossed his mind. It was late. The Kazakh wouldn't answer his call, and somehow it was reassuring. Nor would he answer his message right now. A wave of pain killed his knees, making him hold his breath against his own will.

He had closed Nadya's profil with a slow forefinger sliding on the smooth surface of the screen, the phone flat on the matress near his pillow. He tipped on it softly -it was always amazing how his finger made him open Otabek's chatting window without even thinking about it.

Yuri litterally jumped when the small phone vibrated under his finger without a warning, and he pulled it a little closer to give an eye at the enlighted screen without having to mode his head.

 Ota-bee : "Sleeping?"

It took him a few seconds to register that no he wasn't breathing anymore. God knew why. The tip of his finger was already crashing against the smooth screen, right on the blue frame with that phone icon.

He was stupid.

The ring echoed slowly in the room due to the high speackers he'dput on. The ringbecause there was only one. Then, he swallowed slowly, hardly, at the small sound, that 'click' as Otabek was taking the call.

"I wondered if you'd ever call me again."

Yuri closed his eyes. For a moment, he needed to stop everything, and that deep, amazing voice was probably everything he needed. How weird it was when the same words, used differently, didn't mean the same thing at all. Otabek's voice was suddenly filling the room, and it was incredible, even though it was slightly deformed by the phone.

"So you doubted?" he replied.

It wasn't a reproach, actually Yuri didn't even bother making his voice sound like it could be one. He was talking so low, was actually so tired, and Otabek at the other side of the phone call could probably understand it.

"Never."

The stony tone made Yuri laugh a little, and a long sigh answered to it. Something resigned, tired as well. The boy rolled on his side, staring at the ceiling barely enlighted by the screen on the bed.

"So, you called," Otabek stated, and for a second Yuri felt like he was caught on something. But he didn't know what, why, and didn't know how to answer to that. So he just mumbled some "Yeah, and?" in a grumpy voice. The Kazakh's voice instantly smoothened, with a soft noise as he was probably keeping back a little laughter.

"I like it."

Yuri frowned at it.

"Man, you'd rather keep that line for your girl."

Oh shit.

The silence on the other side weighted all of a sudden, heavy in the entire bedroom air. A few seconds passed by and once again, he sucked in a breath sharply, looking for something to add.

"I--"

"My what?"

Yuri blinked. Otabek's tone was just so genuinely surprised that it had taken him by surprise. But he didn't say anything, waiting patiently -or rather impatiently, hungrily as Otabek was processing things out and answering with some time. Too much time. Tireness might be what was taking him so long. Somehow. Probably. He wasn't sure. He didn't know.

Oh man, why was his mind so full of questions and so empty with answers?

But a soft huffing in the room made him shiver a little under his blanket. He knew that Otabek was smiling.

"Are you making fun of me?" Yuri growled.

"I'm not. Were you serious when you thought that I could have a girlfriend?"

The way Otabek said the last word was a bit weird; he made it sound so funny, so impossible, so not him that Yuri wasn't here for a second, blinking with disbelief. Well. He hadn't been expecting that.

The silence was back, as if Otabek was waiting for something and--

Oh.

Yuri gulped.  

It wasn't a casual chatting through written messages.

He couldn't escape giving an answer by ignoring Otabek. They were talking. Hanging up, and he felt it so deep under his skin, in his chest, was the last thing to do.

He took a breath. He wasn't a big amator of this topic. Especially toward Otabek. God knew why.

"Difficult not to think you have one," he finally sighed after what sounded, to him, an eternity.

There was that light laughter resonnating in the room from the high speackers, and it warmed him for a few seconds. Watching the fragile frame of the cellphone on the sheets was frustrating.

"Did it upset you?"

Otabek's tone wasn't weird or anything. There was no innuendo in his words, and somehow it stopped Yuri's heart from beating too much –beating? He frowned a little at the realization. Everything sounded normal and it was...Particularly annoying.

"Na," he mumbled.

"Really? You sound pissed off."

"I'm not."

Otabek huffed softly in the microphone and Yuri tried to imagine his face at that moment. It was difficult. Photographs weren't enough to show him enough of Otabek features and what he might look at that moment.

"Ok, I believe you then," was all that Otabek said. And that pissed Yuri off, but he didn't say anything this time.

Sometimes, there were those soft sounds in the mic, and Yuri knew that the young man was moving in his bed, probably changing his position.

"What would you do?" Otabek suddenly asked.

Yuri blinked, surprised. "Eh?"

"If I had a girlfriend. What would you do?"

"I don't get the question."

This time, the soft laughter Otabek gave him sounded a little different. Yuri couldn't point what it was about, but there was something, and the fact that he wasn't able to answer here and now suddenly got on his nerves. Why couldn't he find an answer right away? What was wrong with that question?

What was wrong with Otabek getting a girlfriend?

What was wrong with the picture of Otabek hugging a cute girl with long dark hair?

"Ah, sorry, I'm saying weird things again I guess?"

What was wrong with Otabek kissing a girl?

 What was wrong, really?

"Yura?"

He wasn't thinking about the pain radiating in his entire body anymore, to be honest. He wasn't answering Otabek anymore at that moment, staring at the screen. The ellapsed time for their conversation was running slowly and quickly at the same time.

"Eh, Yura, you're sleeping?"

"Everything sounds bad," Yuri finally breathed out.

"Uh?"

"You having a girlfriend."

Otabek only giggled at it. "Really? That's mean." His laughter echoed a little in the microphone, and Yuri sighed.

"That's not," Yuri replicated with a small pout. "Just..."

Hesitation was always a bad thing, and Otabek didn't take his time before jumping on the occasion.

"Just what?"

Yuri snorted, mubling a "nothing" while rubbing his face in his pillow with the hope that it would erase all of his previous sentences.

But it didn't. The screen was still enlighted, projecting its pale light on the ceiling.

A heavy sigh filled the room through the cellphone and Yuri shivered a little. "Just in case, Yura, I don't intend to have a girlfriend."

The teen didn't answer, staring again at the phone.

"I have something else in mind, ok?"

At that, Yuri snorted again, unable to hold back a funny smile. "Like taking my title during next year Grand Prix?"

"Like skating my favorite program with my favorite flower."

He chocked, sucked in a breath and waited a few seconds before being able to speak again. It was long enough to make Otabek worrying about that silence.

"Sorry, was 'flower' too much here?"

"What do you mean your favorite program?"

Was he himself deliberately skipping the favorite flower thing? Actually, both were taking him appart, but he had to put a priority on the skating part.

The ice was all that mattered to them. He had to remember it as often as possible, and it was hard to focus on it when Otabek's laughters resonated again in the room.

"I'm going to skate it with you, how can't it be my favorite?"

Fuck.

"Fucker," the boy mumbled, and even he couldn't miss the heat suddenly spreading all over his face and body at those words -Otabek had always had a deep voice, even through a fucking cellphone. He swallowed, annoyed and at the same time he could feel his heart jumping stupidly in his chest.

Not only his heart, by the way, and not only in his chest.

"You're a dead Don Juan if you keep saying things like that," he hissed, and he used his own voice to cover the sound of the sheets while unfolding his long legs to feel more at ease. Why didn't he take his trousers off when he had the time, by the way?

"W-wait, what? Did I say something again?"

"Any girl would fall for less than it, I swear!" Yuri growled again. He wasn't angry, of course, and he could hear the hint of panic in the young man's voice, but he couldn't let Otabek continue this way -his night depended on it and on his own ability to stop his body from reacting  too easily to--

To what, by the way?

To his voice? Why? He knew Otabek's voice for long now.

To the sound of the sheets moving around him through the microphone? His sighs due to his tireness? It wasn't the first time and it was still damn sexy.

Shit.

"Yura, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, was I bothering?"

Otabek's tone was genuinely concerned and worried, and at that moment Yurifelt unable to answer.

"Eh, Yura, I--"

"It's ok."

"Really? You sound pissed off..."

He sighed. "You're with it again?"

Actually, Yuri knew that he might sound weird instead of pissed off. But...He couldn't casually say I'm having a boner because of you, right? It was the second time in less than a week, by the way, and somehow the idea that Otabek's stay would be awfully long kind of hit his mind.

He just had to hope that those accidents woudn't happen with the Kazakh beside him.

"Sorry," Otabek breathed. And it got worse, his raspy voice lingering in Yuri's mind.

Well.

It woud be a long stay, for sure.

"I'm way too impatient for friday," the man added. "Can't sleep well. I'm sorry for saying stupid things."

"You--"

Yuri hesitated this time, but in the end he gave up trying to stop Otabek from speaking like that. It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last.

He mumbled instead, and he knew he was digging his own grave. "I don't mind."

"You don't mind?" Otabek sounded surprised.

"Well, uh, how to say...You can say...Whatever you want...?"

What an amazing idea, Yuratchka, amazing, really. But this time, the silence was back, settling softly between the two of them until Otabek's voice break it, low and deep.

"You should keep this line for your girlfriend."

Yuri's heart was beating.

Hard.

He knew it, he could feel it. His heart was racing more and more, and he wasn't sure if he hated or liked it.

He didn't waste his time.

"I have something else in mind," he murmured, taking Otabek's words from before.

Was it a game?

He didn't know. He didn't even know if he wanted to understand what was behind it. For now, he just felt the need to say those things, those lines, to the man.

Two minutes before, Yuri was annoyed by the fact he was starting to have an erection to his friend's voice.

Now, it didn't even matter, it felt normal. Otabek taking his lines first was like a silent agreement, like a "It's ok".

OK for what? He didn't know. But it was ok. Because, well. It was Otabek.

They were friends.

And through this innocent relationship, Yuri knew that something was there, special, yet amazing, and making his heart beat so much. He was just unable to get it, transforming it into something frustrating he was craving for.

When he was trying to think about it, it was even worse.

"Like keeping your title next year at the Grand Prix?"

Yuri giggled a bit. A mirroring chatting was funny, somehow. His cheeks were hot from the excitation settled under his waist, and for once he dared slip a hand against his crotch.

"Like--"

He sighed at the feeling and somehow hoped that it wouldn't be too obvious, before continuing his sentence.

"--waiting for you to come to Moscou."

Mirroring Otabek's words wasn't his thing anymore. Well. It would do.

There was a chocked noise in the phone , and soon Otabek's voice came again. "You're one to talk, Yura! You're even more flirty than me, oh god!"

His voice sounded halfway between panic and surprise -and something else but he couldn't figure out what. He chuckled a little at that, letting his hand press a little against the dark and thick fabric of his trousers. He wasn't used to palm himself -nor doing more by the way, so the light touches were already pretty effective. He heard himself laugh a little at Otabek's words and how he felt taken appart. It sounded...Great. Somehow. He wasn't sure if it was the good word to use in this situation, but still.

"Probably," Yuri sneered in a low voice. A loud moan of disapproval echoed in the room through the phone, and it killed him somewhere down in his low waist. Lips tight not to let a weird sound escape his mouth, he just sighed through his nose, trying to muffle it in his pillow for a second.

That wasn't a healthy situation.

"Man, if I'd been a girl, I'd fell for you with less that this."

Yuri gulped. When would Otabek stop genuinely saying those things? "You're silly," he sighed again. But under his hand, he knew  that Otabek's voice was feeding his awful boner.

"Really? I could fall for your voice here and now with no problem."

Yuri blinked -and his cock twitched joyfully at it and he just hated himself and how he liked that deep and low voice talking to him this way. Wasn't it going too far?

"What?"

Was it still a friendly thing to says such things? Otabek suddenly stammered, his usual small panic showing off through his voice. "Ah, oh, w-wait, that's weird, forget it!"

"Really," Yuri moaned a little at the request. How the heck could he forget all of that!?

"Please, please, just...Well, I'm tired? There's, uh...Nothing weird, ok?"

Otabek could beg all night long, Yuri suddenly thought. It wouldn't be a problem to him, only to his mind and body.

"So, you don't like my voice?" he gently teased.

"Oh my god, that's definitely not what I mean, I--uh--"

"It changed," Yuri cut him without a warning. His hand had a strong grip aroung his own crotch, the feeling of the pressure as excited as painful somehow.

"Of course it changed. It had already started when we've met at the Grand Prix."

"You noticed it?"

"Yura..."

The boy didn't talk. He'd hoped that the subject would stop his body -it didn't. Instead, Otabek's soft and nice voice only sounded even worse to his ears. Sweet.

"I already asked you," Otabek continued. "Did something happen?"

He sighed. "Not really."

"I'll take it as a yes then."

"Don't turn things the way you want..." Yuri hissed a little between his teeth. His other hand had slid the tip of his fingers under the belt of his trousers, the tip of his fingers in search of the swollen head stuck in his underwear.

Otabek chuckled softly and a sudden urge filled him -his fingers tried to circle around his penis, his other hand half stroking through the thick fabric and be damned that fucking fly. It was like his pelvis was in fire.

"What is it about, Yura?"

Damn. That guy and his voice. His concerned voice.

At that moment, Yuri felt a little jealous. Having a voice like Otabek's would be a dream. Now, it was too late to hope.

He swallowed. There was no lump stuck deep in his throat, just...

Just that. That feeling that was crawling under his skin, making him need even more of it. He didn't want to like it.

But...

He couldn't hate it either.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

His voice was the sweetest thing in the world. He could swear.

"I--"

He was breathless -he didn't expect that. Gulping even more, he gathered his thoughts all together to think properly -not about your fingers, Yuratchka, don't think about what's happening in your pants.

"I don't want to change," he shyly admitted.

There was a soft sigh at the other side of the phone. Something nice, gentle, and Yuri didn't wonder anymore if he had made the right choice by telling Otabek.

"You don't want?"

There was no reproach in his voice.

His beating heart was still so fast, but he wasn't sure about the reason anymore.

"It's...Scary...?" he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I don't feel like myself anymore..."

And hell, it was the case right now. Some time ago, he wouldn't have been caught doing that in his bed, hidding his voice, hidding his moans as much at possible from the microphone. From Otabek.

It wasn't him.

"Hey, that's normal, Yura."

The boy closed his eyes for a few seconds -the heat radiated in the lower part of his abdomen.

"But...Don't refuse it, ok? Remember it's for the best."

"What if I can't?"

"Can't what?"

Otabek's voice was still doing its job, soft and low, nice. He wanted to loose his mind listening to it.

"Accept my new self."

A sighed answered at first and Yuri shivered.

"Can I say something weird, this time?" Otabek asked.

The loud beating was still echoeing in his ears, but Yuri growled in response, earning an amazing chuckle.

"I'll like it for you, man."

He stopped breathing. "Uh? What do you-"

"I'll like you no matter how you change, Yura."

His fingers trembled around himself, the hot and wet feeling suddenly spreading between his phalanges.

It had been a little too much this time and this time he'd been unable to hold a small scream.

"Yura?"

Breath, breath, it's ok, answer as quick as possible!

"You're ok? What's going on?"

"N-nothing--!"

His heart still drummed hard in his chest, and he was...Breathy. It was difficult not to let it appear.

"You...You're silly," he murmured.

An embarrassed laugther answered him. "I told you it was weird! But...That's how I feel, I guess? Well, like...You're important to me. And...See? Uh. Well, that's weird actually, jeez!"

Yuri grimaced a little -but more because of the sticky feeling on his skin. His underwear felt wet now. Great.

"But..."

Otabek's voice had lowered a little, earning Yuri's attention.

"I think I understand you. Changing is scary when you don't have a hold on it."

"That's...Right..." The boy mumbled.

Talking to Otabek about what was making him feel so bad for a moment wasn't so bad after all. The young man wasn't pitying him, at least.

It was even more that it. It was different. There was that real interest, and his way to show how concerned he was by the situation.

"I guess that's why you've been hiding yourself from the cameras 'til now?"

Yuri chocked on his saliva at that. "You noticed?"

"I'm not stupid, eh! You haven't posted any picture of yourself in the last two months, it was weird enough for me to worry!"

"Uh--I'm sorry...?"

His fingers were sticky and felt disgusting, his cock getting soft in his dirty pants. Amazing. How comes adults were all about sex and that stuff?

Gross.

"Don't be, it's ok. Well...I'm impatient now."

Yuri growled a little -more for his clothes. "What for?"

"To see how much you changed."

"Continue like this and I won't even pick you up at the airport."

"So mean!"

"Of course I am." In the darkness, Yuri spotted a small pack of tissues and he rolled a little until he could grab them from the nightstand. "Are you staying at the hotel?"

"Yeah, that's what my coach said."

"Text me the name later, ok?"

"Mh. What are you doing? That's noisy."

Yuri had been moving a little too much, unbuckling the belt and pulling the trousers off as much as possible in order to clean himself -he'd juste forgotten about what had just happened a minute before.

"Uh. Nothing. Just, uh--taking my pajamas..."

"Your--Ah, must be the sheets then--You're in your bed?"

"Uh, yeah..."

A new silence settled slowly. He could hear Otabek's breath in the microphone and still, the light sound of fabric moving constantly around him.

All of a sudden, reality hit him and he frowned. "It's getting late, will it be ok for you?"

"Oh..."

It had to be more than 1AM for the young man. Training would start early, for sure. A deep and annoyed sigh resonnated.

"I don't know. That's the least of my preoccupations."

"Sleep," Yuri sighed.

"You don't want to talk a little more?"

"I--"

He shook his head, even if Otabek couldn't see it.

"We'll talk later," he murmured. "Friday..."

"Friday sounds great," Otabek continued in a murmur mirroring Yuri's voice.

He liked it. The proposition sounded like coming from the both of them.

He liked it.

"Friday sounds too far," he complained.

"It is."

"Don't be late."

"I won't be."

They didn't call each other during the next days, but the already huge amount of messages between them seemed to increase after that. Everyday, through Mila's awful training, through the pain in his body, through his desperate need to forget everything from his daily life, giving an eye to his phone was the best to do. No matter the time, the weather, the topic going on at that moment, there was his name in the corner of the small screen, that small colorfull notification for a new private message waiting for him.

And it was reassuring not to feel alone through life.

Despite the pain, despite the stress and the pressure.

Despite the absence of the people he cherished around him in the small house.

Busy with his life, he didn't take the time to think more about what had happened on that night phonecall. He didn't need to think about it, anyway.

Otabek would be here soon.

That was all that mattered now.

"Yuri! Hurry up!"

The big voice of the old man suddenly awoke the boy as he was taking his time in the changing room. It was the day. His nervousity had been a little too much overwhelming actually, and Mila had spent the whole morning mumbling against him. In the end, she'd even tried to lift him over her head to frightened him.

She hadn't been able to do it.

He was too heavy, now. Too tall.

A loud shot made the door tremble and he jumped in surprise.

"IF YOU DON'T MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS I'M COMING MYSELF!"

Ah, Mila. Yakov might have called her to give a hand at getting him.

Hair undone from changing his clothes quickly in the end, Yuri opened the door before she could hit again. There, a large smile was waiting for him.

"It's today," she said. "Still nervous?"

"Shut up," he growled. "I'm not."

"Sure, big baby!" she giggled. "Yakov's in the car already. Don't make him wait!"

She didn't need to say it twice, the boy was already running to the main exit. His heart was beating loud, fast, and he could almost feel it in his ears. In his pocket, his phone hadn't vibrated for more than three hours, and he knew that he had to be patient. Otabek couldn't contact him during his fly.

In the car, the idea that Otabek would be in Moscou for real suddenly sounded more real. Like...What would they do? Or say? Through a phone, everything was easier, but in real life? Would they even talk as casually as they always did during those last months?

Of course, they talked a lot in Barcelona during the Grand Prix. But it was different now. They weren't discovering each other anymore.

It felt incredibly different.

"No pressure, boy," Yakov suddenly say. "Stop eating your fingertips."

Unaware of that sudden bad habbit, he raised his eyes to the old man. He was driving slowly, with care, not giving any importance to Yuri's impatience. Anyway, it wouldn't make the plane land faster.

"That's not you," the man continued.

Yuri only pouted at that. "Well, I'm...Not used to it..."

"Used to what? You know the airport by heart!"

"Welcoming a friend."

"Oh."

Yakov let a soft smile linger on his face after that, but Yuri didn't say anything about it during the two hours of the journey.

In a few time, Otabek Altin would land in Moscou.

_____

Finally caught up with all the chapteeers heeeeeeere! XD I’m one to often forget about my Tumblr existence, so well, better to follow my work on AO3! ;p (or Twitter, I tweet a lot uh)