#seriously she talks too much shes dumb as hell she keeps interrupting serious moments in quests...

[alyimoss]

if you ever wanna know how to write an unlikeable character just look at genshin impact's paimon

[skiesofthesketchy]

36, 60, and 71, if you can combine prompts for one request! was thinking like an accident happens, and jj’s freaking out, but there’s a happy ending obviously. If you only want 1 prompt, let’s go with 60 :)

congrats on 1k lovely!! you deserve it, and keep up all your amazing work ❤️

thanks for the request!! i kinda went in a different direction but i hope you like this! :)

masterlist

1k celebration blurbs

60. So I accidentally told her that I loved her. What do I do?

71. I didn't know how to tell you [before].

***

“Shit, shit, shit,” JJ murmured under his breath. His thoughts were running wild but he couldn’t process a single one of them. The confident and easy-going pogue had turned into a nervous mess, and he had nobody to blame but himself.

“JB, you better fucking answer,” he panted into his cellphone that was pressed to his face. He waited impatiently as he heard the ringing in his ear, all while basically running in the direction of the Chateau.

Right as JJ was about to hang up and try again, his best friend John B. finally picked up.

“Hey, what’s up, man? Are you coming by later? Pope and Kie are already here and we got the beer--”

“JB, I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up.”

“Woah, JJ, relax. What happened?” John B. immediately had a thousand different ideas of the trouble his friend could be in and ultimately assumed the worst. He had stopped everything to listen intently to JJ on the phone.

JJ sighed, still feeling like he wasn’t in complete control of his body. “JJ. What is it?” John B. asked again. He was getting more scared by the second about what could possibly be wrong. Did JJ do something to his dad? Is he running from the cops again?

“I accidentally told her that I love her. What the fuck do I do?” His tone was desperate, eyebrows creased in worry. He needed his best friend to tell him what to do.

JJ was a quick thinker, always able to escape trouble when he needed to. But this was different. Years of friendship out the window. He was convinced he had just ruined everything and that you would never want to see him again.

John B., of course, knew exactly who JJ was referring to. JJ only ever had feelings for you. Even with the string of random girls coming and leaving JJ’s bedroom, nobody compared to you.

Much to JJ’s dismay, he could hear his friend’s booming laughter through the phone. “Hey man, that’s great! Good for you,” John B. laughed. He was relieved that it wasn’t something actually bad, and was thankful JJ’s situation was amusing instead.

“It’s not great, and it’s definitely not funny,” JJ grumbled. “Can you be serious for a second? My life just blew up in my face and it’s my own damn fault.”

“Hey, seriously, you need to relax. Did she actually reject you?” John B. asked carefully.

“She would have if I would’ve stuck around to hear it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I ran away, okay?!” JJ yelled. “I got the hell out of there before she could even say anything.” Yep, he wanted to punch himself in the face for that. But he didn’t mean to spill his feelings all over you. It was all just a huge mistake.

It was something that couldn’t be helped, though. There you were, standing on the beach looking as beautiful as always. Your hair blew softly in the breeze as the golden sun gave your figure a gracious glow. The sight of you was enough to knock the air right out of JJ’s lungs.

Your smile lit up your pretty face as you told your good friend JJ all about the guy you were going on a date with tonight. The handsome stranger had been charming, and you had to admit you were a bit smitten. Not many guys have had the courage to walk up to you to ask you out.

JJ could tell you were excited, but a burning jealousy seeped into his bones. He willed himself to keep his mouth shut, but JJ had never been the best at self-control.

“I don’t think you should go out with this guy,” he said.

You looked at him confused. “Why not?”

He sighed, already kicking himself for speaking up. “Y/N, you don’t know him. He could be a murderer. He could be an asshole just wanting to get laid.” He was prepared to go on, but you cut him off.

“JJ, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” You couldn’t read him. You were used to JJ being protective, but he was acting strange. You could tell something else was on his mind but you couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. He couldn’t even look at you.

You grabbed a hold of his hand so that he would look back at you, finding his bright blue eyes clouded in anger? Disappointment? “What is this about?”

“What about for me? Would you ditch this guy for me?” Oh god, he’s already said too much, but it’s too late now. His gaze was fixed on you as you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“I don’t understand...”

“What if I told you I was in love with you?” It felt like the whole world stopped as he waited for your reaction. “Would you ditch him then?”

You didn’t think you heard him right. Did he just say he’s in love with you!? No, you must have water in your ears or something.

The short silence from you was the only answer he needed. With a nod and a frown, he tore himself away from you. “Just forget it,” he grumbled, already marching away.

“JJ, wait!” you called after him. He was already running from the situation and you hardly even had two seconds to process it all. “JJ!”

He didn’t listen to you and continued fleeing as fast as possible, wondering what the hell he had done.

That brings us back to the present. JJ had finally made it to the Chateau. John B. had filled Pope, Kie, and Sarah in on the situation, making JJ’s ears and face burn in embarrassment. At the same time though, he didn’t care what any of them thought. He only cared about you.

What were you calling after him for? What would you have said if JJ hadn’t run away? Do you want him out of your life because he made things weird?? Are you about to fall madly in love with this stupid guy you’re going out with right now???

“JJ, it’s okay. Come sit down and chill,” Kie brought JJ out of his wild imagination for a brief moment. It felt as if his heart was still beating much faster than it should. He felt restless but also like there was nothing he could do to fix any of it.

He only sat down in the hammock because Kiara had dragged him there. JJ felt like he was in a daze, not really paying attention to the world outside of his mind. Pope had handed him a beer and JJ gulped half of it down without even thinking about it. Conversation started up around him but he didn’t hear anything... until someone said your name.

“Oh look, Y/N’s here,” John B. announced, shoving JJ’s shoulder. “And she looks pissed.” JJ whipped his head around quickly and sure enough, there you were, beautiful as always, but fuming and marching right toward him.

“What the fuck, JJ?!” you yelled, making it obvious that you were about to either chew him out or kick his ass.

“Good luck, bud,” John B. whispered to JJ, chuckling under his breath.

“Fuck you,” JJ replied as he watched everyone go inside, leaving him alone to face your wrath. He didn’t know what the fuck to do, how to fix the mistake he made, how to make things not weird between you guys, but holy shit, he didn’t expect that you’d be so angry.

It was like he was watching you in slow motion, feeling every one of your stomps on the ground as you approached him, eyes ablaze and lips pulled into a frown. “What was that back there?” you finally asked, now standing right in front of the boy who looked scared shitless.

“I-- I know, Y/N. I’m sorry! It was a mistake--” he tried to explain rather desperately, but you cut him off.

“You can’t just dump all of that on me and then run away!” JJ finally stood up from the hammock and now towered over you, reaching for your arms without even thinking about it, wanting to make you feel calm.

“I don’t know why I said any of that! It was an accident! I'm sorry, we can talk about this--” You interrupted him yet again, but this time by launching yourself forward and crashing your lips to his.

With hands cradling his jaw, you did your best to put all of your emotions into the kiss, the one kiss that could change everything. JJ was more than surprised, freezing as you pulled him in closer, but within two seconds had relaxed and gave in-- he'd be an idiot not to. His hands fell to your waist and pulled you flush against him as his lips finally matched your ferver.

You don’t even know why you got so angry. Perhaps it was because the man you had loved since forever had told you he shared the same feelings, but then left before you could make the same confession, freeing yourself from years of secrecy. You didn’t want to hide it anymore. You needed to be sure he felt the same, like he said he did.

It almost didn’t matter now, as you poured every bit of passion you had into someone you called your best friend. He smiled against your lips, bringing his hand to the back of your neck to deepen the mind-blowing kiss. His mind was in a daze as his senses became clouded by you. In this moment, he had no doubts of his feelings for you. He was undeniably in love with you and couldn’t do a single thing to change that.

You had allowed yourself to get lost in him, but in a split second you were pulling away, not able to pull too far with JJ’s arms wrapped around you. His eyes trapped you in his gaze as you both took a moment to catch your breaths. You didn’t want to come down from the high you were experiencing, but you had to ask...

“Did you mean it?”

His brows furrowed wondering what you meant before it clicked. “Every word,” he said, only confidence and honesty in his voice. After that kiss, he wasn’t scared anymore. In fact, he felt fucking fearless. “I didn’t know how to tell you before.”

“Well, I'm glad you did,” you replied with a smile, dragging your fingers through his locks of hair before kissing him once more. The sounds of loud cheering made you pull away much sooner than either of you would have liked.

The pogues were watching from the window, cheering and making dumb kissy faces at you guys. JJ promptly flipped them off while you laughed, then he turned so that he was shielding you from the prying eyes of your friends. He loved the sound of your joyous laugh accompanied by your radiant smile.

“Next time you just wanna kiss me, can you not come over looking like you wanna kill me?” he asked, and you laughed with heat flooding your face. “Very mixed signals. I was scared for my life!” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh, shut up. I had a right to be mad at you!”

“But not anymore, right?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and shook your head at him before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him again. You could definitely get used to this.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against his lips. “You’re lucky I love you too.” He grinned, feeling higher than the clouds now that you finally said the words he was dying to hear.

He picked you up and spun you before kissing you again. “The luckiest in the world.”

***

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[avyssoseleison]

Funnily enough I was going through a lot of your old fics yesterday for nostalgia reasons and now can't stop thinking high school enemies to lovers deancas ideally with some punk!cas nerd!dean maybe? Fully understand if that prompt doesn't tickle your fancy though

Please enjoy these 3.2k of enemies to homework buddies!

“Winchester.”

Dean will ignore him.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean will most definitely ignore him. Just keep on walking. If Novak thinks he can’t hear him, surely he’ll leave him alone. He’ll go bother someone else, and Dean will finally be free of him.

“Winchester!”

Dean hears, but doesn’t listen. He starts humming to himself when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, you assbutt!”

And there he is, of course: Castiel Novak. With his dumb boots and even dumber leather jacket, and, dumbest of all, that small little frown that slowly morphs into a way too pleased smile the longer Dean glares at him.

Christ.

By the time when Novak’s smile turns into a full-blown grin, Dean finally musters up the strength to look away. The soft rustle of tree crowns in the distance reminds him of what a great morning he has been having, and what a perfect day it could have been, had Novak decided to leave him alone. As it is, his day might turn out a bit marred, after all. A bit more normal, perhaps.

“‘Assbut’?” Dean quips, way too late. “What kinda insult is that?”

“What kind of delayed comeback is this?” Novak counters. 

“It’s not as delayed as your…” Dean doesn’t really know enough about Novak to be able to insult him in any meaningful way, and what he knows of him, he doesn’t want to use. So, instead, he finishes lamely with, “...development.”

Novak could not look any less impressed, especially because the raise of his eyebrow alone continues their little banter in a manner that clearly suggests that if anyone’s development is delayed, it has to be Dean’s. However, that level of insult is apparently not one Novak deigns to lower himself to, as he continues to look smug while busying himself with lighting a cigarette and blowing out a lungful of smoke with obvious relish.

Dean makes a face and pointedly waves his hand in front of his face. “Smoking’s bad for you,” he simply states, making Novak chuckle lightly.

“So’s a lot of things, if society is to be believed. I am not much of a believer, though, and I do enjoy the small pleasures in life.”

The small, self-satisfied smile Novak shoots him sends a strange feeling through Dean’s body, from his lips down to his very toes, and everything in-between.

Dean swallows. “What do you want, Novak?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Novak takes a drag while trotting along Dean who starts moving again, trying to put some distance between himself and the self-proclaimed anarchist. “I just have a small favor to ask you,” he says, sounding as though whatever he is asking for is actually not that small at all.

“Again?” Dean grumbles, thinking of Novak quickly copying his homework last week, secluded in that small parking lot that no one but Novak and some people in the know ever seem to use, and of what Novak did in return. “I’m not doing you any more favors, man,” Dean scoffs, and stomps on.

Nonetheless, Novak stays hot on his heels.

“Why not?” Novak presses, “I’m not asking for much -- I just need today’s Math homework. I didn’t hear Mr. Singer give us any, but Meg just told me he wanted us to solve like 15 fucking problems, and she didn’t do them either.“

“Of course not.“ Anything else would’ve been shocking enough — if Novak has a bad reputation, Meg Masters‘ is even worse. All kinds of rumors are going around about her, ranging from drug use to prostitution to downright witchcraft. Although Dean cannot confirm nor deny any of the rumors, he is inclined to believe most of them. And Meg Masters herself would probably laughingly accept any accusations -- she is that kind of person. And although Dean cannot help but grudgingly respect her for her attitude, he also resents her for it: and how could he not, when he works so hard to do what is asked of him, and stick to the rules? Yeah, the only way someone like Meg could shock Dean would be to actually do her homework for a change.

“Now, now,“ Novak chides playfully, even if it doesn’t seem like he cares all that much about it. “Meg does her best.“

“Just like you do, huh?“

At that, Novak‘s grin turns darker, a bit more dangerous. “So harsh, Winchester. I think you know better than most how sometimes, things are not as easy as they seem. That circumstances are different for everyone.“

“Yeah, yeah,“ Dean dismisses, with a pang in his chest, though he gets it. Unfortunately, he really does. “Anyway, I won’t give you the homework.“

“Why not?“

“Because why would I? I don’t like you and you only hit me up when you need stuff from me. Besides...“ he begins, then swallows back a proper explanation. “You know why.“

“Oh, I do?“

“You damn well know you do.“

“Hmm, alright.“ Novak takes another drag, unbothered. “Listen, if you give me today’s homework, I’ll make it worth your while.“

“Not interested,“ Dean says, already having a hunch of where this is going.

“No? Could be something similar to last time. You liked last time’s payment, didn’t you?” Novak asks, and it’s just like Dean expected.

Dean avidly fixes his gaze on the school building, still hidden behind some trees, but not too far off anymore. He will be safe there -- Novak would never dream of bothering him where anyone else could see. 

“I fucking did not,” he argues, already feeling heat creep into his cheeks.

“Really? I could’ve sworn you did, what with all the blushing and squirming and your pants going--”

“Novak!” Dean barks with a swelling sense of despair. His entire face feels hot by now, and is probably as red as a tomato, “I sure as hell did not enjoy whatever you call ‘payment’ for last week. Besides, I wouldn’t even call it ‘payment’ so much as fucking ‘harassment’.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “Are you serious?” Novak asks, in an unidentifiable tone of voice.

“‘Harassment’, ‘molestation’, ‘taking advantage’,” Dean recites, enjoying this now that he is gaining momentum. “You call it payment, I call it an affront, and--”

“Is that really what you think, Winchester?” Novak cuts in at the same time he stands still, his eyebrows drawn together in an unfamiliarly serious way. “That I harassed you?”

Dean stops as well. He looks back at Novak, his straight back and straightforward face, the way that he seems not just annoyed by the accusation, as Dean would have expected, but unsettled. As if he were taking Dean’s half-joke seriously, and reconsidering his own course of action.

Guilt wells up in Dean, and he holds his hands up in reassurance. “I didn’t--” he doesn’t know how to actually finish that sentence, so he just leaves it hanging.

There is nothing to say there, not really. What Dean said was half in jest, and half in… half in what he knows anyone else would think of the situation, or should think. It’s what Dean himself should think: that it was unexpected, unwanted, unreciprocated. That his animosity towards Novak just grew over it, that he truly hates him now. That there was no part of Dean that enjoyed any of it, no part of him that longs to do it again.

Novak keeps staring at him, though, reassessing. His stillness is as unnerving as his little smiles and contemplative looks usually are, even if in different ways. Regardless, he seems to come to some sort of conclusion as he takes in Dean’s still figure, the flush in his cheeks and whatever else there is to see, since he suddenly steps forward, closer towards him again.

“Harassment, was it?” Novak says, now with cold fire burning in his eyes that takes away Dean’s breath for just a moment. “Because I do seem to remember that you were the one who not only told me it was okay if I gave you a kiss on the cheek, but turned it into something more. By turning your head, parting your lips, not letting me go. You were the one who slipped me the tongue and kept going and going. You were the one who begged me to do more, kiss you more, touch you more, fu--”

“No!” Dean interrupts him, with burning cheeks and a stomach that has already dropped all the way down. “S-Stop making shit up, Novak. You know I’m not like that -- I’m not like you --, so I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me out of your fantasies. You were the one who harassed me--”

“--I just said--”

“--who pushed me to give him my homework in the first place--”

“--I asked you if it was okay to--”

“--and who made me do something I sure as hell neither enjoyed nor wanna do again.”

“Oh, really?” Novak asked, raising an eyebrow, in what might constitute a challenge or a feeling of false imputation, or both. “So, if I told you I’d love to kiss you again if you let me copy your math homework, you’d tell me no? Would what, cry harassment again if I dared touch so much as your wrist or even came close to you again? Or,” he continues, voice dropping into a darker tone while he does indeed inch closer towards Dean, close enough to touch him, and who remains where he is, rooted to the spot, “would you tell someone about it? Mr. Singer, perhaps? Or the counselor? Hmm, one thing’s for sure, though.” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. It sounds pained, even to Dean’s ears, knowing. “You wouldn’t tell your dad, would you? That you made out with a guy, and liked it? That you wouldn’t mind doing it again, given the right circumstances, some good excuse? Such as taking the long way to where you’ve parked your car, past the small parking lot you know where mine is and where I usually hang out? So that, I don’t know, perhaps I might come over when I see you, and all you had to do was bat your long lashes at me, bite your pretty lips, and wait for me to make a move again?”

It feels as if all the air is sucked out of Dean’s lungs. Standing there in front of Novak, feeling the heat of both his words and his body, he feels seen-through, known; and as lacerated and repugnant as an open wound.

Dean  wants to draw back into himself, into his safe shell, but he can’t. “You’re ridiculous, man,” is all he can mumble out in return as he twists his gaze away from Novak.

They remain there like this for God knows how long. Dean, looking somewhere between their feet and Novak’s almost heaving chest, and Novak, with his face hidden from Dean’s view, but his hands clenched into fists.

By the time Novak’s hands open again, it feels as though an hour has passed, though it probably were mere minutes.

“Alright,” Novak blows out on a breath, “let me make you a deal. Just so we’re on the same page, and we’re both absolutely clear on what is okay and what might be harassment or anything of the sort.”

Hearing Novak say that word again revives the feelings of guilt in Dean, but he knows he’s made his bed, so now he has to lie in it. So, he swallows and nods, feeling all of his body tense. “What kinda deal?”

“It goes like this: you either refuse to let me copy your homework and I won’t ever touch, much less kiss, you ever again. I’ll leave you alone. Or, you allow me to copy today’s homework at the very least, so Mr. Singer won’t call my foster home again, and you can choose whatever payment you want, as long as it’s somewhat reasonable. Money, cigarettes, beer, anything you want me to do, you name it. As long as you name it. I won’t give you what you’re not explicitly asking for.”

Dean frowns. “What? How is that a deal? It’s either you win or I do, no in-between. I mean, fine by me, but you get nothing out of it, so what gives?”

“It’s not that bad of a deal,“ Novak says, finally flinging his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out. 

He gives no further explanation, though, which gets on Dean’s nerves even more. “You suck at coming up with deals, you know that?“

“Not really,“ Novak says, shrugging a little. “As I see it, it‘s win-win for you and win-lose for me. Which, for me, too: is fine. It all depends on what you want.” There’s something strangely soft in the way he is looking at Dean, something almost wistful. “And on whether you’ll actually express it.”

Put on the spot yet not, there isn’t much for Dean to do but nod in acquiescence. He’d like to pretend he still doesn’t get what Novak is going for, but he does, deep down. It’s both an in and an out -- what he was hoping for, but couldn't have asked for. Now he has to ask for what he wants, and if he doesn’t, he won’t get it. And he’s not sure he can. Not when there’s rules and expectations and the shadow of a man larger than Dean, larger than life itself, endlessly looming over him.

“Okay,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Novak keeps staring at him in that stiffly intense way of his. “Alright. I mean, it probably would be pretty bad if you turned up without homework again, huh? Last I heard, you got into some pretty dire straits when Mr. Singer called your foster home, right?”

Novak huffs out a sound of amusement, his shoulders sinking in what looks like relief. “You’re well-informed.”

A furious blush threatens to stain Dean’s cheeks again. “It’s just what I heard. People talk. About you. And, uh, everyone else, I guess.”

There it is again, that soft expression. And Dean thinks he might recognize it now, impossible enough: Novak looks fond.

“They do,” Novak agrees, showing no offense at any possible implications of him being the talk of the school, which he most definitely is. “And yes, it was ‘pretty bad’, as you’ve said. I’d much rather not have a repeat performance.”

“Easy way to avoid it.”

“Yes, I’m working on it at the very moment.”

In spite of himself, Dean huffs out a laugh. “I meant doing your own damn homework. I know you’re smart enough to do it, even if you barely show up in class. You ace all the tests even when you weren’t there, so I don’t believe you couldn’t just as well hand in your homework if you fucking wanted to.”

Novak hums in open amusement. “Is that your own observation or people talking again?”

Feeling as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Dean just lamely stammers out a, “It’s-- it’s common knowledge, okay?” before setting into motion again.

Novak’s laughter follows him the first few steps, then he is beside him again.

“Who knows, maybe you’re right and I could take care of my own homework. But maybe I like not doing so, and asking certain other people for it instead.”

It’s obvious what -- or rather, who -- he means by that, that Dean is pretty sure his skin will never be anything but pink again. “Oh yeah?” he needles, “You got many people doing your homework? Giving them the same payment, too?”

“No,” Novak replies surprisingly quickly, “there’s only one person, and only one time I offered that type of payment.”

For a minute, they walk in silence as they almost reach the stairs of the school house. There’s few other people around, most of them just entering the building or looking at their phones, unheeding of the pair.

“So, we have a deal?” Novak eventually asks into their waiting silence.

“You can have today’s homework,” Dean relents, holding out on what he knows Novak is actually going for.

“Thank you, Dean,” Novak says with a gummy smile.

The sound of his name stirs Dean him up a bit more, reminding him of the only other time when Novak called him by his first name: when he was crowding Dean up against a wall, removing his glasses, and kissing his cheek so softly that Dean needed more, needed to be closer to this other guy, to this enigma of a person.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles.

“As for your payment…?” Novak probes, though with his voice in a whisper as they are close enough to other people now that they might otherwise be overheard.

“Don’t know yet,” Dean says, his voice clipped.

“I’m sure you already have something in mind.“ It’s completely uncalled for Novak to say this in such a low and heady way.

“Maybe you do, but I don’t.“ He doesn’t know, he thinks. He can’t, is why. He won’t, he tells himself.

“Dean,” Novak says, using his first name again, as if they were friends or something more, sounding intimate in the most casual way, and that does it.

“Damnit, Novak, I want—“ Dean bursts out.

Novak looks at him in expectation, all of him turned towards Dean, listening.

He won’t, he won’t, he can’t.

Can’t he?

“—time,“ Dean finishes lamely.

Novak pulls a face that clearly says, ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’

Which is all the worse.

“Listen, Novak, you… you might be right.“ Dean pulls a face. “I can’t believe I just said that. But yeah, I might have an idea of what I want, what I’d like to have,” he pointedly does not look at the other boy or anything else but straight towards the school. “But you’re also right in that my dad wouldn’t— I can’t--” He swallows, tries to shake the thought out of his head, but it unfortunately stays stuck. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You will?” Novak asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.“ He blows out his breath, scrubs a hand through his own hair, and continues, “Might take me some time, though. Maybe a long time. Maybe forever.“ He laughs mirthlessly. “So, today’s homework might actually turn out to be a freebie for you.”

The expression on Novak‘s face is hard to read, but undeniably one he usually does not show in public. For a second there, Dean thinks Novak wants to reach for him: his hand lifts and opens just so, swerving in his direction. Before anything comes off it, though, he drops his hand again, burrows it in his pocket and says, “Take all the time you need, Dean.“

He might have to, Dean thinks. Probably nothing will come of this, not right now, maybe not for as long as he is as young as he is, dependent on his father’s will, bound to him for freedom. Perhaps, though, some other time, in some distant future, or hidden behind some bleachers, he might find a taste of liberation, or the touch of Novak’s lips again.

Dean turns away from the other boy as the school bell rings, the call-back to the present not quite as oppressive with blue eyes and a soft smile still impressed on his mind.

[tinyboxxtink]

Build Me Up Buttercup *Part 5*

WARNING: This chapter contains mention of sexual assault, please read at your own discretion. Also, I’m sorry these last two chapters have been kind of dark but next chapter will be super fluff I promise!

If you need to catch up:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

Tag List: @wanniiieeee

....And you just ran out?”

Your roommate’s judgement came through loud and clear, even through the phone.

“Yes! What the hell was I supposed to do?!” You tried defending your actions. You called them to feel better, not worse.

“Well, first of all you shouldn’t have LIED,” They kept their snarky tone.

“I didn’t LIE….per say,” You paced back and forth, twirling your hair in your fingers nervously. The silence after your statement was like you could SEE their faces just giving you “that” look.

“Oh okay what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey yeah you’re right Fin, I was an absolute party wreck until I couldn’t be anymore’?”

“I mean I don’t--” You heard footsteps coming up behind you, so you swung your phone to your side, cutting off their sentence.

You turned to see Rafael standing there, that permanent concerned look for you pasted on his face.

“Hey...are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just needed some air,” You tried your best to stay calm and nonchalant.

“Are you sure? Because you--” He started to say something but you quickly interjected.

“Actually you know what Barba I’m kind of on the phone right now, can I meet you back inside?” You motioned with your phone, kicking yourself for being cold to him right now but you couldn’t deal with anything else at the moment.

“I...uh...yeah, sure,” He shook his head with an awkward smile, and walked back inside. Relieved, you put the phone back up to your ear.

“Aww, how cute. Barba cares!” your BFF’s voice cooed through the speaker.

“Yeah, in like a ‘dad caring’ kind of way,” you rolled your eyes.

“Oooof, I wouldn’t start throwing that term around, we might have to start talking about ‘daddy issues’, Y/N,” they giggled.

“SERIOUSLY?” You practically screeched into the phone, thanking every god you could think of that Rafael had gone inside before that comment.

“I’m just sayin! I’m ALSO saying that you need to go back in there and tell your squad the truth,” they returned to a very serious tone.

“Yeah I guess…” You sighed, knowing they were right.

“And I’m sorry I can’t be there with you holding your hand while you do it babe. But…”

“But what?”

“But maybe Rafael can?”

“Jesus, can you please be serious right now?”

“I am being serious! You just told me he helped you calm down earlier, and that wasn’t even half traumatic as this is gonna be,” They insisted.

“I don’t….how…?” Your face scrunched up trying to think of NON creepy ways you'd ask for someone's hand.

“Whatever, do what you want; But I do suggest telling them. Clearly you're not going to be able to keep this under wraps, and I doubt you want to keep freaking out on your co-workers. Trust them, trust RAFAEL,”

You sighed again, you knew they were right. Olivia said it herself, it was important to have a squad you trusted.

“Alright I’ll call you later,”

“You better!”

You took a deep breath and walked back into the bar, your hands shaking as you reached your booth. The group all started to speak, but you put your hand up.

“No just-- Let me talk. Fin, I am so sorry,” You addressed Fin, who shook his head in a “don't worry about it” manner.

“No, I really am. I’m sorry I freaked out on you and I’m sorry...I lied. Kind of,” the squad again looked at you in total confusion.

“God….okay, how do I….? Um….”

You started trying to form sentences in your head, words jumbled around in your brain. You started to panic again, when you felt a hand grip yours under the table. You snapped your eyes open and looked next to you where Rafael had taken your hand. He gave a small, supportive smile making you suddenly feel at ease.

“Okay. So, like I said I was pretty much a ‘caged’ child. I was homeschooled, I didn’t have any friends, just academics. Being born a ‘prodigy’ sounds good on paper, but I just always felt like a show pony. Or an alien experiment. People were always coming by to check out the ‘genius 5 year old’ play Mozart, or ‘the brilliant 10 year old finish calculus problems in under 30 seconds’.”

You took a deep breath, watching their listening faces. Too much detail hon, get there faster.

“Um, anyway. I graduated ‘high school’ at fifteen years old. I had barely made it through puberty, and I was already done with my academic childhood. Obviously, I wanted to immediately enroll in college, if for no other reason than to get away from my insanely controlling parents. But big surprise, they had a problem with it. It took me a minute to convince them that it was the right next step, full ride scholarships to literally any school in the country helped. And I mean, ANY school. All the Ivy leagues sent out their top recruiters to speak with my parents about having the ‘prodigy’ attending their establishment.

So with that, I was able to convince my parents that I knew what was best for me. I told them I was smarter than them, so clearly I could parent myself better. And God help them, they believed me,” You had to pause again, tears catching your throat. Rafael gently started rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“So, I started at NYU that fall, just after my sixteenth birthday. Sixteen years old, the only child in a university full of adults,”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Sonny whispered to Amanda who nodded in agreement.

“So I got paired with this room mate Layla, who was the polar opposite of myself. She was gorgeous, totally socially gifted, but dumb as a rock. Her daddy had paid her way into the school,” you rolled your eyes just thinking about her.

“And truth be told I loved her at first, because she was the sweetest girl. My first ever real friend. She took me under her wing and gave me a complete makeover; socially and physically. I had NEVER had guys look at me the way they did after she helped me. It was....intoxicating.” You paused in shame, picking at your jacket.

“So, naturally, I wanted to hang out with my friend. My ONLY friend. And hanging out with her meant going to all the coolest parties, frats and sororities. I was SIXTEEN, I didn’t….I didn’t think,”  You bit your lip and stared at the floor for a moment before continuing.

“I lost my virginity at those parties,” you muttered quietly, and to your surprise the team started reacting.

“Wha-- Wait wait wait, guys that’s….that’s not even the bad part yet,” you gulped. Jesus the judgement was quickly getting real.

“Anyway I...was pretty much a huge party girl slut,” you shrugged. “I’d go and party, and hook up with random guys, and never thought twice about it because I thought ‘that’s what college girls do’,” You scoffed at your younger self for even having that notion. How could you be that smart and that stupid at the same time? It was baffling.

“And one night, it bit me in the ass,” You sighed, here comes the hard part.

“I don’t...I usually got so wasted that I didn’t CARE who I was having sex with and most of the time never remembered WHO it was anyway but-- but I’m pretty sure that night I didn’t want to,” You breathed out and looked up, willing the tears on the rims of your eyes to go back in where they came from. Rafael’s hand gripped yours tighter, making you feel safe.

“But it is what it is, this guy did what he did and left me on the floor in a frat house,” You scoffed again, this time tears dripping down your face. You couldn’t believe there was a time that you had been that pathetic, to just be left laying on the floor like a blow up doll.

“I guess Layla found me and took me home, because I woke up in my own bed. But I had bruises and hickeys ALL over my body, and just….brutal stuff,” You trailed off while you picked at your food, not wanting to go into any more detail.

Suddenly, as if turning on a light switch, your entire demeanor snapped back into ‘normal mode’, you wiped the stray tears away and cleared your throat. You were

“AHEM So...anyway, after….that, I told Layla that I couldn’t hang out with her anymore if that’s all we were going to do, and she understood. She didn’t like it, but she understood. The next semester I got a new roommate who was pretty much like myself, boring and socially inept, so I went back to the thing I knew best-- academics. I changed my major from biochemical engineering to law, because I didn’t want anyone else to go through what I went through without a voice. And after that, and a WHOLE lotta therapy, I just pushed that whole semester I lost deep, DEEP down, you know like a totally healthy person,” You tried playing it off with a laugh, but they weren’t amused.

“But...just thinking about Mary Fahey,” you sighed. “That girl had everything going for her, she was probably really smart and had a whole life ahead of her. She made the bad decision ONCE, to go to a frat party and she’s DEAD. Meanwhile, I was a stupid slut for a whole semester and the worst I got was bruised up and a pregnancy scare.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Amanda gave you a look.

“What? That I should have been killed? Well why not? Why HER?” You protested, sipping your hurricane. It was unsettling to the squad how little you seemed to care about yourself.

“....I knew there was more to it in the bathroom,” you heard Rafael’s soft voice beside you.

“I’m sorry...I didn’t know how to tell you,” You looked at him with apologetic eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I was...trashy,”

“Ok now hold up” Fin interrupted.

“First of all, you need to stop throwing words like ‘slut’ and ‘trash’ around, especially about yourself, Y/N,” he took your hand.

“You said it yourself, people make mistakes. Hell if I worried about the amount of dumb shit I did when I was a kid I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning,”

You had to break into a small sad smile after he said that, nodding your head in an understanding manner.

“And whether or not it was a one time thing or a ‘phase’, no one ever deserves to be assaulted for overdoing it at a party, or anywhere else,” Olivia chimed in. “EVER.”

“Exactly what the Sarge said. Assault is NEVER ok, in ANY circumstance. Even when you think you were ‘slutty’ by sleeping around, those guys are accountable too.” Sonny added. “Taking advantage of an inebriated woman is not okay,”

“AND it was statutory!” Rafael finally spoke up, his fists clenched. It was as if it had taken this entire time for him to fully process your story, and now that he did he was PISSED.

“Okay, Rafa, calm down,” Olivia placed a hand over his.

“No Liv, these guys should all be in prison for having sex with an incapacitated SIXTEEN YEAR OLD”

“Will you knock it off, counselor?” You hit his arm. “I didn’t tell you that story so you would go after a bunch of random idiots for something that happened over 10 years ago!”

“Well they should pay!” Rafael yelled again, but after you softly stroked his shoulder, he seemed to calm down.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Rafa,” you warily threw out the pet name, happy when he responded with a small smile. “But I’m over it. Mostly. On days that aren’t like this,” you added with a joking laugh, trying to ease the tension.

“Well, I really appreciate you telling us the truth, N/A,” Olivia nodded at you, the others followed suit. 

You gave the first genuine smile since you came back in, looking at Rafael. He took your hand once again under the table, giving it three small squeezes. Before you knew what you were doing, your head was dropping onto his shoulder and you were scooting closer into him.

“Get a squad you can trust, right?”

[skycollides]

Hi bubba!❤️ I really hope you’re well and happy! I’m falling in love with your fics😍😍 your writing is honestly remarkable!! I wanted to request for ez if that’s okay? With “You love her don’t you?” “is it that obvious?” It can be an angsty or fluffy ending whatever you think fits best!! Thank you so much🥰❤️❤️

Hey sweetheart! Thank you for all the love and support from day one! I love and appreciate you❤️❤️

I really hope you enjoy this one 🥰😘

No risk no fun

Ez x Reader

Authors note: I apologize in advance for grammar mistakes

English isn’t my native language.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

Warning: swearing, a little heartache, happy end

Words: 1.981

Ez’s Pov:

Another night at the clubhouse. Another party takes place and Ez can’t take his eyes off you. From the moment you walked in he was practically hypnotized by your beauty which was pretty obvious to Angel.

’’Hey little brother!’’ no reaction from Ez.

’’Ey earth to Ezekiel’’ he says smacking his head. Ez’s hand finds its way to the spot Angel hit him rubbing it.

’’Ouch. What was that for Angel?’’

’’Since you weren’t reacting I had to do something to get your attention. It’s hard to catch nowadays when my sweet Y/n is in the same room. Oh and by the way it’s really starting to become obvious. Bishop noticed too. You love her don’t you baby brother?’’

’’Is it that obvious?’’ 

’’Well only me and Bishop noticed so it isn’t that bad but dude if you love her you gotta tell her. You know I have this thing going on with her best friend and she told me that there is this guy, co-worker of hers who’s trying to get her attention he already asked her for a date so you better step up your game before its too late.’’ Angel tells him.

’’Why the hell would I tell her and make things awkward when she’s already seeing this guy? I lost my chance it’s better that way. She deserves better than an outlaw biker who murdered a cop. If you excuse me now I need to get new beer.’’ with that being said Ez leaves Angel there standing by himself.

Angels Pov:

‘‘Hey Y/bf/n baby. Come here.’’ he says standing at the door of the clubhouse. She leaves you and Letty and heads outside with Angel.

’’What is it?’’

’’Listen I need you to be honest with me. Do you promise me to tell the truth I need to ask you something important?’’

’’Sure. Just tell me what’s up?’’

’’Does Y/n have feelings for my brother?’’

’’Angel I can’t’’

’’What do you mean you can’t? You fucking promised me. Please I beg you.’’

’’Fine. Yes , yes she does. Why?’’

’’Yes I knew it! That’s fucking awesome. Listen baby I need your help. Ez loves her. I’m surprised you didn’t notice him staring at her all the time. We need to make this happen. My baby brother deserves to be happy after everything he went through with Emily. You simply need to convince Y/n not to go to the date with that guy and leave the rest to me okay?’’

’’Okay Angel. I hope this is working out or otherwise she’ll have my head for spilling her business.’’

’’As if I would let that happen’’ he says and kisses her head happy with the new information he now has.

A week later

Your Pov:

’’C’mon Y/n your co-worker is boring as fuck! He won’t make you happy.’’

’’And Ez will?’’

’’You’ll never now if you don’t tell him. Cancel the goddam date and come to the clubhouse with me. No risk no fun. Do you want to send the rest of your life overthinking what could have been between the two of you? Seriously he’s such a sweet guy you’d be perfect for each other!

’’Okay you win.’’ you give in defeated knowing that you will not won this fight and she is right. You can’t win without taking a risk.

You reach your destination about an hour later. Y/bf/n has texted Angel letting him know you will be there soon so when you get there he is already waiting for you outside.

’’Hey baby’’ he greets your bf before giving you a hug.

’’Hey Angel’’ you say.

’’Is everyone here already?’’ your bf asks him and he nods.

’’Yeah the party is started a couple of hours ago. Some guys from other charters are here so are Vickys girls. Well not everyone Ez went to his trailer shortly before you arrived. So let's go inside girls.’’ he finishes his monolog

’’Actually’’ you start 

’’I gotta talk to Ez first you can go in.’’ you say and your cheeks heat up being happy it’s dark so they won’t notice.

’’Go on. We’ll be inside’’ your bf says and they walk to the porch waiting there for what’s to come. Which you don’t notice since you’ve turned your back towards them. You open the door without knocking and go in there.

’’Listen Ez I gotta-’’ you stop speaking at the sight in front of you Ez only in his boxers laying in his bad with one of Vickys girls barely covered.

’’Y/n I-’’ he starts but you interrupt him right away.

’’I’m so sorry I- I should have knocked. I’m sorry’’ you say with a shaky voice literally running out of the trailer slamming the door behind you, tears leaving your eyes.

The door opens again and Ez come out now at least waking jeans.

’’Y/n wait! He says but you’re already in your car driving off.

Ez pov:

He turns around and sees Angel and his girls standing there looking at him. 

’’Are we going to finish what we started or what?’’ he hears a voice behind him.

’’Leave!’’ he tells her and she does as she’s told.

’’Are you fucking serious?’’ he hears Angel yell while he walking towards him.

’’What?’’

’’What? That’s all that comes to your mind genius? Crazy that a guy who’s as dumb as you got into a university like Stanford. You’re a fucking idiot that’s what you are. I told my girl to talk Y/n out of that fucking date with that guy so you have a shot. She convinced her to tell you about her feelings and you’ve got nothing better to do than getting your dick wet? I seriously thought you love Y/n but I guess I was wrong. My fault that beautiful and smart girl git her heart broken.’’

’’I do love her man! I had no idea’’ he says realizing he probably made the biggest mistake of his life.

’’Then do something about it brother! FIGHT FOR HER as I fucking told you before!’’

’’Ez that’s the key to her apartment. Please don’t fuck this up I want to see my best friend happy’’

’’Thanks guys’’ with that we walks to his bike and drives off.

Your Pov:

As soon as you get home you drop your heals in the hallway going straight into your bedroom jumping into bed and crying into your pillow. You can’t remember the last time you were hurt like this. You really thought you had a shot with him but it looks like your were wrong. And so was your best friend. With your thoughts running wild and all the crying you don’t notice someone coming into to the room. You only notice when the mattress moves.

’’I told you y/bf/n I fucking told you look where it got me!’’ you say with your voice cracking. You turn around and can’t believe your eyes. It’s not here sitting on your bed. It’s Ez with the most apologetic look on his face.

’’Get the fuck out of here. NOW!’’

’’I wont leave until you listened to me Y/n. Look I’m sorry you had to see this. God I don’t even know where to start. I better start with the fact that I’m completely in love with you. Head over heals. I know it doesn’t really look like it right now but listen. Last week Angel caught me staring at you again. And he asked if I was in love with you. He told me about your date with your co-worker and I knew I will never save a chance with you. I mean who am I? A outlaw biker who got out of jail couple months ago

because he murdered a cop. I mean come on Y/n. That guy has a stable job and is not in conflict with the law. I though you were better off with someone like him. I knew I lost so I tried to get over you with one of Vicky girls. I swear nothing happened. I know it looks bad but I couldn’t. You were on my mind the whole time sweetheart. I stopped her right before you walked in. I swear. I know that probably wasn’t the brightest idea to be honest. 

What I’m trying to say Y/n. I love you. I love you so fucking much baby. You had me hypnotized the moment I laid my eyes on you for the first time. I was blown away by your smile and your beauty. And girl don’t get me started on those beautiful eyes. But that’ not the reason I fell in love with you. That’s a lie it is a part but the main reason is your character. You are the sweetest girl with the biggest heart I’ve ever met. You light up my world babygirl. Please let me make it up to you. Give me a chance to prove that to you.’’ he ends his little speech staring down at the mattress nit daring to look you in the eyes.

’’Ez?’’ you say softly. No reaction.

’’Ez, sweetie look at me’’ and he looks up to you.

’’First of all you are literally the biggest idiot I’ve met. Seeing you with her fucking hurt me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt hurt like this before. I’m glad you didn’t sleep with her by the way. Listen Ez I love you. I don’t care that you went to jail. I love you for who YOU are. You are so much more than an outlaw biker Ezekiel. You are such a wonderful human being. I chose to become your friend for a reason. I love being around you. I love that I can have deep conversations with you. I love that you listen to me not matter what time it is. I love your kind heart, your humor and your smile. I swear you got me with that smile. I’m glad you’re here right now. Thanks for stopping by and telling m the truth. I love you too Ezekiel Reyes.’’ you say with a smile and before you can say anything else he grabs you by your neck pulling your face to bis before pressing his lips onto yours. Your hand fins its way to his cheek caressing it with your thumb while EzS tongs asks for entrance keeping the kiss as soon as you allow him. You’re the first one to release his lips to get some air. He leans his forehead against yours smiling at you.

’’Wow’’ you say.

’’Wow indeed. I cant believe I missed out on those soft lips for so long. Be my girl mi amor?’’

’’I thought you’ll never ask’’ you say laughing.

’’Yes I’ll be yours babe.’’ you say and kiss him again.

’’You’re going to stay here right?’’ you ask him hoping the answer will be yes.

’’Yes just let me call Angel real quick then I’ll join you in bed sweetheart.’’ with that being said he gets up from the bed gets undressed and calls Angel while you head to the bathroom getting ready for bed. When you leave the bathroom he’s laying in your bed still on the phone with Angel.

’’Ill see you tomorrow Angel. Bye!’’ Ez ends the call and puts his phone on the nightstand while you get into bed. 

’’Everything okay?’’

’’More than okay baby. Y/bf/n won’t kill me I guess that’s a good sign if you ask me’’ he says and you laugh.

’’Yes she can get quite protective to be honest.’’ you say cuddling into his chest. He wraps his arms around you pulling you closer before kissing your head.

’’I love you Y/n’’

’’I love you too Ezekiel. Sleep well my love’’

’’You too mi amor’’

Taglist:

@everyhowlmarksthedead

@mayans-sauce

@justatiredfool

@lovebennycolon

@queenbeered

@nadinesabre

@ocetevasgirl

@spookys-girl

@angelreyesgirl

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Road to Hell || Morgan & Miriam

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan interrupts one hunt; Miriam proposes another

CONTAINS: discussions of violence

The woman babbling on about something to Miriam as the two of them sat at their little corner table was a witch. Miriam had known that the second the girl had walked into her store a few nights ago, just before closing. It was that time of year when she could actually go out into the main area of the store without worrying about sunlight and burning flesh, and she’d struck up a conversation with the woman, particularly about the runic tattoos along the girl’s skin. Miriam wasn’t daft; she knew that these sorts of designs were in with all sorts of people, not just practitioners of the magic arts. But the young woman had actually admitted to Miriam what she was. Spellcasters these days. They had no sense of self-preservation. So, Miriam had invited her out to dinner, a nice dinner for the young woman and a nicer dinner for Miriam afterwards. It wouldn’t be anything to be savored; Miriam refused to bring people home, not with Evelyn in her house. Still, it would suffice. Really, she was doing the girl a favor. Anyone stupid enough to out themselves to a mere stranger should be put out of their misery. She tried not to think about that too hard, about how that was technically how she’d met Morgan, and, if she’d truly managed to kill Morgan that night, she’d be down one… acquaintance. They likely weren’t friends. It wasn’t like they could be, not with the way that Morgan saw her.

“Is it not good?” The woman, Leigh, asked, looking at Miriam’s plate curiously.

Miriam forced a charming grin on her face. “Oh, it’s lovely, sweetness. I’m just a bit distracted. Would you like some more wine?” As long as she could keep the girl unaware, this would be easy. She could do this and be done with it for a few days, maybe even a week. Maybe the next one she wouldn’t kill, either, but just find them in the night, get her fill, and wipe their mind of the experience, leaving behind only the pain. Maybe so. But she’d committed to this form of hunting for the night. She took a bit of her steak, too done to provide her with any sort of nourishment, and poured both herself and Leigh a bit more wine. She wished she could feel its effects the way the younger woman did as she giggled and talked about her job, her family, her friends. Miriam would kill to be so innocent. Miriam would kill.

Morgan had plenty of experience balancing the cognitive dissonance of making holiday merry with normies while her world was falling apart. Thirty nine (almost forty, now) years with the curse had been good for that much. But this was the first year she’d had to do it without being able to get drunk. The UMWC English Department Christmas after party had enough tipsy middle aged women to get the dance floor at the bar moving, but no matter how hard or how long she danced, the world was still in pieces and she still, still soaked with blood and hurt, and she still needed a human sacrifice to accomplish the one single thing she actually had a clue about accomplishing. Morgan told her coworkers she’d get them vodka shots, teasing, “Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get as shitfaced as our students after finals,” as an excuse to separate from the pack.

But Morgan never made it to the counter, because she saw Miriam first. Even worse, she saw Miriam’s date. Those runic tattoos couldn’t have been and accident, and the alchemic circle on the top of her hand sure as hell wasn’t either. She was hanging on Miriam’s every look, oblivious and engaged in all the wrong ways. Morgan didn’t have long to think. What did she do? She didn’t have anyone to make a distraction for her while she ushered the would-be witch-feast out the bar. How was she supposed to do this by herself? There wasn’t time to panic, she needed to stay in control and do something now. What would Deirdre do if she had to make a distraction for this?

“HEY, BABY!” Morgan cried the words loudly, enough to make at least one person check over their shoulder.  She gave Miriam a big wave and ran over to their both, sliding in beside the vampire. “You should’ve said you were coming to meet me early, I would’ve had a round of your favorite waiting!” She planted a big, awful kiss on Miriam’s cheek and squeezed her hand, bringing it up on the table. “And, and, and!” She squealed excitedly. “I went to the jeweler and picked out your ring! It’s gonna be a surprise, obviously, but I think you’ll like it a lot.” She looked over at the girl sitting opposite, flashing a thin smile that she hoped said, get lost. “And who are you? No offense, but I was kind of hoping to have a more private meeting with my Mimsy,” she said.

The shrill sound of a familiar voice caused Miriam to tense up. No. No. No. She wished she’d gone to a more private place, perhaps a classier establishment, to do her hunting as she watched the zombie coming in hot towards them. “Morgan?” Leigh looked at Miriam with confusion, and Miriam gritted her teeth as Morgan slid in next to her. Of course, of course. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.” She really shouldn’t have. There was no way to save this, was there, Miriam wondered as she looked dejectedly at Leigh, who had shifted from confused to pissed off in a matter of moments.

“I’m no one,” Leigh muttered, grabbing her bag and shoving her belongings inside. “It was--” she looked at Miriam, and, if a voice that the vampire would not have heard had she been human, muttered, “Course she’s-- Fuck me, I guess.” Then, louder, to Morgan, “Sorry, I’ll let-- I’m just gonna go.” Leigh hurried out the door, leaving her food half-finished, before Miriam could so much as even try to explain her way out of this. Lovely. Miriam was so glad that she’d get to pay for not one but two uneaten meals. She shoved her plate away and downed her glass, the alcohol not doing shit when there wasn’t blood mixed in.

“What the fuck, Morgan?” Miriam snarled, pushing the zombie away and rubbing at her eyes. They were probably turning red, the anger and frustration and hunger causing the color to change from their normal shade of green. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to be mad for too long, though. She just felt tired. All she had wanted was a meal and then to simply go home, crawl in bed and close her eyes for a few hours. Maybe chat with Evelyn for a bit about nothing serious. “Do you think you were loud enough? I don’t think the other side of town heard you. Speak up a bit next time.” She almost poured herself another glass of wine, but instead she just grabbed Leigh’s. She could, at the very least, assure that it wasn’t wasted.

“What? I can speak up if you’re having trouble hearing me.” Morgan said playing dumb with a dry smirk. But she had succeeded in chasing the girl away and turning her off from further contact with Miriam. She didn’t have to make any more public fuss. “You know, maybe I just missed you. Maybe I was jealous! We have some seriously problematic differences, but you are nothing if not clear and consistent. Not everyone’s like that.” Deirdre, for example, came to mind. She played with the flatware and the napkins, rolling them back and forth with her palm against the table for the novelty of the sensation. “Maybe I just didn’t want some sweet idiot girl like I used to be get carried off to your secret lair.” She shrugged, grinning sidelong at Miriam. “It’s the department holiday party, over there--” she gestured to the dancing middle aged women. “You just caught me at the right time. I’m not trying to...I want better for you, but I’m not a stalker. We can take a twirl if it’ll save your night. Some of the ladies over there hate their lives and marriages enough to probably make a good snack.” She delivered all of this in a dry, even tone, unphased, even a little amused. “I mean, we could talk about murder and torture, but I’m trying to do a little better by you than that.”

“My hearing is just fine, sweetness, but thank you,” Miriam said with a smile that was more of a bearing of teeth. “You missed me? Aw, I’m touched, truly. Maybe give me a ring, though, next time? We can go out for drinks instead of you dropping in on my meal.” She sighed, though, and shot Morgan a sympathetic look. “Glad my consistencies can be counted on.” Really, Morgan was quite consistent as well, in her stubbornness that bordered on pigheadedness when it came to Miriam’s dietary habits. “I wasn’t going to carry her back to my ‘secret lair.’” She did air quotes with one hand. “Just to the woods. I don’t bring people home with me anymore. I have someone staying over.” Besides, her “secret lair” was her wine cellar, and there were only so many ways that blood stains could be explained away before it became far too suspicious. She glanced over at the gathering of people near the bar, frowning. She should feed, she should, but she was turned off from it, at this point. The mood was killed, and she had no desire to feed in front of Morgan, no desire to see the woman think even less of her. “I’ve lost my appetite, I’m afraid, but I do appreciate the offer.”

Morgan hummed, smiling, to hear Miriam’s nickname. Her expression was too sour and vacant for it to count as delight, but maybe someone might have made that mistake at a quick glance when she laughed. “Sometimes it takes your evil friend getting tortured and burned to ash for you to appreciate the important things in life. Or to decide, fuck it, I don’t care about anyone or anything so let’s just disappear and burn it to the ground. Or to finally get on that bucket list! Granted, I’m not usually into--” she screwed up her face, pretending to be scandalized, “Blood sacrifice, but the magic wants what the magic wants. Screw anything being easy for once, right?” She gave Miriam a wide, thin smile. “Come on! The night doesn’t have to be super ruined, right? I don’t  actually want you to starve or feel like I don’t care, you know? I might be a little...whatever, but if there’s a way that makes up your night that doesn’t involve witch torture, I’m at least interested.” Her smile twisted into a grin, conspiratorial. “Are you gonna tell me about this friend staying over? Is the same lady friend you were staying with before?”

For a moment, all Miriam could do was stare at Morgan in shock and blink. Then, she said, “I thought I was your evil friend.” She gave Morgan a smirk, one of the one’s she’d adopted in high school that said I’m Better, before she let it drop. “That’s quite a lot to unpack, Morgan. Really, more than a lot.” Blood sacrifices, really? See, this was what Miriam always thought of when she described bad magics, improper magics. Though, all magics were improper in the hands of human beings, but Miriam didn’t think she needed to try and drive that point home. Not while Morgan was like this. “Perhaps things should be easy, sometimes,” she said, slowly, putting down the glass without finishing it so that she could give Morgan most of her attention. She scanned Morgan’s face, checked her over for any signs of outer distress before she realized that, as one of the undead, Morgan wasn’t going to show scrapes or bruises. “Let’s make this easy, shall we? I’m really quite alright,” she could always feed later, “and I’m a bit more worried about you. I’m aware you don’t want me to starve, darling.” She knew that. Morgan just wanted her to find a better source of food. Miriam rolled her eyes. “It is the same person, yes. She needed me to check on her while she was sleepwalking, and now she’s staying with me amidst some repairs to her home. Nothing serious. I’m just helping her out.” And that was all there was to it. At least, that was all she would admit.

“You’re at least a little honest with yourself.” Morgan said, smiling fondly. “You wouldn’t hurt so much if you really thought what you were doing was the natural order of the world or some bullshit. And you know the people you hunt are people, and you don’t keep them in a five star containment cell for a few years. Maybe you’re a misguided torturer, but it’s coming from a real place. It’s not...banal. You’re better than that, Mim.” Morgan pursed her lips in a pout, teasing in sing-song, “Although, she did give really nice gifts. You’ve never gotten me anything pretty before, so maybe the jury’s out after all.”

She turned her face away as Miriam started giving her a once over. Her face, usually amused and unflappable, was wrinkling with concern. Morgan wasn’t sure she could bear someone with as few reasons to care right now as Miriam being concerned. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “For knowing that. My friend didn’t and I uh...I know we’re not about to suddenly become different people, but it’s important to me that you know I care. It’s the fucking worst, feeling like you’ve lost someone they’re judging you for how you are. I think you’re wrong and I think you know it too, but I still care even if I fuck it up every time we hang out. I want good things for you.” She swallowed thickly. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just uh...casually falling apart a little bit. I’ll figure it out. Although if you do have any tips for picking out a target who won’t be missed, I’m all ears.” She tried to smile sincerely, pull herself up by those proverbial bootstraps and keep trucking. “Tell me more about this friend. It sounds like y’all are getting pretty used to each other’s company. Maybe getting domestic, even?”

“Am I?” Miriam asked, a bit bemused. “I suppose I try to be, but I would have thought we wouldn’t agree, on that front.” She tried to tell herself, at least before, that this was her purpose. Witches must be dealt with. Now, she just told herself this was the only way to live. She’d love it if every witch on the goddamn planet stopped practicing magic at her behest, but she didn’t see it happening. So she’d just keep hunting. “Years? No, that’s far too long to keep someone about. Too much responsibility. Do I look like the kind of woman that has that much time?” She kept people for a few days, at most, and that was only if she was feeling extra malevolent. She was wracking her brain, though, trying to figure out exactly what was going on through Morgan’s head. She didn’t particularly like the path they were going down. “Well, damn. I suppose I’ll just scrap the jacket I’ve been working on then.”

Miriam couldn’t help the concern that she felt, the worry. She wasn’t used to it, either, which added to the discomfort of the situation. “Of course I know that, darling. You’ve made it clear. Every damn time you scold me, you try to find different options, which, though increasingly annoying,” and Miriam kept her tone light, teasing, “is considerate, so thank you.” She wrinkled up her nose. Morgan did have a habit of getting preachy and nosy when they hung out, and it almost always ended with one of them storming off the premises, but that was just who Morgan was. “I’m aware of all of that, truly. You don’t fuck it up. I suppose that the day you’re alright with my serial killer tendencies is the day I should really worry.” Though, she was really worrying now. Miriam… didn’t know how to be a friend, though, properly. It had been too long. “Casually falling apart is still falling apart, Morgan. Don’t fall apart if you don’t have the wherewithal to do it gracefully instead of casually.” What could she do to help with this? Could she do anything to help with this. Miriam had no experience with helping ex-witches through emotional crises. Nosy ex-witches were much easier to handle, and she rolled her eyes at Morgan’s words. “I don’t think I will tell you about this friend. I’m simply providing her with a place to stay for the time being while her… windows get repaired.” Though, really, Miriam was sure Evelyn’s windows had already been repaired. They just weren’t talking about her going home. “I wouldn’t say domestic. I don’t do domestic.”

“You could stand to be more honest, but you’re not full on, ‘humans are cattle, darling, this is putting them to good use,’” Morgan tried to mimic Lydia’s sophisticated cadence mockingly, but she could still hear in her memory just how poor a job when she was doing and felt miserable by the failed effort. “You know what you’re doing, you just don’t know you can be--more--” Morgan grimaced at herself, shaking her head. Aaaaand here I go again… “Thank you, for indulging me at least.”

At the mention of a jacket, Morgan whined, pouting. “There was a jacket? Don’t scrap the jacket. I want a pretty jacket!” Beneath her teasing, she was surprised that Miriam would go to such thoughtful lengths for her. Granted, she was a workaholic with nothing to do during the day and leatherwork was the only skillset Morgan was aware of her having that didn’t involve violence, so maybe it wasn’t so special after all. But Morgan couldn’t fully rationalize the thought away, that Miriam cared enough to try, and might be convinced to turn that care inward some day.

“Gracefully?” Morgan snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s been applied to me in my life, sorry. And uh, no worries about those tendencies. I appreciate your expertise, and I’m only half kidding about needing pointers for scrounging up the right human to sacrifice, but I’m not going to give you another reason to think that killing is all there is for you by asking you to do my dirty work with me.” She flashed a smile, offering to let that part of the conversation go. “Getting windows repaired, huh? Is that a euphemism from your day? I think the kids are calling it something else now. But if your gal pal won’t be sad, can I interest you in a dance?”

“Well, seeing as how I was human not too long ago, I’d be a bit hypocritical to perceive them as cattle,” Miriam said wryly, wondering just what kind of peoples it was that Morgan associated herself with, presently or in the past, that would think such things, especially when she felt so strongly about everything that Miriam did. “I do know what I’m doing, and I live with it. It’s simply the way things are, Morgan.” Miriam sighed, though, grateful that Morgan didn’t go further. “Of course, darling. I don’t mind.” Too much.

“Was. Past tense.” Miriam adopted a pout of her own, mocking Morgan’s. “So sorry, darling, it’s officially been scrapped, not even a thought in my mind, anymore.” Really, though, the jacket was done save for a bit of stitching, something that she’d planned on giving Morgan during the holidays, probably at the start of Yule. She still would, most likely, all kidding aside. It had been fun to make, something other than some of the orders she’d taken on recently, and she was proud of it. Though, Miriam was good at her work; most of the things she made were worthy of pride.

“Come now, Morgan. I’m sure you’ve done something gracefully. Your tenacity is breathtaking, truly.” Perhaps more annoying than graceful, but still. It was something. She frowned, still concerned for her… friend. They were friends. She thought of Morgan as a friend. She wanted to continue this, wanted to point out that her expertise wasn’t in human sacrifice at all, and that, if that was what Morgan was looking into, perhaps she should find a spellcaster who practiced something as nefarious as blood magic or necromancy or something. Those tended to be the experts in blood magic, not charming but occasionally homicidal vampires. But she let it end there. “Getting her windows repaired means that all of her windows shattered, darling, and she had to get them fixed.” She rolled her eyes, but stood up and motioned for Morgan to do the same. “I don’t think my friend will mind, no. I’m more worried about you, darling. Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?”

Morgan pouted back, harder, if that was possible. “But-- even just a cropped jacket? Do you want my measurements?” She had a sense that if this jacket already existed, Miriam would give it to her no matter what, and if it didn’t, it was just a whim that wasn’t necessarily worth pushing just now. Morgan’s lips quirked up with hope all the same.

She couldn’t help but notice how Miriam refused to take the bait when it came to discussing the practical points of violence. But then, Morgan was being coy as well, almost embarrassed about the severity of her need and her total lack of knowledge. Why couldn’t she just come out with it? Was it really just because she felt guilty that there was no one else left to ask? That she couldn’t keep her intentions straight with her between trying to find something better than her alleged purpose and leaning on her expertise? Morgan let it rest for now, grinning with a bitter edge at the mention of her ‘tenacity.’ That was about all she had going for her these days. Tenacity.

Morgan took Miriam’s offered hand and followed her to the dance floor. “My girlfriend isn't here and I don’t really care how she’d feel about me dancing with a friend right now. Besides, I’ll be good.” She teased a coy smile and locked their fingers together as the song changed to an upbeat remix of another Christmas song. When she danced, Morgan’s body almost remembered itself. Hair swinging, feet pounding, she buzzed with the tingle of her body vibrating against the world, pulsing I am here, I am here, I am here, damnit. I deserve to be here more than you, Constance. She stayed close to Miriam, gauging how she took to the music with interest, and flashing the occasional grin. The song changed to something slower, and Morgan leaned against the vampire for the sake of appearances. If she were alive, her body would be exhausted after how desperately she’d pushed it into motion. “Can I ask you how you do it?” She asked, half into her shoulder. “How you make it so you’re never caught or interrupted?”

“Not a chance,” Miriam said, her grin only mostly bite. She rolled her eyes at Morgan’s questions about measurements. As if she didn’t already have them. As if she hadn’t been doing this kind of thing long enough to be able to get Morgan’s measurements in the plenty of times they’d been around each other. “Sorry, darling. Opportunity's gone, now. You should have been nicer to me, you know. Maybe then you’d still get it.” As they walked out to the dancefloor, she stuck her tongue out childishly.

“Well, if you’ll be good, then I suppose we can dance.” Again, another thing that she should be worried about. Not being worried about her girlfriend was very much not a Morgan Beck kind of thing. Then again, they were only friends. Morgan seemed more concerned about Miriam’s love life or lack thereof than anything. So she resigned herself to dancing, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that they were both damn good at it. Morgan was right; graceful wasn’t a word that could be used to describe her movements, but they were wild and fun and on beat, and Miriam found herself getting lost in the music for however long she could. Miriam had taken dancing lessons as a child, but she’d learned to actually enjoy dancing in college. This reminded her of that.

As the song changed, she pretended to be a little out of breath for the sake of the people around them. She was surprised, though, at Morgan's questions, and she glanced down at the other woman. She wasn’t going to drop this, was she? Miriam swallowed. “You make them trust you,” she said, lowly, swaying them along with the song. “You smile, and you compliment them, and you let them compliment you. We’re at an advantage, darling, with our gender, our appearance. They rarely suspect danger lurking under pretty facades.” She moved them away from the crowd. “Then, you take them somewhere secluded, somewhere safe. And you do what you must. Then you get rid of them. Or you don’t, depending on what you want people to know.” Sometimes, you left them out where they’d be seen in broad daylight because you were young and dramatic, and you just wanted to be seen. A cry for help, Miriam’s mother had said hysterically, though she’d cleaned the blood from Miriam’s hands with a calmness that Miriam had never seen in the woman before. For all her parent’s faults (or maybe in addition to them), they had never abandoned their daughter, even when they probably should have.

Morgan shuffled in step with Miriam as some girl on a piano turned ‘All I Want For Christmas’ into a crying balad. She listened, keeping the rhythm to distract herself from the ghost chills crawling down her back. “That sounds cruel,” she mumbled. “Trust is…” Fragile. Precious. There had to be some people Morgan could stomach luring and betraying over the course of an hour or two, but even thinking about playing with them on purpose… Morgan watched Miriam as she led her away, looking as lovely as she had the night she’d tried to kill her. Morgan had imagined herself after the fact as some kind of exception. And maybe in the course of playing that kind of game, she had become one by accident. But the dance had still been choreographed from the start, no matter what they became later. “And that’s it?” She asked. “No one goes looking into their whereabouts and asks, hey, who was that femme fatale they were last seen with? Maybe she knows something?” Morgan shook her head, not nearly as surprised as she would have been in any other place. “This fucking town…” But apathy and idiocy wasn’t Miriam’s fault, just like it wouldn’t be Morgan’s. And she, at least, would be able to bundle up the body and haul it to the shed to be disposed of after she’d harvested her blood. “Thank you, for being honest with me,” she mumbled.

“Life is cruel, Morgan,” Miriam murmured softly. “Besides, there isn’t a spellcaster in this town that should trust me or anyone matching my description. You know this, darling.” Miriam Flemming was a terror, just as much as she had been more than twenty-five years ago. It wasn’t her fault that her prey made it so damn easy. She leaned down and whispered in Morgan’s ear, “That’s it. What did you expect? Drugging? Threatening? I’ll admit that I compel the ones I let live, though that’s quite rare, but murder is a far easier endeavor than they want you to believe.” The first few times had been difficult, but she’d rarely tried to hide what she was doing, in the beginning. She had been nothing but newfound rage and vengeance and a desire to make everyone else hurt as she’d been, worse, even. “The apathy in this town will blow your mind, sometimes, the way some people seem to not care. But, and it will do you well to remember this, pride is the real killer here.” Miriam laughed, low in the back of her throat, and shook her head. “Like I said, they know about me. They’ve been warned. Hell, Morgan, you warned quite a few of them. But they see me, and some of them are blinded by thoughts of ‘Surely not her’ or ‘I’ll be different.’” She shook her head. “Or they underestimate me. You would think, over the years, that that wouldn’t be the case anymore, but here we are.” She had made orphans, widows, and widowers, yet still she was underestimated. But she was still a boogieman, a monster under the bed. Likely, there was more spellcaster deaths credited to her name than there was actual blood on her hands. She didn’t mind that. “You’re welcome, darling, though I’m… Perhaps you should let me do whatever it is you plan on doing. I’d hate for you to get caught due to bad advice.”

“Not always,” Morgan said feebly. She remembered believing this with a lot more umph when she was alive, even as recently as three or four months ago. It sounded like a line she didn’t quite believe now. So much of her good, her hope, had been pulled from her fingers. Would there even be much of a new life for her on the other side of this? Finishing the ritual was her anchor now, but what would it leave her with? Morgan tried to recapture the image she’d had when she started this all. How strong, how powerful, how very close to peace. The closest she would ever get to have, living as what she was now. That much would still be true, wouldn’t it? Even if everything else in her world crumbled, she would still be the woman who had ended the curse, who had taken her power back from that cruel, evil little bitch.

Miriam’s points were comforting only in their practicality. At barely over five feet, Morgan had the unassuming thing down pat. She could rely on her brute strength to subdue some random asshole, whoever she picked out. It just felt so….deceitful. And were it not for the obvious, that this person would run and tell whatever authority they believed in about what had happened, they didn’t have to die. They just had to suffer. There were memory charms, but how was she gonna find someone to do that to cover up a casual maiming? Morgan hissed through her teeth. “I need to do this myself,” she said, slumping against Miriam’s side. “This is my magic family bullshit, and I don’t think you’d enjoy avenging a line of cursed witches.” Another breath, just try and make the tension release from her chest.. “I just need blood wrought from pain. And because it’s magic, of course it can’t be my own. It doesn’t count unless it’s live.” Her voice turned bitter. She couldn’t even fully save herself. She couldn’t even lend energy to the exorcist that was due to make contact in, what, a little more than a week? “But I meant it, when I said you’re more than a killer. I don’t want to treat you like one, Mim. You should do something better with your time.”

“Most always,” Miriam bit back, but there wasn’t much bite to it, not when Morgan didn’t seem to be fighting much to begin with. She sighed, rubbed at the lines forming between her eyes. Eyes that flashed red briefly before she blinked the color and the feeling that came with it away. Miriam frowned, unused to the feeling, but shook it away. “I know that it sucks, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I apologize for the pessimism, but…” There was no but. She apologized. That was it. That was enough. She disliked that it upset Morgan, but there was no taking the words back, and there was no getting rid of their honesty. “I apologize.” She hoped Morgan understood how rarely she offered those up.

“Do you need to do this yourself, or is it a pride thing?” Miriam deadpanned. This, a blood sacrifice, something that she wouldn’t have suffered through were Morgan still a living, breathing witch, wasn’t a task that had to be conducted alone. Miriam hunted alone because she had to cause the pain, the misery, the anguish. She had to feed off of it. It wasn’t the same. “I’m offering my assistance to you, not your family, dearest, and if you find me a witch worthy of such a task, I really don’t give a shit, as long as you let me have a meal, afterwards.” She clicked her fingernails together, thinking. “It’s very easy to get blood wrought from pain. Killing isn’t even necessary. I would know, you know. I don’t always kill.” She grinned, though, just for Morgan, and her fangs slipped out easier than normal. Her voice is low and muffled by them when she speaks. “I know I’m more than a killer, but, damn, I’m just so good at it.” Then, more seriously, “Morgan, I’m offering. I know you think I’m more than a killer. I’m just offering to help. I’d hate to see you get arrested.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Morgan mumbled, barely audible. She reached for Miriam’s hand and squeezed it carefully to show she meant it. There were more than enough reasons to believe the way she did, and as the days dragged on and the world shrank and shriveled up with winter, Morgan found she thought of it that way sometimes too. How much power could you exert by yourself in a world like this? What was the point when you couldn’t count on anything, anyone, to stay with you?

“If you mean ‘am I bitter that I have to face this death and magic problem as a neutered witch’ then yes, it’s a pride thing,” she said. “I don’t like having people do my dirty work for me. I’ve been on my own so many times, and when it comes to my deep, dangerous bullshit I feel better being the one to take care of it. And I...don’t really have much else going on for me. Definitely nothing else grounding me right now.” Morgan set her jaw, trying to to keep the prickle of tears at bay. It sounded awful out loud, but how else was she supposed to get this done except by giving this her heart and energy? How else was she supposed to come out of this free and cleansed (if that was even possib--no) if she didn’t put herself all the way in? “Does it have to be a spellcaster?” She knew that there were at least a few that made themselves into a menace. Jo the Alchemist was simply one she’d been able to find because her carnage crossed her path. She could find another, if she really tried, or maybe the fairest thing would be to pick someone at random, and hope they weren’t so traumatized from the experience they couldn’t have nice things after. It wasn’t the worst sort of deal. The pain caused by the bloodletting would at least go to Miriam’s survival, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They both needed just enough to get by. And she couldn’t argue that she would probably make a shit torturer and cover up criminal.

Morgan looked up at Miriam, sniffling and blinking back tears. “You don’t scare me with those,” she said, hovering her finger over her fangs. She poked the corner of her mouth gently, teasing, and gave a sad smile.“You’re not a thing, you that too, right? When I say you’re more, I don’t mean you’re a swiss army knife. You deserve to have good things, better things, and I don’t want to use you.” But she needed this. Stars above, she needed this to go right. “So are you sure? Really, really sure?”

“Yes, well, I rarely am.” Miriam Flemming didn’t apologize. She just didn’t. She wasn’t raised to apologize, not properly, not well. She wasn’t sorry that she was wrong. She was sorry that she was right, and sorry that her words came out cruel because of it. Miriam owned up to her cruelty, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy them. “But I’m apologizing for saying it, all the same.” She frowned a bit, looking Morgan over. “Then, perhaps, stop trying to solve problems as a neutered witch and start trying to solve them as a zombie. This isn’t me asking to do your dirty work. It’s just me offering assistance.” She swallowed. “And I don’t know what to tell you about grounding yourself. I’m not the one to offer that sort of advice, but.” She looked away. She wasn’t the kind to offer this sort of advice, not with her pastimes, not with her own marrow-deep need for revenge against a man that has long since been dead and buried.

“It doesn’t have to be a spellcaster,” Miriam said with gritted teeth. “But I would prefer it. For my own morality’s sake.” Though, maybe, her morals were skewed. But, if Morgan could find a shitty spellcaster, both of their needs were met. Morgan could get her blood, Miriam could get her blood, and they could both go about their merry way. This had worked fine with the Jo situation, Miriam had fed well for days off of that one. She sneered a bit as Morgan poked her fangs, but there wasn’t any meanness to it. She was more concerned with not making Morgan cry. She didn’t react well to tears. “Morgan, I’m quite aware that I’m a damn person. Granted, I can’t see myself in the mirror, so sometimes I wonder, but I know I’m not a thing.” She was more than a killer. She was just damn good at killing. “You’re not using me, I’m offering. And, yes, damn, I’m sure. I’m surer than sure.”

Morgan waited for whatever came after the ‘but’ of Miriam’s sentence but there was only silence. She didn’t know any better than Morgan. They were both just muddling along, trying their best, struggling against all of this muck, this pain, these ghosts tearing at their souls. She felt Miriam bristle, and shied away from her grasp reluctantly, an apology on her lips. Morgan swallowed it back and sniffled again, staring out into the night. This was the best plan she was ever going to get. There was no one else she could ask. There was no course in abduction and bloodletting she could cram for. She only had so many days before the exorcist she’d hired turned up ready to do the damage she’d asked for. Morgan couldn’t stomach having to fess up to needing more time, or to being gouged and mocked for needing that woman to do her work for her after the way they’d talked in the hotel. Playing the engagement in her head, the way the exorcist would laugh and sneer at once, Morgan cringed with humiliation. This had to be it; however heavy and cold it felt, this was her way out. “I don’t mean to upset,” she said. “I just needed to be sure. It’s important to me to be as fair with you as I can be.” She’d been enough of a magnet for collateral damage when she was alive. She didn’t want to hurt more people or bring whole classrooms and city blocks to their knees that cruel, evil little bitch. She couldn’t. But if this wasn’t going to give Miriam some kind of complex, then… “Okay. I’ll take a few days to pick someone out, spell caster or not, get in touch, and we’ll come up with a plan that minimizes risk to everyone. And when we’re done, I’ll end this.”

[obsidianfr3sk]

The Origins (Chapter 4)

Summary: Before the Renegades put an end to the Age of Anarchy, they were six kids trying to survive day by day in a city ruled by chaos and desolation. Is there a space for hope and kindness somewhere in Gatlon City? Maybe.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123756/chapters/62248708

Translating it’s so exhausting. Especially when you have that bitch (Grammarly) constantly telling you “oh ur wrong” and you ask “where?” and the bitch responds “oh im not gonna tell you u r not premium”. So fuck it. Here it is. This was supposed to be Evander’s chapter, but I decided give this one to Tamaya instead, just for the fun. He can wait, he’s fine. 

As you can see, I started to title my chapters. I already did it on AO3, but not on tumblr. The other three posts have their titles too. If you guess what song are the titles from, you get a cookie (?

I want to start doing a tag list but I don’t know who to tag. So if you want in, just tell me. I’m too shy to tag you if you don’t tell me to do it because I feel like I’m bothering you.

Also, trigger warning for domestic violence. I tried to keep it as low as possible and it’s a small scene, but I understand if there are people who still can’t handle it, and I’m no one to judge. I will take TW more seriously from now on. If you think I should tag any other of my work, feel free to DM me or send me an ask, even if it’s anonymus. Seriously, feel free to correct me. I’m a big girl, I can handle it;)

Running away from the world that we designed

Age of Anarchy

Year 8

Tamaya had gone three weeks without human contact. Her parents did not talk to her and she did not talk to her parents. Her mother sent the only remaining servant to bring her food twice a day. Every time he entered the room, Tamaya turned around to avoid making eye contact, because if she did, she would start crying. No one else was going to see her cry ever again.

It all started when Tamaya was flying in her room when her father came in without knocking first. The man was paralyzed and gaped, at the same time that Tamaya lost her concentration and plummeted onto her bed.

Then, her father started yelling at her. Marcus Rae had never been known to be particularly friendly in the way he spoke to other people. She had never heard that man say "thank you" or "please." However, Tamaya had not seen him scream either. At least, not at her. And that was enough to make her cry.

Not only because she was scared, but also because she felt dumb. She had managed to hide her abilities for five years and she had been caught in such a stupid way. Tamaya believed she was smarter, but she was not.

Her father took her by the arm and lifted her from the bed with such abruptness that Tamaya accidentally knocked over a porcelain figure that was resting on her nightstand. His shouting was already so unbearable that she could only make out a few words.

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

Her mother ran into the room and asked what was going on.

“Your daughter can fly!" yelled Marcus. "How the fuck did she learn to do it!?”

And so it went on. Her father kept shaking her like she was a rag doll, while the woman begged her husband to calm down, with a trembling voice full of terror.

But he wouldn't stop. Nothing made him stop.

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

“Please control yourself!” her mother cried.

In response, her father slapped her on the floor.

"ANSWER MY QUESTION, MELISSA!”

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

Melissa lay there, sobbing and holding her cheek. Seeing that his wife was not going to answer him in any way, his father refocused his attention on her. He turned her around and held her tightly by the arms. Then he forced her to walk to the wall and stamped her face against it. With one hand she crushed the back of Tamaya's neck and with the other, he scratched his chin.

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

Before she could react, her father tugged on one of her wings, as if he was going to pluck it apart. Tamaya screamed and broke down in tears again.

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

Did he hate her that much? Was Tamaya that disgusting to him?

Freak. Bounder. Idiot.

How could someone do that to their daughter? How ruthless do you have to be?

Was she a monster? Was his father a monster?

Were the two of them monsters?

An electric current ran through her body. Adrenaline seized her veins, giving her the strength to push her father away from her and scream:

“Enough!”

With a wave of her hand, Tamaya fired a bolt of lightning at one of her bookshelves, setting it fire. Her mother reacted and ran to the kitchen for a bucket of water to put the fire out. Her father was not even able to move, nor did Tamaya. She was not concerned about the accident she had caused. Her gaze was fixed on Marcus, and her contempt for him was stronger than any pain and fear she had left.

She wiped one last tear that ran down her cheek.

She may be a freak and she may be a bounder. But she made a promise to herself that she would never be an idiot again.

Melissa quickly put out the fire. They were very lucky that it did not spread to the rest of the room. After the initial impact, her parents stared at her as if they didn't know her. Their eyes seemed to say: “How is it that such a dangerous and violent creature our daughter?”

It is because you are creatures as dangerous and violent as me.

Now it was Saturday night. Tamaya was sitting on the carpet, surrounded by her dolls. When Georgia asked why she didn't get rid of them, she always blamed her mother, saying she would be very upset if Tamaya threw away such expensive toys.

However, Tamaya did not throw them away because, unlike Georgia, she did keep playing with her dolls. She had conversations with them, brushed their hair, and if her mother managed to get yarn, she would embroider their skirts with details of flowers or birds. In winter, she had even gone as far as to make sweaters for them.

It was a childish hobby for a seventeen-year-old girl, but it was also the only thing that kept her sane. 

Knock. Knock.

Tamaya looked up at the light catcher. She flew to see who it was.

Georgia.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Surprise!”

“Lower your voice,” she scolded her. “My parents could hear you.”

Georgia put a fake padlock over her mouth and made a pleading gesture as she pointed to the latch on the catch. Tamaya rolled her eyes and let her in.

“My mom doesn't know I'm here, but she told me everything,” Georgia explained sitting on the bed. “Which wing was it?”

“This one,” she replied pointing to her right wing, “but it's nothing. It practically healed itself.”

Georgia looked at the circle of dolls on the carpet, stifling a giggle.

“What party are you having?” she asked teasingly.

Tamaya was silent. Georgia realized that her friend was in no mood for jokes and looked down, with a serious expression on her face.

“My mom also told me about your other power,” Georgia whispered.

The blood went to her feet.

“What power?”

“The lighting thing.”

Then, silence. That reunion was nothing like Tamaya expected. She believed Georgia was going to have hundreds of questions and was not going to stop talking. Georgia always had a lot of things to say to her. Most of the time, she did not talk about important issues. It was always about discussions with her mother, gossips going around her school, or about a new book that she had found and that she recommended.

Tamaya was glad Georgia knew how to start conversations. She had no idea.

How her mother had been able to talk about Tamaya's powers with Mrs. Rawle was a mystery to her. Melissa Rae was very concerned with what other people would think of her, something that had never made sense to Tamaya. Was there someone left in that damn city who kept worrying about something as stupid as status?

“Is it true that you almost hit your dad with one? With lighting?”

Tamaya did not want to lie to Georgia. Lying was not her thing. However, she wasn't quite sure about what to tell her exactly. Should it be something like “Yes, I did it, so what?” or something less violent? Something between the lines of: “Yes ... and I regret it.”

The thing was, Tamaya had no regrets. She had a lot of time to think about it those past few days and she could never force herself to feel a single shred of regret for her actions. Not even when her mom begged her to apologize to her dad. She just couldn't.

However, it was not until that moment that she realized she wasn't proud of it either. If it had been for her, Georgia would never have known about that little detail of the fight and her powers.

Tamaya already knew that she could control lightning and storms. She had discovered it relatively recently when she was flying and accidentally shot lightning at the ground. It was small and just left a black stain on the fine wood flooring, nothing a rug couldn't hide.

But lighting should not be near people, and Tamaya knew it.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Tamaya turned to see her. “Pardon me?”

Georgia was frowning and arms crossed. There was reproach in each of the words that came out of her mouth.

“Why didn't you tell me you had more powers?” she asked. “Why didn't you trust me? I thought we were friends.”

“Woah, wait, Georgia,” she interrupted her. “How exactly is this about you?”

“Friends are supposed to talk to each other,” Georgia said. “I always tell you everything that happens to me and you know every last detail about my life. Why don't you tell me what's wrong with you? How many other things do you hide from me? Is our friendship based on lies? Is your name even Tamaya?”

Tamaya was so shocked by Georgia's reaction, she thought she was hallucinating. She noticed each gesture her friend's face made and each movement of her eyes. And she wasn't kidding. Tamaya was not hallucinating. Georgia was seriously mad at her.

“Really?” she asked her. “After everything that's happened to me, somehow I'm the bad guy to you?”

“Yes.”

The audacity of this bitch.

“How the hell can you be so self-centered, Georgia?” she asked with flushed cheeks. “Do you think this is because I didn't trust you? Did you ever stop to think about how I felt? Doesn't it occur to you that the reason I hid it from you is that I wanted to protect you?”

“Protect me?” Georgia laughed. “Don't be ridiculous, what would you be protecting me from?”

“From myself!”

And Georgia laughed again.

“I was protecting you from myself!” Tamaya insisted. “Stop laughing!”

But she ignored her. Georgia kept on laughing as if it was the funniest joke she had ever heard. It was clear as day that Georgia didn’t care anymore if the whole neighborhood heard her. She didn’t care if they got into trouble.

And she does not care about you, Tamaya.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

No, no one else was going to see her cry ever again. Not even Georgia.

Without thinking, Tamaya lunged for her friend. She grabbed the collar of her blouse, lifted her ten feet above the ground, and stamped her against the wall. She could feel the electricity on her fingertips, and she was sure Georgia felt it too.

She was no longer laughing.

“Look me in the eyes, Georgia,” she whispered. “Look me in the eyes!”

“I'm doing it,” she replied quietly.

“What do you see?”

“That you have beautiful eyes.”

Tamaya held her tighter. “Aren't you afraid of me? Aren't you afraid of monsters?”

Tears began to flow from Georgia's dark eyes. She put a hand to her mouth and a faint smile of pity appeared on her lips.

“Oh, Tamaya. You are not a monster.”

She had no qualms with people seeing her cry. How pathetic.

She released her.

“Yes I am,” she hissed.

Georgia fell to her feet.

“No, people have convinced you that you are,” she exclaimed, approaching her. “That's what they always say about all of us.”

She reached out to take her hand. Tamaya rose a few inches to not be within her reach. Georgia did not insist.

“And the worst thing is that,” she continued saying, “there are some people who believe them and become monsters. You know, like a certain person who starts with Ace and ends with Anarchy.”

Oh. Him.

“You know, I think he hates himself. A person who loves themselves would never do the things he does.”

“I don't blame him.”

Georgia pursed her lips. “Why not?”

“If you spend your entire life calling someone a monster, what do you expect them to become?”

Silence appeared again. For a second, Tamaya was pleased with herself for making Georgia run out of arguments.

But Georgia was never run out of arguments.

“That still doesn't excuse it,” Georgia replied. “You are constantly calling yourself a monster inside your head, and you had not become one.”

Tamaya looked at the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her.

“Would you still be my friend if I were a monster?”

“Uh, I don't know,” Georgia shrugged. “But I don't have to worry about it. You will never become a monster.”

“How are you so sure?” she asked defiantly.

“Because you are too strong to become one.”

She wished she could believe her.

No, Tamaya wasn't strong. That room was driving her crazy. She heard no other voice than her own, telling her the most horrible things she could hear every day. The world had never called her a monster because Tamaya's world were those four walls. Those four walls too similar to—

Oh, God.

Too similar to a monster's cage.

“I have to go,” Tamaya blurted out.

“Go?” Georgia asked in dismay. “But where?"

“I don’t know, but I have to go. Right now.”

Georgia asked no questions when she was helping Tamaya find a backpack, or when she packed Molly away before she began to look for clothes. She didn't even ask questions when Tamaya didn't dare go through the skylight, because she thought she heard her parents asking her not to leave.

However, when she turned around, she realized that no one was there.

She came out.

The air in the outside world smelled like gasoline and rain. The higher she flew, the smaller her house looked. Her neighborhood was the only point of light in that dull city. The buildings looked abandoned and lonely even from that distance.

It was horrible. But it was the world. A new world.

Tamaya allowed herself to laugh. She was so happy that she even dared to flip in the air.

Then, she realized that Georgia was not flying next to her. She was standing on the ceiling of her room, looking at her with teary eyes.

A crazy idea came to her mind.

“You come?” she asked her.

Georgia shook her head. She reached into her pants pockets and pulled out a torn locket. Tamaya reached out to look at it better. It had a missing part, was slightly rusty, and was not made of real gold, but the chain and clasp were intact.

“I found it in the market,” she told her, “with a lady who sold fish.”

“Why would a fisherwoman be selling lockets?” Tamaya asked raising an eyebrow.

“I do not know. It was from her husband, according to her,” Georgia explained. “But now it’s yours."

Tamaya had not worn any jewelry for a long time.

“It looks tragic,” she said.

“It combines with the city,” Georgia replied. Tamaya put on the locket. “Would you forgive me?” she asked. “I was selfish and I shouldn't have blamed you for not telling me. You had your reasons for keeping the secret. I understand if you don't want to talk to me—”

“Stop,” Tamaya ordered. “I'll come looking for you in a couple of days,” she assured her. “If you haven't heard from me by then, I'm dead.”

Her friend shuddered. She didn't know if from the cold or the fear.

“Any advice for the outside world?”

Georgia approached her with a smile and held her hand. “When in doubt, fly.”

Tamaya looked towards the horizon. The doubts did not take long to arise.

“Fine.”

Then, Tamaya flew. And she didn't look back.

[asgardianthot]

Flesh And Bones - Part 4

Soulmate AU

Series Masterlist

words: 2641

A/N: sliight warning for self-harm but like, the tiniest warning. Our dumb-dumbs are fine:)

Sam’s body healed faster than expected, but lacking the super-healing factor some of his teammates were blessed with, he was stuck at the tower for over a week. Bucky had chosen to ignore the common spaces at the tower as much as possible, since Sam spent way too much time over there and he didn’t want to run into the six feet of unspoken truth. His nervousness skyrocketed whenever he saw Sam, and the feeling of horror increased with the passing of every minute of the day. Eventually, he would have to come clean. Just not yet.

Laying on his bed and watching garbage television, he sensed a presence staring at him. When he turned to check his open door, Steve had planted himself right outside.

“I’m off to a meeting.” He told Bucky instead of a proper greeting, “Wanna come with me?”

He was all suited up in Captain American gear, which Bucky had grown sort of used to. However it never ceased to amuse him how he never put on a goddamn tux to go to the office like normal people. After scanning the serious blonde man, Barnes tuned back into whatever the TV was broadcasting, although not paying real attention to it.

“Maybe next time.” He said with a warm tone.

There was a hearable sigh, maybe a little too forced, and Barnes had to return his attention to his friend. He had a feeling he was about to get a good ol’ Mr. Righteous lecture.

“Listen, Buck…” Steve started, yet never stepping into the room in order to not invade his privacy, “I need to talk to you. About the other night.”

Bucky simply sat up straighter on his bed and gave Rogers a tiny grin.

“Are you reading too much into something again?” he teased, trying to sound convincing.

Steve had found him out of breath from the pain, on the kitchen floor, and somehow had foreseen that Sam was currently in danger. If it didn’t startle Steve in the slightest, he would have been a terrible agent. Yet when it came to his best friend from childhood, he held an invincible trust towards him; so he wanted to find an explanation, and he wanted to give Bucky the opportunity to give him one, because if there was one thing he was sure about was that something weird was going on.

Therefore, Bucky’s aloofness was met by the infamous Rogers face of disappointment.

“Can we talk?” he tilted his head. “On the way there?”

Bucky kept trying to keep his composure as he lied to his best friend.

He shrugged, “I don’t feel like talking about food intoxication on a way to a meeting I’m not needed at.”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

“I don’t work enough. Noted.” Bucky rolled his eyes, already knowing what would come next, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for that lecture, “Goodbye, Steve.”

After a few seconds of silence, Rogers gave up. He pursed his lips and straightened his back, dropping most of his affection and letting seriousness take the wheel.

“Fine, don’t come.” He let out, mildly upset, “But can we talk? Later?”

Barnes didn’t reply, and that was enough of a reply. Met by silence, the Captain nodded and turned on his heels to walk away. He had places to be, but nothing could remove the cloud above his head telling him Bucky was keeping important information to himself. He knew when Buck wasn’t alright, which only raised his suspicions even more. Silence.

-

The former spy had set something short of a routine: he would avoid everyone during the day, barely socialize in order to get lunch or breakfast, and at night, he would stay up late, go to the training room and at some point he would eat. Stepping into the kitchen at a time when everyone else were probably asleep, he headed for the fridge to get his usual night snack.

As he grabbed a glass from the top shelf and filled it with water, his mind was all over the place; he thought about Sam and how perhaps he should have been more present towards his healing process. He thought about how his bones didn’t hurt anymore, so hopefully Sam’s didn’t either. He wondered if he could have been of use, but the idea of being near the man when he knew what he knew made his stomach churn.

Lost in his laments, he was less than careless and knocked over the glass of water, which shattered all over the floor. Thankfully, no one would hear the blaring sound from their rooms, but he feared he had another problem when he realized he had stepped on a piece of glass. There was an acute but small ache in his sole, which meant there was an acute but small ache in Sam’s foot as well.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He cursed under his breath as he frantically looked for something to clean it up.

Blood tainted the low puddle of water on the tiles. If someone linked the broken glass to Bucky, there was an even bigger chance of Sam linking all the dots together. He bent down to get all the pieces together and get rid of the evidence while his chest filled with panic. It was just a small cut, the tiniest glass stuck into his foot, how could something so insignificant mean so much?

Bucky’s throat stung with tears. He was unable to battle his own need to cry, but after a whole five seconds of gasping for air, he stopped himself. He pressed his lips together and cleaned the wet cheek and eyes, before resuming his task with a deep breath.

Sam wouldn’t find out about the glass; he had actually slept through the incident for the sting wasn’t bad enough to wake him. However Barnes didn’t know that. Which was the reason why his heavy feelings made him go extra hard training that night.

He punched the bag as hard as his worries fueled him, and he sweated, and he frowned, and he pushed himself to the limit without taking notice of it, and eventually, he pushed his flesh hand as far as he pushed his metal one.

And he cracked his wrist.

Sam jolted awake with a piercing pain on his right wrist and hand. He massaged it for a minute as the sleep left his eyes, and then he walked to his bathroom in order to run cold water over the injury. Hopefully, that would ease the pain. Or hopefully, his soulmate would stop doing whatever was putting them in pain’s way so often.

-

Sam wasn’t like Bucky when it came to the common room; the veteran showed up there very often, and he never avoided Barnes. Especially now that he had been prevented from going to missions and was discharged from meetings for a week, he looked forward to getting some company. Bucky was always at the tower.

But through Sam’s recovery, the soldier was nowhere to be seen. Now that he was mostly cured, Bucky was still very reserved, and if Sam had been able to admit it to himself, he would have said that it made him sad not to see him on schedule for their routine mockery.

The morning after his wrist woke him up, though, instead of cheerily entering the room, he stormed in. Natasha and Steve were sitting at the coffee table, drinking from colorful mugs when the scene broke down.

"Okay.” Sam said loudly, “I don't know who my soulmate is but-"

Natasha almost choked on her drink, "Sorry, your what?"

She opened her eyes wide, placing the mug down. She looked for answers in Steve’s face, who shrugged it off like she should have been aware of this new information.

“Yeah, we talked about this, catch up." Rogers made a gesture for Sam to continue.

Romanoff simply raised her eyebrow and accommodated to the conversation as Wilson took a deep breath and completed his sentence.

"-but I hate this!” he took out his anger on stern hand gestures and a ranting-appropriate tone, “They're dumb. They get hurt, like, all the time."

The redhead gave him a sympathetic look, but behind it, she was doing a true effort to hold back her laughter. On his part, Steve was actually happy for his friend, and after being informed of every small injury that Sam had felt, he could only smile and hear him protest.

"What was it now?" he asked, almost like a proud parent.

"My hand, they wrecked it!" Sam lifted the hand in question.

Natasha frowned, "Wait, so... are they close?"

"It hurt like hell, so I bet they gotta be!" Wilson placed his left hand on his hip and looked away in exasperation.

"How close?" Steve asked.

Sam shook his head, "I don't know..."

It was at that very exact and precious moment that a new arrival interrupted the scene.

Bucky walked in and didn’t make eye contact with any of them, even though all three’s eyes darted towards him. Especially, towards the white colored fabric on Bucky’s hand. It seemed like Steve, Natasha and Sam all squinted at the same time trying to decipher what their eyes couldn’t help but link: on Bucky’s wrist was a set of bandages.

Suddenly, the room went impossibly quieter. Not even a hitch of breath was heard, which made Bucky a little uncomfortable, and realize he was being observed. He stopped on his tracks and tried to non-suspiciously hide the bandages, but it was of no use. Concealing it wasn’t an option anymore.

Sam’s eyes went wide as the thought hit him. Meanwhile, the other two spectators were already running full equations in their heads, for they did not believing their eyes. Bucky’s eyes met Sam’s, and the feeling of being judged and exposed by Sam’s dilated pupils caused him to slide his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie.

"Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me." Sam finally let out.

All that Barnes did was swallow hard.

"You?" Sam practically barked.

He seemed so bothered at the idea of being Bucky’s soulmate that the latter had to try and deny it. The brunette blinked fast.

"I don't-" he stopped and cleared his throat, "The hell you talking about?"

Wilson pointed a finger to the pocket where the bandaged hand was hiding, "That, I felt it."

After receiving no reply nor reaction whatsoever, Sam began getting a picture of the situation; he stood there frozen and found himself even a little offended.

"You knew?"

Bucky shook his head, then stepped back, "I-"

"Bucky." Steve’s voice broke the interaction, trying to get him to not be a dick and offer Sam an explanation.

The ex-assassin rejected the possibility. If he could convince them that it wasn’t happening, perhaps he could pretend that it wasn’t happening for a few more days. He took a breath and put on a straight face.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He simply stated.

It came to Wilson’s attention that the man in front of him was employing the same kind of uninterested, and therefore condescending tone he used when they had discussed the topic of soulmates. It felt like he was being played.

"What? You're saying you didn't break your hand last night?” Sam began attacking Barnes more firmly, now fully angry at the situation, “’Cause I've been feeling your hands."

He meant both the torn wrist and the aching knuckles. Now it made sense. Now he figured out that Bucky trained at night, which is why he never joined him or Steve at their workouts.

"Wilson.” Bucky lowered his chin as if attempting to be convincing. “Stop it, you're wrong."

"Am I, now?"

Barnes took a look around and found every stare burning a hole on his head. He was beginning to think there was no escaping the truth.

"Yeah, man, leave me alone.” He insisted, “It's all in your head."

Sam raised his eyebrows, far beyond the question if he was feeling offended or not.

"Now I'm crazy."

"Yeah, I know you're obsessed with soulmates or whatever.” As soon as the harsh defense came out of Bucky’s mouth, he reflected on taking it back, but he reckoned he was in too deep now, “But I ain't it." He assured the man.

That was the bottom line of Samuel Wilson’s patience. It was bad enough that he felt stupid for not knowing his soulmate was right there all along, but to top it with the fact he hadn’t told him and had kept the secret for God know how long, and now he was denying it to his face, that had Sam feeling more than upset. He felt betrayed. He felt like he hadn’t received his opportunity of processing it, nor the option of denial. Instead, he had to deal with the realization and with the idiot in front of him.

Snapping, the veteran walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer from the inside. Everyone in the room watched as they thought he would leave and drink his anger away, but instead he held the bottle, held a defiant eye contact with his recently-found soulmate, and broke glass item against the counter.

The shattering sound was even rougher than the one Bucky’s glass of water had made last night, and it provoked all three spectators to jump in shock.

“What-?” Natasha let out in concern.

Before they knew it, Wilson was holding a piece of broken glass on top of his extended palm, threatening to cut his own flesh. He had seen a desperate soul at the park where he jogged pull a stunt like that one before, hoping to find their true love that way. Sam had thought that stranger was impulsive and deranged, and now he was doing the exact same thing. he was staring right into the face of his soulmate, and still, he was a desperate soul.

"Sam-" Bucky started as he feared for Sam’s next step.

"You're telling me you won't feel this?” Wilson tried to get under his skin, make him react, “I do this, you won't feel it?"

Before he could even think about slicing his palm open with the sharp item, Steve rushed and took it away from his friend.

"Sam, calm down." He begged him, dropping the glass to the floor.

Yet Sam didn’t pay attention to Steve, "No, tell me!" He stretched his neck to still see Bucky past Steve’s intercepting body.

"Shut up." Bucky mumbled, looking away.

There was no way for him to process the petrifying event taking place outside the kitchen area. He couldn’t say it out loud, he couldn’t say he was sorry for lying, he couldn’t even deny their reality anymore.

"How long have you known?" Wilson continued, less frantic this time, but Rogers still stood in front of him and stopped him from doing anything stupid.

Bucky clenched his jaw, “Stop it.” He said just as low as his last line.

“How long, Barnes?”

"Shut up!" He finally shouted, coated in such despair that his voice came out with every bit of emotion he had been holding back.

The room went absolutely quiet after that. Steve moved out of the way in order to face Bucky, but also since Sam had frozen his body after that scream, and there was no use of a bodyguard anymore. With everyone expecting to hear Bucky’s next words, including himself, he cleared his mind and spoke from the heart.

"I know since your mission." He confessed before walking away and disappearing into the hallway.

Somehow, the most appalled person in the room was Natasha; while the two men stared at the floor in defeat, Romanoff looked like she had just witnessed an episode of a television drama in real life.

[parkeraul]

can you make something about shawn getting into a fight and reader takes care of him after it all??

heal

a/n: i wanna apologise for the wait, college is really messing up with everything and i’m having such a hard time to write in here. i’m giving it soft hints of badboy!shawn also. anyways, i hope you like it. warnings: mentions of fight; blood; wounds; bruises & pain. 

“You had to put up a fight, didn’t you?” She said furiously, walking so angrily that her steps against the floor are making a deafening sound fill the living room as she makes her way upstairs, tossing her bag away from her arm to the couch. Shawn walks slowly to sit beside the bag, letting his head fall behind to rest against a pillow he just grabbed to place under his curls and closed his eyes with difficulty, sighing heavily. “I swear to God that you’re going to face me next time,” She screams from the second roof and Shawn knows that his ears are going to end up hurting more than the cut on his cheekbone. “I wonder, I truly wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you.” 

He thinks about shaking his head from side to side in denial but he stops right at the first movement. His head hurts really bad and he can feel the muscle under his eye throbbing, harming him everytime the skin trembles up and down. His tattooed hand runs through his curls and he also has to stop himself from laughing at her chastise because the cut on lis lip is giving him the most painful sensation he’d ever felt compared to the other fights he’d got himself into. The hand stuck on his curls is filled with bruises, making him feel practically unable to curl his fingers normally but not for a single moment he regrets all the times he punched that guy’s face. It was just priceless. And he would do it all over again if he could be gifted with the sight of his face being pulled back by his hand one more time. 

When her footsteps start hitting the degrees, he fixes his position on the couch and snaps his eyes open like he’s preparing himself to receive some punches from her. He couldn’t deny the possibility but prayed to all the Gods she’d have mercy on him. Her eyebrows are squinted together in the angriest frown he’d ever seen from her, lips pouting as her hands work quickly to set her first-aid kit box on the center table and open it to place on the couch the instruments she’d need to use. “How the hell did that happen?” She asks, straddling his lap as she wets a piece of cotton with alcohol. He can’t answer when she’s still frowning, refusing to look in his eyes. Shawn smiles to himself, thinking to himself how can he find her so cute when she’s internally wishing she could kill him right here, right now. Her sweet pout never looked this kissable; her mad expression could be vanished away with his hands cupping her face to squeeze her cheeks together and bring her lips to his. He wants to do it so bad but he knows that he better contain himself, so he has to deal with the situation where he can only desire her even though she’s sitting on top of him — so close but so far away. “I asked you a question, Shawn Mendes.” She calls him out and presses the wet cotton against the first cut she finds next to his hairline. “Fuck!” He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to move away from the touch. She presses even harder, silently punishing him for getting into another fight in less than a month. “Babe, this shit hurts-” “Don’t you think that I know it already?” She cuts him off and exhales through her nose, rubbing the cotton to clean all the expansion of his wound. “Are you going to tell me what happened or should I start by your mouth?” “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I like it.” He gives her a boyish grin and she pulls away to fold the cotton and wet it again, using the clean side where his blood couldn’t reach before. “Mendes, you better start talking before I finish the job for that guy.” Her eyes burn his for the very first time after she made him get inside the car to drive home. She’s being taken by her anger little by little now that Shawn is playing with her patience, so everytime she lets out a breath it hits the hair falling in front of her face. Shawn sees a baby whose toy had been taken away from instead of his girlfriend being pushed over the limits of her kindness. “He just started being an asshole the second you got up to go to the bathroom and,” He interrupts himself when he feels the cold cotton touch his wound again, sighing to focus on not being consumed by the burning sensation on his forehead. “And one thing led to another…” He explains through gritted teeth, shifting his body in pain under her. “Oh okay, big guy,” She starts, getting rid of the now red cotton to grab another one to move on to the next wound. “May I know what he did for you to get your eyebrow nearly sliced in half?” “Hey!” Shawn protests, bringing his index finger up like he’s about to defend the most coherent argument in the world. “He didn’t end up that well if you wanna know.” “I don’t wanna know,” She presses the cotton against the cut on his eyebrow, inching closer to see if there’s any drop of blood insisting on coming out. “I wanna know what the fuckin’ hell he did for you to head to the parking lot in the middle of the game.” “Does that even matter now, babe?” He flinches slightly, tensing his limbs and only relaxing to cup her waist in his large hands. He grazes her clothed middle up and down delicately, thinking that he’s easing her rage with it. She pulls away and her face is now giving him all the disappointment she’s feeling inside her chest. “Seriously, Shawn?” She nods negatively because she knows what spurred him on to do this. “What was I supposed to do?” Shawn squeaks, pointing to his own chest with his hands stretched towards himself and she takes a glance, seeing all the red marks resting on top of his bones. “You leave and he starts talkin’ shit.” “What kind of shit?” “Shit like… I dunno… ‘Uh, have you seen those legs?’“ He impersonates with a dumb tone, grimacing and tilting his head like he thinks the guy would do in his head: stupidly and looking like the biggest dork they’d ever see. “And ‘Wow, that ass…’” She’s having the hardest time of her life on holding back a laugh, but she keeps her gravity centered inhaling twice in order to calm her nerves. It’s not the first time Shawn gets into a fight because of comments like this and she honestly doesn’t know what to do anymore. She loves him dearly, that’s for sure. But she can’t handle the view of Shawn covered by red and purple marks every single time someone dares to disrespect her. She appreciates how much he cares about her, but some things must have their limits otherwise the stuff on her first-aid box would disappear in less than a week… And so would he. “Oh, that’s it?” She stares at him and he can’t confirm or deny. “That’s what made you put your crossfit routine to a proof?” “Crossfit is actually not that funny compared to what I did to him, babe,“ He says, that devilish smile coming back and she rolls her eyes before leaning close to him once again to clean the wound on his bottom lip. “You should’ve seen how- OUCH!” Shawn nearly yells when he feels the alcohol burning his lip, looking down and catching the sight of her taking care of him so attentively the best he can — her eyes glued on his mouth, serious expression as she puts and removes the cotton from his wound repeatedly, eventually blowing some cold air to ease the uncomfortable sensation. His heart floats inside his warming chest because of it; this is how he knows she’s doing this because she loves him so and cares about him as much as he cares about her. Does he deserve the attitude she’s giving him? Of course, but it’s good to know that she doesn’t hate him completely. “Shawn, listen to me,” She says in a calmest tone, venting her heart out. “I love you and I love that you wanna keep me safe from all this kind of bullshit. But I’d love even more if you could keep your body free from bruises for a whole year just to start things up.” “Babe, I-” She holds the cotton against him before he can even finish. “I’m not done, Rocky Balboa,” Discarding the cotton to catch another piece to clean the last big wound on top of his cheekbone, she stops him while moistening the fluffy cotton ball and tapping it against the back of her palm to remove the excess of liquid. “I want you to keep it in your pants because I told you I don’t give a shit about what these guys think about me,” She moves even closer, staying face-to-face with him as she wipes away the blood stains and the dirt from the cut. “At the end of the day, you’re the person I wanna be with and the one I’ll actually hear commentaries from,” She rubs the cotton softly now, taking purchase of his curls to keep them from falling in front of his eye and he feels peaceful, not even minding the pain and the regions he’d been hit on. His ribs are hurting, his hands are hurting, his left eye is hurting, swollen and getting purple but being next to her was enough. It was cheesy, so he held it to himself in his head that she’s all the medicine he needs. “Plus, how can you be so sure that he was talking about me? It could’ve been anyone. Have you seen the girl next to us? She was wearing a skirt that showed her legs too. Not that he should talk about her body, but it could’ve been about her.” She gets up, grabbing something else from her box to hold under her arm and getting all the cotton she used in one hand as she walked to the kitchen to put it all into a plastic bag, taking a mental note to get rid of this properly later. “I don’t know, I don’t look at anyone else,” He says totally fucked for her, toying with his own fingers as he hears the freezer being opened. Peeking from his white sofa, he sees her frame standing on her tiptoes to reach the ice tray. Her skirt swaying gracefully when she gets down to twist the object to free the ice cubs. “But when I confronted, he didn’t even try to defend himself. So I’m sure he was talking about my girl and I let him have it.” He smirks proudly, remembering the blood dropping down the guy’s nose after a very powerful punch of his. She giggles under her breath, filling the ice bag she kept under her arm before and walking over to sit beside him this time. Holding his chin carefully, she tilts his face towards hers and places the bag on his swollen eye. His jaw clenches and he replaces her hand with his, so she can carry on with the bandages. “Babe, my lip still hurts… Can I get a kiss instead?” He begs with puppy eyes and she hates herself for not resisting. She smiles, gives in and entwines her lips with his, locking and unlocking them calmly while her hand cups his face with caution. “This is the biggest reward you’ll get tonight for keeping your dumb ass alive,” She warns after pulling away to choose another remedy to help the healing process. “And I hope this is the last time I’ll see you wrecked like this.” “Do you think that I look wrecked?” Shawn feels extremely offended and his mouth falls open in a dramatic outrage. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

[slxyangel]

Unspoken (Tommy Lee x Reader)

Summary: The conversation you had most dreaded had finally arrived, and the outcome was going to be ugly, at the very least.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of violence, literally the SMALLEST mentions of sex, fluffy ending.

A/N: Nothing really. Just don’t judge too hard, I’m new, and English isn’t my first language. Enjoy :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

The vase flew across the room as flowers and water were scattered all over the floor. It hit the wall right next to Tommy’s head. Shit, that was close.

- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?

- IT MEANS EXACTLY WHAT I SAID, YOU FUCKING HYSTERICAL BITCH- Tommy yelled, with his eyes wide open and his index finger pointing at you - AND STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME.

- I WOULD IF YOU WEREN’T BEHAVING LIKE AN ABSOLUTE DOUCHEBAG - you said as you grabbed a book and threw it in his direction. This time, it hit him on the stomach.Tommy caught the book right before it fell and walked towards you in two impressively long steps, only to grab your wrists before you had the time to throw him the ashtray you were already holding.

- YOU SERIOUSLY NEED TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN Y/N.

- ARE YOU REALLY TELLING ME TO CALM DOWN?? - you argued, unsuccessfully trying to escape from his grip -  REALLY??? AFTER WHAT HAPPENED IN YOUR HOUSE???

- IT’S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL!!!

- BUT IT IS!!! YOUR PARENTS LITERALLY SPENT HALF AN HOUR SHOWING ME PICTURES OF YOUR EX THAT THEY, FOR SOME REASON, KEEP IN AN ALBUM, REMINDING ME HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS, HOW HAPPY YOU TWO WERE TOGETHER AND HOW MUCH THEY GOT ALONG WITH HER.

- OH MY GOD, AGAIN? THAT HAPPENED A MILLION YEARS AGO. IT’S FORGOTTEN. I AM WITH YOU NOW, I LOVE YOU. SARAH IS OVER, YOU KNOW IT.

- YEAH I SURE AS HELL DO - you yelled back, filled with rage and built-up anger. Your hands were finally free, so you were gesticulating a lot while you spoke - BUT APPARENTLY YOUR MOTHER DOESN’T. SHE FUCKING HATES ME! SHE ALWAYS DID! SHE ONLY SEES ME AS “THE OTHER ONE”, “THE ONE HE’LL EVENTUALLY GET TIRED OF”, “THE WHORE”, “THE GRRRROUPIE” WITH A LOT OF R’S - you said, mimicking her accent - WHEN THAT IS NOT EVEN TRUE. AND WHAT DO I HAVE TO COPE WITH WHEN I GET HOME FROM AN EVENING WITH PEOPLE THAT DESPISE ME SO BAD? EXACTLY! A BOYFRIEND WHO PROJECTS ALL HIS ISSUES ON ME AND COMPARES THIS CRAP WITH THE FACT THAT MY OWN MOTHER ONCE SAID “Oh, you have tattoos” THE DAY SHE MET HIM.

- OH NO NO NO NO - Tommy interrupted - DON’T YOU DARE WALK THAT PATH. IT’S COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, YOUR MOTHER IS DISGUSTED BY ME, I CAN SEE IT, HER EYES GIVE IT AWAY. SHE HATES ME BECAUSE I’M THE DRUMMER IN A METAL BAND AND SHE CAN’T STAND THE FACT THAT HER PERFECT LITTLE DAUGHTER IS DATING A DUDE WHO WEARS MAKEUP AND LEATHER PANTS.

- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN SAYING?? TOMMY. I. AM. A. SINGER. - You paused deliberately between each word. This was ridiculous - HOW THE HELL WAS SHE GOING TO HATE YOU FOR BEING A ROCKSTAR WHEN HER OWN DAUGHTER IS ONE? THAT DOESN’T ADD UP, DUMBASS.

- YEAH, WHATEVER YOU SAY. AT LEAST MY MOTHER IS FUCKING CONSEQUENT WITH WHAT SHE BELIEVES, UNLIKE SOME OTHER HYPOCRITES.

- SEE?? YOU JUST GOT ALL WORKED UP OUT OF NOWHERE JUST BECAUSE I TOLD YOU SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T WANT TO HEAR. YOU ARE SUCH A SPOILED LITTLE BRAT. AND DIDN’T YOU LOVE TO BRAG ABOUT YOUR PERFECT PARENTS AND YOUR PERFECT FAMILY? WELL, THE FACT THAT YOU ARE AN EGOTISTICAL CHILD WITH ANGER ISSUES IS ENTIRELY ON YOUR MOTHER, AND IF I WERE HER, I WOULDN’T EXACTLY BE PROUD OF MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS AS A PARENT.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You had overstepped. The blatant contrast between a long while of yelling and the absolute silence that now reigned in the living room told you so. And the worst of all was that you had done it consciously.You knew how much Tommy loved his mum and how sacred their bond was to him. For this reason, you were conscious about the fact that particularly this conversation topic was some tricky business, but you couldn’t contain it anymore.

You had sensed in what ways Vassiliki was a loving mother, a caring wife and a good person in general terms. Only you didn’t feel like she acted that way towards you. From the very first time you had met her, you had been able to feel the looks of disdain she often gave you, or the slight but still noticeable shifts in her voice tone when she talked to you. You just didn’t know why. At the beginning you told yourself it was all a product of your imagination, you had been nervous for weeks before meeting Tommy’s parents, so your suggested mind could be playing tricks on you. But within time, you thought maybe it wasn’t exactly like that.

You had been avoiding to tell your boyfriend because you didn’t think it was a major drawback, and you knew how much he adored her. You didn’t want to take the role of the abducting girlfriend who sets her partner against everything and everyone important in his life, so you would just put up with the animosity until it faded away, because it eventually would, right?

That night hadn’t been particularly rough, not rougher than the others in any case, but it was the last straw. After the shitshow that was your family dinner, the ride home was rather silent. Tommy could sense something was wrong. I mean, he was oblivious, but he wasn’t dumb, so once you two got home he asked you why the attitude. After such a long night, the last thing you wanted was to fight with your boyfriend. All you needed was for him to take you upstairs, fuck you senseless and cuddle you until the planet fell from its axis. And although your head was filled with red lights and voices screaming that answering his questions would start a war, Tommy really knew how to push your buttons so, long story short, vases started flying.

And now there you were, standing in front of the love of your life, staring at him and about to deal with the consequences you yourself provoked when you couldn’t bite your tongue hard enough.Tommy was looking at you with widened eyes, a subtle frown and massive amounts of disappointment in his expression. He seemed half surprised, because he would have never expected you to say something like that, half hurt, for obvious reasons. You felt your heart shrinking a little bit just with the look on his face. You had fucked up good and proper.

- Tommy, I’m so so…

But he didn’t give you the time to finish your sentence. He swung the door open and shut it close behind him, living you with a feeling of guilt, the urge to chase after him and the certainty that doing so would be a worse solution than your accusation had been a problem. In the air, the noise of his departure and a million words unspoken.

_____________________

How could she say that? I’m serious, how could she? What kind of abrasive bile must have she had inside of her to be able to say that without even flinching. I was livid.

I am not the biggest fan of leaving problems unsolved and arguments unfinished. Issues need to be addressed and things need to be talked through. Communication is necessary, especially in a romantic relationship, because it means that you trust your partner, and that is the key to it all. It has to be. And boy I fucking know it, my life had taught me the hard way: silence equals death.

Still, even with that mantra smashing my brain like a hammer, I left my girlfriend stranded in our own house in the middle of an argument; in the middle of her sentence. But I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. In fact, I didn’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t left the way I did. I didn’t want to think about it.

I had been driving for almost two hours. My first reflect the moment I stepped out of the house was to get in my car, and since i couldn’t decide where to go in the middle of the mental storm, I would do it along the way. But I hadn’t decided anything, I just drove. Driving always made me feel relaxed; concentrating on all of the small tasks I had to synchronize helped me focus on something other than my thoughts, it gave me perspective, and that was exactly what I needed in that moment.

In fact, now that I saw it coldly, what hurted me the most wasn’t her attack. I mean, come on, we all throw low blows in the heat of an argument once in a while. Or more often than that. I have. I can understand it. But no, what worried me was how come she hadn’t told me before.

For the way she was ranting at home all those things about my mum, it didn’t seem like the problem had only existed since that very night. No, that much anger and rampage had to be coming from a long time ago. But how much? How much time had she been feeling like that, suffering in silence? Dude, I love my mother, but I better than anyone know that sometimes she can be really petty, I inherited that wonderful trait from her. So why didn’t Y/N tell me? Doesn’t she trust me enough? What did she expect me to answer, that made her scared enough to chose to bear with that pain alone? What did I do? What didn’t I do?

Shit, my head was going to explode. I was definitely going to have to face the issue at some point, and I was running out of gas, so I had two options: heading to the nearest gas station and keep wandering around, or going back home. As much as we had a huge fight, I didn’t really feel like ending up in the middle of nowhere, forced to sleep in the car, so it was going to have to be option two. Besides, I was now cold-headed enough to talk things like the adult I sometimes wish I wasn’t.

When I got home, I was received by a darkened room and a silent house. Y/N’s wallet and keys were on the table, so she mustn’t have left. Good. It was past 4 a.m, so she was probably already sleeping. Good. At least I didn’t have to confront her straight away. I turned around to close the main door, when I found a small light-yellow post-it sticked to it.

HELLO

It was Y/N’s handwriting.

In the dim light of the lamp from the hall I was able to see a few more papers sticked to the wall of the stairs in front of me. I reached for the first one and started reading the note on it.

I’M GLAD YOU CAME BACK (cause if you’re reading this it’s because you have), I HOPE YOUR TIME AWAY WAS PRODUCTIVE, OR, AT LEAST, ENJOYABLE.

Yeah, pretty much. All I did was consume the gas tank and get to zero useful conclusions, so I would say we can call that success. I went for the next post-it, climbing a few steps, since I assumed they were in order.

I DON’T KNOW IF YOU KNOW THIS, BUT I’M GONNA TELL YOU JUST IN CASE. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN I HAVE EVER LOVED ANYONE IN MY LIFE, TOMMY, SO MUCH IT PHYSICALLY HURTS.

Oh. Well, this wasn’t exactly new, but reading the verbalized, inked, tangible version of it was a whole different thing. Next note.

WHEN YOU LEFT, I THOUGHT THE WORST, I THOUGHT THAT WAS IT, I THOUGHT I HAD LOST YOU BECAUSE I AM A DUMB BITCH WHO CAN’T CONTROL HER MOUTH.

I knew we had something in common, Y/N, I always knew it.

BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT WHAT WAS ACTUALLY PUNCTURING MY SOUL WASN’T THE PERSPECTIVE OF LOSING YOU. IT WAS THE PERSPECTIVE OF HAVING HURT YOU. I SWEAR THAT LOOK ON YOUR FACE IS GOING TO BE TATTOOED INSIDE OF MY LIDS FOREVER.

Fuck.

YOU CAN’T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND HOW SORRY I AM FOR WHAT I SAID, BUT SPECIALLY FOR HOW I SAID IT, EVEN LESS IF ALL THE EXPLANATION I GIVE YOU IS A FEW SHITTY POST-ITS ON THE WALL.

This was the last piece of paper on the wall, right at the top of the stairs, so it had been more difficult to read only with the weak light from the floor below. I put it in my right hand with the small stack of other notes I had collected, and turned left to go to our room. Sticked to the closed door, I found another post-it.

SINCE IT’S MORE THAN LIKELY THAT BY THE TIME YOU REACH THIS PIECE OF PAPER I AM SOUND ASLEEP (A HOE PLANS AHEAD), ALL I HAVE LEFT TO SAY IS THAT, IF YOU FEEL LIKE IT, YOU CAN WAKE ME UP SO WE PROPERLY FIX THIS. I LOVE YOU.

The first thing I saw when I entered the room was her, in her panties and one of my t-shirts she liked to wear when I was on tour. Instead of occupying her side of the bed, she was in the middle of it, curled up and with her hair sprawled all over her pillow. Her arm was slightly reaching my half of the bed, and her nose softly pressed against my own pillow, as if she wanted to hold on to my scent, to get closer to me, but as if she didn’t dare.

The sight was divine, she seemed so peacefully asleep, and after such a tough night, God forbid I interrupted that, whatever reason I might have for doing so. Communication could wait. I got into bed and cuddled up behind her back, as gently as I could, so that she didn’t wake up.

_____________________

A cold hand ran up my bare thigh and rested on my hip, as I felt a warm breath and a pair of lips grazing the back of my neck.It was him.Slowly, his presence and the memories from a few hours earlier started to drag me away from my sleep. Why was he here? What time was it? Shit, the post-its. Was he waking me up? Was this my cue? What should I say? With a sloppy movement I began to turn around to face him.

- Tommy… - my voice was hoarse because of the crying and the sleeping.

- Shhh - he instantly interrupted me with a soft voice, as his arm moved from my hip to my waist and pulled me closer to his chest - it’s okay.

- But…

- I know, I know - he whispered as he peppered soft kisses on the bare skin of my shoulder, exposed by his t-shirt; on the back of my neck and also in my head, sniffing the scent that my hair radiated - sleep now, babe. You can tell me tomorrow, but now sleep. It’s okay, I love you…

His soothing words managed to kill the clouds of confusion that surrounded me in that moment. In my state of semi-wakefulness I wasn’t particularly aware of or integrated with reality, but something in his voice was so deeply calming that I couldn’t help but feel every little thing had somehow fallen into place. So there I was, with his arms around me, his lips against me, inescapably sleepy and undeniably in love.

[hornsbeforehalos]

Waste Love: Part Sixteen

Pairing: Colson Baker|Machine Gun Kelly x OFC Warnings: Language, Alcohol and Drug Use, Smut, Violence, Angst, Fluff A/N: Sorry this took forever! I know I been slacking plus my internet being bullshit. I should be back on my jam though soon! 

“So when I get back we gotta get the living situations figured out.” Colson said into the receiver, his phone cradled in between his cheek and shoulder as he focused on rolling the joint in front of him, “We gotta get all your stuff across the country.”

“What are you talking about?” Tiffany chuckled from her end of the line, her voice light and airy and making Colson miss home more than ever before. 

“What do you mean, ‘What am I talkin’ ‘bout?’” Colson asked, confusion contorting his voice slightly as he furrowed his brow before licking the glue of the paper and twisting the spliff closed. 

“I’m not moving in with you, Colson.” She replied, her tone obvious and knowing. He could picture her rolling her eyes at him and giving him that look she always gave him, but this time, instead of making him smile and laugh, irritation prickled through him as he snatched the lighter out of Rooks hand beside him. He ignored the “What the fuck?” from his friend and stood from the couch, his feet stomping loudly as he retreated to the bedroom of the suite.

“The fuck you mean you’re not movin’ in?” Colson demanded as he slammed the door to the room shut. His voice was lowered but still stained with venom as he gritted his teeth and walked towards the balcony. 

Colson heard her sigh as he sparked the joint, annoyance bleeding through the line when she replied, “I’ve already explained this shit to you, Colson, please don’t.”

“Nah, fuck that,” he retorted, inhaling deeply from the joint, “It ain’t cuz your fuckin’ job. I talked to Reedus and he straight up said you could work from wherever.”

“The fuck? You went behind my back and-“

“Nah, stay on the fuckin’ subject, bitch.” Colson interrupted, hitting the joint again quickly, “I want the real fuckin’ reason. You’re supposed to be my goddamn wife.” 

“Oh what the fuck ever, Colson,” Tiffany huffed, her voice raising with her anger, “I don’t wanna hear that shit. Im not some dumb fucking bimbo like all the other bitches you keep around.”

“So now we back on this bullshit, huh?”

“Do you really think I’m stupid, Kels? Seriously? Or blind or some shit?” Tiffany snapped, yelling through the phone, “I see everything, even when I’m not fucking there. Like the three blonde whores that were in the hotel last night. Or the brunette in the bus the night before. Or the-“

“Forreal? So now you’re on some stalker shit?” Colson replied, a sarcastic chuckle leaving his lips before taking another hit, “You think I’m fuckin around?”

“Stalker shit?!” Tiffany shreaked, her voice so loud, he had to pull the screen away from his ear, “You think that’s me being a fuckin’ stalker, mother fucker? Are you on fucking crack?”

A loud, guttural, roar came through the line, followed by the loud crash of something glass breaking in the background. 

“Sounds like some shit a stalker would do.” Colson replied with a shrug, taunting her. 

“Fuck you, Colson. You’re a fucking bitch, you know that? This whole fucking engagement is just as much a big ass joke to you as it is me.”

“So its all a joke, huh?” Colson asked, his lips hissing as he held in a cloud of smoke for a moment before letting it be pushed from his lungs, “Me asking you to marry me in front of fifty thousand people was a fucking joke?”

“Apparently! You flew to fucking Paris the next night and fucked four different bitches, you nasty fucking whore!” She screamed back, her voice cracking and hoarse. Colson pictured her crying, mascara running down her face as she yelled at him with all the anger in her heart that he had in his. Except he was angry at himself. 

He knew people were taking pictures when he walked through that hotel, and he knew that that dumb slut had been recording on the bus, and that someone had seen him in Paris. Cameras were constantly in his face no matter where he was.  He didn’t know why, but for some reason he just believed it either wouldn’t get back to her, or that she somehow magically wouldn’t care. 

He knew better. 

“You know how fucking embarrassing it is to have your engagement in a TMZ article one night and then see one with your fiancé with another bitch right beside it the next day?” Tiffany gritted out, her voice low and seething, “But did you hear me say one fucking thing about it to you? Huh? Or any of the others? Huh?”

Grinding his teeth together, Colson couldn’t even get his jaw to open as he ground out a “No.”

“And now you wanna throw a fucking tantrum and wonder WHY I won’t throw every thing that I’ve busted my ass for over the last year away for you? Why I refuse to call you anything other than my good friend, even though right now I wouldn’t consider you that, either.”

“So what? You never wanted to marry me? Everything don’t mean shit?” He huffed, his chest tightening as he stomped the rest of the roach into the ashtray forcefully.

“Of course I want to marry you, Colson! But we both know that you’re not fucking serious about any of it! I’m not going to call you my husband when every time I open Twitter, I’m being tagged in videos of you with your tongue down another bitches throat!” 

“Mannn,” Colson whined, sucking his gums before standing up and leaning over the balcony, the Italian skyline boring and unappealing to him as he fought with her, “I didn’t fuck none of them bitches, and you know that.”

“No, I don’t.” She replied, her voice even, though still venomous, “When you’re Machine Gun Kelly, you have no rules. You do whatever you want, without consequence.”

Colson knew she was right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. But he also knew that he was telling her the truth, he hadn’t fucked anyone else but her, which made him all the more frustrated. He wanted her to believe him, but he understood why she couldn’t. His chest ached with the need for her to trust him, but hell, could he really even trust himself?

Before he had a chance to think of a reply, she continued, “I’m supposed to be apart of the family but my own brother has your back more than mine. Slim, Dre, all of them, they look at you like you really are some golden god or something that can do no wrong. They look at me like they did Ashley and Amber- temporary. Which is exactly why Rook didn’t want me with you. He knew this was how it was gonna go.”

Her voice was still low but the anger and hate was gone, replaced by sadness and defeat, “I let you back in my life as Colson, forgetting that I know Machine Gun Kelly too. While I’m in love with both, right now neither one is ready to get married.”

“So what? You don’t wanna be with me or somethin’?” Colson questioned, pushing off the railing and moving to sit back down in the chair, his back hunched over as he rested his elbow on his knee, “If you been feelin’ like this, why haven’t you said shit?”

She sighed again, her breath shaky as she sniffed, “I want to be with you, Cols. I really do. I love you, but if we’re going to be serious then you need to be serious.”

“I am serious, Tiff. I’m not playing when I said I didn’t fuck them chicks. Yeah, I shouldn’t have been doing that shit regardless, but I never put my dick in them. This shit ain’t easy for me, and I need you to tell me when I’m outta pocket. Especially if it got you feelin’ like this.” 

“I’m not tryna change who you are, Kels. I want you to know that.”

“I know you ain’t. But if I want you to be my wife then there’s shit I gotta do.”

Colson took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh, relief flooding through him at the knowledge that she wasn’t going to leave him. Determination replaced his anxiety and anger and he straightened his posture, rubbing his jaw with his fingertips as he thought to himself. 

“I love you, Tiff. An’ I don’t care what you say, you’re gonna marry me. I’mma prove to you that I’m serious about this shit, for real.”

She let out a chuckle, the sound making him smile, “I hope so, Kels. Just stop with the moving shit, please?”

His smile widened as he let out his own snort, “Oh, baby, gimme a month and you’ll be the one begging to move in.”

—

Tiffany sat at the baggage claim, scrolling through her Instagram feed with a bored look on her face while she waited for her luggage to come through the revolving belt. She smiled at the screen in her hand, unable to keep the eye roll from appearing as she watched her brother’s story. A obviously drunk Colson pointed to the camera, his grin goofy and pale eyes unfocused.

“What do you wanna say to the folks at home, Kels?” Rook laughed, his own voice laced with inebriation.

“I jus’ wanna say that I fucking love you, Tiffany Cappalletty.” Colson slurred, his lips puckering as he leaned in to kiss the phone, “Muah! I love you baby, I miss you, and I’ll be home soon!”

Tiffany snorted and shook her head, clicking the screen closed when she finally spotted the black and purple luggage being spat out of the machine. 

She cocked and eyebrow at the man standing in front of her when she turned around after pulling her bag off the conveyor belt, “You seen me struggle with that shit and just let it happen, asshole.”

“It was cute. Plus I wanted to see the pride in your eyes when you got to done.” Her father responded with a shrug, pulling her into his side as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “How was your flight, baby girl?” 

“Fine, when the thing finally took off.” She scoffed, shaking her head as they headed towards the exit and into the parking garage. 

“Everything’s all set up, right?” Tiffany questioned, her eyes narrowing as she looked to her dad over the top of the car after opening the door, “You did what I asked?”

“Yes, dear,” he replied sarcastically, smirking at his daughter before climbing into the vehicle, “Only one small issue.”

“Oh Lord,” Tiffany whined as she plopped herself into the seat with a groan, “What the fuck happened?”

“Nothing major,” Pop clarified, smirking at her as he reversed out of the parking space, “Just a small change of plans.”

The ride back to her dads house was easy and quick as the duo talked and listened to music like they always did, and Tiffany’s smile was beaming when they finally pulled into the drive way. 

It faded, through, when she noticed how many cars where parked around the street. 

“Daaaad, they fucking didn’t!” She groaned, stomping her feet childishly before pushing the door to the car open and climbing out, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Her father’s explanation iwas cut short when the front door of the house burst open, Colson, Rook, Slim, and Baze all bounding out recklessly with beaming smiles on their faces.

“Tiffanyyyyyy!” Slim screeched before tackling the poor girl, a deep whoosh of breath leaving her when her back hit the plush grass. A dog pile ensued, with Colson being the at the top, Tiffany’s breath crushed out of her but a smile still planted across her face. 

“Get the fuck off me, assholes!” She choked, smacking Slim’s side and Rook’s head the best she could. The boys rolled off of her, all laughing as they pulled her to her feet. Colson snatched her hand easily and reeled her into him, his lips attaching to hers as his long arms wrapped around her tiny frame. 

“Tryna throw a party without me, I see.” Colson teased, nodding his head to towards the thumping music coming from the house.

Tiffany smirked and rolled her eyes, her hand coming across to smack his chest, “You’re the one that started without me.”

“Well lets go play catch up, girl!” Her father laughed, waving everyone inside.

Colson pulled her into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he leaned in to kiss her temple. “It’s good to be home.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking up to him with a smile, “it really is.”

Masterlist

Tags:  @cobainscocaiine @coffee-obsessed-writer @through-thesilver-lining @daryldixonandfrogs @buckyscrystalqueen @mgkobsessed @iamdorka @creatureofthen1ght-v3 @xxencagedxx @xxkellsvixen19xx  @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @bvibunny138 @crystalbaby12 @abbysdogcollar

*credit for the bomb ass banner is to best friend @coffee-obsessed-writer

[planetsam]

60. "Can we Just pretend like we're normal for once?" For Mylex!

I was given the ok for this to be Malex, Kyle’s here too. 

***

“Alex you have to come with us!” One of the guys says, “come on! We’re going to go get the aliens!”

Michael comes very close to choking on his beer. Out of respect for Maria, he’s let her kick him out of the pony for a solid three weeks. Finally attempting to come back in, she paused talking to Isobel long enough to put a beer in front of him and show him the new emotional damages surcharge on his tab. What he hadn’t been expecting was to see Alex there, with a few friends. They’re all dressed casually and Michael can’t resist eavesdropping the moment he hears the A-word.

“Seriously no one knows more about them than you. Didn’t you work at that UFO Emporium place?”

“I’m not much of a runner,” Alex protests weakly.

“You are now, I saw you!”

Michael’s seen him too. He’s got a new prosthetic that curves backwards and he’s taken up running. Michael’s had two great loves in his life and they’ve become hybridized as Alex runs shirtless with a top of the line piece of metal in place of his leg. It’s like a special penance the universe has designed to torture him. Michael takes a swig of his beer and knows better than to interrupt either of the conversations.

“Besides,” one of them smacks his shoulder, “I remember you saying one night that it was your fantasy to bang an alien.”

The beer almost comes out of his nose.

“No, no you said if I had to pick a mythical creature—“ Alex starts.

“And you picked alien!”

Alex groans and Michael fights to breathe properly. Alex didn’t know. He knows Alex didn’t know. And Alex had no idea that aliens were even real let alone that he was one. But Michael’s always had this thing about finding a way to give Alex what he wants. He usually fucks it up, falls short, you name it, but he always tries. Even when it comes to dumb shit like always making sure there’s bottles of his preferred lubricants laying around or in his car or whatever. Little things. Hearing that being an alien may have done something for Alex just makes him pleased and regretful all at the exact same time.

“So we go to Area 51 and we find Alex a hot alien,” the guy says and the others cheer.

“You don’t even know what they’ll look like!” Alex protests.

Michael finally risks a glance over his shoulder and it seems to be at the same time Alex sees him. Immediately Alex turns red which sends a whoop up from the people he’s getting a beer with. Things are super fucking awkward between them at the moment. Everything’s big picture, it’s crushingly heavy. Watching Alex get teased about his desire to fuck an alien is almost sweet. The bravado and cool facade Michael’s used to seeing on his face has slipped in the comfort of his friends. Michael’s not sure if he’s glad Alex has them or if he’s jealous that they can do what he can’t. The moment stretches between them and then one of the guys looks over.

“Hey!” He calls. Alex’s eyes widen and Michael takes a swig from his beer, ready to look away, “Cowboy,” he glances down at the hat he’s got on his knee, “yeah, you,” okay there’s no escaping so he looks back at him, “you wanna help us rush Area 51 and find Alex a hot alien boyfriend?”

Alex opens and closes his mouth before hanging his head in sheer embarrassment and Michael presses his lips together before taking his beer and coming over. The group immediately makes room for him next to Alex and they quickly introduce themselves.

“So you’re rushing Area 51?” Michael says.

“Yeah,” Scott tells him.

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“They can’t shoot all of us,” Derek tells him. Michael disagrees but knows better than to say that, “plus we gotta get Alex his alien.”

“Alex hates aliens,” Michael corrects, keeping the smile on his face as regret aches in his heart.

“No,” Alex says, suddenly a bit more serious, “I never said that.”

Michael raises an eyebrow and Alex shoots him a glare. Scott leans forward intently.

“When did that happen?” He asks, “Alex used to be obsessed. He’d collect shit and drag us to every lame alien museum. Said it reminded him of home.”

Michael fights to be impassive at this. Alex takes half his drink like it’s a shot.

“I don’t know,” Michael says with a shrug, “guess he got tired of their bullshit,” he continues, “makes sense. Those little grin guys can be assholes.”

“I never said I was tired of them or of their bullshit,” Alex snaps.

It’s kind of funny to see him go from embarrassed to annoyed, but what Michael really adores is the inside joke. Or conversation they’re having. Which none of his friends seem to realize is happening. That makes him possessive and a dick, but two beers in he’ll take this moment. Before Alex meets some hot, nice, normal guy when he tries to rush Area 51 and goes happily off into the sunset.

“Sorry, I had a couple,” he says wiggling the beer, “what’d you say again?”

“I said that they needed to get their lives together,” Alex says, “and stop hurting everyone.”

“By not showing up?” Derek asks. Alex holds his eyes for a moment and then turns to his friend, “they can’t show up, they’re locked up. And we’re gonna go get them out!”

Everyone whoops except for him and Alex. Alex glares and he takes a drink.

“Aliens got sober,” he says.

“That’s great,” Alex tells him calmly.

“And they made nice. Which is why they’re allowed here after serious apologies,” He continues.

“Good.”

Michael knows he’s still got a lot to prove but this is like coming up against a brick wall. He always forgets how fucking  stubborn Alex is. When he’s made up his mind, it’s his way or you can drive off a god damn cliff for all he cares. Michael’s got authority issues and trust issues to go with his abandonment issues. Because aliens spoke to a counselor in an effort to turn their life around. Alex either doesn’t trust it or doesn’t care. And unfortunately for both of them, being told he can’t do something is pretty much Michael’s kryptonite. Taking a swig off his beer he grins at the guys.

“So let’s get back to this Alex fucks a hot alien thing,” he says, “I’m totally in.”

Alex chokes.

“What?” He wheezes.

“Yeah,” Michael says, grinning at him, “I can’t think of anyone who deserves to get laid by an alien more. You need a hot alien in your life,” he says, “so how are we gonna get him one.”

“We’re heading out to Area 51 tomorrow,” Scott tells him helpfully, “you wanna come?”

“Absolutely,” Michael says, “Alex, you in?”

Alex looks like he’s going to kill him himself. But his eyes drag across all of them before they settle on Michael. Michael doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sees Alex tense his jaw and that hardness seeps back into his eyes.

“No,” he says.

“Come on—“

Alex gets up.

“Alex, come on man! We were just kidding!” Derek calls after him as Alex leaves.

“I’ll go after him,” Michael says.

He slips out into the warm night. Alex doesn’t have his keys and he’s been drinking, but he looks torn between calling an Uber and just walking. His back goes tense and Michael gets the feeling he knows it’s him before he turns around. When he does though Alex looks irate.

“To be fair, I only turned around at hot alien,” Michael says.

“You cannot go to Area 51,” Alex says firmly.

“Huh?”

“You cannot go to Area 51,” Alex repeats. It takes a moment for Michael to realize that Alex is having a very different conversation. That Area 51 might be a—oh fuck of course it is. Because why wouldn’t it be? The thing he’s not expecting is for how concerned Alex looks, “it’s an R&D sight.

“Jesus Alex!”

“I know—“

“Can’t we just pretend to be normal for once?!”

The request erupts out of him and Alex freezes, almost surprised. Or surprised, but then he softens and for the first time in months Michael sees him smile because of something he said. He tries to fight what that does for to him, especially when Alex bites down on his bottom lip in an effort to stop the gesture. Then he laughs and Michael remembers what hope feels like. He shakes his head and Michael chuckles as well.

“By normal you mean talking about rushing Area 51 to find me an alien,” he says.

“Well, normal’s relative,” Michael says, “besides they didn’t know.”

Alex shakes his head.

“Look would you just help me keep them from going?” He says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael nods.

They make their way back towards the bar and the silence between them is nice for the first time in a really long time. Inside even the bar seems warmer. The table has a new person sitting at it and Kyle’s proven he’s not the worst thing over the past couple of months. He’s joking with Scott and Derek about something.

“So are you in?” Scott asks.

“In for what?” Kyle says.

“We’re storming Area 51 to find Alex a hot alien to bang,” Derek explain.

“What? Again?” Kyle says, looking between them.

Alex presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh. Michael bites down hard on his lip and grabs his beer before he can say anything dumb. Scott and Derek trade looks, uncomprehending of the joke which is probably for the best.

“What about you?” They say looking at Kyle.

“Nah, there’s enough hot aliens in Roswell,” he says.

No-one can understand why Michael snorts beer out of his nose and Alex looks very intently at his shoes. But a few more rounds that Maria brings over cures them of questions like that. Instead of ubering home directly, Michael finds himself walking along with Alex towards the junkyard. After a bit of barely being alone together Alex won’t seem to leave his side. Not that Michael’s complaining, he just wishes that he knew what the hell was going on.

“So you’re not thinking of going, are you?” He says, “to Area 51?”

“Not if I can fix things remotely,” Alex mumbles.

Michael feels better instantly because if anyone could it’s Alex, but he makes a note to check on him anyway. The last thing he needs is for Alex to get hurt over some combination of his dad and a Facebook group.

“Good,” he says absently. Alex looks over, “yeah, I mean, I’d hate to have to worry about you finding some other hot alien,” He says, “my last alien on alien smackdown didn’t go so hot.”

“I don’t think there are other aliens around,” Alex says thoughtfully.

“Hot dudes,” Michael amends.

“Well there’s those—“

“I don’t want you dating someone else,” he says.

That makes Alex grope for sobriety. At the very least it makes him blink and look at him, surprised. Michael shoves his hands into his pockets and lets Alex cycle through his emotions before settling on what’s most important to hide. But liquor and maybe worry make Alex remain adorably open.

“I didn’t want you to do that either,” he says.

“I know,” Michael sighs.

“I can date anyone I want to,” Alex adds firmly.

“I know,” he says, because it’s true.

“Anyone,” Alex stresses.

“I get it,” Michael says, trying not to think of some hot, buff, guy who can run really fast and probably owns more than three white shirts.

“Good,” Alex says almost smugly, “because I’m going to want to date you.”

Michael almost trips on his own feet. Swearing he looks over at Alex who looks open, serious and somehow smug too. The combination should be illegal. Especially when he’s wearing the red shirts that always make him look amazing. Not that anything keeps him from looking that way but Michael never seems to be able to take his eyes off him when he wears red.

“Not right now, not yet,” Alex says, “we’re drunk. But soon,” Michael’s throat bobs and it’s hard to swallow around excitement, “so I’m not going to go chase any hot aliens. Not when I’ve got you right here,” Michael’s throat closes as Alex steps very far into his personal space, “don’t go chasing any Air Force men.”

“You’re the only one I can stand,” Michael gets out.

“Good,” Alex says.

He’s so close, it would be so easy to kiss him but he’s drunk and he doesn’t want that. Still he swears he can almost feel it with how close Alex is.

“We’re going to the Emporium tomorrow, you should come with us.”

Michael would storm Area 51 for Alex so this seems easy in comparison.

“I’ll text you,” Alex says and pulls back.

Michael has to fight not to fully chase after him. Instead he just watches as Alex walks away and vaguely wonders if the red stitching on his back pockets is accidental or another sign from the universe that he is complete and utterly fucked when it comes to this man.

It’s probably both.

He doesn’t really have a problem with either.

[kookadoodle]

Prank Calls and Payback

PLOT: Reading your book in peace is a difficult task to do when you are interrupted by the noisy boys staying in the next room.

PAIRING: Taehyung x reader (ft. the other boys) GENRE: crack, fluff, Prankcall!AU WARNINGS: bad words, the usual WORDCOUNT: 4.5k  A/N: chaotic bangtan is my religion x

--------------------------------

The first time you hear a knock on the door, you think that the girls might have forgotten something and gone back to get it. You find it a bit odd that they do not just use their own keycards, considering the four of you share the room during the school trip, yet you do not care to question it too much. You merely get up and open the door to let them in. It is a surprise, however, that no one is standing in the hallway and waiting to be let inside. You take a step out to check, but there is no one there. The hostel hallway is empty from everything but lights, carpet, and doors to other rooms. And you in your jammies and slippers. Maybe I misheard it? you think to yourself, wondering if there even was a knocking sound in the first place. It could have also easily been from the neighboring door since the walls are quite thin. You have already sighed over the noisy boys in the next room as they have entertained each other with impressions and who-knows-what. Whatever boys do that make them laugh so loudly. 

Being in the middle of reading your current favorite book makes you find it extremely rude that they seem not to care at all about their loudness. That, and of course, it does not help that they are the four boys that you dislike the most in your class. The ones that always do stupid things, say dumb comments and act as if the world belongs to them. They might be doing alright, popularity-wise, but not with you. You do not buy it, and you certainly do not fall for it. They can smile and plead as much as they want, but they will still be the same boys that make your blood boil. Sitting back down on your bed, you pick up the book again and try to focus on reading. Suddenly, you hear another knock on the door. Your brows furrow at the sound as you have just answered it to no avail. You get up again, knowing that you definitely heard something this time. It takes a few steps before you are at the door, and when you open it, you are once again left with an empty hallway. What the hell is going on? you think to yourself, scolding the culprit in your mind. You are not sure what is going on and why, but someone is knocking on your door, and being interrupted like that for no reason really annoys you. You just want to read your book, so with that in mind, you close the door again and try to not let it get on your nerves. However, you do not even make it back to the bed before you hear someone knocking again. The thing about trying not to get irritated is quickly forgotten as you storm to the door and rip it open. Sure enough, the hall is empty as expected, and this time you are seriously pissed. “Fuck off!” you yell out into the hall before you slam the door shut. The sound scatters on the floor of the hostel, and right as it stops, you hear someone start laughing with pure amusement next door. With a huff, you shake your head at the realization. It is so typically them to try and stir something up. That is exactly why you hate them. You are born with quite a temper, and honestly, those four boys especially know how to push your buttons. And it seems like they get a kick out of doing so. You close your eyes for a second to calm yourself down and take a breath. “Just ignore them, Y/N,” you say to yourself as if you are meditating in the middle of the room. You return back to your book and decide that if they knock again, you will not give them the satisfaction of giving in. You are not their entertainment. You refuse to be. Surprisingly, your outburst makes them quit their little game and leave you alone, presumably having gotten the wanted reaction from you. Though, it bothers you that they even got one at all.

-----------------------------------------

The next half-hour goes by as you read, letting yourself disappear into the world of the book in your hands. Reading has always been a nice way for you to distract yourself from the real world around you, and being someone, who gets easily bothered, you find it quite relieving to have a safe space to avoid just that. But then your phone rings, vibrating next to you on the duvet, and when you answer it, you unknowingly wave goodbye to the calm and quiet night, you had planned. “Hello?” you say, when you pick up the phone, holding it against your ear and listening for a response. “Yes, hello,” the male voice greets back, and you wonder for a second if they might have a cold since the tone seems a little hoarse. “Is this miss Y/L/N, staying in room 212B?” the guy asks. “Yes, this is she,” you answer, yet find it quite odd already. Thinking it must be the staff of the hostel, you put down your book and sit up to focus on the call. “Good evening, miss. We seem to have gotten noise complaints from other guests staying on your floor, and we have to kindly ask you to turn down the music, you’re playing,” the male explains formally. At first, you thought it was about the yelling from earlier, but then you are surprised that it is something else entirely. Something very untrue. “Music? I’m not playing any music,” you defend calmly with your brows furrowed from confusion. The male clears his throat. “I’m sorry, miss, but the complaints were very specific, and we must ask you to keep it down and not be disruptive to the other guests,” he says further still in the same husky voice. You huff, finding the accusation uncalled for. “Excuse me, but I am not being disruptive in any way. Are you sure that it is not room 211B, you are getting complaints about?” you ask, voice a little firmer as you are getting more irritated. It seems much more likely that the noisy boys next door could be bothering someone as they have already made you consider buying some earplugs for the rest of the stay here. “No, it cannot be. The complaints mentioned you by name,” the male answers back, and the statement has you wondering. Mentioned by name. “Who complained?” you ask as you cross your arms. If the guests know your name, they must be someone from your class, however, it seems odd that they chose to call the reception instead of saying it to your face. The male hesitates. “Well, we cannot give out information about our guests, so I am not allowed to say,” he explains, denying answering you. Something is off about it all. Suddenly, you notice a sound at his end as if someone is speaking in the background followed by a hushed laugh. It makes you tilt your head. Looking over on the nightstand beside the bed, you see a phone that comes with the room, and then, you realize that you are talking to them on your private cell. “I’m sorry, how did you get this number? Why aren’t you calling the phone of the room?” you question, and it causes his end to go quiet for a few seconds. “Uh, we are having trouble connecting to that phone at the moment,” the male states, and easily spotting the lie, you scoff with disbelief. “Is this a stupid prank?” you interrupt him, sensing your patience shortening. Then quickly, he hangs up, and the call dies. A second later, you hear the noisy boys burst out into laughter behind the thin wall, and when the realization hits you, steam might as well be spurting out of your ears.

----------------------------------------

You pound on their door with a firm first, getting ready to give them a piece of your mind. “Open the door, you idiots!” you shout, knowing very well that they can clearly hear you, from the way that they laugh and panic inside. “You think, you’re funny!?” you yell again, voice turning a bit high-pitched in frustration. You might look like a soft little creature in your pink PJs, but kitten definitely has claws. “Ugh!” you burst, stomping your foot. “Y/N, what’s going on?” you suddenly hear softly spoken from beside you, and to your surprise, it is Taehyung. You thought, he was inside with the others, but apparently not, meaning it is just the three of them. Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok. The worst three. Taehyung is oblivious to the current situation, which shows from how his innocent eyes study your frustrated expression in question as he waits for your answer. “Your stupid friends are bothering me by knocking on my door and prank calling about noise complaints,” you explain, clearly fuming. Tae halts, raising his brows in shock. “They’re what!?” he says, and his eyes go wide. “Yeah, they’re being annoying, so could you just let me in, so I can beat them up, please?” you ask, shifting your expression to a pleading one with big eyes and a smile. Taehyung does not really register the threat in your question. He only sees the way you look at him, and with what his friends have apparently done, he does not even feel sorry about what is next. Stepping up to the door, he pulls out his keycard, making the little light turn green from contact. The door is unlocked. You quickly rip it open and rush in, causing the three culprits to jump up from their seats on the beds in surprise. “You bastards!” you spit, pointing at the three of them, whose eyes are all wide and mouths shaped likes O’s. Jungkook jumps behind a chair to hide, ready to use it as a weapon. Hoseok is furthest back by the window, looking so terrified that he might jump out of it, and Jimin is only about three feet away, frozen in his step. “W-what’s up?” Jimin suddenly stutters, trying to play it cool. He manages to shape a brief smile to fake innocence. “What the hell did you guys do?” Taehyung scolds from beside you, almost as bothered by the whole thing as yourself. His voice is drastically changed from the soft one, he used with you in the hallway. Now, it is deep and serious as he steps in to help you lecture his friends. It is a bit odd to you, but you appreciate the back-up. Taehyung has never truly been like the other three, though sometimes it is easy to forget since he is always with them. He can be silly and do dumb things with the others, but he has always been nice to you and given you your wanted space.  “Nothing, we haven’t done anything,” Jimin quickly defends, acting oblivious. It only annoys you more. “Then let me see your phone, Jimin,” you state firmly as you notice the black iPhone lying on the closest bed. Jimin looks over at it, and quickly, he runs to it in panic.  You do as well, rushing over to steal it from his grip. Jimin fights back, and the two of you struggle, each trying to get the phone for yourselves while the others watch the chaos unfold. You grab his wrist, yet he is quick to switch the phone to his other hand. “Jungkook, catch!” he says, throwing the phone to the maknae. Of course, Jungkook catches it, yet when he sees you turn to him with fire in your eyes and about to attack, he decides to pass it on and throw it to Hoseok. That, he should not have done, since terrified Hoseok’s immediate response is to throw the phone out of the open window. You all stop. “My phone!” Jimin shouts in panic, seeing his precious iPhone fly out the window to fall and smash against the sidewalk three floors down. “That’s what you get for prank calling me!” you scold, finding the punishment fitting for the crime. Jimin is in shock. Suddenly, the shock turns to anger, and he looks at his hyung with a firm frown. “Shit happens,” Hoseok says with a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood, yet Jimin is not amused. His anger then turns to pure pettiness within a few seconds, and he takes Hoseok’s most prized possession, his beloved chestnut pouch, and throws it out of the window as well without hesitation. “Oh no! Chester!” Hoseok exclaims, reaching out and trying to catch his furry purse, but it slips from his hands. He watches as it falls to the ground beneath and hurt gathers in his heart at the sight. Jimin crosses his arms as if the payback has been served well. The room is quiet. Jungkook and Taehyung give each other a look, knowing that shit is about to hit the fan. Being oblivious to the pouch’s importance, you try to read their faces but do not get much out of it. All you can tell is that from the look on Hoseok’s face, he is in absolute pain.

“You threw out Chester!?” Hoseok suddenly spits, piercing Jimin with his gaze that holds firebolts ready to shoot. “You threw out my phone!” Jimin defends pettily, gesturing out the window as if to remind him of it. Hoseok shakes his head. “I didn’t do it on purpose!” he argues, crossing his arms. The two of them stare each other down as if they are passing secrets through their eyes. Secrets of murder and the like. “What is going on in here? Why are you guys being so loud?” you suddenly hear from behind you and turning around, you see Seokjin standing in the doorway. He shares the room on the opposite side of yours with Yoongi and Namjoon. Apparently, you are all being loud enough to bother them as well. “Stupid Jimin threw Chester out of the window,” Hoseok is quick to spill with an angry pout, looking at his opponent unapologetically. Jimin frowns. “You threw out my phone, you dick!” the smaller one fights back, clenching his jaw. The two of them look like they are about to fight, but everyone knows that they will not. Really, they are too soft to throw punches. The worst possible fight to occur is a really intense stare-off between them. “Okay, okay. You both did something dumb, and you will pay each other back,” Seokjin states with confidence. “Jimin, how much is your phone worth? And be honest, we all know, you had that phone for a while,” Seokjin asks, keeping his voice calm and face collected. Jimin sighs. “Maybe about $230,” the smaller one estimates. Jungkook’s eyes widen at that. He then moves back from the chair towards Taehyung, not wanting to be blamed for the mess as well and having to pay up. In reality, he knew, he should not have thrown the phone to Hoseok, but maybe if he stays silent, no one will yell at him. Taehyung sees the maknae’s slimy act and shakes his head at him in disappointment. Jungkook merely bows his head in shame before getting behind his slightly older hyung for protection. Since Taehyung has a soft spot for Jungkook, he lets it slide. “What about your purse, Hoseok? What is it worth?” Seokjin then asks. “Like $10,” Jimin huffs like a true diva, saying it under his breath. Hoseok’s frown worsens at the provocation. “First of all, it is a very practical and colorful POUCH,” Hoseok starts off highly offended by his hyungs degrading words. “and second of all, it is worth at least $100 million emotionally,” he adds, looking out the window with a slightly quivering bottom lip. “Oh Chester, this world did not deserve you,” Hoseok says dramatically, placing a hand over his eyes in pain, resting his elbows against the windowsill and looking out. Jimin rolls his eyes at that. “Okay, Jimin, you go downstairs, get the pouch and clean it up. And Hoseok, you will share your phone with Jimin for the rest of the trip,” Seokjin says, wanting the drama to be over with. Being the eldest in the group, Seokjin has learned to solve conflicts between the younger ones. It is all about leadership and compromise. Hoseok and Jimin are still fuming, yet eventually, they give in to their hyung’s suggestion. “Fine,” Jimin says sharply, and Hoseok repeats it in a similar tone. “Good, now everyone can calm down again,” Seokjin says, getting ready to return to his room. The other boys seem to start heading out as well, while Jungkook walks over to his bed to lie down with a relieved expression on his face after dodging a bullet just now. Seokjin’s statement brings you back to the real issue at hand after having been distracted. “Excuse me, but we are not done at all,” you state firmly, clearly annoyed. The boys’ attention returns to you after having been stolen away by a possibly staged diversion. Seokjin, however, is just now realizing that you are here as well, and he wonders why. “You guys are serious tools for pranking me, and you owe me an apology!” you spit, though you find it a bit misplaced now after the whole phone-flying-out-of-the-window thing. Nonetheless, you take your stand with confidence. Seokjin is a bit baffled by your sudden outburst, and the three other boys turn a bit wide-eyed, having hoped for a second that you would let it go. You will not, though, and Taehyung has your back. He nods confidently at your words to show whose side he is on. None of the culprits know what to say. You guess, they had not expected you to actually find out about them, but that only confirms your thoughts on their idiocy. “Uh, I should probably go get Hoseok’s purse before someone finds it and decides to mercy kill it,” Jimin says, giving an excuse to leave. Hoseok is ready to choke his friend for insulting Chester, but he really wants Jimin to go and get his pouch, so he says nothing, swallowing the profanity at the tip of his tongue. Despite your want to scold the insole-wearing smartass, you let Jimin go too. Jungkook and Hoseok are easier to crack anyways since they are terrible liars and cannot handle any pressure. You cross your arms, looking at them with a raised brow, waiting for answers. Taehyung is by your side, crossing his arms as well to show a united front, and it assures you. Jungkook and Hoseok look like two puppies that peed all over the floor despite knowing that it is forbidden. They are busted, and now they must pay.

-----------------------------------------

“So, are you going to apologize?” you ask after having stared the two of them down for a few minutes. Jungkook gulps, looking at his hyung, whose mind seems to be elsewhere. Hoseok is most likely still thinking about Chester. “Uh, well,” the maknae says, clearing his throat. For a second, he looks at Taehyung as if to check his expression. You wonder why he seems to be looking for permission to talk from Taehyung, the one who was not even involved in the whole thing. “We didn’t mean for you to get mad, we just… uh… we were bored, so we wanted to prank someone, and you happened to be, well, an easy target,” Jungkook explains, having trouble getting out the words right. His eyes keep stealing glances at Taehyung like he is waiting for him to interrupt. “An easy target? Because I was alone?” you ask with disbelief. Jungkook briefly scoffs with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, that, but also-,” the maknae starts, but he is quickly interrupted as expected. “I think, you should just say sorry and let Y/N go back to her room,” Taehyung says with a cough, looking at the younger one with determined eyes. You frown lightly, finding his sudden changed reaction somewhat strange. Why is Taehyung even so worked up about it? you ask yourself but without an answer to it. “Hyung, why don’t you just-,” Jungkook asks but yet again, he is cut short. “Say sorry, Jungkook!” Taehyung states fast, talking over the maknae’s words as if to blur them out with his own. It is as if he avoids looking at you, and instead, he keeps his eyes locked on the younger one before him to display his seriousness. Jungkook gives up and shifts his gaze to you instead. “We’re sorry, Y/N. It wasn’t cool, and we’ll leave you alone now,” he states genuinely. The apology is finally said, and you nod in acceptance. “Thank you,” you say back, though your mind barely registers it as it is busy trying to figure out Taehyung. You think he seems to care too much about this, considering it really has nothing to do with him. Barely letting the younger one talk suggests that he is either so done with his friends’ childish behavior or that he is trying to hide something. Yet what could that be? you wonder. With that question in mind, you return to your room, hoping for the rest of the night to calm down.

--------------------------------------------

Chapter by chapter, you finally get to finish your book without too many interruptions. It is only the occasional laugh next door that delays you, but you quickly adjust this time, and after a while, you barely notice it. It is not until the last page is read, and you are going over the book in your head, that you find yourself distracted by the sound of them talking. It sparks a curiosity in you after what happened earlier, so you decide to step over to the wall and check if you can make out what they are saying. Standing with your ear against the wall and listening to a conversation that you cannot possibly make out words from, you realize how dumb you must look. However, you can sense the mood of their conversation as one of them is talking a bit louder than the others. It sounds as if he is voicing an issue from the way his sentences flow; serious and firm, and the other boys kind of hum in agreement. It is a discussion in a way, but you have no clue what the subject of it might be. Hard to tell through a wall, you guess. Then, the conversation comes to a halt, and it is quiet for a moment. Is it over? you wonder. The silence lasts for half a minute before you hear the door to their room open and close as someone steps out. It proves to you that whatever they were talking about is no more. However, as you walk back, you hear a knock on the door to your room, and it takes you by surprise. Opening it up, you meet eyes with Taehyung, and the first thing you notice is his soft expression. “Hi, do you have a minute?” he asks. He was the one, you heard leave just now, and for some reason, he came to you. “Sure,” you say and step back, allowing him inside, and he closes the door behind him after entering. You sit down on your bed, and Taehyung sits down across from you on the opposite one. Suddenly, you notice how nervous he seems, when he starts rubbing his hands against his thighs. “So, what’s up?” you ask, studying him to figure out what is on his mind. For the time being, you cannot tell. “Well, I just came over to apologize for my friends, they should not have bothered you tonight, I’m sorry about that,” he explains apologetically, rubbing at the back of his neck. His dark hair seems a bit messy as if he has been running his hands through it. His distressed state seems so misplaced, and you debate whether or not to just ask him directly, yet his words make you ask something else. “Why are you sorry? You had nothing to do with it,” you state, finding his apology uncalled for. It makes Taehyung chuckle with a tilt of his head. “Actually, I might have had something to do with it,” he smiles shyly, and it causes the light frown on your face. Taehyung notices your confusion and is quick to elaborate. “I am the reason they wanted to tease you in the first place since I kept talking about you, and they wanted to get your attention for me,” he says as he avoids your eyes. When you do not say anything, his eyes return to you, and he bites his lip with nervous anticipation. You then realize what today has been about, and why Taehyung has been acting weird about the whole thing. He likes you. “So, you’ve been talking about me, huh?” you smile, and you read the relief on his face when he smiles back. “Maybe,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The change of position gets him closer to you, and it gives him a better angle to study your face. His demeanor is suddenly different as he keeps his eyes on you with a cocky grin after he realizes that you like what you are hearing. He can tell from the smitten smile, you wear. The room is quiet and dimly lit, creating a softness of a kind that makes you see Taehyung in a different light. He looks warm and gentle, and so damn kissable. “Well, you have my attention now, so make it worth my while,” you grin, leaning forward yourself. Taehyung tilts his head, and his eyes fall to your lips. You find yourself holding your breath as he closes in and cups your face with a tender hand. He kisses you, and you place your palm on his forearm for balance as you relax into his touch. It is soft and intimate, and you taste sweetness on his lips. Just like a kiss should be. Before you know it, he pulls back and opens his eyes to meet yours. You bite your bottom lip, tasting what lingers of him still. He smiles at that as he pulls your hair behind your ear. With a relaxed sigh, he lets his gaze travel, and it finds your phone lying on the bed beside you. The sight makes him scoff. “I have an idea,” he says and looks up at you again. You raise your brows in question. “You see, Jimin’s phone might be broken now, but I know Jungkook’s number too,” Taehyung says with a mischievous look in his eyes. You smile as you realize what he is saying. “I’m in,” you say, and you both agree. It is time to have some fun of your own.

[ofwizardsandmen]

Maybe

College AU 

Maybe being more than just friends with isn’t as impossible as their insecurities made them believe every other day.

Pairing: Tara x Mark 

Word count: 2k

The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans hits Tara’s nostrils as soon as she walks into M’s café. It’s early in the morning and the place is almost empty except for —obviously and as per usual— M, a girl in the far end corner of the shop and a middle-aged man standing by the cashier.

Tara takes her spot in her favorite table next to the wall and starts placing her stuff on the table when the entrance door flies open and a hooded figure trots in. A smile forms on Tara’s lips but vanishes when the man pushes the hood, revealing blond strands of hair. Huffing in disappointment, she pouts slightly and goes back to the task of taking her laptop off her vintage Dior mini travel bag. Yet, she’s interrupted once again when the blond guy greets her from the counter

“Hi, Tara, what can I serve you today?” Sungjae doesn’t say it, but Tara swears he feels tempted to ask what’s wrong with her face because she’s fully aware of how deadly pale and sick she looks this morning.

“A double espresso, please.” She says simply as she opens her laptop. “With a spoon of arsenic, if possible” She adds, making Sungjae and herself chuckle.

“Ugh, sorry. Still haven’t found a way to merge the coffee shop with a dark apothecary” M joins the conversation once the middle-aged man picks his coffee and walks out. “It’s just 8 am, it might not be that bad”

“Do you even know who my brother is-?” Tara begins and Sungjae groans at the simple mention of Tyler Lee

“Ok, correction” He interrupts “It can be that bad”  

Tara nods in agreement and places her elbows on the table “It was and I truly believed it’d be better now that he’s a university student, but he’s worse” She lets out a deep sigh before she returns to her laptop and Sungjae moves to prepare her coffee, but M remains on the very same spot looking at her hesitantly, as though he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t push himself to.

Noticing his eyes on her, Tara contemplates the options. She could as well say nothing, move on and continue to feel miserable or she could talk to someone —M, for example—, get things off her chest and be miserable afterward.

“To the hell with it, I hate Tyler, he’s just so freaking immature and believes I’m some dumb teenager who doesn’t know what she’s doing or is stupid enough to let people take advantage of her.” Tara almost feels as though the heavy burden that stopped her from breathing properly has finally been released, but the feeling is short-lived once the memories of the previous night assault her thoughts for the umpteenth time that day. “And he is so rude. I am so embarrassed he’s my brother. Can I die so I don’t have to go to class?” She whines, burying her face in her hands.

“Wow, I didn’t know it was this bad” M meditates his words for a brief moment before going on “I wouldn’t know since I don’t have any sisters, but maybe he just feels responsible for whatever happens to you, so-“

“So he had to embarrass me in front of my-“ Another word is about to come off Tara’s lips, but she stops herself “my classmate”

A small knowing smile makes its way onto M’s lips, but Tara is already too engrossed in telling the story of how her brother made a scene after finding  Mark in her apartment, to notice.

“I don’t know what he has in that perverted brain of his, but we were literally studying, we were doing the whole table full of books and cup of coffee in hand, and he still had the nerve to accuse Mark of planning and I quote him “take advantage of my innocence”. What am I? A 4-year-old?” Tara vents, huffing every once in a while to express her frustration. “Mark probably hates me now” she sighs this time “Tyler was awful to him, I wouldn’t blame him if he never wants to hang out with me again”

“Oh, come on, have you ever seen the way he-“ Sungjae stops mid-sentence and trying to act as casual as the slight blush on his face allows him to, he places the cup of coffee on the counter. “I mean, no. Why would you think that?”

“Because Mark was supposed to be here to finish our group assignment, like half of an hour ago and he’s nowhere to be seen, so-“

“He probably overslept” M interrupts this time as he places the coffee on Tara’s table.

“He’s never late,” Tara says matter-of-factly. “I even came late on purpose”

“Maybe he forgot?” Sungjae ventures from the cashier.

“Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with someone who is treated like a little child by her idiotic brother?”

“Oh, come on Tara” M clicks his tongue reprovingly “Where’s your positive mindset?”

“Buried along with my will to live and my dignity,” Tara says after sipping from the cup of coffee. “And the chances to keep Mark as a friend”

“I don’t think Mark had taken him too seriously” M chuckles, holding back the desire to tell Tara that probably the last thing Mark wants is to keep her as a mere friend, but he would never ghost her for such dumb incident.

Not like he knows him a whole lot either, but judging by all the times he has seen them at the cafe together, it appears to him (and everybody really) that Mark has the biggest crush on Tara.

“It is painfully obvious how little you know Tyler and how much you trust people’s good intentions” Tara comments.

“No, I mean, he’s about to walk in” M says, pointing outside with his chin.

Seconds later Mark steps into the coffee shop rubbing his hands and shuddering the slightest bit. M mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “good luck” and walks away, leaving Tara to panic internally on her own.

The young woman pretends not to notice Mark’s presence and instead she fake reads something from the screen of her laptop.

“Hey” Mark skips a more cordial greeting, but Tara ignores it because she keeps pondering whether she should say something about what happened last night or not “I’m sorry I’m late, Jaehyun and I went to the gym and I really needed a shower,” he says touching his nape clumsily.

The thought of Mark being unable to look at her in the eyes briefly crosses her mind, but Tara doesn’t want to deal with the implications just now, so she forces herself to look up and plaster a smile on her face.

“Oh, it’s fine. I just got her-” Tara lies, but whatever she was planning to say next dies in her throat the moment she makes a double-take and notices Mark’s wet hair sticking to his forehead. “Uh- shall we start working? We only have like two hours to finish Mr. Vincent’s paper and-“

“Well, yes I wanted to talk about it-“  Mark says, pulling a folder from his messenger bag and placing it on the table “I already completed it with the info you got yesterday. You can read it and make corrections if you wish.”

“Mark, you shouldn’t have-“ Tara doesn’t know if she’s reading the situation correctly, but it appears to her that Mark couldn’t bear the idea of working with her, so he decided to pull an all-nighter and avoid being stuck with her this morning. Frankly, it is understandable considering Tyler had threatened to “destroy his life” (whatever that meant) if he ever saw him near his sister again, but that doesn’t stop Tara from feeling a void in the chest.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. We all stayed up last night at the frat” Mark says, pulling an empty chair out the table.

Tara unconsciously bits the inside of her cheek before picking the cup of coffee and downing its content as Mark sits across.

The strong flavor of the espresso almost feels sweet when it hits Tara’s palate. Or probably it is in comparison to the bitter taste that Mark’s words have left in her mouth.

“Jungwoo has a big exam this morning and we wanted to show support.” Mark’s smile is so disheartening to watch that Tara distracts herself closing the laptop and taking her coin purse out of her pocket  “I even started the assignment for the Modern British drama course.”

“That’s great,” She says insincerely, hoping to make a smooth transition that allows her to leave without rising suspicion.

“Maybe you can read it later and give me your feedback” Mark suggests hopefully, his eyes widening slightly behind the round reading glasses he’s wearing this morning.

“Sure, why not?” Tara slides her laptop back in the Dior bag. “Since the assignment is done, I think I might get going, I promised Enzo I’d help him to study for a test” She stands up with as much grace as she can muster, which truthfully is not a whole lot given the sleepless night she went through. “I’ll see you later, Mark.”

“Tara, wait!” Mark’s voice even makes the girl in the back turn to look at him, but it takes him a few seconds to register he has moved to grab Tara’s hand in an attempt to stop her from leaving. “I was hoping we could hang out.“ He says after clearing his throat "I mean, we’ve been studying non stop the past weeks and-“ Once he notices Tara’s face flushing, he slowly releases her hand. “I thought we could… maybe… catch the morning screening of Little Women”

Tara unsuccessfully attempts to hide the excitement when she listens to the last two words, but she’s already beaming when she nods her head eagerly and claims she’d love to and that she had been planning to watch the movie with Enzo over the weekend. Mark’s face falls a bit after hearing that name for the second time, but he ignores the jab of jealousy kicking him in the gut.

“By the way…” Tara begins once she sits back down. She hesitates for a brief moment but eventually gathers the courage to go on. “I’m sorry about last night. My brother… he can be a real jerk sometimes.” She makes a pause and corrects herself after realizing that ‘sometimes’ is a bit of an understatement. “Better said, most of the time and I’m so-”

“Don’t even say it” Mark says solemnly, his face growing serious and eyes boring into hers. “It really wasn’t your fault and I might understand where he was coming from. It was really late and it wasn’t right for me to be there.”

“Mark, you are my friend and we were studying, it was more than ok for you to be there. You did nothing wrong.”

“Yeah, right” Mark feels as though Tara had slapped him, but it is probably exactly the realization of being only a friend to her what makes him bold enough to say the next words “But what if he thought I wasn’t just a regular friend?”.

“It would still be off-limits for my brother to act like a jerk. In fact, if you were more than just a friend it would be even worse he treated you that way” Tara says the last sentence a bit too vehemently, making Mark smile widely.

He doesn’t add anything, but he thinks that perhaps Jaehyun and Johnny are not too mistaken when they affirm Tara wouldn’t say no if he asked her out.

Maybe being more than just friends with her isn’t as impossible as his insecurities made him believe every other day.

And maybe, just maybe, he is willing to put up with her brother and his meddling even if that means he will probably have to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

Maybe it all be worth if he gets to see Tara smiling brightly at him, like she is right now, every day.

**

[impracticaldemon]

Traffic Duty

Hakuouki fanfiction by impracticaldemon for Eliz1369 ~  Happy Birthday!

PART II of the Okita-Chizuru story Parking Ticket, in which Detective Okita Souji was demoted to traffic duty both as a punishment, and in order to go under cover to locate a mysteriously missing murdered man.

Summary:  In Traffic Duty, Okita discovers that the policewoman who got him into trouble in the first place - by being right about ending a police pursuit - has been given the task of making him maintain his cover role by performing his duties as a traffic cop.  But things heat up even before they hit the streets, when Okita begins to suspect his new partner of withholding information critical to the investigation.

Traffic Duty

“You’re Yukimura, right?”

Sōji eyed the young policewoman with more attention than he’d given her the first time they’d met. He was more observant than most people realized, but the circumstances had been less than optimal.

“Yes, Detective—that is, Okita-san.”  She ducked her head apologetically.  “Please excuse me for not using your proper rank, sir, but I was instructed not to give away your cover as a member of the regular forces.”

“I don’t care either way, but that’s ridiculous.  If it’s a small-scale operation, it will sort itself out whether they know who I am or not—plus, I doubt they’d have ears on us here in the station.  If it’s something worth my time, then there’s a good chance they already know me.”  

He turned away, fighting the urge to vent his bad mood on the too-serious Yukimura.  He was pretty sure the whole ‘traffic cop as cover story’ thing had been set up just to irritate him, but that wasn’t her fault.  To his surprise, since she seemed rather timid, Yukimura pursued the issue.

“Most respectfully, Okita-san, it seems useful to me to retain any advantage we might have.  And even if you are recognized, it is not—that is, I’m told it is not—entirely unbelievable that this is an actual punishment detail for you, rather than a covert operation.”

Sōji shut his teeth on an expletive before looking back at her.  If his expression scared her a bit, too bad; at least he was being civil.  Besides, it irked him that she was right.  He brought his hands together in silent applause.

“You have a point there, Yukimura, good job.”

To his dismay, his new ‘partner’ gave him a tentative smile.  He groaned inwardly.  This was what came of being too polite; people like her took it the wrong way and tried to get to know him.

“Thank you, Okita-san. Welcome to the station.  I hope we will work well together.”  She bowed, then picked up a take-away cup from the counter behind her, and held it out to him.  What was with this kid?  She had to know she’d gotten him into trouble, and he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want to be here.  Plus, his reputation usually preceded him.

“I don’t like coffee,” he snapped.  That was stretching the truth, but good enough for an overly-helpful and temporary working acquaintance.  Besides, even Hajime-kun had been known to (silently) agree with Shinpachi’s declaration that the stuff he drank could no longer be called coffee.

Yukimura looked cast down for a moment, but persevered.  “I—I inquired into your preferences, Okita-san, and the coffee has extra cream and triple sugar.”

He stared at her.  Big brown eyes, way too innocent and hopeful for any kind of cop; trim figure, a bit on the smallish side, in a buttoned-to-the-collar regulation uniform; dark hair, neatly pinned up under her peaked cap. Nothing to indicate that she was trying to attract, seduce, or play up to him.  He hated not being able to identify a person’s motivations.

“Are you a waitress, or a cop?  I’m not here because I want to be, or because I think anything will turn up.  If you’d bothered to listen to the gossip about me, you’d know that I’m not out to be buddies with anyone, especially a kid who’s never worked a major crime in her life.”

Yukimura bowed again, small hands still clasping the rejected coffee.  Sōji found he had to squelch an unusual sense of guilt, but told himself she’d be better off learning to be less… less personal… with her colleagues.  He ignored the feeling that Hajime-kun would be looking disapproving right about now—his partner was a good man in a fight, and he trusted him to the hilt, but he had his flaws.

“I apologize if I offended you, Okita-san. Please come this way, I was told to discuss the details of this assignment with you before we went on duty.” She was apparently more composed than he’d thought.  He could usually get a read on just about anyone, if he bothered to try, but although his instincts said she was upset, the set to her shoulders suggested irritation rather than tears.  Not that he cared.

They made their way into a small meeting room, and Sōji was relieved to see a file on the table with his name on it. He flipped it open, hoping for updated information on the missing body, then sighed, and ran his eyes over his new patrol route.  His not-nearly-temporary-enough official job was to be on the lookout for traffic infractions and major parking violations, especially those that impeded emergency vehicle zones and public transportation.

When he looked up from the file, he automatically reached for his coffee and took a long swig.  It wasn’t bad, though he preferred it hotter. Then he glared at his deceptively innocent-looking companion, who had obviously put the cup down beside him the moment he wasn’t paying attention.  After a few seconds of that, he decided to ignore the whole coffee skirmish, so that they could get on to the more important part of the briefing.

“Okay, so I’ve got the gist of my cover.  I figure you’ll handle any actual stuff for Traffic, and I’ll just keep an eye on you in the unlikely event somebody tries to get at you.  What I want to know—”

“I apologize for interrupting, Okita-san, but my instructions were to ensure that you handled all aspects of the job.  Otherwise, it would be clear that I wasn’t training you.”

He leaned across the scarred wooden table, and used his height to glower down at her.

“Officer Yukimura.  I know for a fact that a suspicious individual drove off from the scene of a shooting, in a highly identifiable car, carrying the swiss-cheese version of a corpse.  I know that said car drove through the intersection at which you were stationed.  I know that you gave me the signal for ‘do not pursue’, but to be honest, I assumed you got the signal wrong.  You directed me to turn right, when the fleeing vehicle was going straight, and at that point I admit I stopped paying attention.  I was trying to overtake a probable murderer and the evidence of his crime, and you seemed like an idiot.  I want to hear your version of events—you were a little vague at the time of the incident.”

Despite his attempt at outright bullying, there was a stubborn set to Yukimura’s lips that boded ill for both of them.  “I would be happy to discuss the case with you, Okita-san.  We just need to go over the patrol route first—I have a few extra details to pass along about the neighbourhood, and what we do.”

Okita crossed his arms so as not to bang a fist on the table.  Like hell he was going to listen to the warblings of the local Neighbourhood Watch Association, and all the petty information that was important to Yukimura’s job, not his.

“You seriously expect me to play traffic cop?  Do I at least get to drive, or is that too much to ask for a lowly officer like myself?”

It was a dumb gibe, since ranking officers usually didn’t do the driving, but Yukimura finally looked a little panicked.  “I think you must already know this, Okita-san, but my division patrols on bicycle, or on foot, depending on the exact area and problems expected.”

“Ah, so if we spot any potential gangsters, or wanted murders, then we’ll pedal madly in pursuit! I think there’s some anime about the power of the pedal, isn’t there?  Never watched much of that kind of thing myself, but I have a colleague who does. It’s all too rah rah and cheerful for me.”

“Anime is not necessarily known for being cheerful, Okita-san.  Um, I mean—”

“Oh, you like anime, too? Well, I suppose it’s okay for kids like you and Heisuke.”  If she’d known him better, the sudden gleam in his green eyes would have warned her that he knew just how to wind up anyone who cared about anime.  As it was, she suspected him of making fun of her, but wasn’t sure what points to argue.

“I don’t watch a lot of anime, because so much of it is dark, disturbing, or violent!  Some of the artwork is nice, I suppose, but there isn’t a lot of anime suitable for children.”

“Awwwwww…  Well, how about slightly serious historical dramas then? But not too serious, because true love must triumph over annoyances like money and power.  You ever notice how they rarely have epilogues for those shows?” He snickered.

“Is Okita-san a fan of historical drama?”

“No!  Oh for the gods’ sakes, what the hell are we even talking about?!”

Yukimura took a deep breath. “We will not be pedalling after—or running after—any gangsters or murderers, Okita-san.  Assuming we come across anything, you will be contacting Detective Saitō, and then your headquarters, and I will be taking notes.  The problem last time was that we missed certain details—”

“Such as?”

“Well…”  Yukimura pulled a map from the folder she hadn’t left sitting out for him.  

Where did she get that? Ah—he could see that there was a semi-concealed, spring-latched drawer on each side of the table.  Convenient if you wanted something handy, but out of sight, or had to leave in a hurry and needed a quick place for your notes.  Most people would know about the drawers, of course, but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was surprisingly effective—for a lot of things, anyway.

“Oi—why didn’t you give me that from the start?”  He cranked up the glower again.

“Because I was told to focus on your cover first, and the case second—in case you ignored the first part!”

Were her cheeks a little red?  He was finally getting to her.

“Right, got it.  Look, aside from our slight disagreement about what I’ll be doing, I don’t think there will be a problem with our so-called work.”  Leaning forward, and holding her gaze, Sōji rattled off a summary of their assigned route, the major landmarks and hazards—he was curious about a bookstore with the notation ‘does not sell books—dislikes customers’—and the heavy-traffic areas. He then pointed out the key emergency and public transportation lanes, and finished with an overview of the two low-income housing projects, which were prone to drug and prostitution problems. In deference to his desire to move things along, he didn’t add his usual comment that the high-income neighbourhoods had far more serious problems, but got to pay society in tabloid stories and ‘contributions’ to public salaries, rather than jail time.

Yukimura was visibly impressed, but it suddenly dawned on Sōji that he’d been showing off—which wasn’t his usual style.  Never let anyone see your whole hand.  He covered his discomfort by stabbing a finger into the map the girl had set between them.

“So?  Tell me about the case.  What did we miss?”

To her credit, she stopped staring at him immediately, and got with the program.

“Well, that particular area has automatic weighing scales at two hard-to-miss points, to ensure that only light trucks use the streets that are mixed residential-commercial.  The car didn’t set off any alarms, of course, but if you get there fast enough there’s a video record of all vehicles, with the digital weight shown beside them.  We were able to find and compare the weights of the car at the two points and it was definitely lighter by the time it hit the checkpoint just past the intersection where I was stationed after we got word of the chase.”

Ah—that would be the intersection where Sōji had ignored her clear, but apparently useless signals, in order to pursue, pull over, and—in the words of the complaint—harrass a prominent citizen without due cause in order to uncover absolutely nothing of interest in the man’s trunk or backseat.  The way the guy had grinned at him made it a cinch that Sōji hadn’t gotten the wrong car, but the police force had been officially embarrassed, and that was that.

“So we have a potential lead for where the body was transferred.  Good thinking.”  All business now, Sōji frowned.  “But you said you discovered this after the fact.  So how did you know I was following the wrong guy at the time of the pursuit?”

For the first time, Yukimura—what was her first name again?—looked a little shifty.  Or she would, if her face were able to express anything so sordid.  Honestly, he could see her in Hello Kitty pajamas with little pink bows on the sleeves. …And where did that come from?

“Um, well, Okita-san, I just… I just knew.  The driver of the car was far too care-free for a man with a body in the trunk.”

Sōji’s mind switched from Hello Kitty nightwear to the utter garbage this girl was suddenly trying to feed him.

“Bullshit.  No rookie traffic cop would try to signal an unmarked police car away from a hot pursuit on a hunch.  Is this seriously the line you gave your boss?  And they’re mad at me?”

“Well—well—it’s not just that—um, you see, I’d seen a hearse turn at the lights shortly before the sportscar, and it seemed suspicious!”

“Why?  What made it suspicious?”

“Er… well… there was no procession?”

“Duh, lots of hearses travel on business picking up stiffs from homes and hospitals and so on. Hell, maybe the mortician was out looking for donuts and a coffee.”

“No, he only drinks tea, and his partner is forcing him to watch his weight right now.”

“Come again?”

“Um, I mean, we do deal with the undertakers quite often, you know, because of funerals, and of course there are several, but I’ve gotten to know them, and only one of them—because he owns the business—sometimes goes out for coffee in the hearse.  Only, he doesn’t drink coffee.”

She was babbling, and they both knew it.  Sōji walked around the table, and perched himself right beside the struggling policewoman.  He leaned down into her face, which was undeniably red, and stared silently at her until she met his gaze.

“Cut the crap, and tell me what you know.  Otherwise I’ll refuse to work further with you on the grounds that you’re hiding something from the police about this case.”

“Okita-san!”

“Yes, Officer Yukimura? Care to try me?”  It was a sign of how serious he was that Sōji didn’t smirk at the possible innuendo.

“I know this whole neighbourhood very well.  I’m a—a community liaison officer.”

“Goody for you.”

“The car you were following—I recognized the driver as one of our recent trouble-makers.  He’s rich—or his father is—but his friend is even richer, and I have a feeling—"

“Like the one about the hearse being suspicious?”

Her face darkened, but she ignored him.  He was impressed, despite himself.  He’d gotten into her space, and as uncomfortable as she was, she was still fighting.

“I think they’re trouble. They’ve been in the neighborhood for just over six months, and our general crime rate’s been rising steadily, and too fast to be coincidence—”

“Do you suspect drugs? That was the case I was following.” Great, now he was talking to her like a real cop, instead of a glorified meter-maid with hunches and feelings about serious crimes.

“Yes, I suppose drugs could be part of it.”  She said it almost casually, as though dangerous drugs weren’t already way above her pay grade and experience.

Frustrated, Sōji leaned in even further.  He knew the kind of effect he had on people, especially impressionable young women.

“Spill.”

The girl stood up abruptly, faster than even Sōji’s reflexes could account for.  Predictably, the back of her head caught the point of his jaw, and they both stumbled.  Funny really. He could usually see these things coming a mile a way.  It was probably her weird conversation—it had distracted him.

“Holy mother of a duck that hurt!”  Gingerly testing his chin and lower lip with his fingers, Sōji glared at his assailant. “You really do have rocks in your head, don’t you?!”

“Aaaah!  I’m so sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

There was a sharp rap on the door.

“Yukimura-kun?”

The door opened immediately to admit a big man with all the hallmarks of an old-school cop, starting with his build, and ending with a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. He was sizing up Sōji the way a protective older brother might eye his youngest sister’s bad-boy date.

Yukimura hurried to put a smile on her face.  “I’m fine, Shimada-san!  Um, um, Okita-san was looking at the m-map with me, and I moved too quickly, and we bumped heads!”

Wait—why was she lying for him?  He’d been a bit of an asshole, and she’d reacted to him invading her space.  Not that he trusted her answers yet, by a long shot, but she was a cop (somehow), and he was treating her like he’d treat a suspect.

“Hmm.”  Dark, thoughtful eyes assessed Sōji from a height that easily topped his own unusually tall five foot ten.  “I understand.  I apologize for interrupting, sir.”  He nodded to Sōji, and gently closed the door behind him. Or Sōji thought he had, until he reappeared briefly to add:  “Yukimura-kun is one of our best analysts, Okita-san.  She is currently working in a couple of field areas in order to give her more insight into how data is gathered, and how best to train our future investigators.”

The moment the door was firmly shut again, Sōji narrowed his eyes at Yukimura.  It occurred to him—for no apparent reason—that he’d been glaring at the kid for most of the time they’d known each other.

“More mysteries, Officer Yukimura?  I read your file and—”  No, wait, he hadn’t read her complete file.  He’d been suspicious of her, so he’d checked her out, but there’d been a lot going on, and it hadn’t been a priority.

“Okita-san?”

“And anyway, why did you lie for me?  I told you, I don’t need any favours.”

Yukimura reddened again, but murmured, “…I thought it would be complicated and take too long to explain…”

“I guess.  So back to your highly-accurate suspicions and the hearse and so on.”  He made a ‘come on, hurry it up’ gesture.

“The man you were chasing was Shiranui Kyo—”

“Yeah, I know—highly identifiable guy in a bright red sports car.  He was carrying guns, but had a permit—though I’d love to know who he bribed for it.  Car’s not his.”

“Right, so, as I was saying, we’ve had cause to suspect a problem, but nothing tangible.  But it means I tend to, um, pay attention, when I see him around.”

“Oh?  It’s not just the long hair and tattoo?”

“No—that is, he does stand out, I suppose, but that’s not the point.  Except that maybe that’s why they use him for distraction, don’t you think?” She ignored, or didn’t notice, any personal implications.  Grudgingly, Sōji came to the conclusion that she was focussed on her story—or was such a pro that he couldn’t tell she was lying.  Gods, if she was a pro, he’d eat his hat.  He glanced sourly at the uniform cap he’d tossed onto the table—he wasn’t looking forward to wearing that again.  Unaware of his bizarre inward musings, Yukimura had continued with her story—or thoughts—or feelings.

“The thing is, about a month ago, something strange happened.  Most of the new crime has involved property theft, although the scope has ranged from wallets to full-scale house clear-outs.  In this case, some unusual, and expensive, scientific equipment was stolen, and although the perpetrator was spotted leaving the scene of the crime, in a red sports car, when we finally pulled the man over, the car was empty.”

“Okay?”  But she had his attention, now.

“So when the report came in about your case—that there had been multiple shootings, and a probable murder, and you were in pursuit—I was paying close attention.  More than I would anyway, I mean—um, that sounded wrong…”

“Why?  I mean what made you pay special attention other than a mere shooting and probable murder?”  He really couldn’t help the irony.

“Because something was bothering me about the original crime—the one with the science equipment—but I couldn’t explain exactly what.  Fortunately, I’d figured it out by the time you arrived in pursuit this time.”

Sōji waved at her impatiently to continue—again—trying not to wince as he replayed the rest of the scenario in his head.  The truth was, he’d written off her signals, and then gotten the Department into a legal brangle with the Shiranui guy over the way he’d dragged the punk out of his car. Dragged him, my ass.  The guy’d been smirking at him the whole time.

“Well, you see, the exact same hearse made the exact same turn on the day the scientific equipment was stolen.  And… that alerted my suspicions.”

Sōji suddenly felt a little better.

“So you did still signal me to change directions on nothing but a hunch.”  When she hesitated, he cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.  “Aw, come on, I’ll admit it was a hunch backed up by a strong coincidence.  And I probably should have stopped.”

“Well, there was one more thing to back up my… my hunch.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t recognize the hearse.”

“And you recognize every hearse in this city?”  He grinned at her, hoping a more friendly look would finally convince her to come clean.

“Well no…”

“I didn’t think so—”

“But I do know most of them.”  When he looked skeptical, she shrugged.  “I have a good memory for, um, details.”

“You pay attention to hearses?”

“Er…”

She wasn’t a good liar. But Sōji couldn’t imagine what she could be hiding, and wherever her guess about following the hearse had come from, there was just enough, barely, to make it worth looking into.

“So, to sum up, you saw the same guy, driving hell bent for leather in the same direction as in crime one—the science equipment—and you saw the same hearse—you think—turning in the same direction as in crime one, and that made you try to direct me away from the sports car and in the direction of the hearse?”

Yukimura appeared to be thinking hard.  What was so hard about it?  She had him half-convinced there might be a connection, and he’d stopped making fun of her—mostly.

“Oh! And there was one other thing!”

“…Okay?”

“The license plate of the hearse was unreadable both times.  It was all covered in dust and mud.  But the rest of it was really clean, as you’d expect in a business like that.  So it looked deliberate.”

Sōji rolled his eyes.

“Why didn’t you start with that?  I mean it’s small, but it’s highly suspicious.  It’s the kind of concrete stuff prosecutors love in court—or when we need a judge’s order to examine private property.”

He almost shook his head when he saw the girl’s expression.  Her eyes were shining as though he’d given her a commendation, instead of less praise than she probably deserved.

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

Silence.

“But, um, I’m sorry, Okita-san… We’re supposed to follow my regular patrol schedule, not go—”  She trailed off abruptly, no doubt because he’d turned to bang his head against the wall.

“Did you—does Hajime-kun—Detective Saitō—know all this?”

She hesitated. “Mostly?  I assume?  I mean, the summary of all this is in my final report…  Except I’m not sure I added the bit about the license plate—because… because your questions are what made me suddenly remember about that.”

“Just to be clear: everyone but me has a copy of your final report, which is the folder in front of you, which you were told to discuss with me only after we’d discussed my duties as a traffic cop.”

Sōji kept his face to the wall for a little longer.  He wanted to murder somebody, preferably Hijikata, and he suspected—call it a hunch!—that it showed on his face.  When he finally turned around, he was all business, and he saw the optimism rise again in Yukimura’s pretty face.  He still had the sense that something was off, but until he knew more, he was going to do what he was told, mostly.  Besides, that in itself would make Hijikata uncomfortable, with any luck.

~~~~~

Yukimura Chizuru was doing her best to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy.  For one thing, she’d heard all about Detective Okita’s good looks and bad-boy attitude, but she hadn’t expected to be, maybe, a little impressed with him.  Or affected by the good looks.  She’d never noticed anyone in that way before—that she knew of—and it was disconcerting.

More importantly, she was wondering how long she could keep coming up with reasonable explanations for knowing things she shouldn’t.  She was quite proud of having remembered the license plate anomaly.  Not that it wasn’t true!  She had noticed the dirt, exactly as stated.  The problem was that she’d only started putting together all the details after she’d suddenly realized that the police should be following the hearse, not the sports car.  And she didn’t think Okita-san would be keen on ‘I could sense a man dying from trauma injuries in the hearse’ as the real reason she’d wanted him to change directions.

[END of PART II]

Author’s Note:  Will this be continued?  Probably.  But when I got to 5000 words (a mere 5x what I’d planned), I decided I had to stop somewhere.  So there’s more already drafted, but other stories waiting to be written!

I hope you have/had a wonderful birthday, Eliz!!  And I hope you enjoyed the story! :)

[ain-t-bovvered]

14x08 Commentary

Zeta and Giuls scream together, and then die.

Me & Zeta will watch together season 14′s episodes as they come out and we’ll do our commentary while watching.

1 2  3  4  5  6  7

14x08 Byzantium

Guys I don’t know if I can be funny this episode.

-....HER?! WHAT. ....oooooh they are gonna do something stupid aren’t they?

Zeta: can I not see Jack like this please?

- “please don’t be sad”

Zeta : Sam? Not sad? ..lol

-is Dean there to choose an album ? wth ...also damn son can you all stop looking like pain in the flesh?

- the oxygen tank?....naaah fam I’m good, bye I can’t. Zee give me the strength to keep going because I’m gonna throw myself out the window 

- oh shit...the scene....the promo scene that killed us all.

Zeta : Cas doesn’t know who to worry about anymore.

- Everyone but himself that’s for sure

-Oh my god SAM, omg Jared you and your eyes are gonna kill me this season.

Zeta : “what happens next?” 

-oh shit I didn’t think about it.

both: we are gonna die too

- “an adventure”

Zeta : is he serious?!?!

-Oh Dean really doesn’t want to be there.

Zeta : LOOK AT ALL THE HURT

- D: “I can’t..”  bitch me too the fuck

- ..pAiN

- C:” He NEEDS you “

- S:”He’s gone” 

-asgajsvdaksdasdh WHAT

- I can almost taste the guilt seasoned with pain right there.

Zeta : the fuck?!

- THAT WAS FAST . U KIDDIN’ , WHAAAAAAT THEEEEE FUUUUCK

Zeta : I’m speechless. I can’t even focus on the bowlegs.

- Dean talking about the hunter’s funeral and Sam can’t fucking take it

-OH I love Sam’s stance, beautiful.....aaaaand he’s gone.

-My soul and whole being is hurting but boy that was an amazing Destiel moment and that’s the shit I wanna see.

- Damn, Cas is spiriling 

Zeta : Cas is obliterated

-.... OF COURSE THERE IS A VOICEMAIL. Dean’s annoyed af face at his mom’s voicemail is giving me life, and look....my skin is already clearer. 

Zeta : Like the bitch cares

- Castiel clutching Kelly’s pic , probably thinking he failed yet again.  lol I wanna die....it would hurt less.

- SAM NO

Zeta : where is he going??

-I hope not doing anything stupid

Zeta : I can’t watch them like that bitch

-CASS IS DRIVING!, CASS IS DRIVING , WHAT. HOW. WHAT. I love that is Cass who is driving

Zeta : Dean’s not driving??

- FUCK YEAH

- Probably Sam took Baby and Dean was like....listen babe I’m not even gonna touch that suburban mom’s steering wheel I don’t wanna feel dirty. Baby could smell it and you know how jealous she is.

-”Why did you let him leave?” WELL HE DID AS U ASKED BITCH

- AND HE’S WEARING THE SEAT BELT!!  my European's ass is singing ( is it true that y’all americans don’t have to use it? because....wild and also why. Here if they catch you without the seat-belt they skin your ass)

- kill me with that axe

Zeta : something’s wrong here.

-Yeah...they are hurting so much, I hate it. What the fuck is it with everybody’s eyes, fuck me.

Zeta : I think n.1 dad was Sam

-Nah....Cass is #1 Dad , Sam related to Jack. Dean is the step dad who didn’t think could love the kid and now he’s fucked because he love him too.

Zeta : “Taken before me”

Zeta : We get loaded

- omg do we get to see them drunk? omg yes.

Zeta : Please call help

- Is THat NOugAt?

-OMFG 

Zeta : bitch

-AAAAAAAAAAAH CAS SMILE AND LAUGH THAT IS JUST SO MISHA OMFG.

- But Castiel entering the room a bit unsteady and with two bottle ? FUCKING MOOD.

Zeta : I love drunk Dean

-WHAT

.

.WHAT WAS THAT LOOK BETWEEN THEM . WHAT.

my soul....hurts stop it.

-Awe Sam....lol weak.

- Cause of death : Dean slurred drunk sad voice, “We did everything we could right?” 

Zeta : HIS VOICE

-”I’m gonna teach you how to read a map”

I can’t deal bitch

-THe DoubLE StRaws

-someone needs to change that lightbulb.

Zeta : Heaven

- THe fuck

Zeta :...Hell..?

- what’s up with shining there

- Dean’s dying groan in the morning: MOOD, SAME.

Zeta : you got old

- Cass and Sam looking fresh and stylish as always .

[enters Dean] the trashcan is heeeeere

- rebooting Dean.exe 

Zeta : he can’t even english

-shhh

- oh....no

both: PASS

- but what is the priiiiceeee

Zeta : simple as that

- ...well I mean...fair. I guess she wants to meet her daughter and shit 

Zeta : seriously?

-Well we already saw Osiris.

Zeta : Major Dick

-When god left - sorry long story- .

-Oh...no who ARE YOU

Zeta :he does that thing with the eyes.

-WHATSAHFDBF

Zeta : What the hell

- I wanna cry. I am crying

Zeta : thanks, the last part of my heart just withered and died

- Oh no wait until she realize he’s dead

Zeta : aaaaaand

- ...here it comes

- Boi this season is painful

Zeta : Peach, it rhymes with bitch

-oh he really doesn’t like her

- S: “ Taking risks , making crappy deals. The family business “

-”AWESOME”

- “ MORE AWESOME”

Zeta : Was that black goo Lucifer?

- I can’t tell honestly, maybe him and the Empty made a path or something IDK.

-I don’t like when Castiel leaves alone. Bad things happen .

-Sam head tilt lol.

Zeta : forced smile much. 

Zeta :look at him ( Dean)

- AH TOLD YA

-Heaven looking nice as always

- I do like seeing Castiel in heaven

Zeta : natural habit and I do love angels clothes

- yeah....50 shades of gray

Zeta : hello Bitch

- *gritted teeth* Naomi

Zeta : He was THAT annoying

- THAT ACCENT THO

- Naomi : Give it what it wants

Cas: 

- Cass: “ NO”

-no bitch , Jack he’s everything wtf.

- So Nick woke up the Empty then? *dean’s voice* AWESOME

So now there are 2 big baddies ?

*dean’s voice* MORE AWESOME

- SNAPPY

Zeta : pushing pencils , damning souls

-MY KIND OF WORK

-oh u going down that’s what

Zeta : I’d prefer the scale and the feather

- but the abacus has more sense tho...like....counting good deeds and bad ones, like in the good place right? Can we see the Winchesters using that? I bet the thing would explode.

Zeta : that went well

- Sorry bitch what did u expect

- oooooh what was that little chuckle Castiel stop killing me this season. It burned

Zeta : it stung

- “I failed you” 

 K: “ you didn’t....Jack...he’s wonderful “

*bawling* YES HE IS 

- Misha need to control that eyebrow or so help me god.

Zeta : he needs to control his whole face bitch

- I fucking hate where the angels goes when they die ok

Zeta : fuck

- OH BITCH. *dramatic zoom*

- “He’S OuR KiD”

KIIIIID

*bawling*

Zeta : look at Dean

-MY GOD

both: don’t do this to us

- Empty : “SToP iNteRrupTinG!”  Damn bitch, pipe the fuck down

Zeta : crazy ass bitch

  I     LOVE     HER

- I love how she’s doing the Empty. like....*slow clapping*

Empty: “Where I’m taking you is worse than Hell” 

oh well you are definitely selling the place

- Empty:” Oh god they look scared. Does that hurt you?”

- *Cass brandishing his angel blade* .... 

me already knowing where this is going: oh honey...no

-Puppy Winchesters eyes always wins

Zeta : He can’t hear you.....oh he can

- .... Is that how he is every time Dean pray to him?

When Dean prays:

SAME

me seeing Castiel getting up :

Castiel: TAKE ME

Zeta : take me instead

- he’s so.....snarly....

Zeta : I bet you are drooling

- I am.

 A dumb fucking angel: “You want me”

me: I do

A dumb fucking angel: “I would go now and I would go willingly “

me: no u don’t

-NO , NO DEAL, FUCK YOU, FUCK U.

Empty: “ oh “ creepy chuckle “but not now” sharps intakes of breath “ no no no, you see ...what I meant....I want you to suffer . I want you to go back to your own life and forget about this and forget about me and when you finally give yourself permission to be happy...and let the sun shine on your face ...that’s....when I’ll come. That’s when I’ll come to drag you to nothing”

Zeta :She’s goooood

- Castiel: “I accept”

oh look it’s me when I’ll meet Misha ^

and now for an out of context gif: 

-She’s so good. I love her BUT FUCK THE EMPTY

- “Because I love you Jack”  CRYING CRYING.

- C: “ They don’t need to know what happened”

Zeta : of course they don’t.

- Jack: “ I won’t tell them” 

OH so now Jack drove the Impala, snacked on burgers, has hunted, has died and now he has to lie and keeps secret?

CONGRATULATIONS YOU ARE NOW A 

- ...

NO 

FUCK , CASS YOU DAMN SELFLESS BITCH.

IMMA SMACK HIM.

hold me back bitch because imma smack his face

Zeta : control yourself bitch

-NO IMMA SMACK HIS ASS

Zeta : I can’t wait for the gag reel of this part.

Omg Kelly babe . I’m so glad they met .

-WHAT WAS THAT FACE AGAIN CASTIEL

Zeta : dEAD

- J:”Good, I feel good”

WELL I DON’T *hiss*

-oh that hug. omg my heart

- oh well....uh look at dat I fucking bet that the sacrifice got her heaven watch that.

HI LOOK HOW FUCKING HAPPY HE IS TO BRING HOME SO MUCH WIN ?!?!

friendly reminder that he just like...sold his” soul” to the Empty, tell me again that Castiel doesn’t care.

-...Naomi you bitch why couldn’t you tell that before?

Zeta : because she’s a bitch

- D: “ And we know where Michael is, not sure how you pulled that one off “ *side eyeing Cas* 

me: *HISS*

- don’t make me think about the fact that Dean cooked those burghers ( as you can see from the counter) while he looked happily at his family reunited . lol *sobs*

- There is a warm happy feeling in my chest right now. I don’t like it, can’t wait for the writers to rip it off my chest pretty soon.

Zeta : is he wearing the dead man’s robe?

. ....yep

Zeta : I’m dead inside

- Dead with a slither of happiness that will get choked out of us, just you wait.

...

...

WAIT A MINUTE 

*goes back*

wHAT IS THIS SHIT OMFG DEAN 

IT’S FINE

.

.

.

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