#sometimes what you need is a beige wall no matter how much it pains you to admit it. as a personal example

[magic-is-something-we-create]

i think ive finally put words to a personal preference in art that ive been struggling to put together for a long time and its all thanks to watching sims builders on youtube

cause like. theres a few relevant people i follow who i love for lots of other things, but a trend several of them lean on a LOT is that like. they'll veer away from strong colors unless the whole build is focusing on certain ones in particular. or they'll only ever use one or two wood tones for the furniture. which are both choices i personally dont like, and the only way ive ever been able to word the feeling i get is "it's too same-y"

but on the other hand, one of the very same people has been experimenting with doing builds that are almost entirely the same color, and those never feel "too same-y"

but today, i suddenly realized why i hated the choices they were making sometimes and not others while watching a build i was growing to hate. because this build is colorful in theory, but it still feels so plain.

its because its 100% pastels with no contrasting or popping colors

without bold pops of contrast, even something with a million different pastel shades just looks like a rainbow of sterile beige

meanwhile the builds that focus on one predominant color physically couldn't stick to the exact same shade and hue, so ended up with offsetting accents throughout

this is totally a personal taste thing first and foremost but like. if you ever feel like something youve made feels a bit flat, its probably because whatever it is is lacking contrast.

if the whole design is round and bubbly, add some hard edges and sharp points to create focal points. if the whole story is calm and happy, add some moments of worry and tension to make us really feel the joy. if the shirt and pants are skin-tight, accessorize with something big or flowy to draw attention where you want it to be.

if the whole house is pastel, for the love of god add some darkness and intensity for it to shine against instead of a beige that sucks the color out of the rest

you need some point of boldness and bravery for everything else to stand on

[supernotnatural2005]

The Meet Cute - Chapter Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: After deliberating with yourself for weeks about committing to a date with Dean, you finally take the plunge after some much needed encouragement off of your best friend and the desire to see Dean again.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: FLUFF, mentions of past relationships, Matty is something else 😂

AN: Here it is! I'm excited to finally be sharing this with you all and hope it was worth the wait. I do apologise for it taking so long, but I wanted it to be right. Also, I am from the UK, and know very little about American customs and their multicultural societies etc 😅 What is included in this chapter is purely based off of research, so I do apologise if any of it is wrong.

Main Masterlist

TMC Masterlist

The first few weeks after the wedding weekend flew by in a blur. Work had been relentless, and though you had Dean’s number and exchanged a few texts, you just couldn’t find the time—or the courage—to meet him again. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. Every time his name lit up your phone, your stomach would flip, and you’d catch yourself smiling before you could stop. But the thought of stepping into something new, something that could hurt as much as it could heal, was terrifying.

Matty had been the loudest voice in your ear, even from across the country. After the wedding, he’d returned to LA, and his absence was palpable. Phone calls and late-night texts were all you had now, and this evening was no different, and as perusal the topic was brought back to Dean. 

“Babe, you’re doing that thing again,” he said in a sing song voice over the line. “You’re overthinking, overanalysing, and over-everything-ing. Just go out with him. It’s one date.”

“It’s not that simple,” you replied, picking at the edge of your blanket you had draped over your legs, a glass of half-drunk wine sat beside you. Outside, the rain drizzled against the windows, the soft patter mirroring the unease in your chest. It was a common denominator in your augment of why you hadn’t gone on this date already. 

“You don’t understand,” you said, your voice quieter now. “The last time I let someone in, it broke me. You were there, Matty. You saw what it did.” Although it had been nearly 3 years, sometimes the wounds still felt fresh, no matter how much ‘healing’ you’d done. 

The line was silent for a moment, and then Matty’s voice softened. “I did. And I also saw you rebuild yourself. You’re stronger now, more than you realise and you deserve to be happy. Don’t let fear keep you from that.” You sighed softly, knowing and hating that he was always right. But it was moments like this that made you only cherish your friendship more. 

“Now, onto more important topics. Has he sent you a dick pic yet? And can I see it?” 

After scrubbing, to no avail, at the wine stain you’d made by spluttering all over your beige blanket as a result from choking on your wine.

Leave it to Matty to turn a tender moment vulgar.

His previous words had stuck with you long after the call ended. 

They echoed in your mind as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. You’d spent so long guarding your heart, building walls to keep the pain out. But those same walls had also kept joy at bay. Could you really let someone in again?

The decision came one evening when a text from Dean popped up. It was a meme—a goofy, exaggerated depiction of a woman in an elaborate ball gown captioned, “Me: ‘I have nothing to wear!’”

You burst out laughing. It was the latest in a string of silly back-and-forth’s you and Dean had been sharing. The unofficial competition to ‘out-meme’ each other had been one of the lighter parts of your chaotic weeks. His text reminded you of the morning after the wedding, when he teased you about your hug faux pas and your insistence that you didn’t need rescuing. 

Somehow, this guy—the one you’d hugged by accident, who had laughed with you through one of the most unexpectedly fun nights of your life—was still here, making an effort.

The thought hit you like a jolt. Dean had stuck around. Even through your genuine excuses of being busy, he hadn’t given up. And he still made you laugh.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you typed out a reply.

You: Okay, you win. When are you free?

His response came almost immediately.

Dean: I’m free Friday. There’s a little Italian place just outside of town I think you’d like. I’ll pick you up at 6?

You: Deal. 6 it is.

Friday evening arrived quicker than you expected. You spent far too long debating what to wear, rifling through your closet as Matty’s voice echoed in your head.

"Wear something that says, ‘I’m interested but not desperate’”.

“Easy for you to say.” You huffed, settling on a simple pale-yellow sundress paired with some cute wedges you’d purchased a couple of weeks ago, but had yet to wear. By the time you were done with your hair and makeup, you were flustered but cautiously optimistic.

When Dean had texted that he was outside, your stomach was a bundle of nerves. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your bag, forgoing a jacket since it was the middle of July and the weather was decent enough to not need one, and headed out. 

You were taken by surprise when you first saw his car. It was a classic black Chevy, sleek and immaculate, and somehow it suited him perfectly. Dean leaned casually against the driver’s side, dressed in a dark green button-down that made his eyes stand out even more, paired with some dark-wash jeans and boots. He looked delectable.  

Dean’s grin widened the moment his eyes met yours. "Wow," he said, his voice carrying a mixture of warmth and awe. His gaze swept over you—not in a way that made you feel self-conscious but as if he genuinely appreciated every detail. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," you replied, a shy smile tugging at your lips as a blush crept up your neck. His words, paired with the sincerity in his tone, had you feeling flustered in the best way. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

Dean stepped closer then, his movements unhurried and natural, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. When he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips barely brushing your skin, it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"It’s really good to see you," he said softly, his voice tinged with a genuine warmth that melted any lingering nerves.

The unexpected intimacy left you momentarily stunned, your heart pounding in your chest. You barely managed to maintain your composure, though the scent of his cologne—woodsy with a hint of spice—was distracting in the best way. And the way his hand lingered briefly on your arm as he pulled back didn’t help your spiralling thoughts. Damn, why did he always have to smell so good?

"You too," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. Meeting his eyes for a brief moment, you felt a jolt of something unnameable. It left your stomach flipping and twisting, and before you could overthink, you broke eye contact, glancing toward his car.

“Nice car,” you blurted out, gesturing toward the polished vehicle behind him. Immediately, you wanted to kick yourself for your awkward comment, but Dean didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his grin grew even more excitable.

“She’s my baby, my pride and joy,” he said with a touch of affection, running a hand over the gleaming roof. His tone held such earnest admiration that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Your baby?” you teased, raising a playful brow.

Dean didn’t falter, not even a little. “What?” he said, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Are you a little jealous? Afraid of some competition?”

You chuckled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Oh no, I can clearly see I’m outmatched here. You’re a loyal man. I know my place.”

The two of you laughed together, the teasing exchange breaking the last of the tension. You nodded your thanks with another shy smile as he opened the passenger door for you, even closing it behind you.

As he settled behind the wheel, you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. The ease in his smile, the gentle confidence in his movements—it all felt strangely reassuring. Then the teasing voice of your best friend entered your mind for the last time that night. 

“I told you so.” And in that moment, you couldn’t find it in you to argue.

The restaurant was charming, with rustic wooden beams and string lights casting a warm glow. The scent of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread filled the air, making your stomach rumble. Dean held the door open for you, and the hostess led you to a table by a window overlooking a small, fairy-lit garden.

As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Dean seemed to pick up on it, his expression softening.

“You, okay?” he asked, leaning slightly forward.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, then added with a small laugh, “It’s just been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Me too,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his usual confidence. “But hey, there’s no pressure, alright?”

His reassurance settled some of your nerves, and you nodded in kind. Soon the conversation began to flow, and you talked about your favourite books and movies, the quirks of your jobs, and shared embarrassing childhood stories that left you both laughing. Dean’s laugh was deep and genuine, and you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute.

“So, the garage,” you said, resting your chin on your hand, you’d just finished a hearty plate of delicious pasta, both of your now empty plates sat off to the side. “How did that happen?”

Dean’s expression shifted, a flicker of something more serious crossing his face. “It started after my mom passed. My dad… he kind of fell apart. The garage became his way of coping, and eventually, it became mine too. It gave us both something to focus on, something to build together.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” you said softly.

“Thanks,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. “It was tough, but it taught me a lot about resilience. About not giving up, even when things feel impossible.”

His words struck a chord, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Before the moment grew too heavy, Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your family like?”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly. “Well, my mom remarried when I was six, and she and my stepdad, Jeff, had Amy a year later. Jeff’s been amazing—he’s the only father figure I’ve ever known since…” You trailed off but Dean interrupted, seeing it was a tough subject.

“Sounds like a great guy.”

“He is,” you said, your voice warming at the thought. “Growing up, the age difference between me and my sister sometimes made it hard to be super close, but now that we’re older, we’ve found our niche. And I’m so proud of her.”

Dean smiled affectionately at that, maybe because he could relate himself, in that regard.

The rest of the dinner passed by in a blur of laughter and shared stories. When the check came, you realised you weren’t ready for the evening to end.

“I don’t know about you,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin, “but I’m not ready to call it a night yet.” 

Dean’s smile widened and it instantly dampened your rising anxiety from your confession. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, there’s a fiesta festival back in Topeka,” you said. “It’s been going on all week. They have some great sweet treats too.”

“You had me at something sweet, let’s go.” He said, his enthusiasm making you grin. 

Downtown Topeka was alive with vibrant colours, lights and the hum of music. Strings of Papel picado fluttered in the breeze, and the scent of spices and fried dough filled the air. Booths lined the streets, offering everything from handmade crafts to authentic Mexican dishes.

Dean’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning as you passed by a churro stand.

“You want one?” You offered, stepping closer to the stall, he nodded furiously eyes alight with wonder at the cinnamon sugar-coated fired dough, and you exchanged a few dollars to the merchant for two servings. 

After enjoying the sweet treat and finding amusement in Dean’s adamancy that he needed to revisit these little fried pieces of heaven.

You wandered through the festival, stopping to watch traditional dancers perform in brightly coloured dresses. Dean bought you both a drink from one of the stands, and you couldn’t stop teasing him as he tried to pronounce "champurrado" while ordering the warm drink.

“This is incredible,” Dean said, taking in the bustling energy around you. “Do you come here every year?”

“Pretty much,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “It’s one of my favourite parts of living here. What about you? Do you guys have anything like this back in Lawrence?”

Dean tilted his head slightly, his gaze scanning the lively festival around you. “Not like this,” he admitted, the warmth of the surrounding lights reflecting in his eyes. “Sam would love it, though. He’s a big culture guy—always reading up on traditions and history. Stuff like this would be right up his alley.”

“How is Sam, by the way?” you asked curiously, stealing a glance at him as you strolled side by side along the strip. The stars above were fully awake now, scattered across the velvety black sky. The fading hues of twilight had been replaced by a soft chill, and without realising it, you drifted slightly closer to Dean, drawn to his steady warmth.

“He’s doing good,” Dean replied, his tone infused with a mix of pride and affection. “Working a lot as usual. But—big news—he and Jess finally set a date for the wedding.”

“Wow, that’s great!” you said, your excitement genuine. “I’m really happy for him. Though…” you added with a playful smirk, “Matty’s gonna be crushed. He was holding onto hope that Sam would switch sides.”

Dean let out a hearty laugh, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Maybe it’s best you don’t tell him, save him the heartbreak.”

“You’re probably right,” you giggled, shaking your head. “I guess we’re both victims of our younger siblings figuring their lives out before us, huh?” The thought lingered as you looked ahead at the vibrant festival, your tone shifting slightly.

Although you were proud of the life you’d built for yourself, a small part of you had always assumed you’d be the one to walk down the aisle first. It wasn’t jealousy—more a wistful acknowledgment of how differently things had turned out. Your chest tightened briefly at the thought of the man you’d once believed would stand by your side.

But that memory no longer felt sharp. The sting had dulled, replaced by clarity. That relationship would have been suffocating at best—a living hell at worst.

“Funny how things work out,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Dean huffed softly, a sound of both agreement and amusement. “I guess we've just been holding out for the right person,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

The gentleness of his words made you glance over, only to find his eyes already on you. His gaze was steady, holding something unspoken but unmistakable. It wasn’t just the charm he wore so effortlessly—this was deeper, more earnest.

Your stomach flipped, the air between you charged with something that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

“Maybe,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper as you held his gaze a moment longer.

The sounds of the festival buzzed around you—the distant laughter of children, the rhythmic thrum of music—but it all felt distant, as though the world had shrunk to just the two of you. Dean’s hand brushed against yours briefly, a subtle, tentative touch that sent a shiver up your spine.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and Dean took the hint, intertwining his hand with yours. The simple gesture sent a warmth through you, a quiet reassurance you hadn’t realised you needed.

The night continued with more laughter, another helping of churros, at Dean's request, and even a few carnival games. Dean won you a small stuffed bear at a ring toss booth, grinning proudly as he handed it to you. 

You felt like a giddy teenager on her first date. There was something about Dean—the way he carried himself with that effortless blend of cool confidence and boyish charm—that disarmed you completely.

He had a knack for making you feel at ease, like you didn’t have to overthink or try too hard. By the time he walked you to the front door of your building, after driving you home, the evening felt like something pulled straight from a dream.

Dean lingered there with you, the warmth of his hand enveloping yours as his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. The simple touch sent a familiar current rippling up your arm, a spark that had been present from the very beginning but now felt undeniable.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “I haven’t had this much fun in… I don’t even know how long.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, clutching the stuffed bear he’d won for you against your chest with your free hand.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. “So,” he began, a faint, hopeful grin tugging at his lips, “is it too soon to ask if I can see you again?”

The space between you felt smaller somehow, his presence radiating warmth against the chill of the night air. His closeness was grounding yet thrilling, and you couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face, making your cheeks ache in the best way.

“Not too soon,” you replied, your voice tinged with quiet certainty. “I’d like that.”

Summoning a burst of courage, you rose onto your tiptoes, leaning in to press your lips softly to his. The kiss was brief but full of emotion, and when you pulled back, the surprise on his face was endearing. His lips parted slightly; his eyes wide as though he hadn’t expected it, but then his expression shifted. The initial shock melted away, replaced by a bashful, almost boyish smile that lit up his features.

Your heart raced as you searched his face, the warmth of his lips still lingering on yours. A wave of panic crept in—had that been too much, too soon? You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t thought beyond the pull of the moment. But before you could second-guess yourself, Dean stepped closer, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as he leaned in.

This time, the kiss was deeper, his lips meeting yours with a tender determination that left no room for doubt. It was slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every second, every sensation. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you under the quiet night sky.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own. His voice was softer now, almost distracted, as though he were still lost in the moment. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, the words carrying a promise you could feel in your bones.

You pressed on more lingering kiss to his lips, unable to help yourself. There was just something so intoxicating about the way he kissed you—gentle but determined, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

A part of you already felt the addiction creeping in, the kind of pull that made you crave more even as you tried to pace yourself. His lips left a tingling warmth against your own, a sensation you knew you wouldn’t forget.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, your gaze lingering on his as you tried to steady your breathing. “Goodnight, Dean,” you said, a knowing smile playing on your lips, your voice steadier than the whirlwind of emotions inside.

Dean cleared his throat, as though grounding himself, and took a small step back. “Night, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice rougher but no less tender.

You watched as he retreated toward his car, the sound of the engine breaking the silence of the street. As his taillights disappeared around the corner, the events of the night replayed in your mind like a dream—the laughter, the easy conversation, the way he had made you feel so seen and safe.

Clutching the stuffed bear tighter, you leaned against your door, a quiet smile still lingering on your face. For the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope flickered in your chest. It wasn’t just a fleeting feeling—it was a sense of possibility.

Maybe, just maybe, you could let someone in again.

AN: And there we have it. I'd love to know what you all thought? How did you like 'the date'? Are you excited to see where it all leads with these two? 👀 Also I know Matty is a fan favourite for some, and his part was much smaller, but there will be more of him to come 😁 As always thank you for reading 💕

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @lyarr24 , @nancymcl

Series Tag List:

@zepskies , @roseblue373 , @muhahaha303

[thebibliosphere]

Hi Joy! I've tried searching your blog for info about your desk setup, particularly the chair you use, but couldn't find if you'd shared that info (I found some posts by searching variations of office/desk/writing chair but no specifics!). If you like what 'office' chair you're using now, would you mind sharing what type it is please? I'm looking for something that'd work for someone with hEDS/POTs and naturally you came to mind! Sending best wishes to you and yours! (oh also just as I was about to send this! I'm painting my room with Lakeland/Ecos paints after you recommended them years ago and because of their formulation, I've been able to pace myself and work on it very slowly over a couple of weeks without messing up my routine (or self) too much :') Maybe a silly thing to be so emotional about but I'm so so grateful for you sharing stuff like this, as it's helped me be more independent and make my house (which i don't often leave :P) a lot nicer! Thank you again!)

Regrettably, I do not like my office chair or any office chair I’ve ever used, and I’ve sunk a lot of money over the years into finding one that doesn’t aggravate my pain.

Evidently what is ergonomic for most bodies, does not work for mine. If anything it seems to increase certain subluxations, especially around my lower back and hips. (yes I’ve tried special seat cushions before anyone asks. They just seem to shift the problem higher up my spine.)

I’m now looking into replacing my current chair with a well padded recliner that’ll fit in my office. I’m hoping the extra cushioning will help my hips. My monitor is also on a mount, so I can pretty much adjust that to any angle I want and keep myself fully reclined on POTS days, rather than having to work in bed which often find comes with it’s own set of difficulties.

Sorry I can’t be of more help there, but maybe others will have good advice.

And I’m so glad the Lakeland/Ecos paints is working out for you! It’s not silly to be emotional over it. Most people don’t realize how isolating and alienating certain aspects of disability can be, and not being able to control or enjoy your environment is a huge part of that. I spent years being bed bound staring at beige walls and ceilings because we couldn’t risk painting the house for fear of how ill the fumes would make me. This week I was up a step ladder painting the inside of my closet because it needed it and I could. Now every time I look at that I think YES!! I did that!!

Sometimes it’s the little things that matter the most.

[bellsarefun]

𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈 (Dragon! Bakugo x Reader)

【ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ：(Y/N) (L/N) lives a surprisingly domestic life alongside her husband, the powerful hot-headed dragon Katsuki Bakugo.】

【ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Dragon! Katsuki Bakugo x Female! Reader】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 — All characters featured in this story have been aged up over eighteen. Also, there is gore and blood in this, so if you are upset by that this isn’t for you.】

【ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.6k 】

【Ｎｅｘｔ　Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ: Part 2】

(Y/N)’s hands kneaded soft, fluffy, pale dough on a stone counter top fitted in smooth grey stone, the flour falling like snow on her pale beige apron. Her mind wandered with the routine task; make the bread, let it rise, and then bake for one hour—she had done it all before.

Grabbing a nearby bread pan, she eased the freshly kneaded dough into the oak wood bowl. Her hands wiping the bits and pieces of stray batter on the fabric apron tied tightly around her waist. Once she had cleaned them in a nearby water basin, she laid a tea towel over the mouth of the bowl to rise for a few hours.

‘Finally, done. I can take a minute to relax.’ The woman thought to herself, untying the nice bow created by the laces of her apron. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get back early.’

Hanging the apron on a nearby hook near the entrance to the makeshift kitchen, she stretched her arms high over her head. Her neck muscles protested angrily as they were strained, but she smiled at the relief shooting across her form.

She looked around the kitchen, her (E/C) eyes scanning the beaten stone counter tops, the haphazardly hanging plants from the ceiling, and scratched wooden shelves for any sign of misplacement or grime. The rocky interior walls casted dancing shadows from the many flickering candles around the room.

Satisfied with her keen observation, she hummed to herself contently. Her feet spinning on their heels as she walked out of the kitchen, making a mental note to light the slab, stone oven afterward.

The kitchen lead into a larger room, large wooden support beams held up the ceiling in every corner. There was a large rounded bed pressed against the wall to her left, large furs and pelts were piled in a heap on the bed. On the farthest wall led a corridor where bright sunlight streamed through from the outside—a stairway could be seen in the corridor leading into a dimly lid spiral down.

(Y/N) noted a few of the candles had blown out in the room, presumably the breeze from outside had extinguished the weak flames. She sighed to herself, straightening out her white blouse and suspenders while she moved to a small table across from the bed.

A small green book embroidered with gold detailing waited for her on the scratched dark wood of the table. Her hands picking up the book she seated herself on one of the chairs, but she soon felt herself falling back onto the cold ground with a painful thud.

(Y/N) groaned, holding the side of her head carefully as the world spun around her in a warm blur. Her eyes managing to focus on the chair who had spitefully broken under her the moment she sat down.

“For fucks sake, of course.” She cursed under her breath, using her elbows to hoist herself up from her spot on the floor. Her hand searching for the book that had been flung from her hand, finding it a few feet away.

Looking at the chair, one of the legs had given out and the scratched up, claw-marked, and singed wood wasn’t able to hold weight any longer. It was a wonder how it didn’t break sooner.

“Fucker almost killed me.” (Y/N) voiced allowed to no one in particular, the stabbing pain in her head not receding and only increasing as she pushed herself to standing.

‘I really need to find other furniture that the ones he steals from his raids. A new set of chairs is something I’d pay money for.’ She thought to herself, running a through her hair and picking out pieces of dirt and splinters from her (H/C) locks.

A large roar shook the entire inside of the cave, the forceful vibration almost sending (Y/N) tumbling once again. The book nearly falling from her grasp, but this time she clenched it tightly in her fingers. The sound of scraping stone echoed wildly in (Y/N)’s ears, her face scrunching up at the unpleasant sound.

Her hand was quickly placed on the rocky wall beside her, watching the furniture, that had been fashioned to the wall with wires, to make sure nothing broke. ‘That bastard just had to come now.’

“Tiny! Where the fuck are you? I’m back if you hadn’t noticed.” The loud booming voice emanated from the corridor, the pissed of tone making (Y/N) roll her eyes. She scrambled to the doorway of the kitchen, her book forgotten on the table, and she checked to make sure the bread bowl hadn’t fallen off the counter—luckily, it hadn’t.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you impatient bastard wait one minute!” (Y/N) called back to the voice, her eye brows narrowing as she noticed the plates and bowls that had fallen from their wooden shelves.

“Whaa? You calling me a bastard, you better watch your fucking mouth, human.” The voice responded sourly, the unmistakable growl that edged it’s way into the tone making (Y/N) chuckle lightly to herself.

She walked toward the corridor of the room, noting that most of the candles has blown out in the rumbling. The rocky hallway was rather small and led into a larger cave with a ceiling that stretched meters above her head. There were no stalactites, like they had been broken off purposely.

Sunlight streamed into the large cave from outside, giving it enough natural light to see around without any aid of candles or lanterns. In the corner of the cave sitting with his legs crossed, his hands tearing at the meat of a freshly killed deer, was Bakugo.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, seeing the blood already beginning to pool around the carcass of the poor animal.

“I’m here and already, you’ve made a mess.” She commented in disgust, walking over to the man as he turned around to face her—lips and cheeks smeared with thick red blood.

Bakugo swallowed the meat in his mouth, the hind leg of the deer had been ripped off the animal and was being held in his hands.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a fucking clean freak.” He retorted, his mouth opening and taking a large squelching bite of the raw meat. “Only humans would worry about shit like this.”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling her eyes as she scanned him up and down—he would definitely need a bath after he was done his “meal.” The blood soaked into his pants and the beautiful white fur of his long red cloak around his shoulders. The red sticky ooze seeped over his toned, muscled body.

“If you’re eating all of it, just give me tender loins to cook please.” (Y/N) sighed defeatedly, the smell of raw bloody meat hitting her nostrils in an unrelenting attack of metal and gore. 

“You humans and your risk of worms.” He grumbled under his breath, his hand��reached toward the back of the deer and shoved his hand into the back—through the pelt. (Y/N) winced at the sound of his hand pulling out the two strips of meat, his other hand shoving another mouthful of meat into his mouth. No matter how much (Y/N) has seen him rip flesh from bone, it still made her nauseous sometimes.

“You’re looking green, Tiny. Go back inside, if you’re going to vomit your insides out again.” Bakugo said, his crimson eyes scanning up and down (Y/N)’s pale face. His hand threw over the two pieces of tenderloin, the meat landing on the ground with a splat.

(Y/N) nodded her head silently, crouching down and delicately picking up the strips of deer. The blood was still warm in her palms and she groaned at the thought of getting the red stains on her nice blouse.

“If any of this gets on my shirt, I’m slipping laxative in your water.” (Y/N) threatened, hurrying toward the corridor once again and she heard the outraged exclamation of Bakugo behind her. 

“You better not, fucking tiny ass human. I will rip your precious books to smithereens.” Bakugo shouted after her with a growl, the woman rolling her eyes around her skull in response.

“Okay, dragon boy, let’s see you fucking try. I’ll bleach your cape pink.” (Y/N) jabbed back, calling over her shoulder at Bakugo who continued to munch on the meat. She could hear him grumbling curses under his breath and she giggled softly to herself.

(Y/N) hurried through the corridor, through the room, and into the kitchen. She could see a drop of blood preparing to fall onto the floor she zoomed toward a clean bucket and dropped the meat into it. Her palms leaned on the counter for support, for some reason the smell of the fresh meat made her feel sick to her stomach.

She sharpened a knife and began trimming the meat on the counter. It wasn’t long after she heard Bakugo come stomping through the corridor and she leaned out of the door to see the muddy tracks behind him.

“Clean your shoes off next time, I swear you lived in a barn.” (Y/N) called out, her lips frowned at the sight of the freshly mopped floors being covered in brown muck. Bakugo paused, turning around to look at the mud he was dragging through the room before he smirked deviously.

“I was raised in a cave.” He said, continuing to stride toward (Y/N) with an evil glint in his eye and her frown turned down into a scowl. “What’s wrong, Tiny? You’re looking a little pissed off.”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head, looking at the blood still wet on his body.

“Don’t take another step, clean off the blood. We have bathing pools for a reason, dipshit.” (Y/N) demanded, pointing her sharpened bloody knife toward him. Bakugo faltered for a moment, a dangerous frown forming on his face.

“I’m not fucking that filthy. I washed yesterday, just like you asked, remember?” Bakugo retorted, his arms crossing over his chest. (Y/N) hummed at his rather adorable expression and continued flaying the strips of white fat from the meat.

“You’re covered in blood, Katsuki Bakugo, and that means your washing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes glanced down where she was happy to see that her work was pretty much finished.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and grumbled his way back toward the corridor, she was pretty sure she heard a imitation of her own voice. She simply giggled and packaged the meat in parchment paper to save for stew later and dropped any dirty dishes in the sink-bucket.

He returned a few minutes later, dripping wet and clothes in his arms. Bakugo wasn’t wearing a thing and (Y/N) noticed right away, her face turning a lovely shade of rose red.

“Okay! That’s- No clothes- Your other shirts are in the dresser!” (Y/N) said, looking away from the spectacle of a naked Bakugo. She heard his footsteps approach her and felt strong arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

“I’ll get changed later.” He muttered against her skin, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” (Y/N) was frozen in her spot, the feeling of the water dampening in her back, and her face flushing with a beautiful color of red.

“N-Nothing, the den’s been quiet as ever.” (Y/N) answered, her voice stuttering at the beginning but she managed to focus on the cutting board in front of her. “No one’s touched your precious gold horde.”

Bakugo hummed, his chin resting on top of her head, and he snuggled his face into her hair. His hands wandered about her waist, his toned chest pressing against the small of her back.

“I wasn’t worried about the gold.” He muttered quietly, the growl at the end of his voice made (Y/N)’s arms explode in goose bumps. “You smell different, tiny. Did you use the milk soap you bought a while ago?”

She paused for a moment.

“No? My smell changed?” (Y/N) asked, she had never really gotten used to the draconic abilities of her husband. Bakugo nipped at her earlobe absentmindedly, he’d always held this animalistic quality that he brought everywhere in their relationship.

“Your cinnamon smell is just different, alright? It smells like milk mixed with cinnamon.” Bakugo said, his eyes watched her hands move rhythmically as she finished up ridding the meat of any fatty tissue.

“I still don’t know why you humans are so picky.” Bakugo scoffed, shaking his head as let go of her waist and walked out of the kitchen in order to hopefully put some pants on.

“The fatty parts make the meat chewy.” (Y/N) said honestly, her eyes glanced over to Bakugo’s form but she refused to look for long—the blazing warmth in her cheeks forcing her too.

The conversation continued for awhile, (Y/N) was busily hurrying around the kitchen and chopping vegetables for the stew. Bakugo was making himself useful and watching her whisking around the kitchen from his spot sitting on one of the counters.

The stew shimmered on top of the stone oven, the bread was baking in the rocky blazing insides happily. The smell permeated the air and the warm smell making (Y/N) sigh contentedly.

“Shitty hair and pink bitch want to come over for dinner, they want to taste human cooking.” Bakugo started, the subjects of his yapping changed like the wind—it could go from hating Midoriya, to how great he is, or how he caught the deer earlier.

“Of course, I said no-”

“Why don’t you invite them over? They haven’t been over since fall, the winter’s been tough on them.” (Y/N) said, stirring the stew in the pot and sprinkling in a few herbs and spices into the shimmering pot. Bakugo scoffed.

“Hell no! They’re messier than me. That shitty hair is really fucking annoying.” He retorted, his posture straightened to a stiff board, and he muttered quietly under his breath. “He’s always touching you.”

“What is it with you dragons? Always so overprotective of your ‘mates.’“ (Y/N) sighed, looking toward her husband who huffed and shoved himself off of the counter. His shimmering ruby eyes glaring darkly in her direction, stalking over to her.

“Mates are a big fucking deal, tiny, I’ve told you this before.” (Y/N) nodded her head, her lack of listening made Bakugo snatched her wrist and pulled her roughly against his body.

“Dragons mate forever. You are mine, forever, you fucking idiot.” He growled, her smaller body was pressed flush against his. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at his serious tone, he usually wasn’t this sentimental and she expected a scoff from him instead.

Her heart fluttered in het chest, a large smile crossing her features

“I understand, Katsuki.” (Y/N) simply said, embracing her husband close to her and enjoyed the peaceful moments that followed. Two years ago, she didn’t expect to find herself here and married to the dragon that had quite rudely crashed through her house—hurting himself in the process.

For months, she nursed him back to health and somehow managed to love him in that time. Now, there they are, two years later and married. If (Y/N)’s younger self had a conversation with older (Y/N), she was sure that younger her would call her insane.

“I love you, dragon boy.” She said softly, her hand running through his spikey blond hair. Bakugo huffed and he laughed cockily.

“Who doesn’t love me?” A swift jab to the ribs made him cough and he nipped at her neck in retaliation. “Heh, I love you, tiny human.”

[qslovebot]

Nobody: Spencer Reid

Summary: After an accident on a case, the reader is left with trauma and anxiety. A miscommunication between her and the person she needs most (Spencer Reid) begins to eat her alive and he just so happens to be the only one there when she breaks again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: mentions of kissing, mentions of traumatizing events (not specified), depictions of anxiety, fluff, miscommunication, angst to fluff

A/N: The song is Nobody by Mitski. Read with this for the ultimate experience.

Sometimes things felt too literal. Words start to sound weird and feel weird when you say them, clothes feel too much like clothes against your skin, the texture of any food in your mouth becomes too prevalent while eating.

These things started happening after you witnessed and endured something awful on a case. You wouldn't dare bring up the full memory in case it took over and killed you all over again. It wasn't PTSD, but it was the cause of your anxiety attacks most of the time when they occurred.

After that case, you spent a week in the hospital where they happened nearly every day and the doctors weren't much help, to be frank. The only people who really ever helped were your friends and the person you were so close to dating, Spencer Reid.

It was a long story. To dumb it down, the case event happened and you and Spencer thought you were about to die so he confessed his feelings for you and of course they were reciprocated. He asked, then and there through stuttering words, 'If we make it out of here please go out with me?" As his last bit of hope, and he kissed you before you were taken away by the unsub. He didn't endure nearly as much as you did which was why he wasn't as affected. But you had said 'yes' to that question and three weeks later, you still hadn't talked about it.

When the anxiety attacks happened, you often felt like you couldn't breathe, like the walls were pressing in on you. Sometimes you'd be with JJ when it happened. She would immediately ask you what you needed and often that would just be a hug.

Emily witnessed one at your house when she came over to check on you. She rushed over, caring voice and soft hands and told you to put your head between your knees, stroking your hair until you felt better.

Penelope made the 30-minute drive from her house every Friday night she wasn't working on a case to bring you dinner she had made and chat with you about anything you wanted.

Your friends cared for you, it was so prevalent. It was almost always that fact that was getting you through this as you continued to get better. You would return to work in two weeks because now the anxiety attacks were only once in a while and better controlled by you and Spencer still hadn't spoken to you since.

It was now nearly two weeks later. You would go back to work on Monday.

"He did come to visit you in the hospital before you woke up," Penelope said, stirring her cup of ramen. It was just another Friday and she sat across from you in your chair, cross-legged. "I don't know what's up with him if he isn't speaking to you, he seems fine at work."

You sighed, swallowing your bite. "I'm just scared that he regrets what he said and did before I was dragged away. It was those words and that kiss that got me through what the unsub did and I keep thinking about it and him..."

"It was romantic," she noted, waving her chopstick in the air. "I think you should call him, rather than just text him. It'll catch him off-guard and in-the-moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, so I can listen!"

You smiled a little, pulling out your phone as your heart began to race. What if he did pick up? What if it was awkward? What if he somehow didn't remember?

You pressed on his name, then pressed call. It began to hum quietly with pending rings. One ring, two, then five, then seven, then there was a small beep.

'You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid, uh, leave a message,' his voice said through the machine, still as sweet and youthfully scratchy. You bit your lip and nodded.

"I should have known that he didn't want to talk. Penelope, I can't stop thinking about him and he keeps ignoring my calls and I'm... frankly I'm afraid that nothing will ever happen and he'll ignore me forever."

Penelope cringed, "(Y/N), uh... there's... it's gone to voicemail and you're recording."

"Shit!" You panicked, looking at your phone. "How do I stop it?!"

"The red button!"

"That's the end call button I-" you pressed it by accident. Oh my god, the message went through. You just sat there with Penelope, both of you frozen in shock. That did not just happen... did it really just happen? Your one moment of self-pity and worry was one moment that Spencer would hear if he touched his phone on a Friday night.

The rest of the night was spent with you fighting off panic, pacing your room. Penelope agreed to stay overnight, but you could not handle the fact Spencer would hear what you said. It was humiliating to think about him hearing you stress over something like that.

This is what nagged at you all weekend, threatening the impending anxiety that was building up. Every second was agony, spent pacing and overthinking. Sleep was hard to get, so you took melatonin and your dreams taunted you with it all over again.

Monday morning you rushed to get dressed. You needed to see Spencer, no matter how hard it was to face him. You pulled on dress pants and a navy blue cotton v-neck shirt with bell sleeves. Laundry was forgotten through two days of panic, so this was pretty much the only shirt you had.

You brushed through your hair and applied your regular makeup and there, you were presentable and didn't look like you'd lost your mind over the weekend. You were going back, finally. It was somewhat refreshing if you dismissed the Spencer ordeal.

The drive there was fine. Music helped to calm you down and you listened as long as you could. Stepping into the BAU was different, it felt like you were being crushed the moment you stepped in.

"There's my girl!" Derek Morgan was the first to notice you walk in and he greeted you with open arms and a crushing hug. You smiled, letting him. It had been a while since you last saw him. He let you go after a few seconds, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. "We missed you here, things weren't as fun without you."

"I bet," you grinned, heading to your desk. You could hide your freakout well. "I missed the smell of coffee and paper in the morning."

"(Y/N), glad to have you back," Hotch said, walking down the steps. He did seem honestly glad to see you as there was a small twitch of his mouth when he approached you and Derek. "You're sure you're alright to work again? I assume today is a file day, but we'll be back out there soon."

You nodded, smiling back. "Getting there, but it's controllable now," He narrowed his eyebrows. "I'll be fine for the field and if I'm not, I can always stay at the precinct to work things out there."

Hotch looked to Derek, then back at you. "Sounds good. Again, glad to have you back, agent." Hotch shook your hand and passed you, heading into JJ's office.

"Morgan..." You started, fiddling with your fingers. "Have you seen Spencer?"

"Yeah, he just went to the washroom, why?"

"I need to talk to him..."

The day went on and of course, you saw Spencer, but he paid you no mind. Not even a 'welcome back' or anything. You were just there and it was like you never left, except Spencer didn't even look at you. He was busy with his work and you constantly found yourself watching him. Maybe he'd heard your voice mail, maybe not, but either way, he didn't seem to care anymore.

That month and a half you spent recovering- was it possible that he used that time away from you to get over you? The idea was haunting and tugged at your heart. To be the only one all-in was such an incredibly painful idea. What he said before you were dragged away into the depths of hell meant something to you and it kept you alive... and to think he probably didn't mean it...

You needed to stop thinking about it before it made you burst into a million pieces. To be surrounded by everyone who you loved and loved you back wasn't enough if you couldn't have Spencer, too. Selfish, it sounded so selfish, but it shook you to the core that he wasn't amongst them.

The day continued and more pain was endured. More overthinking, more fear, more insecurity. The day was nearing its end.

Everybody seemed like nobody when Spencer was out of the picture. You had spent so much time thinking about him in the hospital and at home in recovery, who were you without wondering you could make it work? Nobody. Without the fantasy you could be his, you stranded on some sort of island. You were nobody if not Spencer's.

So you were nobody.

It was that thought that keeled you over the edge in the parking lot of the BAU. So much fear, so much pent-up emotion, it was too much to contain and just... spilled over onto everything as your hands began to shake, followed by that godawful feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your knees gave out and you fell conveniently onto the curb next to your car.

There was nobody there, either. You were alone on the concrete curb, face in your shaking hand and the other shaking hand gripping the curb so hard your knuckles turned white. Too much, too little, everything was wrong and you couldn't face Spencer.

You looked up for a brief moment and there was a brief look at someone in a beige cardigan and khaki pants and your heart fell to the pit of your stomach- as if you were humiliated enough. Footsteps, closer.

"A-are you okay?" His voice was a little panicked, definitely not as bad as yours, though. Overall, you were just glad he was within six feet of you.

Of course, you were pretty much unable to reply. Your face stayed in your hands and you felt light fingers on your shoulder, his, and they were somewhat grounding. God, he was here and you couldn't even talk to him, you couldn't even raise your head.

"What do you need, I- what happened?" He cared. But to what extent? His hands felt frantic- they shook a little (again, not nearly as bad as yours) and they moved from your shoulder, to upper arm, to near your neck, to the side of your head. "If this is my fault, I-"

He stopped himself. How could he possibly know that it was the thought of him that sent this into motion? The voicemail didn't entail much other than he was on your mind. You hardly even noticed that you were crying from the anxiety attack until you felt how wet your hands were. Your words kept piling on your tongue and the panic rose again in an entirely new wave.

"Do you- do you need help? I can get Hotch or... Derek, Derek knows, I know, but I don't- I don't think you like me very much and I won't be of help-I-I-I-" His voice continued to ramble and you were flooded with new thoughts. How could he possibly think that you didn't like him? In those moments before you were taken, you had said yes to going out with him if you both made it out. You kissed him back then before the arms grabbed you and dragged you off. Where did the idea of you not liking him come from? It was you who was afraid he didn't like you back.

You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something but you were stuck in your own mind, desperately trying to fight this off, trying hard to calm your breathing. The most you could do was take your hand off of the curb and frantically grab his. You took his hand and you held it tight, trying to slow the sharp intakes of breath. That's when Spencer squeezed your hand and you began to feel better.

And when you did start to feel better and your breathing was still harsh, but better and you could finally move a little more, you did what you had wanted to do every day in the hospital. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Spencer, your arms resting around his shoulders. You needed it and apparently so did he, because he squeezed you back the same. Either it was that or he knew pressure helped. All you could do was hope it wasn't the latter.

Spencer of course buried his face in the crook of your neck like he had before and you knew now that this feeling was coming to an end. The tide was washing out and there was calm after the storm. No words, just your breathing becoming more natural and the wind over your ears. This was all that you needed.

He stayed like this with you for a good five more minutes before you could finally release him, pulling apart and your hand coming up to wipe under your eyes. He didn't speak then, either- he just watched, his face furrowed in concern.

So you spoke, "Spencer wh-" your voice cut out from still being in that state of anxiety. You coughed into your arm, tried again. "Why would you think I don't like you?"

"I-I- don't think that's the question, I- are you okay?" His hands went back to your shoulders bracingly.

You smiled a small smile, "I'm better, it's passed, but Spencer...' You slid into a whisper with the crying coming back. Had it really passed?

"Yes?" His reply was wary. As if afraid to break you, he tiptoed.

"Answer me, please."

He bit his lower lip into his mouth, sighing. "I don't know if I should, you're- you're upset."

You looked at him, dead-on, determined. "Please."

"You didn't call. Not once and I-I-I was worried and then I started to think about it and everything t-that happened before you were taken and that you probably only said and did that because you were about to-to-uh, die." He rambled, words spilling out. "So I thought maybe you didn't really like me and-"

"I was waiting for you to call, too," you actually let out a laugh. He smiled in realization. "Because I was afraid of the exact same thing. I was afraid you didn't mean it and I worked myself up- I called Friday night, though-"

"I didn't- I didn't know that-" he fumbled to bring his phone out of his pocket and he must have seen that he had a voicemail from you and nodded, a little smile appearing on his worried face. "So you did mean to say yes?"

"And you did mean to ask?" You inquired, head tilted.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Then yes," you replied, smile widening to a grin. "How is Saturday night? I think I'll be better by then."

He was positively beaming as he helped you back to your feet. "Saturday is... great. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Much better.... truthfully." You nodded excessively and Spencer began walking back to his car, but then came back quickly to kiss your cheek.

He was like a child excited to go run and tell friends, "Goodnight!"

"Night, Spence." You stood there, basking in the glory that was solved miscommunication. You weren't nobody, you were in fact, somebody. And you were soon to be Spencer's.

Tags: @ellyhotchner, @softhairedhotch, @laurakirsten0502

REQUEST HERE

[spencerreidsmiles]

A Little Clumsy

Written by: spencerreidsmiles

Hello hello, my lovelies! I have once again been absolutely grinding at school (and now work too woohoo) so I have had like zero motivation to write but I finally finished one of my anon requests!

They requested prompts 7, 28, and 42 off the General list on this here prompt list! Those will be bolded throughout the story.  

Short summary - It’s the first day of work at the BAU for the reader but when their clumsiness gets the better of them, Spencer Reid is there to save the day. 

Trigger Warnings - blood (like the whole thing is about blood so if blood is a trigger for you, seriously do not read this one), minor injury, strong language, embarrassment

Word Count - 1386

MASTERLIST // WATTPAD VERSION

Sometimes you were clumsy. Okay, perhaps that was a bit of an understatement. You were more often than not clumsy. So when you began your first day at the BAU walking right into a wall and collapsing onto your ass, thus spilling coffee all over yourself, you weren’t surprised, to say the least. Frustrated, yes, but surprised, no. 

However, that sentiment wasn’t exactly shared by everyone, it appeared. In your dizzy haze, you felt a thud as someone knelt down next to you. 

“Is that blood?” the stranger asked. 

You touched your nose with your fingers, red decorating your fingertips. Whoever was talking to you was right, there was blood. Your white shirt, now a light shade of brown-ish beige, was sticky against your chest. Blood and coffee all over your new clothes on your first day of work? How could it go any better? 

To be honest, you weren’t really concerned about the blood right now. This whole scenario had happened enough times that this was essentially a regular occurrence for you. Instead, you were more concerned about the fact that this was the impression you were going to be making on all your colleagues. What were you supposed to do, just walk into the meeting room absolutely drenched in the last bit of your latte and blood and just act normal and introduce yourself? Yeah, because nothing screamed “qualified special agent” like a klutz banging their head into a literal wall. Surely whoever hired you was regretting their decision now. If you were them, you would. 

You had to save your pride somehow. The least you could do would be to find a bathroom and try to clean yourself up as much as possible before meeting your coworkers. 

But first, you had to deal with whoever had watched you slam your head into the wall. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” you said, sighing. 

“You are literally bleeding,” he stated again. 

You pushed your arms back, propping you up and allowing you the opportunity to take a good look at him. 

Even in your dazed state, you could tell that he was attractive. He was tall, first of all. He towered over you, his brown curls fell over his face as stared at you, clearly concerned. And his eyes. Jesus, his eyes. You could melt into them. 

No. No, stop it. You thought to yourself. This was not the time to be crushing on whoever the hell literally watched you walk into a wall. There were more important things at hand unfortunately. 

“Well thank you, Captain Obvious,” you said bitingly. The pain was beginning to hit you a bit more. You hadn’t thought you’d broken your nose...but the steady swelling was beginning to change your mind. 

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he responded with complete seriousness as he stared even more intently at your nose. 

“Sorry?”

His eyes flickered from your nose, meeting your gaze. 

“It’s Doctor. Doctor Spencer Reid.” 

Shit. You knew that name. Dr. Reid. One of your new coworkers, of course. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. 

“Doctor Obvious then. Wouldn’t want you to lose your credentials.” Dr. Reid didn’t seem to be affected at all by your little joke. You shot him a weak grin, which he did not return. Great. Everything was going great. Clearly. 

“What’s your name again?” he asked. 

“Dr. Reid, are you flirting with me?” you teased. As if anyone could think you look pretty in this mess of brown and red. 

“No! No, of course not. I just want to know so when I submit an injury report, I can have a name to put down.” An injury report? Oh hell no. You were already going to be known as the newbie who walked into a wall and maybe broke their nose, you didn’t need to be known as the newbie who walked into a wall, possibly broke their nose, AND had to have their new coworker fill out an injury report on their first day. 

“Pssh, they don’t need to know. It’s just a little blood and a little bruise. No big deal. I’m completely fine.”

You waved your hand about, swatting him off. It was nothing, just a bad nosebleed basically. A bad nosebleed with a side of a headache that was really starting to ramp up and throb incessantly. Gosh, you really just slammed right into that wall, didn’t you?

Nonetheless, you persisted. You popped up onto your feet as Dr. Reid stood up as well with a horrified look on his face.  

“You hit your head pretty hard, I’m not sure that’s the best idea-” Dr. Reid stammered. 

He was right, again. Standing up this fast was a bit too much, it appeared. Almost immediately, you completely lost all your balance. Your head spun as you fell, of course, right into Dr. Reid’s arms, effectively burying your nose right into his sweater. Apparently the day could get worse.

As you just stayed there, both of you completely frozen in place and completely unaware as to what to do next, you took a deep breath. 

“Okay, so maybe you were right,” you admitted. 

For a second that felt more like a minute at least, it was dead silent. Well, if you hadn’t made a bad impression on Dr. Reid yet, surely this was the final straw. You had calculated an about 100% chance of Dr. Reid running off to tell your boss that they had truly made the worst mistake in hiring you. The ideal first day, really. 

Slowly, Dr. Reid propped you back on your feet. You were still a bit woozy and your nose was throbbing fairly bad, so you clutched onto him for a second to settle yourself down. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight.  

It was only after you pulled yourself away that you realized just how much of a mess you had made out of Dr. Reid’s sweater. Right where you had buried your face was now a giant splotch of red from your nose. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you apologized. You tried wiping off whatever schmutz you could off his clothes with your own sleeves, but you only smeared it further and further in. God, you were just an absolute mess, weren’t you? Good grief. 

But instead of glaring at you, you saw the kindest eyes crinkling with laughter. Like the sunlight breaking through clouds, you heard Dr. Reid’s laugh ring out loud and clear. The sound itself warmed your heart God, if he was handsome before, then what was he now? Whatever he was, it was safe enough to say, you were absolutely head over-fucking-heels for your savior. 

“I’ll be honest, I was waiting for a reason to get rid of this sweater. So thank you for giving me a reason to.” He glanced down at the splotch before looking back at your worried face. “Don’t feel bad, things like this happen.”

“You’ve had someone run into a wall and bleed onto your shirt before?” you asked with a heavy emphasis on your incredulity. 

His cheeks and ears brightened a light pink shade. “Well not exactly, but we’re all a little clumsy sometimes.”

You checked your watch. Almost nine, aka almost time for you to meet the team and officially start your first day of work. Starting a new job just like this. Wow. You were so screwed. 

Either you had the world’s worst poker face or Dr. Reid was just really good at his job, but immediately after watching you check your watch, his shyness faded away and his voice softened as he spoke.  

“Hey, how about you go home and get cleaned up and I’ll tell the team you’ll be a little late.”

“Are you sure? What if they ask about…” You gestured around vaguely at his shirt. 

He shrugged. “I’ll just tell them you made a strong first impression.”

You let out a relieved laugh. “That’s one way to put it,” you said. “Thank you.”

As you began to walk to the elevator, you thought about Dr. Reid and his kindness and eventually came to the conclusion that perhaps this first day wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. That he was right, everyone was a little clumsy sometimes. And that was okay.

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #15

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Richard-sensei’s Cooking Classroom

On a bright morning in Kandy, a provincial town from Sri Lanka, a man was standing still in his kitchen. Leaning against the wall was a Japanese book titled “Breakfast for People Who Live Alone”. There were three items on the menu. Just an omelet with ketchup on top, boiled sausages and fruit salad yogurt.

Regardless, the kitchen where the man was standing was an explosion of colors, as if it were the atelier of some Dadaist painter. Perhaps he was wrong in trying to make an omelet, the blond man thought, tilting his head despondently. Loved by the god of beauty, his blond hair swayed smoothly, and on the wall behind him, the exploded omelet was scattered in all directions, giving off an artistic atmosphere. It was obvious that in order to cook an omelet on a frying pan, it was necessary to shake up said pan, but the specific method of how hard one should shake it had not even once made an appearance in his life, much like fairies and unicorns from fictional stories. As a result of him jerking the pan with moderate adjustment, the omelet had flown off, hitting the wall and dripping down under the influence of gravity.

The beautiful man cast his eyes at the opposite side of the kitchen with a melancholic look as well. His golden eyelashes reflected a rainbow-colored prism and shone like an emerald-green sea under the morning sun. In a corner, where a microwave and water heater sat on top of the kitchen table, something orange had burst all over the place from within the microwave. Just why did food blow up so often, the man wondered, silently ashamed of his ignorance for trying to reduce just two rules of thumb to common sense. When he put three vacuum-packed blood sausages in the microwave and warmed them up, the sausages lost their original shape with a faint explosive sound. Obeying the instructions that said, “Bain-marie or microwave”, the man had chosen the microwave, which seemed less difficult, but probably due to some process being neglected or the heating time being incorrect, the sausages had undergone a magical transformation, looking like some sort of eerie monster.

Moving his feet so as not to make a sound, the man headed to the dining room, lightly placing a hand on the large table and elegantly gazing at the tabletop. Fragments of yellow and green were floating on a sea of white.

“Fruits yogurt,” the man whispered, as if it were a magic spell, heaving a spring breeze-like sigh.

It was just chopped fruits floating on yogurt. Taking into account the possibility that he could not cut the fruits too meticulously, the man was out of luck to have a slicer with him, and by the moment he realized that this one was apparently not supposed to be used for fruits but rather for slicing things such as cabbages and carrots into thin pieces, the fruits that he had failed to chop had gone flying over the table, surrounding the bowl of yogurt and instantaneously creating a Genesis-like scene on the tabletop. It was chaos.

On 360 degrees, no matter where he looked, it was a foodstuff hell. After looking around one more time at the artistic misery he had created and sighing coarsely, he started anew and began doing a quick cleaning.

   “Morning, Richard. You slept well, I see.”

“Good morning, Seigi. So you wake up early even in Sri Lanka. Short sleepers have shorter lives. Didn’t you go to bed yesterday when it was already past midnight?”

“That’s fine for today. I have a guest here, after all. I’ll catch up with my sleep tomorrow.”

“I have not done so much to be called a ‘guest’.”

“There, there; let’s leave that for after we eat.”

His face looking like he was checking on something, the man whose appearance was impeccable even first-thing in the morning, as usual, glanced at the kitchen and dining room of my Sri Lankan house, and then let out a tiny sigh, stopping by a place close to the garden.

“Hey, could it be you woke up early this morning? Like, around 5AM...”

“Why?”

“I wonder if it was my imagination.”

In this three-story house, the first floor was a shared space for the dining room and bathroom, while the second and third floors had bedrooms. The room that I used as my main one was on the second floor, and the room on the third floor was used when Richard came over to be my overseer, but only the first floor had a bathroom. Whenever someone was going down to the first floor, one could tell by the sound of them stepping on the stairs. That was no big deal when I was alone, but this was the kind of house that would disturb other people’s sleep if I didn’t walk quietly whenever I needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.

At around five o’clock, probably because I was drowsy, I had the feeling that someone had gone downstairs. I went back to sleep thinking that maybe Richard, who was looking after me despite having a jetlag, felt like having a late-night snack or something, but it was apparently a wrong guess.

Said man, dressed in a soft-looking shirt and the beige pants that he usually wore when he was relaxed, was standing still with eyes wide-open. It seemed he had noticed what was on the table. I was happy with the reaction.

“I’ve got breakfast for us. Hope it suits your taste.”

“Why? You said yesterday that your breakfast was just cereal and fruits.”

“I indeed said this yesterday, but I wanted to show it’s really not like that every single day. I also didn’t want you to worry for no reason.”

Plain omelets, sausages and fruit salad. For some reason, this house had many pottery dishes from European brands instead of Sri Lankan ones, but they were working out well for today. The paintings of green and pink pedicels over a white background were apparently from a German brand. It was actually my first time making a breakfast like this, which looked like it could show up in a commercial for some newly built apartment building and wasn’t as filling as its appearance suggested, but it had been surprisingly fun.

“I saw the recipe book in the kitchen. It’s a present for me, right? Thank you. I was happy to read a book in Japanese after so long, so I decided to make the part that showed up when I opened it into our menu. Now, now, please have a seat and eat up.”

For about solid ten seconds, Richard stared at the one-plate breakfast, his gaze looking like he was seeing a stone that he had never set his eyes on before, but then, after giving a start as if just remembering that I existed, he sat down with his same-old graceful demeanor.

“Well then, shall we?”

And so, Richard ate breakfast next to me. At times like these, this man would become extremely well-mannered, taking notice of and praising the details, such as the fineness of the omelet’s texture and the beauty of the fruit cuts in the yogurt, as if he were evaluating a five-million-yen jewelry or something. Even while being in Sri Lanka, I sometimes thought that if there were teachers like him in middle or high school around Japan, it would save many children.

“Thanks; that makes me happy. I’m benefiting from it too. Getting so many compliments for just boiling sausages.”

I didn’t know very well how to describe Richard’s face when I said that. His expression seemed like it could be the theme of a masterpiece painting, as if the exceptionally beautiful man had suddenly been reminded of an indescribable pain in the depths of his chest, but was struggling not to expose it in his facial expression. When I asked what was up, the reply was a gentle smile. His usual face was already back.

“I believe I have already said this several times, but you are extremely smart. You decipher the texts, assemble the methods in your head and put them to practice. There are more hardships in this process than you can imagine. Nevertheless, you specialize at it. This is clearly a talent of yours. Be sure to cherish it.”

“I will. But, well, I think doing my best because someone else’s gonna eat it also counts.”

For security reasons, I wasn’t allowed to invite guests to this house. I was sometimes called over to the house of a local friend I had made, and then I’d cook a simple dish there, but guests that make several meticulous dishes on the spot were probably not very welcome. So whenever there were days like these, when “guests” officially recognized by the house’s owner, Saul-san, occasionally came over, it was a great opportunity for me have a change of pace.

While thanking Richard for washing the dishes, I cleaned up the dining room and before moving on to stone study, which was my daily routine in the morning (at any rate, I had to examine stones thoroughly, guess their prices and drill the right and wrong ones into my head; pretty simple), I asked him about lunch. Richard-sensei was very busy. No time for leisure.

“You’ll be off again in the evening flight, right? What we gonna do about lunch? If you’re leaving at three o’clock, then you’ll still be in Kandy at noon, right? Can we go to a restaurant I like?”

“What a good thing it is that you found a ‘restaurant you like’ in this country. Allow me to accompany you.”

While smiling, Richard was about to let out a yawn, yet he hastily bit it down. He was like a prideful cat. As I thought, he seemed a little sleepy. When I suggested him to go to bed again, he said that he didn’t mind it, since he was going to sleep in the night flight either way. And yet he was calling me a short sleeper.

I glanced at the dining room and the kitchen. They were neatly organized. From their tidy and orderly state, I could tell with just a look that I obviously hadn’t cleaned them to this point last night. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the floor. Despite the difference between the inside and outside of the house being so vague. There was no evidence left, but it was clear that something had happened here. Not a murder, but a more peaceful and heartwarming incident. The suspect showed no signs of confessing. So I wouldn’t say anything either. No particular comments on the multiple rags and some food remains at the bottom of the organic waste bag. I only had one thing that I wanted to say no matter what, so I hoped he’d just let me say it.

After finishing the meal, I waited for the beautiful man to stand up, and then I went behind Richard, clutching his shoulders. I was going to say it before he turned around, asking what I was doing. It was best if I didn’t see his face. There was no telling what I could say when I was staring at him in fascination.

“I myself don’t know very well what I’m talking about, so I want you to forget it in two seconds, but I was reeeally happy for this morning. Really happy. To a shocking extent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I said I didn’t know either, right? I don’t get it, but anyway, I was happy. That’s all! Aight, study time.”

Without looking at Richard’s face until the very end, I started knocking a thousand gemstones in my workspace on the first floor. I had to look over them while it was morning. This was my current job. Richard didn’t say anything else, but his back looked calm under his shirt, so I was a bit relieved as well. Thinking back on it now, I had taken the wrong path at that time. I should have told him “not to overdo it” more clearly.

Two weeks later, Richard came back, but this time, I heard a small explosion at 6AM. Three times in a row. What did it take for things to turn out this way? The current time was already 7AM. Between getting up right now or not, which one would be less of a hassle later on? I didn’t even want to think about what had been made of the dining room. There was no one other than the two of us in this house and this wasn’t a matter that I had to go as far as asking the landlord, Saul-san, for advice on, so I knew I was the one who had to deal with it anyway. I wanted someone to decide in my stead. What should I do?

[americxn]

Run (part 4)

wordcount: 2.8k

a/n: alright, so this was meant to be smut but I didn’t want to ruin the pacing by moving on too quickly so think of this as a little filler to the story. part 5 will be out sometime tomorrow, and it’ll be a spicy one.

Kai allowed you to distance yourself from him and the rest of the cult in the week following Liam’s death. You knew that he felt absolutely terrible for what he had forced you to endure and although he hadn’t verbalised it in the time since you had been unleashed upon Liam, the little glances and tentative smiles he passed you whenever you returned to the house were all the confirmation you needed. Kai had been quiet, thoughtful almost. And you had let him, resorting to keeping yourself busy and out of the house during the day, sometimes even spending the night elsewhere, minimising the time that you usually spent with Kai. To be honest, your own feelings were all over the place and you often found yourself gnawing on your lip, deep in thought about Kai and what he had accidentally confessed to you: “Why the fuck would I kill someone I love?”  Maybe it would have been possible at one point, for you to love him. But you were angry, a sickening feeling of betrayal unfurling deep in your gut whenever you thought about him, about how he had chosen to believe a seventeen-year-old boy that he had know for two weeks, over you. Though, it was undeniable even to you that, throughout this inner conflict with yourself, Kai’s face spent far too much time occupying the front of your mind, each time you saw him, your brain emptying completely, Kai’s name being the only thought resonating throughout you.

Kai had let you take the week off attending cult meetings, and you knew that with each additional meeting you missed, his patience wore thinner and thinner, his guilt dissipating and giving way to irritation. And if there was one thing that you had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that Kai abandoned any sense of morals and restraint that he may have when pissed off. And so here you were, stood at the top of Kai’s stairs that would lead you to the basement. His deep voice was already echoing through the closed door to meet you. You sighed; you were late. Taking the stairs down to the door, your hand paused on the handle. The last time you had gone down these stairs was to take someone’s life.  You hastily pushed the thought aside, suppressing a shiver before pushing the door open and stepping into the room. Kai stood just before the little beige couch he usually took his spot of leader at, another cult member who you weren’t too familiar with sat to the side of him. Your spot at the other end of the couch was empty.  Kai paused as you entered, trying in vain to ignore the entirety of the cult sat on the floor before Kai, stretching the entire length of the room. He looked at you, his mouth still open in paused speech, his hands frozen in gesture in the air. You stared at him, willing your shoulders to remain pushed back ever so slightly, the gazes of everyone else in the room burning into you. “What?” You snapped, turning your head to address the other members who stared at you wide eyed. “You want me to bow or something?” You demanded in irritation. From across the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed was Beverly, sporting a small smile at your unchanged attitude. A sea of heads turning hastily back to Kai was your only response, causing you to grind your teeth as you lowered yourself to the floor, crossing your legs under you. “No.” Kai said quietly. Your eyes flicked to his, watching as he extended a pointed finger to your old spot on the couch. “You sit here.” He demanded coolly, leaving no time for you to respond before he continued on with his speech, his gaze leaving yours. Several lips curled at this as Kai’s command crushed any hope that he would re-elect another member to take your place as his favoured follower. You stared with cold eyes out at the group upon reclaiming your rightful place beside Kai, a sense of cruel satisfaction filling you at the way a majority of the crowd cowered from your gaze, trying their best not to make eye-contact with you. The rest of the meeting passed slowly, dragging along until you had gone from perching on the couch straight-backed, to lounging against the soft surface, your head rested in your hand. You weren’t even listening to Kai’s dismissal, jolting in alert as everyone rose to leave. You moved to do the same, praying that Kai wouldn’t say anything to you and you would just be able to blend into the group filing out of the room. But of course, that was a fool’s hope. “Wait.” Kai said, looking to you as soon as you made a step to leave. “I want to talk.” You exhaled deeply, not feeling ready to talk to him yet. You swallowed your hesitation, forcing yourself to respond. “Yeah, sure.” The wariness filling your tone was obvious as you fell back down onto the couch, Kai waiting until everyone had left the room, the basement door slamming shut, before joining you. “How have you been?” He asked coolly, angling himself on the couch so that he faced you, his knees brushing yours. You hated the way the accidental touch momentarily emptied your mind, every nerve of your being surrendering to his close proximity. You swallowed.  “Yeah, I’ve been fine. I spent a few nights with friends and stuff... that’s why I haven’t really been here.” You shrugged, your words trailing off awkwardly. “You don’t need to explain yourself.” He interjected, causing your gaze to drop to your clasped hands on your lap. His own eyes followed yours, landing on your hands. He stared at them for a moment whilst his jaw worked, causing your skin to prickle beneath his scrutiny.  “Here.” He said, holding his pinky finger out to you. You cringed away, shaking your head. “Kai, I don’t -” “Well I do, take it.” You groaned quietly but lifted your arm to begrudgingly loop your pinky with his. “You know how this works so I won’t explain it again. I want to know what you’re feeling right now.” You sighed, glancing at him as his finger tightened around yours. His eyes searched yours with unflinching intensity, trying to sort through every glint of emotion that shone there. “I don’t really know how to feel.” You answered simply, shrugging. Kai shook his head. “No. It’s more than that. Tell me.” He said flatly. You tipped your head back at his unyielding tone, knowing full well that you weren’t leaving this room until Kai knew exactly where he stood with you. “I was angry. Obviously,” you began, breaking Kai’s scrutinising gaze to instead stare at your pinky entwined with his as you continued: “But now, I kinda just want it all to go back to normal. I killed someone Kai, the others aren’t going to forget that.” “Yes, but a sick part of you enjoys the power that gives you.” You cut him a silencing glare at his interjection, his words illuminating a truth that you had already come to know but tried to ignore. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve thought about it so much that it doesn’t really seem to matter anymore. But that’s not true; you hurt me Kai, you almost killed me.” Pain flashed across his face. Pain and understanding. But he stayed quiet, letting you verbalise your thoughts and organise them into some sort of coherence.  “For a while I thought I wanted to leave. I even thought you might let me.” You huffed a laugh at your own stupidity. “But then I realised that I wouldn’t want to leave even if I could. And it’s fucking sick of me, but I’m... for some reason, I wouldn’t want to distance myself from you anymore than I already have.” Kai’s frame went completely still beside you. You plowed on. “It’s like the moral... I don’t know, human, part of me is terrified of you, but some weird, primal part of me just wants to give myself over to you entirely.” At their verbalisation, your words seemed to come to grow into their full meaning, striking you with how starkly honest they were; your eyes prickled, a slight ache radiating from the back of your throat. “Like, I don’t know.” You mumbled, your chin beginning to wobble. You were aching to pull your pinky from his and cover your face with your hands but you refrained, not wanting to upset him. “Can you... can you say something?” You asked him in a quiet plead, your other hand rising to swipe at your eyes before any tears had the chance to fall. “I want you to keep talking.” His voice was so low it sounded like a growl. “I want you to keep talking about what you think of me.” You raised your chin to look at him, but his gaze was so strong that you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “I feel like the longer I’ve known you, the more I’ve wanted to know you. Fuck Kai, there’s just something about you and I don’t know why it’s so scary but I ache to give myself wholly to you.” Kai’s eyes darkened beside you. “And then when you said that shit in the car, that you loved me,” you finally gathered enough courage to look at him, needing to scrutinise his face in order to determine the truth of his answer to the question you were about to ask him. Your eyes were red and teary, but you indulged in it, laying yourself out before Kai, willing him to pick your words and emotions apart to truly understand the depth of your stark honesty. “Did you mean that? Did you mean you love me in the way that you love everyone else in this cult? Or, did you mean it in a way that just applies to me?” “You’re a clever girl, y/n.” He said simply. “How do you think I meant it?” You huffed a sigh of irritation at his cryptic responses, but delved into his question. “I think -” you took a shuddering breath, struggling to put your response into a coherent answer. “I think that if you had meant it in the way that it means for everyone else here, then I would’ve been dead the second you slammed me to the concrete of that road.” He nodded slowly. “And why do you think that?” You sucked in a breath, knowing that he was goading you into dangerous territory. “Because...because you killed Winter.” You finished slowly. Kai sat back, seemingly pleased by your answer. “Exactly. See? You’re a clever girl.”  “Okay,” you sat back, disconnecting your pinky from Kai’s. His hand dropped onto his lap as you wiped at your eyes. “And what exactly does that mean for me?” He studied you unblinkingly. “It means that you can take this in any direction you want. If you decide you hate me for what I did to you, then fine. Tell me to fuck off and I promise I’ll oblige you.” You processed his words, sucking on your teeth in thought. “Or, you can decide to give me a chance to make it up to you. I meant what I said, y/n. I’ve felt that way for a long time, and I will do anything for you to reciprocate that feeling.” He stood, sparing you once last glance before striding for the basement door. Pausing before the door, he threw his parting words over his shoulder: “Just whatever you decide, please stay in the house. The guest room is still set up for you. I hate not knowing who you’re with.” 

You couldn’t sleep that night, mulling the conversation over and over in your head until Kai’s voice was the only thing occupying your brain. You tossed onto your side for the twentieth time, your eyes staring at the small line of light shining in through the crack under the door of the guest room. It was unsettlingly familiar, taking you back to the confined darkness of the closet Kai had thrown you in.  You flipped onto your back once more with a huff, throwing the covers back so that the upper part of your body was exposed to the cool air. Kai’s room was just down the hall. Your stomach fluttered in forbidden possibility.  Would he be asleep? If you went to him, would he kick you out? You turned your head to the little digital alarm clock on the bedside table. The red numbers flashed, notifying you that it was 2.30 am.  Your hands fell onto your face.  Stop fucking thinking about him, you urged yourself for the hundredth time, sleep evading you a little bit more with each time that your mind circled back to your earlier conversation. You bit your lower lip harshly in irritation, your arms flopping onto the pillow above your head. A flurry of butterflies swirled about in your stomach. Just go to him; he wants it more than you do. But it shouldn’t be so easy to forgive the man that almost killed me? Almost. And he would’ve if he didn’t want to keep you around. Yes, how flattering. He’s Kai Anderson, killing is like second nature to him. “Fuck.” You whispered into the dark room, interrupting your conversation with yourself. “Talking to myself? I’m going insane.”  You didn’t give yourself a chance to reconsider, flinging the covers all the way back and lowering your feet to the cold wooden floor. Padding with bare feet to the door, you paused, looking down at yourself.  Are tiny pajama shorts and t-shirt too much? You shook your head, forcing your inner voice to shut up. He’s probably asleep it won’t even matter, you reasoned with yourself, quietly pulling open the door and looking out into the dark hallway. Kai’s door was right across the hall and you crossed the space quickly, the intensity of your butterflies momentarily causing your nerve slip. You reminded yourself once more that it was just Kai and that, even if he wasn’t interested in you, he probably wouldn’t give a shit if you decided that you wanted to spend the night in his bed.  You pushed open the door, not daring to breathe as you stepped into the darkness of the room beyond. The dim light flooding into the room fell over Kai’s large bed, his form a lump huddled under the covers on far side of the bed. You looked at him for a moment, at how small he looked huddled at the very edge of the otherwise empty bed. His breaths were deep and even as you eased the door closed beside you, skirting carefully around the bed to the other side and slipping onto the mattress beside him, turning so that you were back-to-back.  His breaths faltered slightly at the movement beside him and you froze, slowly lowering your head to the pillow. “Y/n?” He mumbled, the words accompanied by a shuffling sound that notified you that he had turned over to look at you.  You craned your own neck to look at his darkened face, swallowing.  “Sorry,” you breathed, “I couldn’t sleep.” “That’s fine.” He reassured you quietly, his voice softened by sleep. “Here, get under the covers, you’ll get cold.” Your heart ached at his gentle command and he watched you carefully as you maneuvered your way under his covers, sighing at the immediate warm the thick duvet provided as it settled over your bare legs. “Goodnight, y/n.” Kai muttered as soon as he was sure you had settled, turning back around to snuggle deeper into the covers. “Goodnight, Kai.” You replied quietly, his pillow significantly softer than the one in the guest room beneath your cheek. Your eyes drifted closed, a sense of stillness and peace finally settling over your mind in the warmth of Kai’s bed. “Y’know,” Kai began, his voice muffled by his pillow, “I just can’t stop thinking about you.”  A grin spread over your face at his words and you pushed yourself backwards slightly, sighing when your back came into contact with Kai’s. “That’s the reason I came in here.” You admitted to Kai, who merely grunted in acknowledgement, your words lost on his sleep-addled mind. You were asleep within minutes, Kai’s warmth leeching into you, the sound of his soft breaths lulling you into a satisfying sleep. taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove  (if you wanna be added or removed to let me know)

[awesomerextyphoon]

Bura na mano, Holi hai!

This is my submission for @darkmcuficswap​’s Dark MCU Festive Fic Swap 2020! My giftee is the lovely @searchforanotherway​ / @saaracha​. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy this!

Summary: This year’s Holi Festivities would’ve been your best yet...if not for a handsome stranger.

Paring: Soft Dark!Thor x Desi!Reader (Fem)

Holiday: Holi (Festival of Colors)

Word Count: 2,022

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Warnings: Kidnapping, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Non-Con, Oral (f receiving), Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Swearing, Age Gap (reader is of age), Light Bondage, and Breeding Kink

A/N: This is my first time doing a Desi!Reader. Thank you @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ for hosting! Translations will be at the end. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​!

Back to Masterlist

“So, I guess you won’t have to tease about my poor gulal throwing skills since I’m coming back.”

You shrieked into your phone so loudly that you feared your Aunt Malati would stick her head in with a disapproving look again.

Harshad, your brother, was finally coming home after four years abroad! You had missed him dearly. He had called you twice a month for at least two hours talking about your novel idea. You were writing a sci-fi novel about a girl, Kanti, going on space adventures. You never thought you stood a chance since there weren’t many people who looked like you in the space, but Harshad was your biggest cheerleader.

Everyone was preparing for the festivities, getting the gulal, cooking all of the food (you were constantly salivating from the aroma), and making sure everyone has lotion for Rangwali Holi.

You and your best friend, Hema, were returning from an errand when a sleek black car passed your path. Luckily, neither of you were hurt and went on your way, but you were blissfully unaware of the occupants.

  You always loved your neighborhood’s Holika Dahan. Your grandmother used to regale you and the other children with tales of old. Your mother and aunts would hand out Gujiya, Barfi, Malpua, and other sweets. The bonfire always meant new things were coming for you. It was at the Holika Dahan that you had your novel idea two years prior.

This year you helped pass out the sweets to the crowd and shared a serving of Chana Marsala and Malpua with mango when you saw him.

On the other side of the bonfire was a man who was staring intensely at you. He could be described as some kind of supreme being in your sci-fi novel. He was 2m (6’6.75”) tall with short dark blond/light brown hair and beard, electric blue eyes, plump lips with laugh lines, broad shoulders and chest, and mostly had a defined midsection and legs. All of this deliciousness was wrapped in a tasteful royal blue Dupion Silk Kurta, a beige Churidar, and a pair of golden silk Mojari.

You never thought that a man like him would give you the time of day. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him-

“Hey! Hello, anyone in there?” Hema snapped you out of your musings, “I asked you if you want to come with the rest of the girls.”

You nodded and left with her not noticing your mystery man talking with Harshad.

  “Rangwali Holi Mubaarak, Auntieji!” Bushra exclaimed as she jumped on your bed. She did this every Holi since she could crawl.

“Alright, alright Bushra. I’m awake.” You grumbled as you gave her a hug, “time to get ready.”

Nilam, your older sister, handed you a cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor as a bribe to watch over Bushra this year. Slightly annoyed, you accepted the cup and hummed at the flavors noting the extra pinch of cardamon they added just for you. You made sure that Bushra didn’t get near the Barfi (not wanting a repeat of last year) and made sure that she moisturized herself.

Once you and Bushra were ready, you met up with Hema and had a blast at Rangwali Holi. You smiled at Bushra running around with her friends with her playful yelps and laughter. Hema got you square in the face with gulal so you chased her until Harshad stopped you.

Afterward, both you and Hema helped your mother and aunts prepare for the party. The party was wonderful and you may have had a few more Gujiya and Barfi than you should’ve. Though you did catch a glimpse of the striking man from last night.

After the festivities, you walked around your neighborhood with Hema talking about clothes, boys, and music (nothing major). You got another cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor once Hema decided to retire for the night.

You went against your grandmother’s warnings and took the shortcut through the dark corridor. You got about ten steps in when you started to feel incredibly dizzy. Someone caught you before you fell and the last thing you saw a pair of plain gold Mojari.

  Your eyes fluttered open then snapped open once you realized that you weren’t on your bed. You found yourself in a red embroidered art silk Lehenga with gold and ruby studded earrings and bangles.

The room itself was an immaculate hotel room with reds, blues, and green adorning the walls and surfaces. It felt unreal. It was like in your story where the protagonist got stuck in her adversary’s lair.

You were about to reach the window when the door opened and in walked the man from Holika Dahan.

He only wore a royal blue Dupion Silk Dhoti and the gold Mojari. And Fuck, he was a vision of masculine beauty and power. He had a powerful build with rippling muscles, rich tawny pink skin, broad shoulders, plump pink lips, long medium brown eyelashes, chiseled chest and abs, and a super defined Adonis Belt.

You could only imagine what was underneath his Dhoti.

The man strode in like a king, confidence and charisma came off of him in waves.

“How do you like the room, priya?” You nearly swooned at the smooth, deep timbre of his voice.

“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” you asked slightly terrified by the way the man was ogling you in your outfit.

He chuckled at your actions, “My name is Thor Odinson, but you may call me Thor, jaanu. As for where you are, well, you’re where you belong. You’re with me.”

“But I can’t be your jaanu! We’ve never met-”

“I would watch your tone, priya.” Thor warned as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened.

“I jus-I just want to go home.” you nearly sobbed as Thor raised your head with a bent forefinger.

“It doesn’t matter now. You’ll see, mera pyaar.” Thor murmured as he kissed you.

You would’ve gasped at the sudden action. This man stole your first kiss, but it could’ve been worse. The kiss was soft and demanding getting more passionate by the second.

Thor moaned when he got his tongue past your full lips. You gave him a tepid response with your own tongue which only egged him on with the knowledge that he would be your one and only.

He scooped you up in his arms and gently placed you on the plush bed like a feather once he broke for air. Your clothes were gone in an instant and you felt helpless under the ravenous gaze of your captor.

Thor started with a kiss to the top of your forehead, inhaling the Damask Rose perfume he got from Kannauj. “You smell divine, jaanu.” He descended upon your face, neck, and shoulders kissing and marking your skin with love marks.

You tried to push him off of you, but he bound your wrists to leather handcuffs and returned to his foreplay.

Thor hummed at your moans and gasps loving how responsive you were. His kisses sent shivers down your spine and waves of heat to your lower abdomen, sometimes simultaneously.

“P-Pleas-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Thor tutted at your incoherent pleas, “You need to use your big girl words, jaanu.”

You begged him to release your wrists and he only did once you promised not to fight you. He released your wrists and gave each wrist three open kisses while making eye contact. You shyly ran your fingers through his hair and his smooth plains of muscles while Thor praised your efforts noting that you will get better in time.

He stopped at your breasts and loved how they filled his hands musing on how much bigger they’ll be once you’re round with his seed.

That scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids at all...you didn’t want kids now.

Thor alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples and covered your chest in love marks. He moved to your midsection and hips, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful jaanu.” he murmured as he kissed your hipbone.

“Please, Thor, I can’t-”

Thor pressed a forefinger to your lips, “It’s fine, jaanu. All will be well.”

“I’ve ne- I’ve never been touched down there.”

Thor chuckled, “I know, mera pyaar. I’ll be your one and only,” He kissed and nipped your inner thighs and gave your slit a long, slow lick. Thor moaned at the taste, “Better than the finest cuisine,” and dove in like a starving man at a feast after only knowing years of famine.

Never in your life had you felt such a rush tear through your body. Each movement brought you to a new level of pleasure. You weakly grabbed his hair and arched your back to him begging him to continue.

Thor kept you on the edge for what felt like an eternity, “Come, mera pyaar.”

The floodgates burst at his words and he made sure to slurp up every drop of your juice that squirted.

You were in a euphoric daze when Thor removed his Dhoti. You would’ve gasped if you could because the man was a sculpture of near hyper-masculine perfection with his form glistening with sweat.

Then you saw his cock. Fuck! He would split you in two!

You begged him to stop once more, but he kissed the corner of his mouth and said that the pain will pass.

Thor pushed into you as gently as he thought possible. You wanted to scream but he swallowed them in a passionate kiss and even took you biting him in stride.

“You feel amazing, jaanu!” Thor exclaimed once you calmed down and he filled you to the hilt. He started thrusting at a good pace and the feeling of pain soon turned to pleasure,” Isn’t this better, mera pyaar? Being under me, taking my cock like a good wife?”

You were too fuck-hazed to respond.

It didn’t take long for you to come again. Not a minute later, Thor came with a roar with thick ropes of cum shooting into you.

You thought it was over only to see Thor inside you...and hard.

“Did you think that was it, jaanu?”

After a couple more rounds, Thor let you fall asleep and had someone get you ready for the jet.

It was all coming together. Odin neither liked nor trusted his playboy lifestyle and threatened to disown him and cut him from the company if he didn’t find a wife. The woman had to be someone he approved and he had two years to do it.

Seventeen months into his search, he met Harshad. Thor thought the man bright and amiable so he got the man a job in the company as a Data Engineer. He kept an easy-going friendship with him, but all that changed when Harshad talked about you.

Harshad talked about your interests and dreams like a sibling is wont to do. Thor thought you were a lot more interesting than his usual lays. Your brother showed him a picture of you that your mother took right before he left.

Thor was hooked.

You were softer, plumper, and much more genuine than the models he dated. You were simply breathtaking.

Thor almost snatched the photo from Harshad.

Thor started to search for you that night. He scoured your social media presence captivated by your smile and words. He hired a private investigator to get more information about you and he convinced Harshad to let him celebrate Holi with your family. His cock hardened when he saw you walking with your friend, Hema, on his way to the hotel. He almost came on the spot when he locked eyes with you at Holika Dahan. Thor had his agents watch you during Rangwali Holi and take pictures and bribed a worker to give you a drugged Thandai.

Now he had you.

Sure, you will be rebellious at first, but you will accept this. Perhaps he could help you with your book series. He hoped his children would be as creative as you.

Maybe one day you’ll laugh.

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jaanu => my life

mera pyaar => my heart

priya => darling

Bura na mano, Holi hai => Do not mind, it’s Holi

[hawksugarbaby]

Fatgum x reader- Atlas

Fluff + Greek mythology AU.

You were nothing more than a simple human, roaming the built up world to find something new and interesting, something no one could see but you, a secret for you and the universe to hold together. You needed to find something special is what you thought, taking a break at the atlas mountains in the scorching Morroccon sun. sweat bead down your forehead and your skin was hot to the touch but the adventure and experience, the trials to find something undiscovered was worth the peeling skin on your shoulders being soothed by aloe over and over.

Your persistence to find the unknown secret may have started genuinely, you wanted to find what the universe wanted you too, but eventually it gave you a reason to travel the world. You've travelled to 28 countries in 4 years, beginning at 18 and now you're 22, you skipped uni and college, you made money from ad revenue on youtube since your vlogs became popular, and you were incredible when it came to saving money.

Of course, you were still searching, but now you felt like you had even bigger reasons. Exploring the world, drinking in fountains of culture and knowledge, that was perfection enough. But the secret was missing.

You stood up rolling your neck and started your walk up rocky paths of mud and stone to the sandy houses forming a village and your senses lead you to a vendor, golden couscous with colourful, roasted vegetables mixed through smelled amazing and glasses of fresh mint tea lined up for you to drink while eating couscous at the vendors stall. You requested a glass of the tea, sat down, and drank it too quickly, burning your tongue from the hot water. You sucked in sharply and hummed in pain. "Thank you!" you said paying for the drink and continuing to the mountains past the beige buildings with terracotta tile roofs.

You felt like if you walked between the fingers of the mountain grabbing the earth with their hands you would find something unknown. You walked around the spurs peering into the joining point of each interlocked section but none tugged you in, pulled you towards them with mystery.

Apart from one. The sun was on the opposite side so technically there should have been no light, but it seemed perfectly visible to you? Was it a trick of the light? Possibly an illusion? Either way your heart longed to investigate and so you did. You trudged forward kicking a stone out your way and looked at the joining line. "You have to be something right?" you muttered and put your hand between the drack. You drew a triangle, mimicking the shape the spurs made and as quickly as you could blink, the mountain began to shake, not violently, but it trembled like being coerced into sharing it's deepest secrets.

"Okay... mountains don't usually do that" you say with wide eye's as the seam rips apart and balls of moss and rock tumble into a pile on the floor. Was it a doorway for you? Who knew, you didn;t care, whatever it was you were finding out one way or another.

You stepped into the cavern, dripping stalagmites made your head turn in the direction of every 'plop' into the puddle and your hands brushed against the side of the wall for stability and a sense of surrounding. "These feel like bricks?" you whisper in a questioning tone as your eye's begin to adjust to the dark and you found that you were going aimlessly through a long, triangular corridor. The bricks were a muted clay colour with green moss and algae blanketing them, the grout in the walls was black and viridian unidentifiable as something anyone had ever known of.

The terracotta sparsely began to cut into black white and grey granite eventually forming a whole wall as if the bricks had never been there to begin with. The marble was just as unkempt and ruined as the bricks but the walls got wider, further and further away from each other until they opened into a wide, white cavern, glowing and inhumanely clean. In the middle was a statue of a hulking man, holding the sky. He wore no shirt and had a pair of orange shorts on and black sandals, sandals that looked real and hyper-realistic looking shorts that flowed with the draft and skin you could see the detail of every pore in. hold on... fabric made of marble should not flow in the wind and should not be such an even orange no matter how much paint.

You slowly looked up, the chest rising and falling with a huffing breath it had to take, the hands trembled and the lips quivered. The hairs on his leg and arm stuck up with the chill of the wind and his elbows dropped slightly making the sky move. Finally, you dared look at the eye's of the giant, who was looking back at you confused as a bee trying to escape through a shut window. Mustard yellow eye's with sunken bag's looked right back at you and you backed up letting out a girlish scream.

"Hey hey wait!!" he shouted, wishing he could reach out and shake your hand or reach after you to emphasise that he wanted you to stay. "Please! Please don't go. I don't have anyone to talk to, I promise I won't hurt you!" he begged, glancing at your figure backing up and starfishing against a wall like it would absorb you and push you out the other side. "Y-you you're talking! And moving! But you, you're a statue?" you shook your hands in front of you and he laughed lightly. "I'm not a statue, I'm a titan. I'm just a big God to be honest, big God doing his job" he nodded his head at his rhyming ability and you slid down the wall grazing your burnt back. "Don't do that you'll hurt yourself" he said.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself then blew out, another deep breath and blew out, another deep breath then blew out. "Okay. so... what you're like atlas or something? He was... he was a titan right and he just held up the universe forever and that looks like something important like the universe" you pointed at the sphere on his back constantly shifting and changing colours and he made a whiney voice at the back of his throat. "Sorta? I'm Taishiro, nice to meet you" he greeted with a nod and you nodded back glancing again at the exit.

Could you trust him?

One look from him and it wasn't hard to tell he was overjoyed to finally talk to someone so you stood in front of him with your hands on your hips so he could see you while he was looking down. "Should I know who taishiro is, not to sound rude but everyone's heard of atlas, who is taishiro?" you asked biting a nail and the titan nodded understandably, fair enough, you would ask valid questions.

"so like, zeus wanted to do something cool and like "oh look i'm redeemable" se he basically said hey all the titans weren't so bad and just did what dad told them to so they all got freed or whatever but someone still has to hold the sky so they gave me the job" he said in one breath which was impressive to you but he wasn't finished. "which is okay, I don't mind it here but it's boring and lonely and my arms have cramp and God I miss food. And like they just made me a titan, they just chose me off the street after work and were like yo we need a new titan and I thought, hey y'know what i'm a hero, i'd be doing good for the world but i'm bored and hungry" he finished his ramble and you giggled.

You opened a packet of pistachios and a muffin and looked at him. "Can I climb you?" you asked gripping the pistachios in your teeth and pulling the muffin in a travel cup that clipped to your belt. "Sure! Not like you're very heavy to me" he joked and you laughed quietly grabbing the threads of his sandals and pulling yourself up like a climbing wall. "Oh you're so small. It tickles" he laughed. Resisting the urge to twitch and jerk you off his leg. You climbed quickly like the ropes in gym class then when you got to the shorts you pulled yourself up until you rested on his knee, flat as a table.

"Uhh, I think this should be good" you nod and balance cautiously to sit down pulling out the muffin and tapping his knee. "Hey open your mouth" you ask and he does so without question. You throw the muffin like a shot put and he grins, savouring the sweet, chocolatey taste "sorry their human sized" you sigh and shuck the pistachios for yourself, chewing on the green nuts with hundreds of questions buzzing in your head.

"So you were a hero?" you question flicking the pistachio shell into the bowl below you where taishiro's feet stood rooted to the ground. "Mhm. BMI hero: fat gum. I was like 46th, the world thinks I retired, that's what I told them but to me i'm still being a hero" he explained and you hummed agreeingly. "It's pretty hero like to give up everything to hold the weight of the world" you smile up at him and he blushes lightly. "Aw, you sound like one of my old interns. I miss it sometimes though, and I miss talking to people so much, it gets lonely here" a breeze flew past you and he shivered, but didn't lose an ounce of balance on the sphere, it was firmly rooted above him, it could have been suspended for all you knew. "Yeah, I bet, especially since being a hero is a pretty team focused job right?"

He smiled sadly and looked up at the tiny exit. He couldn't fit through doors like that anymore, he was the height of the eiffel tower and with one step he'd crack open the crust of the earth. "Yeah. you sound like you know what your talking about" you smiled tucking your hair behind your ear and shrugged "I do. I went to shiketsu to be a hero but when I left I was like... nah, that ain't my purpose. I wanted to like, find a secret the universe had that no one else knew about so i've been travelling for 4 years and I guess you were the secret right?" you thearised and he agreed happily. "It's cool knowing the universe wanted you to find me!" "heck yeah it is!"

You stayed with taishiro for a few days before having to leave and you had never felt so sad before. It was finally over, you didn't have a reason to travel anymore, you found the secret and had solidified a friendship with him but now you were leaving? Despite the snacks and drinks and stories shared about what you'd seen. You felt guilty leaving him again but he looked overjoyed. "I'll visit soon okay!" you shouted and he nodded "I'll see ya around. Say hey to little red riot for me, and suneater!" he instructed and you saluted exiting the cavern back into the dank corridor.

You kept your eyes trained on the ground until you left the mountain. A shimmering rainbow was directly in front of you and you swiped your hand through it like a cloud of smoke you tried re-directing.

The rainbow fizzled and formed into a human with long white hair and pasty skin, a long sundress with rainbow accents and black eye's. "Hi, (y/n) (y/ln) am I right? Oh I know i'm right don't worry, i'm iris Goddess of the rainbow and a messenger for the Gods of sorts. See I'm here to offer you a fast pass from wherever you are to right here in Morocco, next to our dear friend Tai whenever you please" she said with a smile, arm around your shoulder and walking away from the entrance like a car salesman.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow interested but cautious. "What will it cost me?" you ask bluntly and she laughed, slapping your back lightly. "Your hilarious kid. No it costs you nothing more than a prayer or 2 to me and my dear friend Hermes, see he's the God of travel, he's my partner in this see, and what we'll do is just zip you over here faster than you can think!" she exclaimed. You nodded and thought. A free service from 2 Gods? Were they typically that kind? No not really so...

"Oh I see. Zeus wants a fuck doesn't he" you jeered and the sky's went pale grey, like the colour your skin would go if you;d seen a ghost. Iris choked and looked up. "Um... the God of the sky does take an interest in you, yes." you rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at the sky. "Keep it in your pants buddy! I want the fast pass for free or I tell yo wife!!" you bargained, though it was hardly a haggle as the king God, terrified of his wifes wrath, told irish to just give you it for free.

"Thank you! I'll be sure to think of you when I see rainbows from now on, maybe we can have a chat! Oh oh or come see me and Tai some time, he says he gets lonely, you should visit him!" you grinned with a wave and said your address, being transported immediately like cargo from morocco to your home.

You crashed into your bed and huffed grabbing your limbs to make sure you were completely there. "DOES THIS WORK WITH OTHER COUNTRIES!" you shouted to no one in particular, your voice cracking while you spoke and then collapsed into bed, falling into a deep slumber.

A/n: Not gonna lie I really dont like thos chapter. It feels rushed and boring, I think I'll revisit it at somepoint. If you have any feedback feel free to comment!

[dreamiesdotcom]

butterfly effect│nct dream

Summary: You think of it as something caused by the butterfly effect — the great loves you had to leave, and the one that made you stay.

Pairing/s: 7dream x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Moon's note: since it's my birthday and I promised... it's not the best but I'd like to thank you guys for staying with me and wishing me a happy birthday! I hope you all have an awesome 2021!

You weren't really thinking straight when you met him — instead, your mind was a mess of one thought and sidelines; the little things. Butterfly effect. The knowledge that ten minutes from now the train will board — you'll miss your ride to school, you'll miss school — so you run faster, faster, and there it goes. The butterfly effect — knowing that what little thing you did could've changed someone's life entirely.

If you have made it ten minutes earlier, maybe you'd be sitting in the spot where a child buzzes with excitement, knowing that she'll see her father sometime soon, and in exchange, she will be in another place — maybe she won't meet the girl sitting across who offers her one of her candies. Maybe she won't be riding the train at all — maybe she would have to wait six months again before she can go see her dad.

You sulkily take the path to one of the exits, thinking about catching the bus or something. The skies are dark and you're aware of its plan, also aware that you left your umbrella. Frustrated and too annoyed to even think about school, you crash to the empty bench, bags left to drop to the floor. Tough luck. 

The boy chuckles, "Missed the train too?"

"Yeah," you grumble, not even bothering that he's a total stranger. "Was caught in a daydream and got lost on the way. You?"

"Eh, my idiot of a best friend made me wait," he shrugs. He brings his book down and offers you a handshake, "I'm Huang Renjun — I see we study at the same place. May I know your name?"

You don't speak after a minute or two, but you shake his hand, to which he laughs at. You think it was you being overwhelmed. Maybe your soul just knew how much impact he was meant to throw at your life.

Huang Renjun doesn't become a one-time encounter, but instead, he becomes someone you take train rides with; be it you're late or not, to school or to the library. He stays constant occurrence, so much that Huang Renjun turns into Renjun, then Renjunnie — until you're free to call each other names like 'dumbass' and 'stupid' and everything crumbles down; formalities, facades, walls. You don't feel it then, but if you were to look back, you think it's that one dark-skied Monday with you two terribly late and finding yourselves back in the same bench, when everything the world laid down for you has shifted.

Renjun pout his lips, bored. He tears his bag from himself and lets it stay under the shed, but he stretches his hands out to the sky where his eyes are set, watching water fall in tiny drizzles before a full-blown rain, "Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?"

"When we should be at school?" you huff, more amused than questioning but it comes out as a scolding. He only nods his head, and you furrow your brows, "Renjun, you're crazy."

He doesn't reply, only answers with a deadpan gaze that asks Are you going or not? and it makes you tighten your expression further. 

"Hold me."

The boy grins in triumph — he cheekily smiles, immediately pulling you under the rain and laughs like a tiny kid. It's contagious, you figure out, his laughter; if not for his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours, you would've fallen over laughing with him. It was less of a dance and more of a cuddle, swaying to the sound of the rain and his sweet hums. Renjun whispers to you the melody of a love song, and you couldn't help but ponder.

"I always wanted to do this, you know?" you feel silly even confessing, "To dance under the rain with someone, look into each other's eyes, exist as if the world doesn't and maybe give them a kiss. I wonder how that'd feel."

Renjun's serenity read ideas — those that never failed to get you two in trouble. He tilts his head, "Kiss me, then."

You feel like the world stops, and your heartbeat slows, as if the raindrops are little speckles of star-like lights littering the surroundings. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, shock ripping through your body, a confused sound escaping your throat, "What?"

"I guess you don't always need to have feelings for the person you're kissing," Renjun purses his lips. Of all people, you laugh in your head, those words you expected to come out of this one's mouth the least. He huffs, "And I don't have feelings for you."

There's just enough hesitation — uncertainty, unpredictability, skepticism — in his eyes that you find he can't be trusted as much as he normally would be. Renjun drops a half-smile, eyes unreadable, "But I sure do know I want to kiss you. A lot. Right now." 

Renjun smiles in victory the second time that day.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You come across Donghyuck in the most inconvenient way possible; a few months after you started dating Renjun and there's a little too many mishaps with making schedules meet. He strides to your chair one sunny Friday, clothes too colorful for the shades of beige decorating the place. Donghyuck didn't know how to approach you; he just kind of winged it by showing you Renjun's texts that he asked him to pick you up because something came up and he can't make it anymore. You didn't really like that — the fact that he didn't even speak, the fact that Renjun stood you up. You thought Donghyuck was arrogant. The car ride home was silent.

He was far from that, you learn the one too many times the same scenario occurred. Renjun was too busy to even show up, more often in the library than in his own place. Donghyuck, being his best friend, never failed to be there for you, keep your relationship intact, make excuses for the other. He'll pick you up from where you were supposed to meet your boyfriend, grab food and spend the whole day playing video games that only he understands, and then half of the time he'll compliment you with little playful remarks. That day was supposed to be nothing so different from the others — it's just that it didn't take much longer for Donghyuck to fall.

How could he not? You smiled so lovingly and spoke so gently, always so understanding and patient and kind. How can he not, when he's already known what song makes your day the most? When he saw how ethereal you looked under the moonlight, as he danced with you by the shore? Sure, maybe most of these moments wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Renjun's absence, and truly most of the things he loves about you aren't for him; he fell in love anyway. Still, that day was supposed to be nothing so different from any others — you're stuck in the odd place quite between grateful and guilty.

"Something came up, he won't be here." The boy says firmly through gritted teeth, hands-on your wrist trying to make you get up, "Please. He doesn't have his phone. He's not coming anymore, let's go home."

"Let me wait for him, please," you say, eyes teary, "Please, Donghyuck."

"No." He simply mutters, and whether it was the sinking feeling of defeat or the determination in his voice, it doesn't matter. You let yourself get tugged away from that place, feeling weak and oddly empty. The car ride home was silent. 

"Thanks a lot, you know?" You shyly say later, once Donghyuck's lost enough in video games and he's run out of knock-knock jokes and witty statements. He couldn't stand the sight of you with your head hung low and eyes teary, "You're always there for me when Renjun is not and... just thank you."

"You're welcome," he sincerely replies. You try to look for it, the lilt in his voice or the smirk stretching his lips, but all you see is worry, and it concerns you. The bad butterflies in your stomach, the bad thoughts in your head; you feel like right now, with you so vulnerable, there should be someone by your side — someone that is totally not Donghyuck. He clears his throat, "You know he didn't mean to, right? He wants time with you too, a lot, you know?"

"I know what I have, Hyuck," you reply, a chuckle at the end of your tone. You lean your back to the couch, head tilted up and voice hoarse, "and I'm fucking scared I'll take him for granted."

Donghyuck's heartbeat slows down, but you don't need to know that. If you're thinking of a similar situation, a place in time back then as cruel winters and as harsh as summer sunlight in the afternoon, you figure he doesn't need to know that, too.

You let out a huff and a smile, "I don't want to know how painful it is to lose Huang Renjun."

Donghyuck thinks he knows why you said it; things normally go down the drain when you start realizing why someone fell for a certain person — at least, he thinks. If his experience is a reliable source, this is the point where you start falling for that person too. When you see how gentle they are, how caring, how understanding. Maybe Donghyuck is lonely — maybe he just wants to be someone who holds another person, singing them lullabies until they fall asleep, much like Renjun does for you. Maybe you're really just lovely — maybe there's an undiscovered force in the universe that places you in the center of his everything. He makes note of the rejection in your confession, and he accepts it, gracefully.

This is the point where he suppresses all the what-ifs in his head — what if you gave me a chance? What if I met you first? What if I didn't skip class that day, and I was with Renjun, and I met you at the same time as him? Do you think you would've ended up with me? — but these thoughts, despite being concealed, they leave a constant reminder that they're still there. It's a truth you both already know, the words that drip like honey from his lips, "I could love you better, so much better."

It'd be a lie to say you didn't think of it, considering his feelings. It would be an even bigger lie if you said that you don't think anyone can love you better than Renjun — you know someone can, and with how you two are handling this, it wouldn't be so hard to. Donghyuck is just so easy to fall for — the way he always knows the right thing to say, the compliments he throws at people, how confident he is, how clingy he gets. You would lie if you're asked, but you can't deny having feelings for Donghyuck, you can't deny how many times you've fallen in a reverie thinking of how good it must feel to be adored by him. Maybe you were lonely, maybe Donghyuck was just like that. Either way, no matter how great this love could be, you know it's wrong. 

"I know you could. I couldn't be any happier when I'm with you. Those instants, they're one of the most beautiful moments in my life, but —" you halt, eyes still staring up at the ceiling. The twist in your gut tightens as you proceed, "But in those moments, I was secretly hoping for things. I was hoping that he was the one doing all of that for me. I was hoping that the happiness I had with you, he was giving me instead."

Donghyuck remains silent for a while. He smiles wistfully, "I know."

It's a rather odd answer, but you figure it shouldn't shock you as much anymore. You sit up straight, confused. Donghyuck motions for you to stand as he does the same. Stars shine in his eyes still, but it's a different light — there's hope in them, but it's a difficult kind of hope. He's beautiful even under dull lighting, it's something hard to pronounce; unrestrained and raw, as if one look at him and you'll crumble.

"Please, for just a while, even just a little bit," He steps closer, eyes downcast, "hold me like you love me."

You figure you were right about thinking that there was always something wrongfully more with Donghyuck — also discover that no matter how much more this feeling is, whatever it is, it can never be love; at least not a healthy one. What love could possibly ruin relationships? Donghyuck and Renjun are practically soulmates — they were made to be best friends, and while they had their other friends, nobody is just like Renjun and nobody is like Donghyuck. You don't want them to fall apart; you of all people know how hard it is to lose someone special. 

Donghyuck's hug felt like fire, uninhibited and uncontrolled, given to someone so undeserving. You hold him like you love him the same way.

"I don't need you to love me back," but maybe he was hoping a bit. Yeah. Maybe. "There was never a chance for us, you know? Against my own best friend, I know I won't stand a chance. I just wanted to hear it from you."

A pause.

"Because I can dance with you under the moon, and I can walk on streets holding your hands, I can give you all the time in the world — I could spend a lifetime telling everyone I'm yours," Donghyuck locks gazes with you, and you wonder how he manages to be both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. He shakes his head a bit, "But that won't make you love me."

"Because I can only ever catch you," he says wistfully "whenever he fails to. I always do, don't I? Catch you, save you, love you. But you're not falling for me. You're not in need of my saving. You're not mine to adore."

He loosens his hug, looks at you like the sun bidding farewell to the moon. He's just as beautiful, if not more, he really is — gold dusting his eyelids and strawberry balm on his lips — he's ethereal. Donghyuck is beautiful in all ways manageable and not, but it's also a different kind of beauty — quite like love, adventurous but uncertain, poetic but tragic. There's a lot of pain in this beauty. He closes his eyes.

"There's not much of us, but I'm setting you free."

═ ∘❁∘ ═

You find yourself knocking at Renjun's door that night, for no particular reason — certain events made you forget that he stood you up. Renjun apologizes and repeats his reasons like a mantra, but words seemed to leave his mouth once he sees your eyes; tired and sore. You don't really need his apologies. You just need him.

Apologies, you see, they almost always never come when they're asked for. When they do, they're mostly unwanted and unnecessary from that point forward. You just feel odd, more restless than you actually are, the world is too loud — you just want to close your eyes and escape for a bit. Renjun holds you silently the whole night, his heartbeat calm, his arms holding you tight and secure.

Renjun knows, but he decides it's better for him not to. He shifts a bit, "If not because of me, why are you sad?"

A part of you knows that this is his way of telling you he understands, that he's aware of what somethings happened behind his back. Renjun always knows. The bigger part of you hoped he didn't — selfishly. You know it's the safest choice to keep your mouth shut. 

You're sad, for a million reasons or for just one, you don't bother keeping up with the numbers. Renjun looks at you like you're a treasure, though, like he means it — you think the only favor you could do him and for yourself as well is to lie. You grin, effectively hiding away the tears threatening to brim your eyes, "I forgot."

He doesn't really know what answer he expected, but his heart sinks at the reply nonetheless. Renjun decides, tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes quickly in a way Renjun wishes it wasn't. He wakes up tired — he was up all night singing lullabies to himself, whispering confessions that wouldn't change a thing and promises he'll never be able to fulfill, stuff that would never make you stay. Renjun didn't cry all night — there was a tear or two, there was three — he didn't just cry all night. He did so much more — relive the past, think that he's sorry, accept defeat and the fact that he's never gonna be enough for you; then he closes his eyes. The rain pours heavily outside and Renjun reaches a hand out to the sky.

"Perhaps, dance under the rain with me?" he says with tired eyes. "One time once more, baby."

You ignore the telltale signs of a heartache — maybe you were too numb, maybe you wanted to pretend it's all normal. Renjun tugs you outside and pulls you into a hug so tight, as if he didn't want to let go but he's losing you. Is he? 

Dancing with Renjun under the rain is oddly similar to the one you shared with Donghyuck under the moonlight, and you find yourself full of guilt as you sway together with him, humming love songs just right next to your ear. 

Renjun knows of that dance, of course he does. He was in front of the place you two were supposed to meet at, hoping that he could still make it. Because of this, he doesn't ask why you're entwining fingers with his while recalling memories of another. He doesn't mind — he thinks, as long as your eyes look at him so softly like that, he doesn't mind anything.

You think Renjun is beautiful like this — his everything an aesthetic you can endlessly write about. His eyes, though, his eyes look distant, wishful and longing. Renjun looks at you like he's letting you go and your heart drops, as gentle and as sweet as the poems he's written of you and the kiss he gifts your lips with.

"Just leave, darling," he whispers, "Stay a lovely memory to me."

It's just like any lovely excerpts you wrote, the last line with Renjun quite familiar and bittersweet. As if in any other circumstances, had he said only the second sentence and the second sentence only, it would have made your heart skip and your cheeks rise in temperature.

Real love is a little not like literature, though, at least the one you had with Renjun isn't. It wasn't almost being the same person. It wasn't sweet chaos. For both of you, it was doing what was the best for each other at the moment — whether it will make you cry, whether it will be painful before it becomes easy, knowing that it won't always be picture perfect but still wanting to give each other what you deserve. It was so much simpler than how he said it in his poetry, just as complicated but not any less romantic than that. Huang Renjun knew that you were aware of what was the best for the both of you — with neither of you ever wanting to force something to work and end up hating each other the more it fails, successfully trading the happy memories with more regrets, you walk away. Renjun doesn't follow just because love isn't always like the idea of it, but he does remember to never forget. You walk away, holding his love dear to your heart.

═ ∘❁∘ ═

Some people are just not meant to be alone, you think. Mark Lee comes just as quickly as Renjun was gone.

You don't even know why your paths crossed — Mark is literally the town's golden boy. He plays sports and aces exams and has a good set of friends; surely, he has more important matters to deal with, and definitely getting coffee at a dingy coffee shop isn't one of them. Not when it's three a.m in the morning, at least.

The shy barista at the counter sends you a gleeful smile as he hands out your order, one which you return with a curt nod and a quiet wish goodnight. He watches intently, subtle but focused — he really isn't one to gawk at people, but he couldn't help it. You held with you a smile that doesn't match the exhaustion in your eyes. You looked like hope. You looked like someone to look up and search for the stars even on a cloudy day. You seemed like a full-bloomed spring to trapped minds and sour hearts. You think Mark is a little too curious like Alice. Mark thinks you're even better than the Wonderland he'd always fall for.

He knows you saw him, he feels the hesitation in your stare. He knows you know him, he's shared a couple of classes with you and has done a couple of assignments as a team, so naturally, Mark couldn't help himself but ask, "Wanna sit down with me?"

You walk up to him with a nod, grateful. Mark tries to remain calm for the rest of the night — caffeine not helping — and he tries to look at his book instead of you, but he simply fails to. He tries his best to conceal himself, but he can't seem to tear away. He can't look at anywhere else when you're sitting there right in front of him — you know pain, you're familiar with sadness, have always been friends with enduring what you couldn't take; Mark sees in you a landscape that makes his heart hurt, a leafless tree he loves by itself but couldn't resist the urge to nurse back into life. Every now and then you'd look up from your cup and he would look away from this book that he's "reading" and your eyes would meet, and the both of you would shyly giggle and open up a small talk.

He walks you home that night, this one and the other and the many next times after that; it's just your thing by now, getting coffee at the most unreasonable hours of the day and staying up until it's too late for either of you to sleep because by this hour you should be blinking awake, walking down lifeless streets and past neon signs and holding hands. Mark would look at you with such awe and when he does, you have some things you forget, and your heart races. He's became a regular part of your day, a constant stranger. And then he becomes your friend. Then kind of more. You think, maybe, just maybe, he can become something more than more.

"I have many regrets in this life, you know? But I don't wanna be imprisoned by them," you shrug, too scared to look up at him and see that he wonders just what failures you've done. You continue your slow pace, both in walking and letting go of things much like words, "I don't want you to be one of them."

Mark stops walking, but he doesn't make you feel like you've said something wrong, so you finally glace up and meets his eyes; those that hold as much tiredness as yours, pressure, those that are glassy and brimming with tears. You smile, "And I like you, a lot, even if I'm in broken pieces. "

Mark looks at you and doesn't see majestic brokenness. Mark falls deeper in love that day, the next and all the others; you were deep like that. He fell and couldn't stop falling and he can't wait to fall even deeper into you, diving into unknown waters with blind fates and silent confessions of love. 

Your relationship was practical — literal and convenient, full of compromise but in a good way. You both were almost always on the same page of what should be done and how to do it, and if not, you two know that it's the best to give it a rest and understand. The balance, that kind of synchrony — it was something you both need, was something you liked about your dynamic; the fact that the partnership was there and you're certain of no taking more than you could give and no giving of less than you deserve. For once, you feel like you aren't pouring liquid into a leaking jar, and you feel content at the warmth he gives you with.

Renjun never made you feel this way; he didn't make enough accommodations for your relationship and you didn't voice out your expectations of him, you just wished he magically knew. Because he always knew that you would understand and other people wouldn't, he ended up giving you most of the weight of the relationship you both should've carried together. Mark was everything you hoped Renjun was; this is where the conflict begins.

When love is fueled by what the past wasn't able to give and what the present is willing to offer, you end up falling for the ideas and not the person. He makes up to what Renjun didn't, he filled to the brim what Renjun wasn't able to, he satiates what Renjun couldn't satisfy. You always saw the things Mark did as what you expected from someone else, so you weren't able to appreciate them as they are. You never truly saw him as Mark Lee who loves you, always as the boy who did everything the last didn't. 

Just as any relationship that revolves around somebody who's not involved, the conclusion was something you saw coming. It comes with tired eyes and worn out sighs, burned out hearts and linked fingers, sour hearts turning bitter. Mark doesn't look at you at all, and you keep your eyes set to the stars.

"The thing with me is I always long for consistency — for someone to understand me and stay understanding of me forever." He breathes out, voice raw. Did he scream? Was he screaming in those empty spaces you two gave each other? In any of those yells, did he call your name? You think you need to yell at the top of your lungs just to hear a sound louder than your heartbreak. He chuckles before continuing, "And I know that it doesn't exist and it never will. I knew that since childhood, but even if I continue disappointing myself, I never stopped hoping."

His shoulders drop — he feels that weak that time, even his knees buckle down and his eyes sting from holding back tears. "So baby, don't play with me," he whispers, more begging than warning and he falls apart, "I don't need a chase — I need someone to wait for the end with."

There's a whine at the back of your throat, but you settle with looking at his direction with an apologetic call of his name. He doesn't reply.

Mark never knew that he could fall in love with the same person all over again even during a break-up. You're just lovely like that — always dancing in your daydreams while you carry the world on your back. Mark feels his breath catch at his throat, he feels his palms go numb, he feels his heart going haywire and begging him so desperately because no, no, don't let go, please, don't let go! 

"There's a huge difference between how much I love you, and how much I can take." He finally spares you a glance, his everything so spent and lonely and blue in a way that isn't the calm of an ocean. "If you can't love me, then please let me go."

Mark knew your answer when you smiled.

────── ❁ ──────

The trip to the coffee shop was slow and empty and chilly, your hands trembling in need to get a hold of warm coffee and your feet taking little steps to such a familiar place. Honestly, you don't even know why you're letting yourself go there — why do you keep on doing this, torturing yourself? You don't even know — maybe you came here to reminisce the past, hold it close one last time before letting it go. Maybe you're here to remember how Mark was, how he was before he met you — oh, how you wish he didn't meet you. How badly you wish he never did, how you wish he never offered you a seat, his comfort, his love, a place in his heart. How you wish you didn't steal the sparkles in his eyes, and at that very moment, you feel the sudden urge to turn around. 

But you're already pushing the glass door wide open, causing the chimes to make that delightful sound.

"Good...!" the cheery voice fades, a concerned look adorning exhausted eyes, "...evening. The usual?"

You hum, nodding soullessly. The boy — Jeno, quietly works your order until he decides he's had enough of you rubbing your cheeks raw wiping down tears. He sighs and finishes your drink, hands it to you with a sympathizing smile, "Uh, you don't look fine, but are you okay?"

You suppress a giggle and a glare — why does he care? But you're lonely, too lonely, so lonely that you only manage a nod, "Rough time. I wish today didn't happen."

"Oh, but other people had the best day of their lives today. They wouldn't experience that day if today didn't happen," he smiles, flashes of child-like optimism and hopes hinting behind the sleepy glaze in his eyes. "You're on your way to yours."

And while on any other day, his reply would have made you annoyed, you find that he's right, and wish that he indeed is. You feel like it's the only right that didn't go wrong today.

Something warns you that you shouldn't be getting yourself caught in his strings and his ways, but you find yourself straying around his orbit. You were lonely. It was that bad — so bad that you found comfort in everything and everyone and Lee Jeno just happened to be convenient; It's just safe to be around each other, and that's what great friends are supposed to be, right? Jeno doesn't judge and he doesn't pry when you tell him not to push it, and he tries to understand without forcing you to make him if you're not ready. Lee Jeno had a soul like comfort and a smile like a piece of home. You insist that you had no interest in either, but with you so down and him the only thing pulling you up, you couldn't help but let him in.

You think some people are just like that — timeless souls stuck in mortal bodies, liquid gold; glowing and burning and bright and hopeful, stars. They're like stars — human stars.

He's always beside you, you see, Lee Jeno. He answers the dumbest questions and the deeper ones, he stays up listening to your heartaches and struggles. He knows a lot about you — never everything, but they're more than enough — and you know about him, too. It's a dangerous edge you two are leaning far too close to tipping over, and still, your gaze screams life and hope and energy, Jeno thinks he doesn't mind. He remembers earlier memories with him crumbling under your fingertips, tears in his eyes.

"Mark Lee... he's not replaceable and I'm not a replacement..." he shifts his eyes down, can't bring it to him to just look at you without breaking himself. He manages a heartwrenching smile, "but I think I'd rather be a replacement rather than a distraction, darling."

But you looked at him and cup his cheeks and kiss his forehead so mellowly, assuring him that he's neither. The storm in his heart stops and all his insecurities don't matter, and Jeno doesn't think he ever felt this good — so light, so dreamy. Your touch brings comfort, much like lullabies, and after years on insufferable insomnia, Jeno falls asleep.

Your gaze, too. If you continue looking at him that way, he doesn't think he'll mind anything.

"Thanks, Jen. For the coffee," you say with a smile, another night spent with him at the coffee shop. These days, you spend most of your free time waiting for his shift to end, watching him stutter and flush every time he realizes you've been watching him. There's a giddy feeling spreading inside your gut as you continue, "and for staying with me. That was so thoughtful of you — how much lovelier can you be?"

He laughs, shaking his head. He sighs, "Stop it. You're giving me hope."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh, but I want to," you quickly roll your eyes, an attempt to faux cool control, your expression immediately shifting to something welcoming and soft just enough that his chest tightens. Jeno feels kind of odd — a good kind of odd, a welcomed sensation. You beam up at him with glassy eyes. Jeno shifts his to his shoelaces.

"Don't do that."

"Jen..."

"I love you," he confesses, shallow breaths coming in quick intervals. The floor seems to sway under his feet and the skies feel like they're swirls of dripping liquid, and it's hard to even breathe, let alone swallow the bitterness of his words, "But I would rather have you not say it back than hear you not mean it."

"I'm... I— Jen," you gasp out, fast to hold his hands to try to keep him down. For a reason or two, you feel like crying. Jeno feels lost. "I'm falling."

But you're not, and you don't know why you said it, but there's a galaxy in his eyes and the universe so beautifully laid down in his mind and he's pulling you close, tears in his eyes, this boy. Lee Jeno who's so in love with you, Lee Jeno who's hopelessly whipped, Lee Jeno — your sweet, sweet boy. You look up to him and shakily whispers, "Please catch me."

Jeno looks at the luminaries and wonders what it would feel like if one day he looks into the very same orbs only to find that the stars have fallen.

The wind blows gently, the coldness of the place prickling his skin, but Jeno doesn't think it's what caused the flush to rise on his cheeks. He stutters, curses a little, says again those little words and dives for a kiss — you feel like it's the best night ever; no nightmare, just pure bliss. 

You blindly walk the path inside your house, dropping your belongings on either of your sides. You try to keep your knees from buckling as you bring yourself to your bathroom, stripping off your clothes. You lean your back to the cold tile walls of your shower, feeling the rush of water that is supposed to drown your thoughts not doing anything to keep them at bay. What have I done?

Loving Jeno is easy, though, far too easy if you may. He's so full of love and in need of affection but never asks for them, and you're more than glad to give all of that to him without words needed. The days with him have been light-hearted, felt deeply nonetheless. In this little world, it's you and him, him and you, no one else. Right? Is that right? Do you promise?

Jeno knocks at your home one day, sullen and lethargic. He spreads his arms out for a hug, one you throw yourself into without hesitation. He leans into the touch, leaning down to burry his head on the crook of your neck, "Thank you, baby."

Your brows draw closer, "For what?"

"You were never mine, but you were always lonely." He suddenly says, He suddenly says, voice fading weak and unstable. There's warm tears dampening your shoulder, and he shakes ever so slightly that you panic and try to pull away, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he continues, "In my twisted logic, I made myself believe that it's the same."

"What are you saying, Jen?" You laugh, a bit confused and a lot afraid. "I love you."

"No, please, don't say that," his reply baffles you. When he lets you go, Jeno has a certain saddened look in his eyes, and it feels so familiar that you should be numb to it by now. You're not, though, and so you pretend to not know where this all would lead. He pulls you in again and hugs you tighter, "Let me tell you that I love you without you answering back, please."

The boy breathes out shakily, "I want us to have at least one memory that isn't a lie."

And then Lee Jeno says goodbye.

────── ❁ ──────

Park Jisung is the clumsy florist who keeps breaking vases in the flower shop his cousin owns, just several blocks away from the kindergarten both your nephews attended. You meet him one too many times you had to pick the little boy up, and talked to him finally one fine Tuesday when you decided flowers would be nice, out of random. You become friends from then on. 

This thing you have with Jisung is something lovely, child-like, and carefree. It doesn't put any pressure on you — there are expectations, but they're all voiced out and kept healthy. You're friends — great friends, not best friends — whose dynamic is not necessarily convenient. It's safe to say that some people think you have a complicated relationship.

You think, not really. Not to the two of you, at least — Jisung just knows when you're down and in need to be left alone or cuddled, while you know when he needs to cry or if he's pushing himself to his limits. He knows what flower you hold most dear, your treasured scent, your favorite shade of yellow. You know his most loved tracks, the beat he looks the happiest humming to, the color of his dreams. It's much more simple than that — it's just that you two have fun, even with your differences, and when you're together, everything else just fades away.

You just... don't like being alone. Jisung doesn't like not having company — well, there are indeed people he doesn't want to be accompanied by, but he doesn't like being the only one walking alone in crowds of many. He doesn't make your heart skip, not really, instead it's just a warm feeling in your chest, much like home. He doesn't make you nervous — not at all, but he does make you feel safe. Comforted, even. It's the type of love you've always yearned for, the only kind of love he's comfortable with.

"You dance?" Your eyes widen in surprise, dropping your book on the table. Then you smile, "Oh? Aren't you full of surprises?" 

"Mhm, you'll see." He says with embarrassment hinting his voice, but then he stops arranging the flowers and looks at where you're sitting. "You? Aren't you full of surprises, too?"

You pick up your book, a sudden low, shrugging. "It won't be a surprise if I say now, wouldn't it?"

He just shakes his head, tries to lift the vase to the other side and accidentally knocks another one down. You laugh at him, curious at how much control he has over his body that he must be able to dance so fluidly, hit the beat like it's what he's born for, and yet he can't seem to hold a vase and not break it. Jisung giggles, taking it lightly. You wish he didn't. 

The days with Jisung are filled with your favorite bouquets and post-it notes. Each and every day, the words written inside changes from 'You did well', until it develops to 'I hope you smiled today,' 'I wish something good happened today,' and 'You're really, really pretty.' He'd take you to little uphills, asks you to teach him how to make floral crowns from wildflowers, dance with you barefoot under bright daylight. A little summer, a certain person, your most dreaded feeling of having someone mean so much that you let flowers bloom in your chest until it's so hard to breathe and you cough them up.

"My parents asked me to study dance in another country," he mumbles one day, a shaky breath leaving his lips, "Please give me a reason not to go."

"Chase your drive, Sungie," you whisper back. You lean your head further to his chest, safe and warm and fading, "I love you, so choose your dreams over me."

There's the slightest hint of betrayal in his voice, a tinge of rejection in his eyes, "If you love me, why would you make me choose?"

If you love me, why can't you choose me? You selfishly ask, the kid in you whining at the thought of being left alone. The greedy part of you begs to ask him to stay, the needy part of you wants to hug him until he's so full of you that he forgets even the bare thought of wanting anything else. The silent voice inside you, the one that learned and keeps learning, the one that could've saved you so many times if you listened to it, sighs sadly. Don't risk anyone's future for your present, it seems to say.

"Because I love myself too," you look directly to his eyes, cupping his cheeks in between your palms, "and we need to put ourselves before anybody else."

And yet again, you're starstruck by the almost golden swirls in his irises, a peek of his soul. You think his eyes are beautiful — astounding, art worthy, a sight to never get tired of. He thinks they're only beautiful because he's looking at you.

This thing with Jisung isn't something you should've let go. You shouldn't have let him go but you weren't ready and the last thing you wanted was to hurt someone who held you so close beautifully. He didn't mean to, though — it was just too hard not to go overboard, and the next thing he knew, he was in love. He didn't mean to, so he walks you home the last night, hand in hand with a certain something hidden underneath his mellow smile. Jisung stands in front of you, waiting for you to open your gates, but you don't move. You stay basking in the tenderness of his gaze.

You think the little problem is that he's even more breathtaking up close and in silence, when the night feels so dead that it thrives — you feel like if you weren't so broken, if you don't keep on seeing another person when you look at him in the eyes, if you let go of the past, Jisung would be everything your heart desired. It just so happened that you two are both too infinite for forever, too broken to fix anything for the latter. Jisung was too charming — his smile was one that doesn't ask for attention but still steals it, never content with just taking your breath away so he takes with him your mind and soul.

You can't handle losing any more of yourself, though, so you smile, "Thank you for waiting."

"I have always been waiting for you," he grins shyly. You make a mental note to remember him like this — dyed locks a mess on top of his head and glasses messily perched on his nose bridge, tall and too pretty to be real, eyes so loving and expressive. There's an obvious sorrow in his voice, "Without fail, consistently, inevitably, forevermore."

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheeks, "Good night, Jisung."

The last note comes in between the pages of your notebook, a pretty pastel purple accompanied by pressed wildflowers. There, in his messy letters and colorful ink, reads a confession:

Maybe I couldn't stop myself from falling because it felt like flying with you.

You shake your head, sigh reading 'I told you not to do that'. Still, you feel a tug at your chest, a link between the two of you in the sense that you seem to be moving in synchrony with these words — Park Jisung is your last love, you swear. You shift your eyes, tired of the same chain all over again, flipping the note to read the words behind them. 

When you find the right love at the wrong time, what will you do to make it work? 

You sigh to yourself as you read the question, tracing the pristine paper with your pen, and finally, finally you smile;

Let it go. Set it free, because the greatest love of all is the one that lets you grow.

You tilt your head up, holding back the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. 

────── ❁ ──────

Zhong Chenle invades your life like a hurricane of mixed emotions, a little like three months just in time when you finally decided you've had enough heartbreaks. You meet him from one of your friends, Qian Kun, and literally had to stop and wonder how in the world he managed to find this thing — you can't help it, alright? Chenle just stood silent and proud, clad in leather and rumors and reputations and reeking of expensive. He comes in the scene like thoughts as turbulent as unwanted flashbacks and as easily as finding trouble looking for the right answer when you're in a rush.

Quickly as he entered your life, he became a friend; you're too familiar with this scene, but you've had enough. You can't take any more. You've spent most of your life haunted by sugar smiles and breathy laughs and in exchange, had yourself break everything you wanted to keep intact. It doesn't matter that he's not at all what he's perceived to be, it doesn't matter that he makes your breath hitch. You don't even care what you're going against with, if it's fate or heavenly beings or the world — no more. You can't anymore.

The world is the ocean and the ocean is a God — people are mere sailors who think they're stronger than the tides, but they're not; once the waters have made their decision to kill you, there's no reason you should fear the phenomenons trying to do you harm. It seems like it's made that plan, that thing you hoped so much you wouldn't do. Chenle knows so he smiles at you brightly, "Don't you dare run away from what you're feeling."

"Else what, you gonna run after me?" You bite back just for the sake of it, laughter bubbling from your throat, "Gonna go chase me down?"

He shrugs, taking a challenge and a risk, "You better not regret."

"Absolutely fucking not." Kun hisses after you've told him what happened, months after you've started dating and you're tired of hiding it already. Your friends already tease you about getting together, anyway, so why should you even hide? Apparently, this. The profanities leaving his mouth should worry you, really, but it doesn't; not as much as his disagreement. Still, you couldn't even bother to ask him why because you see it in his eyes — you know him that much, you're familiar with that look — "You're not in love with Chenle, please, we both know this."

"I am in love with him!" You say, hurt. The look in his eyes softens, but the pain of his word doesn't, neither does his determination, "Kun, please. I didn't tell you just so you could lecture me, I told you because you're my friend! I do love him!"

"Are you, really? In love with him, you say? Completely?" Your eyes shift to the side after his statement, the lack of sarcasm and warmth in his tone both bothering you. You want to cry. When you look at Kun, you find he feels just as much. "You're not in love with him in the way he deserves."

There's a dry chuckle leaving your lips as you grab your bag, standing up with a tear slowly rolling down in your cheek. More than devastation, there's a certain withering look in your eyes. Kun tries to apologize, but you're already moving away from him. The betrayal in your voice is impossible to ignore and forget, "How dare you make accusations about how I'm feeling?"

Falling in love with Chenle wasn't in the plan; in fact, you hardly even had any plans to begin with. As another fact, the only plan was to not fall in love with anyone anymore. Plans are ever-changing things, you'd always counter, they depend on the situation. When Chenle came in your life, you figure there happened to be another shift — something significant had changed, a good change.

Maybe it is why you didn't even take Kun seriously. You've always hoped that all those lows would lead to this point, the part where there's content spreading on your chest, a feeling just as bright as the luminescent blanket of embedded diamonds and rubies, a sky full of stars. By your side, the boy looks at you with eyes shining just as much; Zhong Chenle, badly misunderstood, so truly loved. You couldn't help but pull him in a kiss — giggly and messy, chaste and ever so delicate. 

You think you could spend lifetimes just staring at him. You swore on it, really, to not be in love with him. More than anybody else, you hoped to fate that you'll never fall in love again. It's just that this person — Zhong Chenle, he has a tendency to be very addicting, and oh, how easily addicted you are. His kiss a lovely burn against your lips, his words a heavenly whisper to your ear, his existence a delightful surprise. You find it inevitable to fall because of the many similar nights before this, just weeks after you two met. Those days where you two were laughing way too hard for midnight and your heart blossomed with happiness it hasn't felt for long. It's the sweetest kind of doom.

It's doom, nonetheless. 

"With whom was your first relationship with?" Chenle suddenly asks, no hint of jealousy in his eyes, but there is, aside from pure curiosity, something else — lost, baffled, seeking an explanation for something he doesn't even think he should know. "I mean, you're mine. You're my first love, but I know I'm not yours, and I'm curious. "

"You don't even know him, Lele." You laugh, trying to hide your hesitation. The boy insists, says that he just needs a name. You roll your eyes affectionately, "Huang Renjun. He's a great guy, but timing kinda messed up."

Chenle hums appreciatively, but he stops trying to find constellations and making up shapes of his own; instead, he dives in a pool thoughts deeper than the dark. He thinks of what he doesn't know if he believes in, but he keeps his eyes up at the stars and hopes to God that his life wasn't such a movie; he stays quiet.

"Who's Jaemin, then?" The question comes, harmless but shocking nonetheless. Chenle breaks his stare from the dull-starred sky and looks at you with a smile brighter than daylight. His question makes your gut twist. "Jaemin who danced with you under the rain... Jaemin who made your day with corny jokes, with late-night talks, with coffee, with notes."

You don't reply, so he ponders some more. He thinks about walking the streets holding hands, he thinks of cheek kisses. He thinks of waking up tomorrow and doing all of that with you. He looks forward to a couple of years — maybe you'll move in together, maybe you'll share a place and clothes and everything. He thinks of counting down the memories, having lived most of his life satisfied. Chenle thinks of doing it all with you; someone who takes tragedies and turns them into masterpieces. Someone who sings sad songs with a saccharine smile.

"Jaemin with a reputation, known for all the wrong reasons..." his eyes cast down, dull and slowly piecing everything together, "Just like me."

He thinks of a vow, a promise — to the stars, till dawn do us part. He thinks of how near the sun is from rising, and he thinks of silhouette, of being hidden behind one. You don't answer until then, so he just takes it as your reply.

"You don't have to. I already know," he smiles, fingers entwining with yours. "Maybe I just hoped that I didn't have to find out from Kun."

Chenle is innocent, kind of naive. He wears his heart on his sleeves and gifts its pieces to anyone who dares to get to know him. He loves a lot — his friends, his family, stars. A person who grieves the loss of midnight too, when the stars start to fade; you. Because of that, he could forgive anything you did and would do.

It's one of his many ways of love, you see, this thing you have going on. Chenle's just like that — you never know just how much more he can give before he runs out; there's just so much of him and it's difficult to put it into words. He's shown you how he treasures relationships, how he adores everything around him in each and every time a different way and kind. He's shown you so much, all the ways he displays his affection with, this little magic trick. That's not all of it, though, and a little part of you sinks because of the fact that a lifetime will not be sufficient enough for you to know just what this love is, completely, because every passing moment, the boy falls for something; each fondness different from the lasts.

Chenle just loves like that; so much that he doesn't mind being loved for carrying pieces of another person — being adored simply because he made you remember what you didn't want to forget. He thinks, if he doesn't think it matters, it wouldn't; he prays that if he doesn't bring it up, you'd forget. He's loved you for so long but you know so little of his kind of love; ever so pure and limitless, impossible to define and dictate. 

When he holds your hands, though, you feel like it's enough — it's enough to have known slightly more than what you think you should.

"You give too much," are the only words that you were able to form. He looks at you as if to ask if you think so, and you feel the time stop for a bit when he leans his head on your shoulders, his dark locks tickling your skin. You laugh, humorless and sentimental, "Isn't it about time you'd learn to love within limits?"

"You're brilliant, you know?" He mumbles, albeit sleepily. "Kind of infinite. There are no restrictions in the love you deserve."

Something about brilliant just hits so different from beautiful — something so damning and sweet and you feel it again; just how much love you have in you, how much of it you are willing to give. Maybe boundaries really aren't your thing, maybe its the reason why you let Chenle adore you beyond what you know you can take, why you allowed him to give more than he should've given. Maybe it's why you poured affection after affection without conditions — maybe that's why you were selfish enough to love shadows. Maybe it's as most people say — you tend to burn too bright, to share too much of yourself, and not everybody can handle that. You're a bit too much for others. Maybe it's why you find yourself sitting down, pen roughly scribbling on paper.

Somewhere, there's a soul aching for your love... but no matter how much we try, we know it's not here, with me.

────── ❁ ──────

Kun doesn't knock at your door until a few weeks later, and whether it was him giving you space or him not being able to leave Chenle alone, you think of it as a blessing in disguise. It wasn't even after a week or two that you found it in you to get your life together — fake it till you make it, clean up your home, clean up your mess. You greet him with a smile on your face, tears prickling your eyes, "Come in."

Kun doesn't even say anything, he just puts the snacks he bought somewhere and crashes the sofa. He turns off the television, eyes the clearly was-messy place, and huffs at you, "It's just me. You don't have to play cool with me when you're feeling so broken."

"You're acting so much like Kim Dongyoung." You whisper just enough that he could hear before making your way to him and sobbing in his arms. Kun lets you stay like that, his hands threading your hair and affectionately patting your back, a soft 'I told you you're not ready yet' that's less scolding than it is loving. You stop crying then, just miserable sobs and sniffles, and he stands up to get you a cup of water. You look at him.

 "Thank you, Kun."

Suddenly, his not amused expression is back. He moves away a little, placing a strict space in between the two of you, and then directly looks into your eyes, "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Were you ever gonna tell me, or was I just supposed to learn about it after you've left?"'

"Kun," you breathe deeply, "I need to."

"For who?" He asks, hoping that amongst the reasons read your name. Are you finally choosing yourself? Is it still because of other people? He wants to ask, but his voice keeps failing him and all he can whisper is words about how he's proud of you, how much you've endured, how badly he wishes to ease the pain. Kun doesn't look at you with disappointment, with hurt; he looks at you with pure utter understanding, and you find it in you, a reason to smile.

────── ❁ ──────

You can't help but reminisce things as you walk from your home to the train station, neither can you when you asked the person in charge for which train will get you out of the place the quickest. You didn't really have plans, you never did, and perhaps that's where everything starts to go wrong; you just forget things, or at least, you try to suppress them. You never tried to solve anything.

This town knew too much — there are memories of Renjun on the trail from here to the benches, flashes of Donghyuck's sly grin meeting your gaze in the reflection of the glass whenever you look at the vending machines. You feel like you've walked every street in here, hand in hand with Mark, like you've danced under all these blinking lights with Jisung, like you've been to everywhere with Chenle. There is so much to remember, and this place can't hold them all and it breaks your heart so much, knowing that many things are meant to be memories, but not all memories should be remembered. You close your eyes in silent hopes that no matter how painful, you never forget one second.

It was impossible, surely, but you think that the thought of being able to recall them completely will be enough to keep you company. Even until now, you don't really want to be alone — some people are just not meant to be by themselves, and sometimes those people aren't really good at settling down either — being one of them, you leap from one crumbling bridge to another, hoping to never feel the pain of a great fall. There was never an end where you didn't. 

Waiting for the train to board, you look back to a certain place in time. The one where you think everything began.

Your first love is something you remember vividly. It came in the form of childhood crushes, wildflowers, and ruined playgrounds. It's a coincidental meeting; you were running away from your house, tired of the yelling and the crashing and the constant fear in your little heart, while he was sneaking away from his house to play more because he's a 'rebel'. Your first heartbreak takes some years forward, years just a little far from now even if it feels like it's been forever standing here, waiting for an uncertain return.

Until now, you think that it was that night under a rusty slide and above dry leaves when your life started to change.

You meet again with Na Jaemin just minutes before your train arrives, a brief eye-contact and a skip of heart and it doesn't take so much for you to know; those eyes, that smile, the red string sitting too tightly on his wrist. You remember what promise that meant — you know that, right? The thing they say about red strings, how they connect people? — and what childish hope that strand held — if we wear this, we would always find our way to each other, because we have a red string connecting us now! You remember, you do, really — of course, you do; how you could you ever forget him? Surely, maybe he's grown a lot, and everything about him has changed, he even dyed his soft hair blue. You're certain, though, you knew that it's him — maybe the red string worked. Maybe it's the butterfly effect and the heartbreaks your heart and several others nursed. Maybe it's the look in his eyes that remained soft and sweet and honest.

You miss your train, but you can't help but feel like you're just in time.

"Jae—" you choke, eyes wide and shocked, "Jaemin!"

────── ❁ ──────

Na Jaemin meets you again on a busy train station, three years ago after he just came back in town for a visit. He remembers the punch in his gut at the sight of your face, the red string delicately wrapped on your wrist, far too small but still so beautiful. He remembers the sullen look on your face, the realization dawning on him that you're late for your class and he chuckles; you never really made it in time for school, even as a child. The rain pours and he has to fiddle his bag for his umbrella, opens it so that he could let you in. When he takes a step closer though, you were talking to another boy, and Jaemin thinks he's the one a little late.

He comes across you a lot of times next to that, too, but never when you're alone. He thinks, his timing is a mildly off as well. Every time he tries to come and talk to you — when you were sitting alone in the middle of a busy restaurant, inside the coffee shop, in front of his niece's kindergarten — there was always somebody else. It reminds him of back then, one of your conflicts as you started to grow up and apart; the many times you needed each other and the other person is too caught up needing someone else. Jaemin thinks that the beat you both are dancing to is a little too delayed.

Jaemin remembers meeting a boy just as blue as him, a face a little familiar, smiling longingly at the two dancing under the moon. He remembers eyes as regretful as his, he remembers a smile, "They look so happy, don't they?"

None of that matters, though, not when he's pulling you into a hug and dragging you to a rooftop, not when you're several floors off the ground and beside you is Na Jaemin, sitting side by side, with eyes that take you back to the past and makes you hope for an unbroken present.

When you two stand under the bright sky and you stare at him instead of gushing about flying, Jaemin realizes just how drastically different this present is. If the look in your eyes says anything, he's certain that you feel the same.

You have just always been waiting for this moment, you know? And you missed your train, but you were just in time to meet Jaemin, and the rush of affection cleared all the lines you had to cross and everything was light and filled with teary laughter before right now. You've had it planned, the both of you, multiple scenarios where you two could meet again — none of them are this way. It's awkward and tense and the other feels so far away; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Jaemin could leave. He should leave, he figures, thinking that it's always been what he's best at. It's not working, anyway; maybe it was him being gone and you going through so much, maybe it's life knocking some sense in the both of you, but none of that matters — it's not working. It's just like this, relationships — two people could start at the same point and still go separate ways. It's not meant to be. He could leave, forget, maybe he'd find enough courage that he marks this chapter closed and finally, finally stop thinking of childhood feelings and even the grown-up ones. He could find a new beginning in this chapter closed.

That's the way it goes, anyway, right? Some ends feel like new starting points. Jaemin could drop it here. He could make it easier for himself, he'd be able to say this isn't working and he'd be back to his normal self; the one that looks at you and looks for you in a way that he did before falling in love. He could be young and free, away from untold reasons and unsaid apologies and undelivered feelings. He could make it easier for himself.

But to hell with ease, he didn’t want to.

"Remember, back then, we would always sneak out to play in the rain?" Jaemin is the first to break the silence, "And we look at flowers... you used to cry at everything back then!"

You flick his arm at that, and he sits on the floor next to the railing because he couldn't hold himself up anymore, laughing. Even until now, this still feels like a very vivid dream. You spend the night trying to believe that this is reality — Jaemin does the same.

Fate has a tendency to bring people apart and put them back together again, so you can't really help it that Jaemin was months and weeks away from leaving the town again. There was a point where you cursed time — you just found him, and now, why is he being taken away from you? There was a time where Jaemin thought you weren't meant to be — if you are, then why do you keep on being forced apart?

He thinks he really should stop thinking this way. It's just something really odd, this love stuff, because it's never really just one thing but rather a couple of many nothings to make up an entirely different, supposedly magical occurrence. Love is never just love — it's oftentimes euphoria with even the slightest glimpse of devastation. Jaemin doesn't think he understands why the both of you try so hard to make it easy — no matter how difficult, he knows it's worth it, knows that he'll fight for it.

Jaemin spends his last day in this place smiling, cupping your cheeks as he stands in the middle of a busy train station yet again, this time, with you in his reach. The skies are dark but his smile is bright, and it burns brighter when you flush after asking him why he's staring at you so hard. The boy cooes, "Perfect should try to be you."

"If perfect was me, perfect would be a mess," you quickly counter even through you being too flustered. In your absolute anxiety, you think that everyone is looking and judging you. With the way Jaemin is staring at you, you don't think you'd mind even if they whisper things so mean.

"A lovable mess," he raspily whispers, sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. Jaemin smiles, "I can't make this up. I fall for you several times a day, repeatedly."

Jaemin lets go of your face and dips in to kiss your forehead, and then he giddily messes your hair. You can't even bring it in you to get mad — you have several minutes and you have so much to say and the time is too little, your words are so limited. Jaemin asks for your hands and leaves a red string, identical to the ones you gave each other as children but bigger and adorned with the tiniest butterfly charm. You look at him, confused, "What's this?"

"A farewell gift, and something I'll definitely come back for," he flicks your forehead as if to say it's so obvious, and you can't help but feel like time is running out all over again. You breathe, unsteady and ragged, a desperate call of his name, "Na Jaemin?"

He doesn't answer, but he wipes the tears streaming down your face and he hums.

"I'm so happy that the ending is me and you." You finally confess, taking him aback. You smile, sweet and cruelly beautiful, brutally emotional, and if there were no children around and Jaemin was a tad bit more shameless, he would pull you into a deep kiss. He couldn't, though, so he just gapes and stares and listens.

"I'm so happy that it's back to you."

As the train boards, you find yourself realizing how tough the world gets — the lovely, sinking feeling lingering in your chest as you recall the highs and the lows of life and fate.

You've had far too many great loves in your life, so much that using the term would probably not sound special anymore to other people — but they're different, each one of them, the way they loved distinct at least — and this one, just this one, Na Jaemin, by far, is the greatest.

The end is sweet and lovely, if a bit sour and bitter. The end is where you hopefully find yourself.

────── ❁ ──────

"Mom and dad keeps on fighting. " your nephew murmurs under his breath, one sunny Friday spent walking on streets that are cooling down, on the way to what must be the happiest place on Earth for a kid. "Do you think they don't love each other anymore?"

You nervously scratch your nape, thinking of easy ways to reply to the question. You think of your childhood, how you spent most of it dreaming of love. How until today, the thought of it still haunts you. You just shrug, "People just have some bad days, but look, they're still together, right?" he nods, and you feel a blossom of proudness in your chest, "They love each other, and that's why they had you."

The kid suddenly frowns, "Why do people get together, then?"

You halt your steps before continuing, on the verge of asking why he asked that question before you realize that it's your nephew, anyway. He loves holding mature conversations even if he doesn't understand anything, he likes asking away and being taken seriously, like an adult. You chuckle, "Uhm, because people make each other happy!"

"Why don't you have someone, then?" You don't know how to answer his question, and neither did you expect it. He looks too interested to be brushed off. "You said people make other people happy!"

"Hm, well, I do have someone," you think of sugar smiles and giggly kisses as you say those words. There's a comforted exhale leaving your lips as you look down on the kid, "But, he's not the only reason I'm happy... I'm happy with myself, without him."

"Do you not love him, then? Because you're happy without him?"

"I love him, I do, a lot! We went through a lot to find each other again," you smile kindly, patient. "But it's a different kind of love, just like how it is a different kind of happy with him."

His lips jut out, wondering about things not so completely disconnected from his first questions. He then sighs as if he's carrying the weight of the world, "If you had to find each other again, it means one of you left. Why did one of you leave if you love each other, then?"

Why?

"Well, you see, maybe..." there's no answer pouring from your lips, but emotions threaten to spill from your eyes and then down your cheeks. The child won't understand your tears, though, so you think of familiar faces and the one you entwined your fingers with, like home. You keep your head held high. "Maybe it's so that we could find each other again in a time where we would be better versions of ourselves."

It's not enough to sate his curious mind. "But if he's almost always never here, how are you supposed to know if he's the love you're supposed to have, then?"

"The love I'm meant to find has always been here, within me," you say genuinely, and the child, ever so confused but curious, remains silent to understand. You shake your head a bit, "but with him, this love grows bigger and bigger, and it helps us cross any kind of distance between us."

Finally satisfied, he stops asking questions at the sight of his most favorite place, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as he tugs you closer to the entrance. Then you think of how happy you are to be standing under this sky, above this ground — you think of the butterfly effect, all the little moments and major events, and everything that passed and will forever remain remembered. You think of all that lead you to this.

You look at the reflection of yourself from the glass walls of the candy shop, and you couldn't help a smile. The look in your eyes screams dreamy as you push open the door. This is it — you're on the way to loving yourself. 

Welcome home.

[middleearthpixie]

In Time ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

Author's Note: I'm posting this far later than usual because today simply got away from me. Doncha hate that???

Summary: The Company of Thorin Oakenshield reaches Mirkwood, where Thorin will offer a deal to Thranduíl on Kili’s behalf, and later on, Amara runs into an old friend who fires up Thorin’s jealous streak

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Amara (female OC)

Characters: Thorin, Amara, the Company, Thranduíl, Aiduin of Mirkwood

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4,205

Taggin: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @tschrist1

As it happened, their luck, did in fact hold out over the fortnight it took for them to reach Mirkwood’s border. Thorin scowled as they stood at the Mirkwood border, where two of Thranduíl’s men stood silent sentry. He didn’t want to be there. After all, the last time he and the others found themselves in Mirkwood, spiders had tried to eat them, elves tried to kill them, and Thranduíl himself had them tossed into then dungeons. If it hadn’t been for Master Baggins, who never did explain exactly how he managed it, snagging the dungeon keys, they might still be in those tiny, damp, woodland cells.

But, the hobbit had freed them, smuggled them out in barrels, in which they bounced about like corks tossed on the river’s swift current, battling not only the elves trying to stop them, but the orcs sent to hunt Thorin himself.

He looked over at Kili, whose eyes practically gleamed at the sight of the wood. It was because of this place he’d met Tauriel, the she-elf who’d saved his skin the first time. Saved his skin and apparently won his heart. Although Kili rarely spoke of her, Thorin had the feeling he knew exactly what went through his nephew’s mind. Most likely the same thing that went through his own mind whenever he looked at Amara.

Which was why they were at Thranduíl’s front door. As much as it would pain him—and it would definitely pain him—Thorin would willingly gift the Seven Stars of Middle Earth necklace to Thranduíl if it meant Thranduíl would give his blessing for Kili to court Tauriel. The same blasted necklace that kept the woodland elves from aiding Erebor in its time of need, that caused Thranduíl to threaten Erebor with what became the Battle of the Five Armies, would find its way to Mirkwood, no matter how much Thorin hated to do it. He had no love lost for Thranduíl and knew the feeling was mutual, but he’d put aside his own dislike and distrust of the Elf King if it mean Kili would find the same happiness with Tauriel that he’d found with Amara.

With that, he climbed down from his saddle and stepped up to the sentries. “Thorin Oakenshield to see Thranduíl.”

“Does His Highness expect you?”

He shook his head. “He does not, no. But tell him I have something he wants and I am willing to discuss parting with it.”

The two sentries looked at one another, then the shorter of the two turned as the doors opened noiseless, and disappeared inside.

Thorin stared down the second sentry. He didn’t like being in Mirkwood. The air was heavy with apprehension and dread, its waters were enchanted with what some considered black magic, and the spiders alone were enough to make him want to avoid the woods with ever fiber of his being, for they were no ordinary spiders. They were big enough to hunt man, dwarf, and elf, and did so without impunity. Even from where he stood, at the edge the wood and vine bridge that would lead them into the Kingdom of Mirkwood, he could see the wispy white spiderwebs in the distance. Just the sight of them was enough to bring back the claustrophobic feeling of being wrapped in one of their cocoons.

He fought off a shiver as the memory of being wrapped so suffocatingly tight, of being unable to move much more than a finger or a toe, rushing to the forefront of his mind. Again, if it hadn’t been for Master Baggins and his sword—which he’d dubbed Sting—they might not have survived long enough to find their way into those dungeons.

“What is taking so long?” Dwalin grumbled from his saddle.

“I am certain Thranduíl is trying to come up with some reason to deny us entry,” Thorin told him over one shoulder, “all the while his curiosity kills him because he knows he’ll not be able to.”

“I say we keep moving,” Dwalin countered. “Why are we even here?”

Thorin grinned at Kili. “Do you wish to explain or should I?”

Kili held his stare easily. “I am not the one who always railed about how untrustworthy elves were. I do believe that was you, Uncle.” He winked. “Tell me, do you still feel that way?”

He asked it with all the innocence one could put into a sentence and Thorin’s grin faded as the others all snickered. “Enjoy your laugh at my expense,” he growled, looking from one dwarf to the next, finally letting his gaze land on Kili once more. “But, remember, I have something he wants. So, I’d think twice about baiting me, Kili, since I’ve yet to actually give him what it is he covets. And if I decide to keep it for myself, you will most likely not be welcome here again.”

Kili’s face went red as the others now turned their snickers in his direction. Dwalin laughed the loudest. “Last time ye blushed tha’ bad, laddie, was when ye mistook an elf-lad for an elf-maiden.”

Now even the sentry grinned as Kili’s face went redder still. From the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Amara shake her head and he almost smiled when she said, “To be fair, it is sometimes difficult to tell them apart.”

Kili smiled at her. “Let them have their fun.” He looked back at Thorin. “I won’t have to eat any words.”

Now, Thorin smiled over his shoulder at her. “I don’t mind eating these words.”

“Mr. Oakenshield,” the first sentry returned, his expression neutral, “My Lord Thranduíl will see you. Follow me. Edyrm will see your ponies to the stables.”

The others dismounted and Thorin didn’t miss how Edrym’s gaze lingered on Amara. Thorin said nothing, but reached out to link his fingers with hers. “She’s with me.”

“Thorin!” Amara whispered.

“What? I’m merely stating a fact. You are with me.”

“I know that, but he does not care one way or the other.”

He shrugged. “I take no chances.”

She said nothing, but he didn’t miss how she rolled her eyes. Well, let her. He cared not. He had no problem making it perfectly clear to any curious elf that Amara was with him. Childish, perhaps, but he rather enjoyed knowing that they would at that moment be wishing they were him. And sane man—be they Man, elf, or dwarf—would want to be in his boots.

They followed their guide into Thranduíl’s palace. Unlike Rivendell, Thorin found no peace or tranquility in Mirkwood. Everything was dark, earthy tones of brown, beiges, red and gold, with hints of green here and there. The air felt heavy and thick, damp from all of the roots and vines that made up the palace walls. The walkways were wide, open of both sides, with what looked like endless drops on either side. Nothing had changed since the last time he stood in the throne room, where the Woodland Realm’s king sat perched high atop his throne.

Unlike the Rivendell king, Thranduíl was tall and lanky, with sleek almost-white blonde hair and wide, almost clear blue eyes. He wore a crown woven of golden twigs and leaves encrusted with gold and brown polished stones that changed color depending on how the light—what light there was—bounced off them. He wore long, flowing robes of gold over green, and two slender fingers on each hand bore rings of the same gold and brown stones in his crown.

Those blue eyes were not the least bit friendly as he peered down at them now. “Thorin Oakenshield. It has been some time since we last spoke. I believe I’d had you dragged off to rot in my dungeon, hadn’t I?”

“The dungeons from which I promptly escaped,” he retorted, unable to hold back his smirk.

Thranduíl offered up a bland smile. “Your hobbit friend had more to do with that than you did, did he not?”

“Be that as it may, I still escaped.”

“And then, of course, there was my visit to your doorstep.” Thranduíl’s voice grew colder, if that was even possible. “When you opted for war over negotiation.”

“I was not myself then.” Thorin cast a quick, sideline glance at Amara, whose hand tightened about his ever so slightly.

The Elvenking’s expression turned sympathetic, but only for a moment or two, then his face slid back into its impassive mask.

“So, what brings you and your—” Thranduíl’s piercing gaze slid about the others gathered around him, lingering on Amara just as Edrym’s did—“company, to my realm?”

Thorin glanced over at Kili, whose color had returned to normal, and said, “I come to you with a business proposition. One I’d rather discuss one on one with you.”

Thranduíl’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? The last time you were in my chambers, you thought to insult me. Then, you challenged me to war.”

A bit of heat came to Thorin’s face and he fought the urge to look over at his company. He’d said the same thing to Thranduíl that he’d insulted Amara with when they’d first met. “Our meeting last time was a bit—ah—tense, on account of not only had we had the pleasure of dealing with your spiders, but then we were, for all intents and purposes, treated as prisoners.”

“You were, if I recall,” Thranduíl reminded him, his voice void of any emotion whatsoever, “trespassing in my woods. Of course you were treated as prisoners. As for the spiders, they are not mine.”

“Oh, for the love of—“ Dwalin growled, but Thorin cut him off.

“Hush,” he snapped, without looking at Dwalin. To Thranduíl, he said, “Even so, I do have something I think you would be interested in and I am willing to bargain for something in return. But, I’d rather do so privately.”

Thranduíl’s lips disappeared into a thin white line and the slender fingers slowly fanned across the arm of his wooded throne. Then, he nodded. “Very well. Lorsan, show our guests to the dining hall and make certain they have something to eat and drink. Then, you may show them to the guest chambers,” those eyes flicked back to Thorin, “as I assume you will wish to pass the night.”

The last thing he wanted was to try to sleep in this tangle of vines and roots, but since he very well couldn’t say that, he nodded. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

He turned to Amara. “I will join you all when I’ve finished here.”

She looked up at Thranduíl, then back at him. “Why do you look so serious? Is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” he assured her, catching her hand to give it a gentle squeeze. “I’m about to throw myself on my proverbial sword for Kili and I think I’ll have but one chance to get it right.”

She leaned in and whispered, “Tauriel?”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“Well, good luck.” She bent to brush his cheek with her lips, a hint of laughter in her voice as she murmured, “Remember, be nice.”

“Am I ever not nice?”

She pulled away, one brow arched, “Ish kakfe—”

“Unfair. You said yourself I was in unimaginable pain and so could not be held—”

“I did and you were. Just tread carefully. Elves are vain and Thranduíl more so than most.” She patted his shoulder and followed after Balin, who waited as the rest of the dwarves filed out of the throne room.

Thorin turned back to the Elven King, who now stood atop his high dais. With extreme care, so as not to trip over his robes, he slowly descended and swept toward him. “What is this about? You seemed quite adamant that you were interested only in war the last time we met.”

“Nearly dying has a way of changing the way one looks at things,” Thorin replied evenly. “I have had time enough to reflect on my actions and the mistakes I made leading up to the battle. And now, I’ve come to rectify those mistakes.”

“Have you?” A hint of amusement wove into Thranduíl’s voice, his gaze direct and unwavering. “And if your terms do not interest me?”

“They will.”

Lorsan led the group down deeper into the palace, where the air felt even colder and damper, and smelled of moss and rainwater. Amara shivered from the dampness, wrapping her arms about herself and rubbing her upper arms to try to warm herself, for all the good it did.

The others didn’t seem to notice the dank chill. Either that, or they didn’t care, for they chatted amongst themselves. She lingered behind them, looking about at how the roots from the trees of Mirkwood wove through one another to make the walls of the palace below.

“Amara?”

She froze at the soft, smooth voice that skimmed over her ears like satin. She knew that voice—or had known it, was more accurate—and when she turned and spotted the tall, slender he-elf, with the shimmering blond hair and eyes that were almost as dark as freshly watered soil, her smile rose of its own. “Aiduin?”

“You do remember me.”

“As if I could forget,” she said with a laugh as he caught up to her and threw his arms about her. “How are you?”

“I was fine but now, I think it safe to say I am even better! What brings you to Mirkwood?”

“She’s with us,” Dwalin growled, coming up behind her. “And it would be in yer best interest, laddie, to take yer hands from her.”

Aiduin’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

Dwalin none-too-gently knocked Aiduin’s arms from either side of her. “There. Was tha’ simple enough for ye?”

“Dwalin!” She glared at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Thorin won’t like another man putting his hands on ye.” Dwalin glared at Aiduin. “He won’t like it a’tall.”

“Thorin?” Aiduin turned his puzzled look to her. “Oakenshield? You’re with him?”

She nodded, but before she could say anything, Dwalin cut in with, “She’s his intended. So, if I were ye, I’d make myself scarce before he sees you.”

“Dwalin!” Amara gritted through clenched teeth. “That’s enough.”

She turned back to Aiduin. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d decided you were going to strike out for parts unknown?”

“Miss Amara,” Balin stepped up alongside his brother, “you should come along.”

“You all go on ahead and I will catch up in a few minutes.” She gestured to Aiduin. “He is but an old friend and I’d like to catch up with him.”

Balin and Dwalin both frowned, which made her frown right back at them. “Do not look at me that way. Go.”

“Thorin won’t like this.”

“Why? There is nothing to like or dislike. Aiduin is, as I said, an old friend.”

Balin shook his head. “Very well. But—”

“If you say Thorin will not like it again, I’m going to scream,” she replied politely, but firmly. “Thorin will not care. Why should he?”

The brothers exchanged looks and she rolled her eyes. Then, she tucked her arm through Aiduin’s and said, “We have some catching up to do, don’t we?”

Aidiun didn’t look so certain. “Your friends don’t seem to think it wise.”

“It is fine. Besides, I’ve had only them for company for a fortnight. Now it is time for me to spend time with someone else for a change.” She smiled up at him. “So, shall we?”

Aiduin led her away from the grumbling dwarves, and she tried to ignore the nagging feeling that Thorin would indeed disapprove of her going off with another elf. But Aiduin wasn’t simply any other elf. He’d trained in Rivendell with her, before striking out for those parts unknown. How he came to be in Mirkwood was something she wished to know.

“Your friends seem to think you are going to get in trouble.”

She sighed softly. “They worry. They mean well, but at times, they can be overbearing. So,” she looked up at him, “do tell how you came to be here?”

“It’s quite simple. Mirkwood needed a healer. I needed work. Thranduíl took a liking to me and here I am. How about you? Are you still in residence in Rivendell? Or do you now wander like the dwarves?”

She smiled as they strolled along an open walkway, away from the palace and into the woods. It didn’t feel quite so suffocating out in the forest itself. “I wander with the dwarves now,” she told him as they stopped near a small pool. Trees alive and dead were all around, fallen over the pathway, vines doing their best to reclaim them. “Although, wander is not the correct term, I suppose. I’m journeying to Erebor.”

“As their healer?”

She shook her head. “No. Thorin and I… We are to be married.”

Aiduin’s smile faded, but only just. Then, he caught it and it returned in full force. “You are betrothed to a dwarf? I am not so certain I believe that.”

“Why? Why could I not be betrothed to one?”

“Well, because… he’s a dwarf. And you, Amara… you could have any elf you wished. If you set your sights on him, even Thranduíl would be unable to resist you.”

“I am hardly interested in Thranduíl.” She let out a laugh then, lightly punched him in the arm. “But I am interested int what you’ve been doing. So, do tell.”

“Me? Not much, I’m afraid. I told you, I wandered about here and there, and needed work, so here I am.” Aiduin shook his head. “Hardly a fascinating tale.”

“Oh, but to one who’s never been beyond Rivendell’s borders, your vagabond life is utterly fascinating to me.”

“Really? It’s a lot of traveling, sleeping in strange places, and never knowing where your next meal is coming from.”

“Ah,” she laughed, “a true vagabond.”

“More or less.” He leaned against the low wall of woven branches. “Do tell me, how is Rivendell?”

She hesitated, a feeling of homesickness rising to squeeze her heart. “It was fine when I left. I was fortunate in that my replacement was right under my nose, and a pleasant surprise as well. Lord Elrond is the same as always, although he was a bit weary from having so many dwarves in residence.” She looked off in the direction the dining hall, where muffled shouts and laughter floated from. “They are a lively group, you know. Very high-spirited.”

“And how did a dwarf win your hand? This I must know.”

“He and his nephews came to us gravely wounded.” She turned back to meet his gaze. “The Battle of the Five Armies, you know.”

“I heard about it, yes. These are Erebor dwarves or Iron Hill dwarves?”

“Erebor.” She reached up to touch the braid Thorin had woven in her hair, her fingertip tracing along the ornament. “Thorin is their king.”

“A king?” Aiduin’s eyes widened. “Is that so?”

“It is. But he nearly lost his life at Ravenhill. Azog the Defiler ran him through.”

“He is fortunate he found his way into your Healing Room.”

She sighed softly, still tracing the ornament as she remembered that very first day, when the attendants brought Thorin into her Healing Room. “I didn’t think he would survive that night, to be honest. The sheets over and beneath him were absolutely soaked in his blood, it had soaked through his clothes, the mail he wore, and he was so deathly pale.

“But,” she lowered her hand, clasping it with her other one, “dwarves are strong and they are fighters and he held on. No matter what setback he faced, what challenges he had—and there were quite a few—he met them head on and beat them.”

“He sounds very lucky.”

She nodded. “He was. Mahal was on his side.”

“I think it’s more he was in the best of hands.”

A pleased heat stung her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know about that, though I thank you just the same. But he’s of the line of Durin and Durin’s Folk are strong. I think he would have lived regardless.”

“So,” Aiduin looked over at her, “what brings you all here? I should think you would be making for Erebor.”

“We are, but Thorin’s nephew, Kili, is sweet on an elf named Tauriel. Because of her—“

“Tauriel? The captain of the guard?”

Amara shrugged. “I don’t know. Is there more than one Tauriel here?”

“Well, no, but I thought she was sweet on Legolas.”

“Legolas?”

“King Thranduíl’s son.”

“Oh.” She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, for she didn’t know if Kili knew about Legolas.

“Amara?”

She looked over and smiled as Thorin strode toward them. “How did your meet with Thranduíl go?”

“Fine, thank you.” Thorin didn’t return her smile and in fact, glared at Aiduin as he said, “I thought you’d be with the others.”

“Well, I would have, but then I bumped into Aiduin.” She slid her arm through Thorin’s and said, “Thorin Oakenshield, this is Aiduin Drannor. Aiduin, this is Thorin Oakenshield.”

Aiduin smiled and held out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Indeed.” Thorin didn’t take his hand. He didn’t smile. In fact, she could almost feel the hostility radiating from him. “How do you and Amara know one another?”

“We trained together in Rivendell,” Aiduin replied, lowering his hand. “She was Ilyana’s star pupil.”

“Oh, hardly. You were far more skilled than I.”

Thorin’s arm stiffened against her. “We should join the others.”

With that, he turned and gave a sharp tug on her arm to pull her back toward the dining hall. She peered back over her shoulder at Aiduin, who stood there almost dumbfounded. “Thorin, that was rude.”

“Ask me if I care,” he growled, guiding her back along the walkway.

“What is the matter? I was only talking to him.”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“Didn’t like the way he—“ she rolled her eyes—“and how was he looking at me?”

“As if he was trying to picture you naked.”

“Thorin!”

“What?” He glanced at her. “He was.”

“That is ridiculous. He is a friend and that’s it.”

“I’ve never heard you mention him.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in years, so…”

“Trust me, I know what I saw.”

By then, they’d reached the dining hall and she yanked her arm from his grasp. “You are being ridiculous, do you know that?”

“Am I? I should think I know a look like that when I see it.”

“You are and I am done discussing it. He's a friend. No more and no less.” She moved down and sank onto the bench beside Dwalin.

Thorin followed her, sitting across from her. “Do you want to know how I know how he was looking at you?”

“No.” She glared at him. “I don’t, really. Because this entire conversation is silly.”

“Too bad, because I’m going to tell you.” He cast a sidelong glance at Dwalin, who shrugged and did not look away.

“I am not having this discussion here.”

“Fine.” He rose and came around to her side. “Walk with me, then.”

Mindful of the eyes on them, she sighed and stood. “Very well. But I think you are being ridiculous.”

“So you’ve said. Excuse us,” he said to the others, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back as he guided her toward the far end of the dining hall, where the room opened to another walkway.

Once they were out of earshot of everyone, he turned to her. “Do you know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because I am fairly certain it’s the same way I look at you.”

She just stared at him, her irritation draining away as she moved to slip her arms about his neck. “Thorin, he is but a friend. And even if he is looking at me that way, you can be certain I am not looking at him that way.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Thorin.”

“I don’t. And if it weren’t for the fact that we are all worn out from traveling here, I would say we were leaving this evening. But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to sleeping in a comfortable bed this night and one that has no questionable smells or stains or extra dwarves. We can leave at first light come the morning.”

She smiled. The last inn before Mirkwood had been nothing short of a horror, as the innkeeper had only three rooms for the fourteen of them and she and Thorin shared theirs with Fili, Kili, and Bofur. “No. This evening, we should have some peace. Did you know Bofur sings in his sleep?”

“I did, actually.” He sighed softly, leaning in to press his forehead to hers. “I’ve no wish to fight with you, amrâlimê.”

“Nor I with you.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “And you’ve nothing to worry about, you know. Maralmizu, Mr. Oakenshield. Nalish.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes softened and he murmured, “Maralmizi, kurdelê.”

Disaster averted.

[atsunflower]

Hospital for souls — Tokyo nights.

Rated: SFW

Author note: Man, this one took me ages to write. And I don't even know how I could write this much for the second chapter, this is about 3,2k words. I'm tired because I decided to change lots of things in this chapter and I hope you all like it. Also, feedbacks are much appreciated!

Warnings: This chapter contains cursing, swearing, graphic descriptions of blood, violence and surgical procedures (Kind of inaccurate but only for writting purposes. Don't do it at home, kids). Also, there are slight mentions of anxiety, OCD and PTSD.

Enjoy the reading!

II — Tokyo nights

Previous || Next

You felt anxious.

Everytime you walked through Itachiyama halls, the hairs in your nape would stand and your skin, prickle in fear; a bitter taste would take over your mouth because everything was too much.

"Look, you don't have to worry. Itachiyama wouldn't dare to lay a hand on you because it would mean war." The memory of Suna's voice did nothing to soothe your nerves.

You knew that Inarizaki did not care. If anything, Itachiyama harming you would be like killing two birds with a stone: the Miya would get rid of your existence and then, have a excuse to go after your husband. "They know the twins' intentions, you know. It's not like Sakusa is dumb. Being honest, the guy is the most cautious man I ever saw" you recalled Suna saying it in your wedding's eve.

But one month after the deal, you still felt suffocated.

You opted to lay low and don't wander around the house; Sakusa's men were still suspicious of you and kept sending nasty glares in your direction whenever they saw you.

Since you weren't allowed to work anymore, boredom was killing you. At least, the maids were nice enough — or just too afraid to go against the lady's will — and let you do as you pleased. You then took over some house chores to busy yourself.

Cleaning, tidying and baking.

Sometimes gardening when you needed some fresh air.

"What a shame for Oyabun-sama, his lady is lowering herself to the peasants' level" you would hear some gossip here and there. Not that you cared, though.

"Sakusa-sama" you heard the housekeeper calling, the new name still foreign to your ears.

"Kaede-san? Do you need something?" The old woman wearing a green hakama stood in front of you, accompanied by a girl with dark blond hair.

"This is Kuribayashi Runa, the new maid working here" she said presenting the young woman by her side. The latter politely bowed at you.

"New maid? Why?"

"I'm afraid it's not appropriated the lady take care of house chores. These are strict orders from Komori-sama" her tone was dry. Kaede was never hostile towards you, but you could tell she wasn't fond of your presence either. "Also, remember you're having lunch with oyabun-sama today"

You released a shaky breath, dismissing their presence.

Why yakuza was taking even the smallest things from you?

Prying to the clock on the nightstand, you realized it was past noon and the lunch hasn't been served yet. Sakusa didn't show up either.

After being destitute of your duties, you went for a shower and killed time by reading in your bedroom.

Did something happen? You wondered.

Punctuality was something very fancied in this household and everything inside the mansion functioned like clockwork.

But how come Sakusa didn't show up yet? Why the food isn't set?

"[Name]" The door to your bedroom was open without ceremony, Komori's voice sounding harsh when he called you. The look on his face wasn't amicable either. "Sakusa wants to see you. Now."

The brown haired male did not spare you another glance, turning his back to you. You followed the tall man in an auto-pilot mode, already dreading whatever was going on.

The Kobun was taking you to Sakusa's office.

The large doors always made you feel unsettled; you never were there before. Being called to this room sent shivers down your spine.

Komori knocked the door only to the faint voice of your husband acknowledge your presence. Getting in, you were stunned. The whole mansion held a modern architecture with a minimalist design, and this room was true to Itachiyama's style.

The walls were pristine white and the floorboards were dark and shiny. The furniture held the impersonal style your husband seemed to appreciate and was clean to the eyes. Everything millimetrically positioned, aesthetically appealing.

By the glass wall, Sakusa stood proud. His back facing you, body clad in a black suit. The way he admired the stunning land through the windows held a power you never saw before.

Right now, he looked like a god rulling his own creation.

"Komori, go" his stone cold voice ordered the other male. The kobun did as he was told, leaving you two in this sinister room.

"I don't know if you are too brave ou just too dumb" he didn't turn to face you. The cold tone boomed loud within your ears and you felt cornered.

Forget the god thing. The man in front of you was the demon himself.

"What do you mean?" You asked, brows furrowing when suddenly, his enraged features loomed over you, even from afar.

"Don't fucking play dumb. I've warned you to stay out of my way" his menacing stare made the breath hitch in your throat "Where is the fucking folder?"

"I don't know what are you talking about!" You meekly replied, seeing his body growing close to yours.

"Thats it. You have a death wish." He merely stated "You're the only enemy inside this fucking house"

Without knowing what was going on, you didn't stand a chance to defend yourself. You tried opening your mouth in protest but your brain didn't come up with anything.

"Listen. I don't have the time to play whatever game you and those brothers of yours are planning." Sakusa scowled "In the first opportunity, you get to screw up. Fascinating."

"I don't even know what you're talking about" the cry left your mouth and your body trembled. The man before you grimaced at your outburst. He let out an exasperated breath, still trying to keep his cool.

"Do you expect me to believe you? Fine, I'll play along, then" He sat at the imposing chair behind his desk "The manila folder that was on this desk was stolen. You're the only one inside this house who has reasons to take it."

"It wasn't me! I never entered this room before!" You retorted, anxiety crawling in your skin. He fished his cellphone from his pockets, reading whatever on his screen

"Can't be proven, though it looks like we didn't find anything in your stuff–"

"Wait! You fucking messed with my things?" You cut him off in rage, observing him reaching over for a flask on the wooden surface.

"Well, you messed with mine first." He said while rubbing some hand sanitizer on his palms.

You rolled your eyes at his antics.

"Whatever" and then turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" The sarcastic voice filled your ears, making your steps to halt "As much as I despise it, you won't be out of my sight anytime soon"

God, You trully hated it here.

It was nighttime and true to his words, neither Sakusa nor Komori left you alone for the whole day.

Their presence was unnerving, to say the least, and everytime they talked to each other, you body went stiff.

Their speech wasn't explicit as you thought it would be. Both of them treated the matter as if they were making normal business instead of some yakuza stuff.

It didn't sound violent.

But you knew better.

"Have Fukuroudani made contact yet?" The Oyabun asked.

"Yes. Konoha told me they will be waiting by eleven" Komori peered at his watch "One hour to go. We should get going, then"

Sakusa turned his attention to you.

"Go get changed. We're leaving in ten minutes."

You did as you were told; black would do, you decided. Grabbing a wool coat and a satin scarf, you were ready to go.

Why the hell Tokyo nights were so cold at this time of year?

In the living room, Sakusa and Komori were waiting for you.

"Man, bringing [Name] along will be a pain" the brown haired male said while stretching.

"The stolen docs were about this meeting. We gotta bring her along if Inarizaki tries to do something" The taller one reasoned.

"Ah shit, this is so fucked up. I dont know how you agreed to it" Komori lamented.

Being honest, neither Sakusa did.

"Why do I have to tag along?" Your voice startled them. Your husband scowled at you while Komori opened the front door, both males ignoring your question.

A sleek black car was waiting for you three. Komori took the driver seat and Sakusa sat on passenger's side. You found comfort in the beige leather of the backseat, appreciating the warmth provided by the air conditioned.

"Shouldn't we bring more men with us?" The Kobun asked.

"There's a back up car in downtown. They can reach us in no time if something comes up" Sakusa said while covering his face with a mask "Also, I doubt someone would dare to mess with both Fukurodani and Itachiyama" He spared a glance at you through the rearview mirror.

You sighed. Anxiety didn't let you be for the whole day and now, fear was taking its toll on you.

With your temple resting on the window, you observed the city lights.

You loved Tokyo and how bright it was, although, you loved the suburbs even more; the industrial aesthetic and the narrow streets brought you the comfort you didn't feel in the last three months.

You lived here for your whole life, after all.

It wasn't a surprise when you spotted the building you used to live in.

A surge of homesickness found its place in your guts and your chest constricted in longing.

The drive lasted five more minutes before Komori parked the car by a hangar. When you lived in this neighbourhood, the place was deem abandoned with its vandalized walls and rusty gates. But inside there, you found our the interior was really neat, proving you wrong.

"Sakusa-san, Komori-san!" A blonde male came into view, eyeing you with wariness. "I see you brought your lady tonight. It's a pleasure having you here, miss" the indifferent tone of his voice said otherwise, tough.

You merely noded at him while the heads of Itachiyama greeted the man.

"Shall we start, then?"The blond asked before opening a door to your right. You felt unsettled knowing they wouldn't want your presence there.

"As you wish, Konoha-san" was all Sakusa said while a woman appeared out of nowhere.

"I'm afraid your wife would be pretty bored in our meeting. Yukie here will keep her company for the time being." The man Konoha pointed at the brunette with short hair. Sakusa sent you a hard stare before entering the room.

You both sat on some wooden boxes filled with god knows what. You eyes wandered through the hole place, trying to find something entertaining.

The woman hadn't said anything for a whole eternity before breaking the silence.

"So, Miya-san, huh?" The way she said the damned name tickled you off.

"I'm no Miya"

"Yeah, I know. I've heard of you" Yukie chuckled, looking at you with despise. You cocked a brow ate her.

"Sure you did" She was about to retort before the door was open again.

"Well, it's always a pleasure to make business with Itachiyama. We will see you off, then" Konoha said before reaching for the exit.

It was long past midnight when the meeting ended. The five of you were by the gates, Konoha and Komori doing some chit-chat, when four people appeared out of nowhere, knives in their hands.

"Ara, ara. look at these yakuza big shots" A man with an undercut said, fidgeting with the blade between his fingers. In your periferic vision you saw Yukie running back to the hangar and the three men by your side reaching for the guns by their hips.

Among the other four, a figure seemed familiar to you.

"Kuribayashi Runa" The name left your lips in a whisper. The female let out a mocking laugh and Sakusa frowned at you.

"Explain" Your husband immediatelly demanded, grimacing.

"She is the new maid working in your house. Today was her first day." Runa scoffed at your reply.

"Do I look like a maid to you, bitch?" And then, everything went into slow motion.

The woman came in your direction, holding the knife high in the air whilst you stepped backwards, being cornered by the gate.

You saw the blade glinting under the street lights and saw it aiming for your chest.

But it never came.

A hand pushed you downwards and you fell to the ground along a clattering sound. Sakusa's shadow loomed over you, trying to evade the knife.

By your left, you saw Konoha and Komori fighting the other guys, their guns useless in a hand-to-hand fight.

The adrenaline rushed through your bloodstream, your mind going frantic. It felt like one of those life or death situations you faced in the surgery room.

How can I save someone's life right now?

You saw Sakusa's pistol laying on the ground next to you. He and the woman were a couple of inches from your body.

You knew what you had to do.

With your leg reaching forward, you made her trip. The knife she held was kicked away by your husband.

"Sakusa! Watch out for Komori!" And you threw the gun at him.

A second too late, the bang echoed and an agonizing scream ripped through the night.

By your left, Runa and two of the guys were already running away.

The man Komori fought collapsed to the ground clutching his leg and cursing under his breath.

But the most disturbing sight was the way Komori held his arm, whimpering and cursing while his right hand clutched the knife's handle.

The blade tore his flesh and crossed the limb right next to its joint, in a weird angle.

Yukie came back, carrying a rope and a pistol.

"I sent some of our men to their direction." She said while helping Konoha to restrain the guy who attacked you.

"What the fuck you guys want?" The blond asked before kicking the man in his guts. The latter spat blood, giving a crooked smile at Konoha.

"Johzenji is coming" Was all he said before passing out.

"Yukie, carry him to the basement." He ordered "Since it happened on our territory, we will be investigating the incident. We count with Itachiyama's cooperation and will keep you updated" Konoha bowed at Sakusa, before rushing back to the building.

Komori was still on his knees, head hanging low. A grunt went past his lips and you knew what he was doing.

"Komori! Don't!" But again your shout came too late and the man ripped the knife away from his limb. Blood rushed through his fingers and dampened the suit he wore. "Fuck" you rushed to his side, Sakusa's features going livid.

"We gotta take him to a hospital" you said.

"No!" Komori croaked out, getting a hold of your arm. You knew what he meant, but you also knew what could definetely happen if he ignored the situation.

Sakusa was frozen in front of you two, unsure of what to do. You took a deep breath, mustering up all the courage you had.

"You have to trust me, then" you held the brown haired male by his torso and gave Sakusa a determined glare.

The oyabun noded at you and it was all the assurance you needed before ripping out Komori's blazer and transforming your scarf into a tourniquet.

In your old apartment, you ushered the two males inside, taking them both to your kitchen.

Sakusa sat the Kobun in a chair while you went to another room. A minute later, you brought two metallic cases, some flasks and a first aid box.

In the cupboards you took a flask of alcohol and squeezed it to the table, wipping it with some gauzes.

Positioning Komori's arm over the wooden surface, you sterilized his wounds with povidone and then turned your attention to Sakusa.

"I'll start it now" before proceeding to the sink. Sakusa admired the movements you made while washing your hands "I need you to do the same" and he complied.

The male helped you to put the gloves and mask on and to set your instruments over the table.

Looking at Komori, you realized he passed out in spite of the pain. The blood loss wasn't huge, but you did not knew why he fell unconcious.

You prepared two syringes of anesthesics. Sakusa sent you a weird glare, brows furrowing at you.

"Don't look at me like this. I'm a surgeon you know" and then you did the infusion. "Its not that weird if I have some hospital shit at home".

You opened the cut with a scalpel. Scrutinizing at the wound, you saw the artery was hit.

"Thank god." You let out a breath of relief, realizing the damage was little. It didn't need an anastomosis, so some stiches would do. "The ulnar artery was hit but it won't be too hard to fix. Although, I can't tell if there's a nerve damage" and you started to close the vessel's lesion.

You observed if there was any muscle or tendon damages and proceeded to suture the gashes, making sure the procedure was well done. You then patched it up and imobilized the limb with a makeshift splint, before undoning the tourniquet.

"Let's take him to my bedroom" With that, you both carried the unconcious man to your bed. "I need to check him overnight and– Shit! Your face!" It was just now you realized he had a gash on his cheek.

Sakusa flinched, feeling the blood drying over his skin and dampening the mask he used. He removed the cloth and observed the cut with the front camera of his phone. He frowned at the sight.

"It can get an infection and leave a nasty scar. Do you want me to patch it up?" You offered after checking Komori's blood pressure and his heartbeat.

A please left his lips in a whisper.

You both went back to the kitchen and you used a new set of tools. Holding his face between your gloved hands, you admired his facial features.

Sakusa was pretty.

Almost ethereal with his thin nose, almond eyes and thick brows. In addition, te two moles on his forehead complimented his beauty.

You snapped out of your reverie, getting to work.

"Finished. This kind of suture won't leave a visible scar" you said cutting the thread and reinforcing the stitch with tape.

Your finger lingered a bit longer on the apple of his cheek. Sakusa grabbed your hand and held it for a while before getting away from you and settling himself on your couch. You ignored the ghost of his touch on your skin and went back to check on Komori.

That night, Sakusa realized that no one ever handled him with such care, as if he was made of fine china.

I like that touch, he decided.

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[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-5)

Word count: 5.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: None

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​​ I love you, babe <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

“Y/N! Y/N, open the door!”

You hurriedly stepped out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and a towel wrapped around your waist.

Kevin was standing in front of the bathroom, not even a little concerned about the state of your dressing. 

“We’re taking bets about whether it will rain this week or not,” he announced. “You have to cast your vote.”

You looked around the room. Meg’s door was locked from the outside which meant she wasn’t here.

“Who let you in?”

“I have a key to your apartment,” he said matter of factly. “So does Cas.”

“Vaguely concerning, but I’ll allow it, since you’re not trying to rob me. Only tempting me with the vices of gambling.”

Kevin looked delighted at the retort. “Aha! So you do have a cutting edge humour. I’m winning 5 bucks over that from Jack.”

You rolled your eyes and walked into your bedroom, finding your drawstring pants and pulling them on.

“If it makes you feel any better, you now have a key to our apartment also as well as Cas’s.” Kevin jerked his head towards the kitchen counter where a new pair of brass keys shone in the light. “On this floor, we all like to keep the keys handy in case of emergencies.”

He plopped down on the sofa. “So about the rain…”

It looked like he really had broken into your apartment to ask for your bet.

“It’s September. It’s never going to rain,” you said.

“And you’re sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Should I be checking the weather forecast? And how much are we playing for?”

“You can check the forecast,” he said sagely, “It’s allowed. I have to warn you though that basing your vote off it has proven disadvantageous in the past. And we’re not playing for money.”

“Do I get to know who sided with what?”

“Not till you’ve put your bet in.”

“Dang it!”

He wiggled his eyebrows making you laugh. “Okay. I’m sure. I’ll go with what I said. It’ll not rain.”

“Oh, and Y/N-” he smiled evilly- “You should know that if it rains, you’re going to have to get wet in it! You have Pam, Cas and Jack siding with you so far.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of drenching in the rain. “It’s not going to rain, so I’m safe. What happens if I get it right?”

“The losing party has to be a company to judgy Judy and sun bath all of Sunday. Lotion will be provided.”

“This is ridiculous,” you laughed.

He stopped at the door. “Only when you lose.”

You spent the weekend catching up on your reading and familiarising yourself with the syllabus. When that was done, you set to work on your assignments… and when that was done, too, there were always job applications. Sustenance was unfortunately a necessity.

Come Sunday evening, Meg dragged you to the downstairs to the get together. It surprised you just how much everyone liked having you around, especially since you contributed absolutely nothing to the conversations. Pam pulled an accurate impression of the undergrads on the second floor and everyone laughed. 

It was a homely feeling.

************

Sam was already ready and going through the papers on his desk when you entered the lecture hall. He did not look up from them as the class slowly filled up. You didn’t necessarily make it a point to sit with Madison but somehow for most Civil Procedure classes she happened to sit next to you. You liked her well enough, however those girls who came with her said such awful things sometimes that it made you wish you were anywhere but around them.

Today Madison came in before any of the girls and took her seat next to you. 

“Hi,” she said, drawing her laptop out.

“Hey!” You smiled at her.

“Thanks for sitting besides me,” Madison said. “Having you around makes me feel so calm, and helps me concentrate.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said, then smiled apologetically. “You know how the girls are… they’re always so jittery and gossiping. But you… you just have such a steady energy around you.”

Strange. To you, it didn’t feel like you had energy at all.

“You know what I mean, right?” Madison said. “I feel like I can tell you anything, share things with you and you won’t judge me or tell on me. I feel like you wouldn’t turn me away if I ever asked for your help. You are just such a nice person.”

“Madison…” you said, touched. 

She shook her head. “You can just call me Maddie, if you like.”

She wasn’t necessarily right about you being a ‘nice person,’ but you certainly wouldn’t judge her… you of all people after everything you had done. And when it came to helping out another, it was just the decent thing to do, especially for someone you called a friend. It didn’t make you a nice person. It just made Madison’s other friends not so good at friendship.

“Alright then, Maddie,” you smiled. “We shall sit next to each other for as long as you want.”

Madison beamed. Not her usual girly laugh, instead a smile that reached her eyes in all their seriousness. You wondered what sorrow she’d had to live through. 

“Maddie!” Rebecca came up from behind and sat next to Madison. “I missed you over the weekend. Oh, we’re sitting with Y/N again?”

“Yes,” said Madison too sweetly. “She’s my friend. Try not to steal her answers though, Becca.”

Behind her Lacey giggled.

You had to cover your face, too, to hide the grin.

Sam called the class to attention, smiling at everyone. It was breathtaking and painful in equal parts.

“Before we begin,” he said, “It’s been brought to my attention that I’m the only one who hasn’t set you guys an assignment. We can’t have that happening now, can we?”

There were a few groans, and Sam gave everyone a teasing look. “It’s not something that’ll take up a lot of your time. I’m not setting you an essay, just a 500 word brief. Before we get into that, I need to know you guys better. Everyone who has a pre-law please raise your hands. About fifteen to twenty percent of the class raised their hands. 

“Impressive,” Sam said. “Sociology, political science or any other law allied field?”

Majority of the remaining class raised their hands.

“And how many of you guys have worked in any capacity in law fields? Have actual experience?”

About ten to twelve people raised their hands. Slowly, you put your arm up as well.

At the edge of your vision you sensed Rebecca glaring at your hand. 

Sam sweeped his gaze over the class. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to be one of the crowd, because for a split second the startlement was clear on his face. He blinked twice, then looked away.

Split second of eye contact was enough to make you weak in your knees. Bring back a flood of memories, of having looked so deeply in those very eyes. 

He paused, cleared his throat and said, “I suppose this will be somewhat easier for those of you who have a pre-law background. For your assignment, you have to pick the most dicey, interesting or unusual Civil suit or petition you can find, and describe in brief how the written content and consequent presentation saved or screwed over the case. Go crazy with the type of case, as long as it’s civil and filed in the states. The law library has a complete and updated archive of all judgements and petitions in public domain for your reference.”

Giving you a stink eye, Rebecca raised her hand.

“Yes… Miss Staten, is it?”

“Yes, Rebecca Staten,” she said, practically gloating. “Do you specialise in Civil cases? And if so, can we pick one of yours?”

Sam’s eyebrows twitched a little and he brushed at the hair near his ear. To anyone else it would have meant nothing, barely noticeable. You knew better. It was discomfort. He was uncomfortable with the question. Seeing him, you felt an instinctive spark of annoyance towards Rebecca, which was absolutely ridiculous. It wasn’t your place to feel anything on Sam’s behalf. Not anymore.

“I don’t specialise in Civil… I do predominantly take them up, but that’s certainly not it. In fact, my most distinctive case isn’t even a Civil one,” he said. “Rest assured, if you want to make the most of the assignment, none of my cases would be of any help.”

“Makes me wonder…” Madison whispered next to you.

“You have until Wednesday to hand it in. It does not have to be technical, so it shouldn’t take much time,” he announced. “Back to the class now. We’re working on Trial components and rules…”

After the classes for the day ended, Madison caught up with you.

“Where are you headed?” She asked.

“The library.”

“Oh, excellent, I was heading there, too,” she said happily.

“Where are the others?” It made you feel like a wretched person, but you didn’t think you could take anymore of those girls.

Madison wiped her brow. “They wanted to head out to San Francisco for the night.”

“But it’s a Monday,” you spoke unthinkingly.

She gave you a look which made it clear that she shared your opinion.

“I thought you’d want to research Mr. Winchester's assignment. Do you mind if I join?”

The thought of working with someone for once was actually pleasant, “Of course I don’t. It’ll be fun, Maddie.”

She smiled at your use of her nickname. “Alright then.”

The Robert Crown law library was smaller and very modern in comparison to the Green library. It was all white walls, beige minimalist furniture and compactly placed bookshelves next to rows of computers. The appearance didn’t fool you in the least. You knew from having read and well, from having heard about it so many times from Sam that it was extensively stocked with information on thousands and millions of suits, petitions, litigations and what not. It had every possible book that you would want to refer to while building a case, by-laws, constitutional laws and so many other rules and regulations. 

The two of you picked adjacent computers and began sifting through the cases. The sorting system itself boggled your mind, let alone the data within. Soon you were lost in a sea of cases, just reading through them instead of researching for the assignment. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered Madison besides you.

“Mmmm?” You asked absentmindedly.

When she didn’t reply, you looked over. Madison was staring intently at the screen.

“You know when Mr. Winchester was talking to Becca earlier?” She asked, without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah?” You remembered vividly.

“He mentioned how his most distinctive case wasn’t a Civil one?” Her voice was low. “I got curious and looked it up.”

You didn’t even know what to say.

“Turns out he was downplaying it. This looks like a huge deal.”

Despite everything, you gave your swivel chair a push and moved next to Madison.

“What’s it about?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s complicated and over two years old. Looks like it’s a matter of twin homicides in conjunction with multiple matters of abuse and a custody battle. It says he was working with Simpsons and associates in LA back then.”

“LA?” 

“Yeah.” She added guiltily, “I pulled out his public profile in accordance with his registration with the Bar Council. It has his whole bio-data.”

You knew you shouldn’t look. God, you knew it and you looked anyway.

“Stanford… Yale… and there’s a small town in Kansas where he was registered for a year. Then one year in NY, Four in LA, and two at Griswold Acton.”

New York… So he did go there. The thought pierced you like a shard. 

“I think... I think I’m gonna go back now,” you said quietly.

Madison looked at the watch. “Shit! It’s already past 7! Yeah, we should hurry.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Madison said, as you walked along the curb, “The weekend after this one, I’m throwing a party at this bar a few blocks away. And I really want you to come.”

“Is it your birthday?” You asked, feeling awful that you were asking after being invited.

“Yes, the next day. I’m doing this the night before so we’ll be together when the clock hits 12. You’ll come, right?”

You hesitated.

“It’ll be fun, really. I know the girls can be a bit too much sometimes, but there’ll be other people.”

That was even worse.

“It would mean a lot to me,” she insisted.

“Okay,” you acquiesced. “Only if you let me get you a present.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but then gave in. “Okay.” She threw her arms around you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wandered back to the apartment, racking your brain about what to put in the assignment. Nothing came to you.

Weird dreams interrupted your sleep that night, homicides and custody disputes. You kept yelling that the child was yours and like in the old 70’s movies, the judge banged the gavel calling for order.... Then, the scene shifted. You were trapped, your hands and shoulders bound. There was glass around you. Shards of glass, blood and icy water, numbing your senses, dulling your pain as it soaked your hair and drenched you to the bone. You wanted to scream for help, but cold also made you sleepy. You wanted to ask the judge… tell him to hand you the child, but there was no judge… just cold and hammering rain.

You woke up chilly. Drenched in sweat, but still very cold. It was just a dream… not reality. Just a dream. You rolled over and sleep found you again.

“You look like you came back from the dead,” Meredith said first thing next morning. 

You ignored her and took your seat in the row ahead of her. Unfortunately, that put you right next to Brad. 

Sam was on time as usual. He ran through his papers as the tech set up his laptop.

“He’s alright, really,” Brad said, making conversation. “Girls seem to swoon on him because he is the youngest faculty member and all. But he’s just average as a teacher.”

“I think he is fantastic,” you said, jutting your chin out, voice unnecessarily sharp.

Brad raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t like the other girls.”

“If by other girls you mean the ones that worked hard to get into Stanford and know how to appreciate a good teacher, then I’m exactly like the other girls.”

“Ooohhh, feisty,” he murmured under his breath. Sam called the class to attention and you chose to ignore Brad completely for the rest of the lecture, then made sure that you sat by yourself for the rest of the day.

The deadline for the assignment was tomorrow and you had no clue what you were handing in. That did not help with the anxiety.

On your way to the library, you dropped by at the Student’s employment office- without much hope- to check on that application anyway.

The girl at the desk ran through your profile once again as you gave her your name.

“Y/N,” she said in a monotone of someone who was bored out of their mind. “I actually have a hit for you here. I should warn you, it's a tough gig-”

“Tell me!” You interrupted before she had even finished the sentence. 

She peered at you over her spectacles. “The odd hours librarian’s post at the Law library. You had an upper hand over the other applicants because you are a law student and live close by. You also have experience as a librarian before.”

“Yes, I want it!”

“Chillax, woman,” said the girl. “It’s an odd hours job. That means the night shift on three days and alternate weekends. It’s an 8 hour shift and 5 shifts per week. Twenty an hour.”

“Done.” You thought back to last night. It wasn’t like you were getting any good sleep anyway. Might as well make money out of it. 

The girl shrugged. “It’s yours then. You start this weekend. I’ll hook you up with the other librarian peeps. They’ll let you know about your shift.”

You thanked her and happily walked back towards the Law building. At least one thing seemed to have worked in your favour. One minute you were walking ahead, next you were on the floor, all your things knocked out of your hands. 

“I’m so sorry.”

You looked up into stunning hazel eyes. They were as familiar even now as if you had looked into them every day of your life.

Sam froze, having just realised that he had walked into you.

Up close he looked tired and definitely a lot thinner.

“Oh, God. Y/N!” Madison, who happened to walk by, reached out to help you to your feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Numbly, you nodded. 

Sam methodically picked up your books and wallet, stacked them in a pile and handed it to you.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, quietly, eyes trained on the books in your hand.

You shook your head.

He acknowledged it with a jerk of chin and left without another word.

“What an ass!” Brad muttered coming up from behind. “First he knocked her down and then didn’t even apologise. I don’t get why y’all idealise him so much.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lacey said. “Y/N was the one who walked into him without looking. Ruined his perfectly good suit with her chapstick smear. And he did apologise!”

You excused yourself as quickly as you could, still feeling the tingle on your skin where his fingers had lightly brushed yours, senses still filled with the smell of his cologne. Even after all these years it was still the same. 

You had bought that cologne for him. He still used the same one.

Tears pressed your eyes as you entered the vine covered gates of the apartment. 

At the lift, you ran into Cas.

He looked pleasantly surprised at the sight of you, which was weird because you both did stay on the same floor.

“You look… are you okay?” His voice was coloured with concern.

You had to stop running into people when you were upset. Had to.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you tried to assure him. “I was heading home.”

“Yes, home,” Cas sighed, absentmindedly. “I miss having a roommate sometimes. Conversation is what makes it home.”

You had reached your door.

“Hey,” you said, making an impulse decision. “Do you maybe wanna come in for a mug of coffee or something?”

He looked startled again. “Yeah, I would love that.”

Meg wasn’t home. You weren’t surprised. 

“Please make yourself at home,” you waved towards the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”

You quickly dumped your bag and books on your bed, swapped the shoes for your comfortable slippers, tied your hair in a bun at the top of your head and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Cas was in the balcony, looking at the front yard. 

“You guys have a fantastic view from here,” he said morosely. You felt bad for him. His was the only flat on the floor that didn’t have the yard facing balcony.

“Why didn’t you ask Pam to sublet you this one after the last tenant moved out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t spend much time at the apartment anyway with the night shifts and emergencies at the hospital. Besides, mine’s a small one and I don’t have a roommate, so it's easy to clean after.”

“Is it too much work at the hospital?” You asked sympathetically, then realised how dumb the question was. It was a hospital. Of course there was too much work.

“Sometimes,” he answered truthfully. “The ER duty is dreadful because a lot of times you just can’t save a life. OPD days are so much better.”

You nodded thoughtfully.

“What about you? How’s law school treating you?”

You told him about how everyone was just so different from you. They had social circles and Monday night outs and were worried about internships for status as opposed to just wanting a job or actually learning. You told him about how there always seemed to be an ulterior motive to everything that they said or did.

It sounded like a rant even to your own ears, but God it felt good to unload. Cas was probably bored out of his mind. You let it all out anyway.

“And then- then they judge people based on their appearance. Just because I wear a sweater all the time doesn’t make me drab. I’m just really sensitive to cold. Just because a professor is young and good looking, doesn’t by default make him a bad teacher.”

You had to stop to take a breath, and were immediately possessed by a sense of embarrassment. Why were you putting this on a very tired Cas?

Cas, however, looked deep in thought. “Hmmm…” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong. You don’t have any immediate family, do you?”

You shook your head. “I have no family left.”

Cas didn’t ask you the why or how come.

“Maybe that’s why,” he said, face resting on his palms. “You don’t live for anyone but yourself. You don’t have to put on a show like them.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that you are being motivated by a desire to learn, to become a better person and to help the world become a better place. Most people are motivated by power, or money or just wanting to create an impression. No wonder you don’t fit in, Y/N. You stand out.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Cas put his hands up. “I mean it. Besides, you have us. I can tell for a fact that people here really like you. So who cares about the rich ass kids? They’re the reason lawyers got a bad rep.”

You giggled.

Then you remembered the coffee pot. “Oh, damn!”

Cas chuckled as you went to grab the pot and fix two coffees.

“What’re you thinking about the weekend?” Cas called from the balcony, “I think we’re on the losing side.”

“It’s September. It’s not raining.”

“That’s what I said last week. It rained.”

“Oh, no!”

Cas took a mug from your hands. “Thank you.”

He took a sip. “The forecast is never useful. Wish we could sue them for it.”

You put your mug down.

“CAS! You are a genius!”

“What?”

You rushed to your room to grab your computer, then settled on a chair, quickly typing the words out.

“I knew it!” You shouted in vindication. “I remembered reading about it.”

“Errr….” Cas hovered over you utterly confused. You turned the laptop so he could see.

“Look! In 1988 a woman did sue Chicago’s famous newsman over a wrong weather forecast!”

“Are you serious?” He put the mug down and sat next to you, reading the article.

You pointed at it excitedly. “See that’s what it says.”

“They dismissed her, right?”

You grinned at him. “She settled outside for a sum of half a million.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cas whistled.

“Oh, this is perfect for the assignment! Thanks, Cas.”

“My pleasure,” he said, somewhat bemused.

He read over your shoulder as you wrote the brief extract, pointing out how it was a trend setter of it’s kind when it came to dragging news media to the court. The woman had missed a flight which was cancelled as a precaution to the bad forecast and viola! It never rained. 

“This look good?”

“It’s perfect!” Cas said.

You dropped the file into the mailbox, then paused when it came to actually typing a mail, fingers trembling.

This was Sam you were writing to. He used to be your Sam.

You did it nevertheless. You typed his id and the thumbnail of his profile appeared. He wore a tan turtleneck and was smiling at the person holding the camera. Who could it have been?

“Is that the young professor you were talking about?” Cas asked offhandedly. 

“Mhmm.”

“I can see why he gets that sort of attention,” Cas chuckled.

You saw it, too.

Sighing internally, you hit the send button.

Cas high-fived you. “There are very few things in life as satisfying as a last minute submission,” he said, then looked at the watch. “I better go now, I’ve got an early morning shift.”

“Oh, wait for a bit,” you said, rushing to the kitchen counter, and pulling out a jar of cookies. “Here, have one. I got a job today, as a librarian. My Gran used to say that one should always offer sweets while  breaking a good news.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Cas took a bite of the crumbly choco-chip cookie and moaned. “Oh, these are wonderful!”

You thrust the entire jar in his hand. “Here, take them all. I just like baking them…. not much of an eater.”

“You made these?” His voice was incredulous and you blushed. 

“My Gran used to run a small bakery from our house. I grew up watching her do what she loved the most. The smell of baking comforts me… and let’s just say I needed to be comforted lately.”

“Well, these are excellent!” He didn’t even resist for the sake of formality and took the jar.

You walked him to the door. “Hey, Cas. Thank you for tonight.”

It had been the first time since you had moved to the city that you actually felt like you had talked because you wanted to, shared what you really felt. It was the first time you had truly rejoiced that the bubble was gone and you could be happy in the company of another person.

Cas didn’t ask why you had thanked him. Oddly, he understood.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, where it lay heavy and comforting. “I had a great evening. If you ever want to share anything or you know bake too many cookies, I should tell you that I live right next door.”

You giggled. Cas tightened his grip on your shoulder for a moment and let go. He waved at you once more before closing his door. 

Later, as you lay in bed, you thought through the day and just how your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were distraught and the next, excited. The way that Brad annoyed you, no one ever had except for that one idiot in high school. You were used to having people rely on you. Even when you worked as a paralegal all through last year, your boss had been happy with your work, your colleagues were polite… but no one had remotely elicited any sort of reaction from you. It had been the same through all those years of pre-law. It hadn’t ever bothered you that you weren’t a part of the group. In fact, now that you looked back on the years, everything seemed so hazy, like you were looking at your memories through a heavily fogged glass.

In fact, that one year spent with Sam was clearer than the seven years spent after. You could recall every moment lived with him as if it was merely yesterday. And yet things that had happened a month back felt like they had happened ages ago. 

Deep down, you knew the reason for it. With Sam you had been happy… happier than you had ever been before. It was the last time you had been happy, too. So did that mean you were beginning to be happy again now? 

Re-learning it one step at a time?

You rolled, mulling the thought over in your head and fell asleep dreamlessly after a very long time.

************

“Oh, the sweet release of Friday!” Madison moaned. “I can’t wait to fall into bed. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“I actually have plans for tonight,” you told her, “So I’m not expecting to see the bed anytime soon.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t show up to Brad’s party, but you have plans tonight?” Lacey wiggled her eyebrows. “Is there a special someone?”

It was Jack. You were going bowling with Jack and whoever else was free. You had protested the plan by explaining how awful you were at bowling. It had only delighted Jack more. Apparently, he sucked, too, but he really wanted to impress the girl who worked at the bowling alley. If he came off looking better than you, maybe, just maybe he’d have a chance with her. It seemed like a very very unlikely event, but you didn’t have the heart of telling him that. In fact, to your surprise you found yourself really excited for the evening.

“Just a friend.” You shrugged.

Lacey looked like she was about to press her point when Madison interrupted her.

“Oh, did any of you hear from Mr. Winchester? Regarding the assignment?” 

You threw her a grateful look for changing the topic.

Madison had received a reply on Wednesday evening with a positive critique and so had Rebecca along with a few more people. 

It was all Rebecca needed to go on and on about the assignment, and how Mr. Winchester loved her work and remembered her name. You were a little disappointed that you never received a critique… but were you even expecting a reply from Sam? You had accepted that he was going to ignore you.

Sam did not mention the assignment at all. He made a few timed jokes about how everyone hated the last class on a Friday including him and he’d make it a point to let everyone off fifteen minutes early. The lecture was as captivating as usual. He spoke with such passion for law that even the most monotonous topics became suddenly interesting. You wouldn’t have cared if he had even extended the class, but he kept his promise and ended it about ten minutes early.

“Before you all leave for a much deserved weekend,” he said, “I want to congratulate you all on an assignment well done. Most of you had the most interesting topics picked out for the note. It certainly made for entertaining reads. I was hoping at least someone would bring up the several instances when Red bull got sued and I wasn’t disappointed. Four of you did. I’m sorry I couldn’t reply back to all of the emails, but there was a particular one that I’d like to bring to your attention. A 1988 lawsuit turned to a petition after a woman sued Chicago’s famous newsman Gary Holster over the wrong forecast.”

You could barely believe your ears.

“Mary Johnson was flying from Domestic Chicago to LAX along with 122 other passengers. And after predictions of a heavy storm, the flight was cancelled. Of course. it barely even rained. As a result, Miss Johnson lost a prospective job and the opportunity at a better life. What started as a snowflake of a suit, snowballed into a petition with over 76 plaintiffs after a newspaper published her story tagging it as ridiculous. The other passengers reached out to her, expanding into a full-fledged writ.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “All of you should take a look at the case as well as Ms. Y/L/N’s note. It was a particularly smart choice to pick this case because I had asked for weird and unusual… and the exact oddity of the case was what made it a national sensation in the late 80’s.”

Sam looked up, with precision, straight into your eyes. “Good job, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. The corner of your eyes stung.

Behind you Lacey muttered, “Oh, look, yours isn’t the only name he remembers, Ms. Staten.”

“Have a great weekend!” Sam wished before leaving the room. The class immediately broke into a babble and some people turned to spot you in the crowd. A few of them even came up to you to congratulate on an assignment well done. You promised to forward the assignment to the class group so everyone could see it. As it turned, out a couple of people stayed in the building next to yours. 

While leaving, you did notice Rebecca staring at you with ill concealed dislike and something close to suspicion.

“Y/N!” Jack was waiting for you in the front yard, which was officially nicknamed the meadow. He was sitting next to Judgy Judy with a satchel slung across his body.

“Hey, I’m going to run upstairs and drop my bag.” 

He sprang up from the parapet and eased your bag off your shoulder. “Don’t bother. We can just drop it off at Pam’s. Watch.”

He slid the shutter to her ground floor flat window and with extreme expertise pushed your big inside from in between to bars.

“Genius!” You lauded.

Jack grinned, “Pam is home and sleeping. By the time we get back, she’ll be up, ready to handover the bag.”

“Truly epic.”

“You guys don’t have too much fun without me!” Kevin yelled from his balcony where he was sitting with Cas. He looked bummed.

“What’s up with him?” 

Jack waved at Kevin and said loudly enough for him to hear, “Nothing. Kev’s just pissed that the weather is clear.”

Kevin cursed. “That dumb reported said it was going to rain. I’m gonna sue her!”

Next to him, Cas gave you a pointed look and winked. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

Jack offered you his arm and you took it, feeling a strange happiness settle within you. Hand in hand you walked out. For the first time in years you didn’t know what to expect of tomorrow or even the next moment. The feeling was worth living for.

*******************************

A/N 2: Heads up! There’s still sometime before we find out what exactly went down between these two, but in the present timeline, it’s mostly just uphill from now. 

I had a very, very hard day, today. Hoping it will be uphill for me, too, from now on :)

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

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[detectiveupstead]

Red Roses [Upstead One Shot]

A/N: Really short and based on 7x17 and those beautiful red roses.

Hailey Upton wasn’t a flower type of woman. She didn’t care much for them. She gave them to friends and family if they were in the hospital, if it was their birthday, if the occasion called for it. The smiles on the faces of people she gave flowers to made the purchase worth it. Receiving them, though, wasn’t something she particularly cared for. If people gave her flowers, of course she’d take them and put them in the sole vase she owned, trying to keep them alive for as long as she could. But she worked long hours, longer days, and either she wasn’t home enough to water them or she didn’t care enough. More often than not, she threw them out before they even withered all the way.

So, yeah. Flowers weren’t that big of a deal to Hailey.

Until red roses.

Her partner had bought them to keep up his cover in front of Shane Sullivan, acting as a customer looking for flowers rather than a cop questioning Sullivan’s wife. They were pretty, that much Hailey could admit; bright red roses with baby’s breath wrapped in plastic and purple tissue. Their scent teased the inside of the truck once Jay had gotten in, catching Hailey’s attention as he showed them to her before putting them on the passenger seat. Her seat.

In the tension of the case, in the drudged up memories of her childhood she hated to revisit but always existed in the back of her mind, she’d almost forgotten about those gorgeous red roses. She’d forgotten about them amidst trying to nail Shane to the domestic violence, robbery and homicide charges—only one of which stuck. And she’d definitely forgot about them sitting at the bar across from Jay, recounting painful childhood memories of her parents and trying to keep the bitterness out of her mouth at the thought of her mom still being with her dad. But like she had told Jay; every situation was different. You build a life with someone, you love them. . . It’s hard to let it go, no matter how bad it gets. Sometimes Hailey wished she believed them all the way, to make herself more understanding to what her mom went through.

Hailey had forgotten about the red roses as she told Jay how she wished someone, in her childhood, and swept in and saved them—her mom—from her dad’s drunken, dangerous habits. She’d forgotten about the roses amidst looking at her partner, not for the first time thinking what a damn hero he was. She’d forgotten about the roses as Jay looked back at her from across the table, a look in his eyes echoing the pain he felt upon hearing just a smidge of what Hailey’s childhood was like, wishing he could’ve done something to stop it, despite the fact that he’d, too, be a kid at the time. Anything to help her.

She had totally forgotten about the roses by the time they had decided to leave the bar, staying extra long to ‘sober’ up. Not that they were drunk at all, given the little amount of drinks they had. But still.

It wasn’t until they got to the parking lot, both approaching their vehicles that were parked right next to each other, the lot empty save for two other cars. Hailey reached her door, looking over the roof of her car as she said, “Night, Jay.”

“Wait.”

She paused, raising an eyebrow as Jay ducked into his car for a moment before straightening and walking around her vehicle. That signature half smirk curled at one corner of his lips, and Hailey dropped her gaze to his hand, a soft laugh escaping her as her breath fogged in front of her face because of the weather. “You still have those?” she questioned, eyeing the red roses he’d gotten from Michelle Sullivan’s store.

“Yeah,” he lightly chuckled, holding them up as they both examined the bouquet. “They’re still alive and well.” Then Jay held them out, smirk still on his freckled face as he said, “For you.”

Hailey eyed them for a moment, inhaling softly through her nose as she tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to be picking up its pace, slamming against her chest. She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, telling herself that this didn’t mean anything. That Jay was only giving her the roses so they didn’t go to waste; what other woman could he give them to? He wasn’t exactly the type to have a bouquet of roses in his own place. He just didn’t want them to go to waste. That’s all.

Apparently Hailey remained in her contemplative silence for too long, because suddenly Jay’s expression fell as his green eyes dropped to the flowers. “Unless it’s too, uh, uncomfortable. You know, with the case and all.” He let out an awkward, almost sheepish chuckle, the smirk disappearing and being replaced with the expression of an embarrassed man. “I can just get rid of them—”

“No, no.” The denial slipped past Hailey’s mouth without much thought, cutting Jay off as his eyebrows raised slightly. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire, hoping to God she didn’t sound desperate or something. Trying to recover, Hailey offered a smile, dimples making their appearance, as she said, “I’ll take ’em. No point in perfectly good roses going to waste, right?”

Jay mirrored her smile, but when her blue eyes met his green, she saw an undertone of something she was too hesitant on acknowledging. The way he was looking at her. . . it seemed to say so much more than his verbal response of, “Right.”

They bid goodnight after that, Jay not pulling out of the lot until she did, and the entire drive home, Hailey did her best not to look at the floral arrangement sitting on her passenger seat. But their presence sat heavily on her mind, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she propped her left elbow on the door, running her fingers through her hair before leaning her head against her hand. Why was she reading into it? It was nothing. She needed to get a grip.

But when she got home, tossing her keys on the counter as they clattered and pulled out that one vase she owned, Hailey couldn’t fight the stupid smile that quirked at her lips as she placed the beautiful roses in them. She rested the vase in the middle of the counter, hands bracing herself against it as she eyed them. They looked pretty in the middle of her kitchen, a splash of color against the brown and beige tones of the room.

Hailey blinked then, eyebrows knitting together when among the red petals and baby’s breath, she caught sight of a little white piece of paper. She leaned forward, plucking it off, unsure of how she’d missed it before—some detective she was, she couldn’t help but think wryly.

It was a small envelope, tiny enough to comfortably rest in the bouquet, and curiosity got the better of her as she opened it and slid out the single piece card that was inside. And as her eyes read over the achingly familiar handwriting, her heart once again began pounding against her chest.

Hailey,

Thank you for everything. Know that I will always have your back the way you have mine. I promise.

Jay.

She let out a soft, long exhale, wondering when she allowed her emotions to get the better of her as she felt her throat close up. Hailey rolled her lips into her mouth, feeling the smile easily lift up the corners as she read the words over and over again. Had he written this in the shop when he bought the flowers? Or after the fact?

Hailey didn’t care. She loved it.

“Where’d you get those?”

Hailey prided herself in not jumping at the sound of Vanessa’s voice, shoving the card back in the envelope and shoving it in the pocket of her jacket as she turned to face her friend. The brunette was eyeing the flowers with a raised eyebrow before looking back at Hailey. “Uh, Jay got them when he was undercover at the flower shop. Gave ’em to me rather than just throwing them out.”

There was a twinkle in Vanessa’s dark eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned her side against the wall. “Jay gave you flowers?”

Nope, no. Hailey couldn’t further indulge herself and her feelings more than she already had done. It was dangerous and a bad idea. So she rolled her eyes, shooting her friend a dry smile as she began heading out of the room. “It’s not like that.”

Vanessa scoffed behind her, not at all convinced. Just like Hailey wasn’t entirely convinced, either. “Keep telling yourself that.”

She would. Until she decided to stop being afraid and admit the true meaning behind the red roses. For now, it would be between her and the little card from her partner she knew she would keep safe in her bedside drawer.

[smallnico]

(Since you said you also struggle with it) Do you have any tips regarding not letting your anxiety-induced control issues making you a bad friend? Or being controlling of others?

sure! sorry for the late response btw, i’ve been swamped and haven’t felt really able to compose the long answer a question like this kind of deserves. as with all advice-based asks i receive, mind that i’m not a professional, i only speak from my own experience and from things i’ve learned during counseling sessions for my own mental health. ultimately, depending on how severely the issues you’re talking about affect your wellness and relationships, you should try to find a professional who can learn more about your personal experiences and guide you on a more personal journey of self-reflection and self-improvement. but i can definitely give some general tips, and will do so!

i think, in order to learn how to keep control issues in check, we all need to understand the nature of control. 

control is something the universe will never let us have in the abundance we need to feel safe. there are things in our lives we can control in certain situations, like what we have for dinner, or what colour our walls are, but there are situations where these things are out of our control too -- say you’re having dinner at a friend’s and they’re making the dinner, or you live in a rent-controlled apartment with a landlord who likes beige on tan. being able to control something in a messy situation gives us a sense of stability and certainty, because no matter what other unpredictable thing happens, at least we know what colour the walls are. at least we know what we’re having for dinner. it’s an anchor in a panic attack. when we feel like the world we know is crumbling around us, at least we have something to hold on to.

of course, with control issues inevitably comes the question of just how much needs to be under control in order for us to feel safe. severity varies. say someone has ocd, for instance, and absolutely needs to check their purse for their wallet and keys 20 times in order to feel control over whether or not they’ll be locked out of the house. say someone has long-developed abandonment issues and absolutely needs to know where their friends are at all times, so they know those friends are coming back. the hardest thing for anyone with control issues to accept, regardless of their severity, is that we cannot have control all the time. to a certain degree, we can’t always control even our own actions, our emotions, our successes and failures. we may gain control, but we will lose it at some point, and it’s scary when that happens, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. it’s just a fact of life, and it’s one that every single person in the world has to deal with, regardless of whether they have control issues. 

control is safety. control is sitting in a chair. losing control is the chair being yanked out from under you, whether by another person, by an earthquake, or by any means. suddenly we’re falling, we don’t know if it’ll hurt, and we’re just scrambling for anything to get us back in that chair, if it’s even still there, maybe injuring ourselves more in the process. but accepting that the chair, by whatever means, is gone, means we land on the ground. we get our bearings, we examine the ground, we examine our own pain -- are we hurt? is it bad? is it fine? -- we learn about where the chair went, and then, if the ground has stopped shaking, we stand up again and figure out where to go from here. losing control is scary, but letting go of the need for control frees us to adapt to new situations, examine new feelings, learn what’s really causing the problems in our lives. after all, if someone pulls a chair out from underneath us, the chair isn’t the problem, the problem is the person. they could’ve asked permission, but maybe they wanted to see us fall.

to wring this extended metaphor dry, say the person does ask for permission before taking the chair. they need it for something, but we’re using it. it’s comfortable. it’s our only chair. but this person is being considerate towards us, they’re asking us to make a sacrifice. remember, the chair is a feeling of control, of safety. how big of a sacrifice are they asking of us? really, it depends on how badly we need the chair. and when we think of control (this time more broadly, we’ve successfully escaped the metaphor) as something inherently temporary, something we don’t absolutely need to find happiness and safety, it becomes a lot less of an ask when our friends tell us to back off a bit. it also becomes easier to conceive of a world where we don’t need stability to make our own certainty. 

and speaking of which, there’s another part of your ask that’s catching me. i don’t know the term of art for it, but when you say “anxiety-induced control issues make you a bad friend”, you’re labelling. the more we call ourselves something, the more we start to identify with it -- the more we insist that a certain bad/flawed action makes us a bad person, the more we identify ourselves as a bad person, and the less agency we assign to that bad/flawed action. if control issues make us bad friends, then being bad friends means we have control issues, etc. etc., and ultimately it becomes harder to separate the bad habits from our self-perception, and those habits then become harder to unlearn because suddenly we’re carving something out of our identity. we won’t be the same person anymore. we don’t know this new person, and the unknown is scary. then, we blame ourselves for our inability to overcome our “””inherent flaws”””, and we’re a bad person, we’re a bad friend, we’re never going to get better, we’re trapped here alone while the world rushes past and forgets us.

i hope i don’t need to tell anyone that that’s a problematic mindset to work oneself into. if i do, it is. and it really may not seem like that slippery of a slope, but once we get used to the holistic paradigm that People Are What They Do, the harder it becomes to forgive and love them in spite of their flaws, and that includes ourselves. making mistakes does not make us mistakes -- it makes us human, and that’s just how it be. not to sound too much like a therapist, because again it isn’t my job and i have no training, but the process of self-reflection and self-improvement becomes a hell of a lot easier when we stop blaming our souls for our behaviour. when we give in to our control issues, we’re acting out of a desperate need to stop feeling afraid, vulnerable. but fear, like all emotions, is temporary. it’s also part of being human. we can’t stop feeling afraid -- and it isn’t our fault that we can’t stop feeling afraid -- but we can, through certain physical and mental actions, be there for ourselves while we wait for the fear to go away on its own. i recommend any material on mindfulness and self-compassion by a woman named Kristen Neff for more on that kind of thing. but i digress.

some more specific situational tips for not lashing out at friends that i’ve personally used in my life:

- accept and then embrace that losing control and lashing out is going to happen every now and again no matter what you do. the pressure to be perfect is so unhelpful in recovery situations that it frequently actively and remorselessly makes those situations worse. again -- making mistakes is okay. you’re still on the right track, and it’s better for the train to arrive slowly after a long and shitty journey than to never arrive at all. - ask your friends to tell you when you’re making them uncomfortable. pick a safeword, something uninflammatory -- mine is “buttercup” -- and the hardest but most necessary part: when your friends use the safeword, don’t punish them for it. it isn’t an attack, they don’t want to hurt you, it’s just your cue to step back and take a nice bath or make a sandwich or wrap yourself in a blanket and practice some deep breathing. trust that the fear will be over soon. - after a lot of practice, you may find yourself recognizing your own behaviour and stepping back automatically. my friends almost never “buttercup” me anymore, because i don’t find myself reaching for control when i’m anxious -- i find myself closing my computer and making some hot chocolate and running a bath. taking a break. exercise works really well here. - this one’s kind of risky because of the self-destructive coping mechanisms a lot of people turn to to solve this problem, so tread carefully and compassionately. if you really need control such that you have to wean yourself off of it, do it like you’re trying to quit smoking. find a nicotine patch -- a smaller thing to control, like cleaning your room, washing a dish by hand, baking a cake, organizing your bookshelves. whatever works for you, just make sure you aren’t hurting yourself. the intention here isn’t to create a new problem for you to solve to distract from the old one, or to test your self-control. it’s specifically to feel a progressively smaller sense of relief to teach yourself just how inconsequential control can be in the grand scheme of things. that it can just be one of many positive feelings. after all, when cleaning your room comes with the benefit of being in a clean room, it’s not all about control, is it? - talk to your friends about the problem. try to ask first if you need to vent -- sometimes people aren’t in a good place to be vented to, and they deserve to be able to say ‘not right now’ without it being a huge deal -- but more importantly than that is that you talk to your friends about control issues when you aren’t actively spiralling. talking about what’s wrong in a considerate, self-compassionate, reflective way is obstructively hard to do when you’re in the middle of it -- at least, until you’ve had practice. don’t be afraid to ask your friends for help practicing self-reflection when your need isn’t urgent and they’re available. - don’t teach yourself to put your head down and deal with a lack of control. if it’s something you hate but put up with, then a lack of control is still, emotionally, a problem that needs solving, only now its presence inspires misery. think of what i said way earlier in this response: we have control way less often than we have it, just naturally. what you do instead of learning to tolerate that, is you learn to appreciate surprises. unpredictability is one of the most fun things about getting to know the world -- you never know what it’s going to do next, which means there’s always something new to explore. by teaching yourself to look for things to love in surprises, mistakes, unforeseen circumstances, not only does it change the world you see into a kinder and more fun place by default, it also provides the contrast you need to recognize when a situation really, actually is that bad, and something needs to be done to fix it. sure a storm knocked the power out and i can’t finish that assignment by the due date, but i know my professor isn’t a total asshole, so i’ll just let them know what’s up and in the meantime, look for ways to pass the time. i don’t know when the power’s going to come back, but now i have lights and heat and a book, so i’m good. the problems i actually have are the food in the freezer and the possibility of flooding. ultimately, we do what we can and accept what we can’t. (plus, it’s a lot easier to find somewhere moderate when you aim high and are okay with not getting there. you’ll probably never go “yay! the inexorable forces of chaos are at it again!”, but you might learn to laugh off missing the bus, which is already pretty great.) - at the very least, appreciate that you’re not responsible for other people’s decisions. ultimately, that’s their call, and accepting their call as their call means you don’t have to feel like their bad decisions are your fault. there are literally no downsides to this. if someone else decides to blame you for their bad decisions, they’re wrong. the only thing you’re responsible for in that situation is how you decide to respond to it. (and again, it’s okay to make the wrong decision. really, it is. all that matters is you be compassionate to yourself, reflect on the damage caused, try to fix what you can, and resolve to learn from the situation.) - look up kristen neff. really, do it. she has a couple of pretty great ted talks on youtube. 

i, for one, find comfort in not knowing all the answers. paradoxically, embracing uncertainty and unpredictability makes me feel more secure, because i know that next to nothing is under my control, and if something unpredictable happens, i’m comfortable knowing i wasn’t responsible for it. i can’t know everything, and trying to know everything is a recipe for a panic attack, because it means i’m going out of my way to pile onto the list of things i have to keep track of or else it’s my fault if they go wrong, regardless of if there’s anything i could’ve actually done. i spend so much energy trying to stay in the goddamn chair that i completely lose track of everything in my surroundings that actually matters. grabbing for a sense of control at all costs completely blinds me to real problems and real contentment, which then makes me feel even less in control than before. it’s a no-win situation. better for us to embrace that control really isn’t worth all the fuss and go on with our lives.

i hope this could help, or at least offer some perspective!