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prettynxsty · 3 years ago

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Stirring the Hooch 🍷

Domme!Reader x Sub!Jin

Warnings: Morning sex, jin has a pussy, consumption of booze and drunkenness, graphic mentions of vomiting, appearance of ot7, dirty talk, jin is a little bossy, y/n has a big ass dick, use of noona/hyung in a non sexual way, a little bit of cum play, creampie, partially clothed sex.

A/N: Vacation sex with just a liiiiittle bit of plot lmfao. There’s no facefucking because i was worried that it was getting too long. Anyway, enjoy.

You all but crashed out of bed this morning, landing on your hands and knees with a muted thump. You would’ve patted yourself on the back for even managing to strip and change your clothes for bed last night, but you felt like you were still drunk.

You should have regretted everything that happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You plant your palms on the floor, rocking yourself forward and will yourself to start crawling. You knock your yoga mat away from your bags, watching the little purple tube bounce until it goes still.

You slap your hand over it, messily swatting it open. You crawl over it with a sigh and position yourself over the mat. It should have been a bad memory.

The table was 3 rounds of shots in before the waitress kindly reminded you that bottomless mimosas were only 5 dollars. Eyebrows rose around in a wave, sharing a devilish look of agreement. It was vacation, wasn’t it?

Something crazy began to leak out of your ears when you decided to cash in.

Namjoon was the first to throw himself to his feet, climb on the booth and begin dancing. Jimin whoops to the beat in encouragement, clumsily scrambling up on his chair to join his hyung.

Yoongi gets this strange look in his eye, dumping himself over Hoseok’s shoulder. They howled in laughter until Yoongi was crying. Actually crying.

What pleasantly surprised you the most is when Yoongi kneeled on the booth, facing away from the other side of the table, and began to shake his ass in a way that you wouldn’t have expected from him.

Jungkook’s faith was tested today, usually as the one who finishes everyone else's food, he decided to polish off the rest of everyone’s glasses.

Your sight of the world is stilted, moving in colored frames. You hear the noise of a bit of crashing and chair shifting, turning to see Jin. His sandals slap noisily against the floor as he barrels onto the dance floor, into the middle of the crowd.

Taehyung is bouncing up and down in his seat, shouting adlibs to the sound, pumping his hand in the air. You allow your head to fall forward, shoulders bouncing with a slow bout of laughter that makes your whole body bounce.

You slide your hands backward until they reach your knees, flipping your palms. You take a slow breath in, resting your forehead against the floor. You feel a dancing in your spine, your body so desperately wants to sway to sound that is not heard. The spirits must dance amongst themselves, you must return to yourself, to the terran world.

The same translucent lasso wraps around your arms and squeezes them to your sides. A burning call. You’re apt to rise when you’re full of this feeling, the pull is something indescribable. It crawls from the soles of your feet, causing them to tap. It races through you, your shoulders are swaying like a pendulum.

Deny yourself, you will not. You flew, tripping over the flat of the ground and blitz into the crowd to dance.

You breathe out slowly, flipping your palms and walking them forward. Your torso follows until your hips carefully nestle on the mat. Like sizzling wisps of smoke, the tightness knotted in you began to dissipate. You stretch your shoulders backward, gentle snaps and pops bursting in the air due to the tension knotted into your limbs like loops pulled too tight.

You’re screaming to every second beat, the world below is more than a reach away. Your legs are swinging through the gap between Namjoon and Jungkook’s shoulders. It feels as if the whole building is bouncing with you, your sanity went back to the home to rest.

You tilt your hips forward, leaning your weight onto the balls of your feet before rising into downward dog. Your lower back clicks, a rattling groan of relief shivers its way out of your mouth. You were finally beginning to feel your clothes against your body.

Your cock hangs limply out of one of the leg holes of your tiny shorts, scrunched up to your inner thighs. Your breasts sway gently, peering their way through the large holes of your oversized tank top. There was no reason that you wore that thing to bed, you usually woke up with a breast hanging out somehow.

It was a wonder you weren’t kicked out. You had no idea who paid for dinner, the amount would feel exorbitant. Nonetheless, a vacation should be indulgent.

Despite everyone being so ridiculously inebriated, you managed to concur that taking a taxi would be more trouble than it was worth since nobody was sober enough.

The villa was only a few blocks away anyway.

You hardly made it two block away from the place before everything seemed to fall into itself. Jimin dumped himself on the curb to take off his shoes even though he was only wearing sandals. Jungkook tripped his way over to the trash can on the corner as quickly as he could for someone who was plastered.

He grips handfuls of his shirt to hold it out of the way, even when drunk he was still meticulous. He retches weakly.

Risotto wasn’t nearly was beautiful or decadent when it came back out. Twenty-plus dollars directly into the bin on the city street. He gags so forcefully that he misses for a split second, a bit of cream colored mush dripping over the side before wetly splashing over the rest of the discarded garbage inside.

“Oh gawd- let’s go get him something.” Hoseok misses at patting your shoulder, but grabs your hand to drag you across the empty street to the convenience store on the other side.

You tried to straighten up when the cooler air washes over you, but your eyes were still very bleary. You stop by the baked goods and grab him a delicious yeasty smelling twisted donut and a ginger ale.

Hoseok stumbles up to the counter beside you, plopping a few bags of chips on it. “The salt will settle his tummy,” he explains quickly.

You give him a goofy smile, shaking your head and hand the cashier a little over exact change in cash. You gently push their hand away when they offer back the remaining coins, scooping up your items and head on your way.

You return across the street to Jimin struggling to stay awake from where he sat on the curb, Yoongi and Taehyung quietly hugging, Jin staring into the void of stars, and Namjoon showering kisses over Jungkook’s forehead.

“My poor Googoo,” he wails dramatically. Jungkook puckers his lips, prompting a raspy shriek from the older as he stumbles away. Jungkook chuckles, spreading his arms wide in request of an embrace.

You cringe, holding out the donut and drink with an awkward smile. It wasn’t as if he reeked of vomit, you just preferred for him to settle his stomach first.

“Googieeee~!” Hoseok shrieks, nearly tripping over the curb before hugging the younger man.

“Thank you Noona.” Jungkook pouts from over Hoseok’s shoulder, clumsily taking the items from your hand.

You turn your torso to the side, shifting your left foot forward into a lunge. You raise your arm with a slow breath inward, shifting your weight accordingly.

Jin was beautiful even when he snored all night, he was propped against the pillows like Snow White in her glass case. He’d opened his eyes quite a bit ago, silently watching you stretch yourself out.

“You look really tempting when you do that, babe.” He rasps.

Your impenetrable focus is shattered, causing you to cover your face with an incredulous laugh. “Before breakfast?”

“Hell yeah before breakfast, I don’t just wanna look, I wanna touch. Come here.”

“You’re still drunk too, huh?”

“There are a lot of times that I’m insatiable, but I want it right now.”

His assertiveness always sends a funny little churn through your belly.

You slowly shift the weight of your body onto your feet and stand. Not as heavy or dizzy as before, but a different tingling began to set inside of you. Your glance down, reaching to unfurl your shorts.

“Uh-uh, leave them like that.” He gives you a smile that’s absolutely devilish, shoving the sheets away from his lap. “Come to mama.”

It dawns on you as you approach the bed that he must’ve snatched up your shirt to sleep. It rode up his belly just a little, leading way to his light blue slip.

You plant your hands on the mattress, crawling in between his thighs. He leans forward, placing his hands on your hips and gently rubbing your sides. You cup his face, gently combing through his messy black tufts with your fingers.

His eyes scrunch up with a giddy chuckle, his neck was still flushed. Not quite as much as dark juice that leaks from berries gnashed between teeth. But rather the breath of age that colored ripened flesh of fruit from taught and pale shells surrounding infant seeds.

You imagined him as your first cabernet.

You were home alone. There was never any alcohol in the cabinets, not within your reach. However there was one bottle that sat on the highest shelf that’d begun to haunt your mind.

You thought about him day and night, wondering if you should be so daring as to wrap your fingers around the cork and pluck it out.

The bottle was dark, not so much as black, but an impenetrable brown of iodine or creamless coffee.

You stood in the pantry, door closed behind you as if there would be a soul to see. You rise with the aid of a little black stool, carefully grabbing the ruby red scarf wrapped around the bottle’s neck.

The pop of the remaining forth of the cork causes your breathing to break away. Dare it be said this noise was foreign, not yet attributed to merriment and celebration for you.

You raise the bottle to your lips and pour it in. The mouth feel is heavier than water, nothing unsettling.

Your tongue begins to glitter in a way you cannot determine if it’s unpleasant or lovely. Effervescence. Armoracia assaults your tongue, strangling with a fruitiness.

Your brows furrow, trampled all is with acridity. Your throat seems to close, denying entry to such drink, warming the back of your nostrils. With a thick noise, you manage to swallow it. A strange trail of fire roasts a trail over the back of your esophagus before heating the pool of your stomach.

Your adolescent tongue was unable to accord with this experience. Turned away, you squeeze the cork back in the bottle and return it to where it rest before and exit the pantry.

He, before you, a taste of wine that prompted you to have another sip. You couldn’t help but polish him off over and over again. His well never ran dry.

You kiss him with a soft hum. You imagine the taste of mature grapes. His lips push against yours hungrily, flexing and relaxing like the yielding of fruit under your teeth.

From the spring, you made him feel refreshed and clear. God himself ran your droplets from the glacier and straight into his cup.

He drank from many places, many streams. You were of the first, the only to cleanse and wash his palate.

Your depth, your minerals, mellowed his harshness, his sting. No longer rousing spirits, he bestows joy amongst all.

Your hand slips from his hair, landing gently on his shoulder. Your fingertips roll into the thick of his shoulder, squeezing it as he slips his tongue through your lips.

He reaches up the leg of your shorts, wrapping his hand around your warm shaft. He’s priming you to fuck him, to use him like some breeding buck.

He jerks his hand slowly but firmly. You groan into his mouth, nearly squirming at the sensation of your foreskin rolling and stretching over the tip of your cock.

Your hand drops from his shoulder, fingers dipping their way under his panties. His croon tingles the seam of your mouth as you slip your fingers in between his outer lips and spread them apart.

It was as if he shocked you, you pull from his lips with a wet smack to catch your breath. He always made you feel so crazy. Jin smiles, slowly thumbing at your tip.

The tip of your tongue heavily slips from your gums to sweep away the deeper notes on your bottom lip.

He hesitates not to drink of your spring, leaning in and draws your tongue between his mouth with a greedy swallow. Flushing and blooming, your belly burns just as your first taste did.

His lengthy fingers slip under your night shirt, curling around the heft of your breast. He releases your mouth with a full sigh of satisfaction.

You lift your fingers to your mouth, sweeping away his pussy juice with your tongue. You hum from the pit of your gut, you could taste the fruit of the land already. The musky aroma of papaya and melon, added tang of pineapple, the earthy, milkiness of coconut.

“I wanna do it raw,” he breathes as his knuckles gently close around and twist your nipple. You glance up at him, slipping your slick fingers out of your mouth and dig them back under the hem of his undergarments.

You never did it with condoms anyway, but he never failed to grasp his chance to set your blood asunder. You drag the tips of your fingers over his inner lips, stretching and spreading them. You drag your middle finger along the seam of his petals, swirling it around his hole and gently digging it against his clit.

He hisses, rolling his hips in hopes you’d give him more.

“Did you hear me?”

He releases his grip on your breast, cupping your chin and guiding you to meet his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me raw, that means I want you to cum inside of me.” His following moan is a beautiful titter as he drags the thick of his tongue over your lips, kissing you noisily. He releases the grip of your cock, wiggling forward to lay back against the bed.

He was only ever so demanding when he was itching for you to make a mess of him. As he moves to make simple work of his panties, you take note to do the same and rid yourself of your own bottoms.

You wiggle off of the bed, wiggling your shorts down to your ankles.

“You’re so bossy today. You’re gonna need to slobber on it first, Jinnie.”

His heart seizes, bursting into a shower of pretty pink butterflies. His cunt flutters immediately at the sonority that coats your voice in viscous amber.

He quickly walks his hands forward, shifting toward the end of the bed and rolling onto his tummy. He needlessly pretties himself for you, combing his hair away from his forehead. His eyes are positively twinkling as he rests his chin on the mattress.

“It’d be quite the inconvenience if one of the others were to come in and see me cramming my dick into your mouth,” you click your tongue. You place your hand on his head, lovingly stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Maybe I should use this mouth more often, it’s much quieter.”

He furrows his brows, inhaling quickly to fix you with a response.

Your resolve crumbles with your face scrunching up in amusement. “Okay! Okay! Don’t say anything, open your mouth.”

He makes a face, cutting his eyes at you as you grab ahold of your shaft and position it at his mouth.

“Fuck, fuck.. Turn around, let me see your pussy.” You step backward to free yourself from his mouth, trying to catch your breath.

He licks his swollen, slobbery lips with a smile and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jin turns slowly, propping himself up on his knees. You took an unsteady breath inward to ask about his well being, but when he presented himself, you understood immediately.

His cunt was fully in bloom between his thighs, fatter, puffier. Healthily flushed and glistening, you clap your hand over his ass.

He whines, couldn’t you see the syrupy drips and trails clinging to his inner thighs?

You push his ass up with your palm, admiring how his pussy stretched and trembled. You decidedly slip your thumb just barely in between his lips and swirl your finger through his arousal.

You grip the base of your cock with your other hand and press it up against his hole. The upper half of his body relaxes instantly, slumping against the bed with a croon that sends chills spidering over your heated flesh.

You rock forward gently, pushing your way inside of him. Jin takes to you without hesitation, pulsing and squeezing around you.

“This fucking-” you clap your hand over his ass with more force “-cunt is always so good to me,” you growl.

He mewls when you bottom out, rolling your hips forward to push deeper into him.

You rear back, easily building your pace inside of him. You move your grip to taking tight handfuls of the shirt that rolled up his back, yanking him back against you with each thrust inward.

Each moan of his began long and drawn out like the soft calls of the loon under nightfall. You prop your foot up on the bed frame, planting yourself more firmly to set a stronger pace.

The noise of your skin clapping together began to bounce off of the walls, rocking to bed to which he gripped so dearly.

You allow yourself to fall astray of control, pounding into him with deep, sharp strikes. His moans quickly evolve into frantic wails, his voice catches in his throat each time you drag him away from squirming into the escape.

You cease only for a moment to allow him to catch his breath, to which his forehead drops against the sheets with a muted rustle.

A second was efficient enough, you shift your foot and plant it more firmly before you continue your assault on his poor pussy.

He whines something at you, muffled.

“What was that?” You purr, continuing to jerk your hips shamelessly. Your moans rise and flow from your lips like a steady spring.

He manages to lift his head, thrashing it with a keen when you plunge in just a bit harder than before. It was so hard to speak when you kept knocking the breath out of his lungs. “You’re too deep inside,” he whines, unable to control the moans squeezing through his noisy panting.

“It’s too deep?” You coo, feeling your lips curl in a slight smile when you watch his messy head of black hair bob up and down.

“Roll over so I can play with your pussy,” you slow your relentless thrusts and gently move back until your cock flops wetly out of his hole.

He slumps almost completely when you pull out of him, weakly propping his palms up and laying down. Use of his legs was reasonably impossible as of now, which you quickly noted. “Move back a little,” he scoots himself backward almost pitifully.

If you weren’t almost painfully hard, you’d be more willing to let him take a break. You climb onto the bed and straddle his right thigh, propping the left over your shoulder.

You nudge yourself in between his lips, guiding your shaft until it catches against his sloppy hole. He whimpers, dropping his head back when you push your way in. His pussy accommodates you with an indecent squish.

You wrap your arm around the leg thrown over your shoulder, rocking into him. You peer down at him, his eyes were still glassy from your abuse of his throat. Your breath hitches in your throat as you jerk your hips forward, the clap of your balls against the back of his ass echoes louder.

“I wish you knew what you do to me,” you sigh hotly through teeth clenched. Your molars grind together as you return to pistoning inside of him, mashing your pelvis into his.

He was foolish enough to tilt his hips forward, the entire bed rocks pitifully as a testament to its modern craftsmanship.

Jin was flushed down to his chest, puckered lips flapping with each noisy gasp. He felt so light, he couldn’t tell if he were near fainting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he yelps. He is barely able to lift his hands and shove his shirt around to play with his nipples.

You gently stretch his mound toward him, stroking your thumb around the spongy flesh near his clit. His shriek catches on the back of his tongue, you feel yourself begin to burn and melt.

Ruby red drips of wax cooling against a marble counter.

You nearly pull out of him on instinct, gripping the base of your dick with an ugly whimper. Your body seizes, rigid as you begin to cum.

You can hardly hear his breath in your ears over the sound of your heartbeat, your own moans are high and shaking.

You pull away from him with a rattling breath, unleashing a few final weak spurts against his folds.

You struggle to regulate your own rhythm, clumsily slipping your fingers in his sloppy cunt to spread your cum around. He whines, swatting at your hand.

“Heh,” your chest bounces weakly, “we were probably so loud.”

“I’m too tired to nag you, but I could’ve died.”

“Oh hush, we need to get ready soon.”

He gives you a crazy look before dropping his head back down and motioning you toward the door. “It’s not like you broke my legs or anything.”

“When do we get our turn?” Jimin calls from the dining room with a telling smile.

You stop cold in the entryway of the hall, turning to see the table full of your friends. They erupt in whooping laughter that causes you to continue hurrying on your way to run the bath. None of them should have even been alive at that hour, not with how they were last night.

“Nah, come back! I didn’t know Seokjin-Hyung could hit those kinds of notes!” Namjoon calls after you, cackling.

#sub!bts x reader #sub!jin #sub bts #domme reader #sub! jin x reader #sub jin x reader #sub!jin x reader

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

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smoke and fire (16)

word count; 9744

summary; thomas does his best to explain and make amends for the interruption of the night before, but things always seem to get in the way.

notes; again, this part ended up getting too long so it was split up, the finale of this became the next part.

warnings; reference to drug use, reference to injury.

Slamming your car door shut, you took a deep breath. Brenda had collected you the night before and driven you back to the station to get your own car, a gesture you were thankful for because you weren’t so sure getting a cab would have been the best thing for you this morning. You were almost late, only a few minutes off the beginning of your shift, and you could still see the night team clearing out, sleepily waving polite greetings to you as they got into their vehicles to head home.

Grabbing your bag from the backseat, you slammed that door shut too, locking the car up and tucking your keys into the front pocket of your day bag, you didn’t even bother putting it onto your shoulder, covering your mouth with a yawn as you wandered towards the buildings main entrance. Your bag bumped against your leg as you went, feet dragging on the tarmac as you tried to shake away your exhaustion, a smile pulling at your lips as you remembered your night with Brenda.

As promised, she’d brought a bottle of wine and enough take-out food for the entire Squad, before following you back to your place upon picking up your car. You drank, and ate, and she listened to you complain about everything that had happened before doing her best to give you advice. She told you about how things were progressing between her and Minho, and that she was thinking of asking him out on a real date, and she watched Adam Sandler movies with you until the early hours.

You’d caught a few hours of sleep after she’d sobered up from half a bottle of wine and driven herself home, and you’d pumped yourself full of enough coffee this morning that you were almost jittering, but you still felt tired. However, you did feel a lot better.

Until you rounded the corner to the main door, and Thomas perked up from where he was slumped against the doorway, standing up straight as his back left the wall beside the door, eyes fixed on you as you approached, and your footsteps stumbled for a moment. He met you halfway, pausing before you and he stayed a foot or so away, hands twitching by his sides as debated whether or not to reach out, and you grasped your bag a little tighter, holding it with both hands now.

“I don’t know what to say, or where to start.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Thomas.” You let out a soft sigh, his shoulders slumping, and you shrugged. “I mean, there’s really nothing to say. There wasn’t anything hidden and there were no secrets, you didn’t sneak around behind my back, it’s just something that happened.”

“I know, but I wanted to explain to you that-”

“You bitch, how do you look better than me when you drank more than I did?” Brenda all but yelled the words, and you winced, chuckling a little as she came up to your side, hopping with her steps, and you admired how much energy she had.

“Pretty sure it was you who drank more than I did last night.” You retorted, and she shrugged, linking her arm through your own. The bell overhead chimed, muted from being inside, of the building as the door sat pegged open, and your eyes flickered to the building. “I haven’t even gotten changed yet, does this make me officially late?”

“I’ll distract Vince so you can sneak into the lockers?” Brenda teased, and you rolled your eyes at her, smiling nonetheless.

“I have to go.” You held your bag up, shaking it a little at Thomas, and he nodded his head, face smoothing out as his frown lessened a little.

“I know, I know. Can we talk, though? Please, at some point?” You rolled your lower lip between your teeth, before nodding, and trying to offer him the best smile you could, despite the pain swirling through you right now.

“Of course, later, alright? I have stuff to do first. I still need to fill out all the forms for medicine and equipment used yesterday. I didn’t do it after the call.”

“After that, though?”

“After that.” You confirmed, and he stepped out of your way, lingering for a while as Brenda tugged you along the corridor, her arm looped through your own as she pulled you away into the corridor. Once you were approaching the locker room with no Vince in sight to chastise you for not being changed yet, she glanced back over her shoulder, letting you copy, to catch sight of the doors to the common room swinging as Thomas walked into there instead of following. “What are we looking for?”

“Thomas.” She huffed, holding open the door for you as her arm left yours and you thanked her, jumping a little as it slammed closed, behind you both. She took a seat on the bench before you as you opened your locker, dropping your bag down and pulling it open to expose your uniform, before tugging your hoodie up and over your head. “So, you’re really just forgiving him? Just like that?”

“What are you talking about? He didn’t technically do anything wrong.” Her brows raised at you, eyes narrowing a little as she tried to analyse you, while you tugged your smart new shirt up your arms, buttoning it up over your vest. “Don’t look at me like that, Bren, you know it’s true. He loved her, and you know that as well. Of course, he told her things he didn’t tell me, they have way more of a history, a deeper connection than we do, and there was a lot of unfinished business because it was a messy end.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t love her, anymore. You told him all of your secrets!” She argued, and you nodded, undoing the belt of your jeans and popping the button, shimmying them down your legs before folding them alongside your hoodie. “If you love someone, you should be honest with them, and not let them be caught off-guard with a whole shitstorm of things they don’t know!”

“Exactly. If you love them.” You mumbled, covering your bare legs with your smart work trousers, and pushing your feet back into work-appropriate sneakers that you’d abandoned, listening to her huff as she caved, nothing else to say. “Really, I’m not mad, you shouldn’t be either, nobody should be mad at anyone.”

“Well, I need to be mad at someone, because I’m anxious about asking Minho if he wants to go to dinner with me, and I’m better at being angry than nervous. Anxiety doesn’t suit me.” She huffed, and you grinned, putting your bag away in the locker and swapping out what you needed, before sitting down beside her on the bench to tie your laces. “What if he says no?”

“Then he’s stupid.”

“Well, duh, I’m hot as hell and great in bed.” She scoffed, and you grinned, flicking her in the forehead for sassing you. “I know, but I mean, what happens to us if he says no? Do we keep on hooking up like I didn’t ask, will things get awkward?”

“Well, y’know, you have to ask. Otherwise, you’re always going to wonder what could have happened, and you’re so hung up on the bad that you’re not seeing how awesome things could be.”

“It seems ironic to hear you saying that, what with how you used to be.”

“I’m trying to give you genuine advice, smartass.” She let out a sound of protest at the insult, before letting the last of her nervous defences down for you. “Look, just ask him. If he says no, then you know where he stands and you can move on. Either way, you stop hooking up as ‘just coworkers’. You might become something more, you might not, but you gotta’ take the chance. The same way I took a chance all those months ago by staying here and not running away like I always do, and it worked out for the best.”

“The best? Even though things are rocky with you and Thomas?”

“Whatever is going on between me and Thomas is just a fleck on the surface of it all.” She stared at you, waiting for you to go on, a vulnerable look in her eyes. “The ‘best’ I referred to is finding a family and a home with you all, and finding best friends like you and Newt, and a place to stay for however long I can. I don’t want to move anywhere, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been happy where I was, but I am here, thanks to you all. Even if things never go any further between me and Thomas, we’ll still be friends.”

“Okay, I guess you’re right. Which I rarely admit, so make the most of it.” She gave in, a smile taking over, and you held a hand out of her. She high-fived you, taking the offering, and you beamed, standing up and swinging your leg over the bench, before offering your hands out to her and pulling her to her own feet. “C’mon, I’ve got stock to take in the ambo, and you have a date to ponder.”

She sighed, dramatically, but wandered away with you. When you parted ways at the main door entrance, Newt was already sitting in the back of the ambulance, with the doors open, the clipboards out in front of him and both of your bags on the stretcher, the cupboards all open before him. The pen was held between his lips, and his phone was in hand one thumb moving rapidly over the screen as he typed away quickly, various diluted expression flickering over his face as he spoke.

You knocked on the door, your friend clearly not having sensed your arrival because he jumped rather violently when he heard your arrival, glancing at you for a second and letting his shoulders slump, before finishing his message and hitting ‘send’. He chucked his phone to the side to let it land on the beside your bags, and came forwards, sitting on the edge of the ambo’ and letting his legs swing. The pen dropped from his mouth, caught in his fingers and wiped on his shirt, your brows raising as you waited.

“I’m arguing with Derek.”

“Why?” You poked, his frown only deepening, and he shrugged a little, a flicker of anger passing over his features. “Seriously, what happened?”

“He cancelled our date, again. That night he was going to stay over, he didn’t but he said an emergency situation came in at the hospital and I figured that made sense. But then we rearranged for a week later, and he cancelled that too, and now he cancelled our rearrangement of the rearrangement which was supposed to be tonight, so I’m kinda’ mad.” Newt sighed, rolling his eyes slightly at his own reaction, and you plucked the pen and the clipboard from his hands, putting them down on the van floor and stepping a little closer. “I hate relationships.”

“Me too. You want a hug?”

“Mhm.” He stood, holding his arms out wide, and you wrapped yours around his waist as his went around your shoulders, squeezing you in tight to his body, and his chin hooking over your head. “So, why do you hate relationships? I thought you had a hot date last night?”

“Yeah, well, sometimes things get in the way. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, you know I’m here if you do want to, right?” Newt pulled back enough to look at you, and you nodded your head, unable to help the smile you let out at his honesty.

“Yeah, I know.” You nudged his shoulder, and he stepped back, picking the clipboard back up, and clambering up into the van, holding a hand out to tug you up to follow. “So, I’ll count, you do the math, and we get it done in half the time?”

“Deal.” He beamed, and you set to work, turning your focus to the first cabinet, and the sets of bottles. You knew that there was no chance you’d actually used this much medicine, half of these bottles still had the seal on because they were so rarely used, but it was your job to check not only the quantities used but also their expiration dates and what needed replacing.

After pulling on a clean pair of gloves, you opened each jar, tipping the contents out into your hand if it was opened and counting each pill carefully back into the packet, so then it could be checked against the medication logs issued out, Newt adding everything up and writing down each name of medicine or treatment as you went.

You checked every cabinet methodically, rearranging the bottles inside of their holsters and putting them back, moving across the cabinets above the beds. The pair of you moved ins silence, as you always did when doing this job, putting your main focus on the medicines you were calculating, but his company was simply soothing enough.

There was something about being with Newt that was calming, doing this job was calming. It hadn't always been so, for a few months when you’d first moved to this house it had been tense and made your skin crawl, the silence for well over an hour as you counted bottles save for calling out numbers and giving dates on bottles used to make you feel uncomfortable. Now, you loved it. The quiet time with Newt made you feel relaxed, like you could let your walls down, and the mundane task of counting the medications gave you time to think. It was a safe space you could always use to clear your thoughts, a weekly task that helped you to keep your mind in order.

There was a lot on your mind today, everything from fear and confusion to an odd sense of serenity. You already knew that no matter what happened, this was your home, and if things never progressed between you and Thomas, if the furthest the two of you ever got into exploring what could be was the kiss that barely counted on his couch, you weren’t going anywhere. These were your friends, this was your family, and it was an incredible feeling like a rush of warmth simply to know that you were strong enough this time to make it through the pain, and that you didn’t have to run anymore.

Moving across to the drawers behind yourself, Newt was purposefully avoiding the buzzing on his phone as he moved to the bed, the humming of ‘Mr Sandman’ under his breath getting a little more aggressive each time another text came in, and you snickered as you listened to him.

“You know, you’re going to have to talk to him at some point.”

“Yeah, but not right now. I’m mad right now.” He scoffed, turning the device off entirely, and you gave him a pointed look, which he was more than eager to avoid. His pen went back to scratching at the paper, scribbling down notes with a little more force than necessary, and you turned back to finishing the final drawers. The supplies in there were definitely running low, everything from the needles to fluid bags was on the short side, and you needed more water bottles to go in the fridge, because you’d used up the last of them.

When the job was finally complete, you were simply left with grabbing your bag, and taking it with you as you went to the stockroom, ready to count what was in them and grab what you needed. Flicking on the light, it was cold inside, the concrete walls having no radiators attached to them, and you shivered at the icy feeling that had gotten caught inside.

Placing your bag down on the table in the middle of the room as the musty yellow light overhead warmed up and got brighter, Newt grabbed the large plastic basket from the table and added that to the middle, the clipboard and plastic bag following. You sourced another pen from the pot, used to Newt’s routine by now, and he handed you two cheers of charted paperwork, keeping two himself, as the two of you split the supplies that needed gathering.

Turning to the shelves, you glanced down at the first item on the list, staring at the writing on the paper for a second, before giving in. “Newt, can I ask you a question about Thomas?”

“Sure! Especially if it’s something embarrassing. Did you know he cried when Tony Stark died? Sobbed like a toddler who got their toys taken away.”

“Okay, first of all, we all cried.” You mumbled, grabbing the first few bottles from the shelf that you needed, and stacking them into the box. “But, no, this is something serious.”

“Okay, well, shoot.” His voice was a little strained as he reached up to one of the higher shelves, pulling a box forwards to get at the contents inside, and you left a little tick next to each box as you gathered the correct amount, or left a number next to the ones where the full amount wasn’t available, so you’d know what to order more of.

“Do you think Thomas is still in love with Teresa?”

“Oh, fucking hell, it is a serious question.” He had turned to face you, you caught his eye as you twisted to another bottle of ‘carbamazepine’ into the crate of supplies. “It’s also a loaded answer.”

“Stop looking at me while you tell me, it’s making me nervous. Pack as you talk.” He chuckled at the request, turning back to his work, and taking a few hesitant moments, before letting out a slow breath.

“I don’t think he does, no. This house was having a lot of substitute paramedics filling in with me before you, and Thomas was angry and upset for a while, and he made it real difficult for anyone to take this job because for a few months he was sure she was coming back, and then he lost hope at all. Around about month eight, you showed up.”

You felt slightly nauseous, like you’d somehow started prying into his business where you weren’t welcome, but Newt was sharing it with you, and there was arguably nobody who knew Thomas better, and what he’d be okay with you knowing.

“He was still hurting when you showed up, as you know, but then he wasn’t hurting anymore. You changed that for him, and he was happy again, he didn’t blame himself so much and he wasn’t so mad. I don’t think he loves her anymore.”

You swallowed thickly, not too sure what to say, and so you switched onto the next page of your set, staring down at the numbers, and trying to clear your thoughts. It was a lot to take in; on the one hand, it filled you with warmth and made you feel a little more secure, but on the other hand, it only made you doubt things further, because you wondered why he’d never told you any of it himself.

“Why do you ask?”

“Teresa showed up last night.” Newt hissed under his breath, the shaking of pills inside plastic sounding, and he continued to pack his collection. He finished before you did, putting down his clipboard and pen before opening up his bag, and moving on to restocking it with sprays and cotton pads. “She said they had unfinished business, and she knew a whole bunch of stuff that made me feel like I barely knew him. I didn’t even know about his mom, Newt. She knows him, I don’t.”

“She also left him.” He sighed, clearing his throat and forcing you to look at him as you finished your sheets, taking your bag and standing opposite him. “What you and Tommy have is nothing like what they had. She already knew everything about him, he’s taking it slow with you, he’s nervous. Maybe that's why he didn’t say anything. He really likes you, okay? You should talk to him about this.”

“I know, I know.” You huffed, shaking your head slightly, and giving in to the silence again as you packed your bag up carefully. You filled it up again, a fresh canister of antiseptic, new cotton pads, fresh packers of paper stitches and needles threads, and some new painkillers. When you were done, you grabbed both bags, Newt grabbing the basket, and the pair of you headed back toward the ambo’.

When you arrived, there was someone leaning against it, and Newt froze in his tracks, face growing a little icy as he stared at the man there. He looked sullen, white lab coat and scrubs swapped out for skinny jeans and a hoodie, his hands tucked into the pockets, and you felt like you were suffocating in the tension.

“What are you doing here? I am working.” Your partner hissed, stepping a little closer, and Derek lifted a set of flowers that he’d placed on the bottom of the ambulance, an offering as he gave Newt a soft smile. “You can’t have those here, and not in the ambulance. Some people have hay-fever, you know.”

“C’mon, are you really still gonna’ be mad at me?”

“Yes, I am, because you keep fucking cancelling on me,” Newt muttered, stepping past his boyfriend and into the truck with his box, huffing when he stumbled a little on his leg, and Derek placed a supportive hand on his back. You offered your friend a shrug when the dark-haired man sent you a pitiful look, begging for help, but you had no idea what you could do. “You know, if we’re breaking up, just say it.”

“Do you think that if I wanted us to break up, that I would have come all the way down here with flowers to apologise after you stopped answering my texts? Huh?” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as he was evidently exasperated with the situation, and you placed down your bags, under the stretcher, tucking them away securely, and Newt was angrily putting away bottles and packets. “I cancelled our first time, and that was a mistake, okay? The second time I just freaked out, because it had so much pressure on it then, and you know my relationship history.”

There was a story there, and you shuffled from foot to foot, feeling like you should go, but Newt shot you a desperate glare the second you took a few steps back, and you were frozen in your place to awkwardly endure the conversation you were listening to.

“Then, I felt bad for cancelling the second time because I was nervous. We rearranged again but I wanted to make it up to you, and do something more special, and you didn’t even give me a chance to explain!”

“There’s nothing to explain, you just keep cancelling! You’re the one who suggested taking this step!” Newt’s voice raised a little, nearing a shout, and you poured your lips together. “You said ‘maybe we should call it off for tonight, and wait a few more weeks, and do something else’. If you aren’t ready, or you don’t want to, just say it! But don’t keep rearranging if you don’t plan to go through with it!”

“I was trying to ask if you wanted to go away with me for the weekend!”

“You were-” Newt cut himself off from his shouting, his cheeks going red, and he stopped where he was putting away equipment to stare at his boyfriend. “You were?”

“Yes, you hot-head! I was trying to ask if you wanted to go away for the weekend, when there would be no interruptions, we could book it off. Then you got mad at me and stopped answering, so I had to drag myself out of bed, on my day off, to come down here and fix it.” Derek huffed, and you covered your mouth to muffle your chuckle, but it didn’t work, because both men turned to look at you.

“I’m gonna’ go get more water bottles. You keep unpacking.” Newt nodded, face still flushed, and you spun on your heel, smirking to yourself as you walked away. Entering the common room, a few of the firefighters turned to look at you, raised brows as you made your way through the kitchen to the large cupboards continuing water bottles.

“What’s with all the yelling?”

“Newt got a visitor, and some flowers.” You teased, gasps and teasing going up around the room, and Fry raced to the window with Brenda to peer out of it. Thomas was sitting at the kitchen island, an abandoned bowl that had the remnants of cereal sitting beside him, and he watched you go as you pulled out several packets of water bottles to refill the fridge with.

“Are you almost finished with the ambulance?” There was hope in his voice, his eyes wide as he looked at you, glitter swimming in his irises, and you nodded, closing the cupboard door with your foot. “We can, uh- we can talk soon, then?”

“Yeah, we can.” You lifted one packet of the bottles, feeling a little guilty at the cold shoulder you were giving him when you’d sworn to yourself you wouldn't because he wasn’t to blame, and that you wouldn't take your pain out on him, because that would only put the two of you back to where you were when you’d first joined this team. “Do you wanna’ help me carry the water? If you’re not busy?”

He perked up a little at that, a small smile forming and he stood up, reaching out for two packets straight away. “I’d love to.”

Following after you as you took one of the final two, he followed after you quietly, turning to look at you with raised brows as he backed through the swinging doors and caught sight of Derek and Newt. The two seemed to have calmed down considerably, Newt was no longer yelling, and instead, he had a beam on his face, sitting on the edge of the van where Derek was leaning and staring up at him with what could only be described as heart-eyes, and you huffed a little.

As you approached, Newt’s attention moved to you, his cheeks going red as you placed down your packet of water bottles, placing your hands on your hips, and Derek turned to give you a wider smile now that he wasn’t as stressed.

“You know, when you gave me his number, you promised me peaceful.”

“Uh, I absolutely did not. I could never promise peaceful from Newt. I promised calm and simple. I have delivered, because as far as I’m aware, Newt has yet to force you on a rollercoaster or make you go skydiving.” Newt gagged falsely, before tearing open the plastic of one packet loudly, and opening the fridge to begin stacking them inside.

“I hate rollercoasters.”

“I know.” You teased, and he flashed you a toothy grin, while continuing to put water bottles into the door of the mini-fridge. “There’s another packet of bottles, I’ll go grab it.” You jerked a thumb over your shoulder, Thomas sticking his hands into his pockets, turning to look at you as Derek began to say his goodbyes, the two talking quietly among themselves and consolidating plans with as much privacy as they could get. “Then, yeah, we talk.”

He nodded, motioning his head over towards one of the fire trucks, promising he’d wait there for you, and you only nodded. It took you only a few moments to grab the last collections of water, Derek walking away and offering you a wave as he left, a little more of a pep in his step and a smile on his face than it had been when the pair of you had first seen him, and Newt was grinning madly to himself in the back of the van as you approached.

“So, not as dire as suspected, then?”

You placed the bundle down, leaning over it a little and balancing your forearms on it, crossed over as you looked at him, and your partner sighed happily. “Okay, so, maybe I was overthinking it, and maybe I reacted too soon, but there was compelling evidence, you gotta’ give me that.”

“I never said I didn’t!” You teased, and Newt lifted a whole packet, unopened, and began to stack them into the fridge, the scuffling of shoes a few metres away reminding both of you of Thomas’ presence, and Newt gleaned at his best friend over your shoulder, a split second diversion, before his gaze was back to meeting your own. His look said it all, and you slumped a little more, pouting slightly. “I know, I know. I’m gonna’ face up to it, but sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

“He looks like a kicked puppy. I hate seeing him like that.” Newt frowned, and your shoulders slumped a little further. “I hate seeing you like this, too. It’s killing me.” He reached a hand out, placing it over your cheek, and swiping his thumb over your cheekbone gently, matching your pout. “I’m here if you need me. I’ll support you. I’ll finish up with the bottles and put the stock order through. Go sort your shit out.”

“Thanks, Newt.” You took a deep breath, your gut twisting anxiously, before standing up, and turning around to face Thomas, who was waiting patiently, and pretending not to be trying to eavesdrop.

Making your way over, Thomas offered you a small smile, lips pursed together, but it looked more pained than genuine, and you felt bad that he was so worried, because you didn’t want him to have to be scared to talk to you. No matter what, you’d still be his friend, and his family, and a member of his team.

He shook himself down slightly, and you lifted a hand, placing it on his arm gently, just below his elbow, giving it a light squeeze and he seemed to lose some of his tension at the simple action, his gaze dropping down to it. He paused for a second longer, but he looked back to you, and you could see the cogs working in his mind. “Relax, alright? You look like you’re about to have a meltdown. You wanted to talk, just say what's on your mind.”

“There’s so fucking much on my mind, though, and I can’t think straight.” He huffed, words running out so quickly they all ran together, and his brows furrowed slightly. “Look, first, I just wanted to apologise, okay? Before we get to anything else, I feel like shit for letting you walk away, and having to get Brenda to come and get you. I was just, I don’t know, in shock, I guess? I wasn’t thinking, just like I can’t think now, there’s so many fucking thoughts, my head hurts.”

You frowned, and his eyes flickered over your features, waiting for a reaction. You weren’t sure what to say, but his gaze was too intense, though he seemed to pick up on your forgiveness because while your touch dropped away from his arm, you didn’t step away, and you allowed him to take a hesitant step closer, lifting a hand towards your cheek. Before it could land, you were looking away, your brows furrowing, and he pushed away stray hairs from your forehead. “Uh, Aaron?”

“It’s Thomas, actually.” Your sights snapped back to the man before you, an unamused look on your face despite the twitches of your lips, a direct contrast to the smile he was wearing as he attempted to lighten the situation, and you smacked the back of your hand against his shoulder.

“No, dumbass, Aaron.” You pointed behind him, to the main bay doors, and he swung around, turning to face the driveway, and the young boy you had helped so many months ago was walking up the front pathway of the firehouse, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets. His body sagged a little, hands falling to his sides and curling into light fists, jaw tensing a little, like he’d only just actually registered what you’d said. “Can I-”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll just, y’know, wait here.”

You smiled, as best you could with the heavy air settled between you both, before turning to Aaron. He glanced around the garage, seemingly nervous, hiding it behind a scowl before he finally saw you and an endearingly happy look took over the teens face. Your footsteps were quick, almost a skip as you made your way over to meet him at the entrance, and his hands untucked from his pockets, one pushing his hood down from his head to his neck, and you took him in for a second.

There were scars, faded and scarcely noticeable unless the cuts he’d once had were burned into your mind, and you hadn't noticed any kind of limp as he was walking up here, showing that his physical therapy had been paying off, almost a year of it making his recovery possible. There was more colour to his skin, he didn’t look as pale and washed out as the first times you’d met him, and his hair had grown longer, shaggy and sitting long enough for him to run his fingers through, covering the tips of his ears. His smile reached a little wider.

“Aaron, what are you doing here? I mean, I’m thrilled to see you, you look like you’re doing so much better, but this is a surprise.”

“Yeah, I can see that, it looks like I interrupted something important. Are you in trouble?” He gasped, holding a hand over his heart, and you turned to look back at Thomas, who was leaning against the firetruck and kicking his heel back against the tyre.

“I am, but not the kind you think.” You mumbled, staring at him for a second longer, before bringing your attention back to the kid before you. “So, what’s up?”

“I, uh, you’re part of my rehab. Well, my therapy, really.” He scratched at the back of his neck, an embarrassed laugh leaving him, and you placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly. “I went to rehab, and I’ve been clean since the hospital, and my physical therapy worked, obviously. But, my sponsor suggested I started actual therapy, and for months I hated the idea, but I hit super low a couple weeks ago and I wanted to relapse but I didn’t want to let my sister down, and I didn’t want to let you down, and then I realised how long it had been since I’d seen you..”

“Oh, but I’m so happy for you! The fact that so much time passed by without you realising is a good thing. It means you’re doing well, and I couldn't be prouder of you.”

“Really?” He sighed, daring to look up from the concrete he was staring at, warm cheeks signalling his nerves.

“Really.”

He nodded, smiling again now, and letting his anxiety slip away, relaxing before your very eyes. “Good, because, I also wanted to ask you for some advice.” You raised a brow, curiosity filling you. “My therapist thinks I should set goals, y’know? I transferred schools and moved to a new neighbourhood and I got a kinda’ fresh start, and it’s nice, and my therapist says I should pick something to work towards. My grades in school are kinda’ crap and I’m working hard to pull them around but it’s a lot to catch up and with my history, I’m probably not going to college, so it leaves me with limited options.”

“Kid, don’t think like that.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Because, there’s a lot you can still do that doesn’t require you to have good grades. Maybe I won’t become a super cool paramedic, but,” He cut himself off, shy once again as he rocked on the balls of his feet, and you couldn't contain your smile. “Y’know, maybe a firehouse candidate doesn’t need all A’s?”

“You want to be a fireman?”

“I mean, is that too much?” He was worried now, and you hadn't intended for it to come across that way, shaking your head rapidly.

“No, of course, it isn’t! I’m just surprised. I’m also really, really happy for you. I think that sounds awesome.” He beamed, an expression that read like you’d made his whole day, and you filled with warmth at the idea. “I’m not sure on how it all works, I’m pretty sure you have to do a couple of training courses, and a season at the academy in your free time for your physical training, but I don’t know what that entails. However, one of our other firemen, Jeff, only finished his candidacy a couple of years ago, so he’s pretty fresh with it all. How about I talk to him, and get him to give you a call with some more information, yeah?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“‘Course I would, kiddo.” You reached out, messing up the mop of hair he had, and his face formed a scowl for just a second, smoothing it back down as you giggled, before turning away. “Let me grab you a pen and paper, hold on.”

He nodded, and you stepped away to the ambulance, opening up the passenger side door and reaching into the dash compartment, searching around for the pad and pen you knew was in there, among other pieces of junk, before finding both pieces. The young man took them from you when you returned, leaning against one of the side tables as he scribbled down the information he had; his name, his phone number, his email address, before handing it back over to you, his lips pursed to contain his expression as he kept up strong appearances.

“You’ll hear from him soon.”

“Thank you so much.” You tore the paper from the pad, tucking the pen through the rings and folding the used sheet neatly in half.

“It’s just some information on some courses. It’s nothing.”

“No, no.” He shrugged, biting his lips for a second, before focusing on what he wanted to say. “I meant, thank you for saving my life.”

There was more in his tone, more than just the physical act of changing his life, and as he stared at you honestly without a hint of anything but gratitude, you tried to blink back tears that were forming, and ignore the stinging in the back of your throat. “Well, that was my pleasure. Thanks for making me so proud with what you’ve chosen to do with it.”

“That was my pleasure.” He mocked, chuckling when you rolled your eyes at him, before he took a step back. “My foster mom is waiting for me in the car, I gotta’ go.”

“Go make me proud, come see me again soon, okay?”

“I will, I promise.” He hesitated for a second, before stepping forwards, and letting you wrap your arms around him as he squeezed you back just as tightly, sagging into you with what you guessed was a much-needed hug for him, running your hand up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re such a good kid, Aaron, you’re gonna’ be great.”

“I hope so.” His voice cracked slightly, and he avoided your eyes as he pulled back, rubbing at his nose and turning to make his way back toward the street.

He turned, waving at you for a second, before he was gone, getting into the car that was parked up and almost completely hidden by the bushes lining the pathway, but you saw enough to watch the excited look on his face as he spoke to his mom.

They chatted for a few minutes, before the car was pulling away, and you watched as he waved again upon seeing you still standing there, the car cruising past, and your cheeks were almost aching from your smile. Turning around, you detoured to the ambulance to put the pad and pen back, before Thomas was making his way over slowly, and you turned to him.

“Good chat?”

“He wants to be a fireman, Tommy.” His face softened a little at your joy, and you couldn't help it, feeling particularly attached to this patient, as he’d been so important to you, and you knew you’d never forget him. “He’s in therapy, and he didn’t relapse, and he wants to do something with his life. He said he wanted to make me and his family proud, and he wants to do something important and give back. God, he deserves it, he’s working so hard.”

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” Thomas spoke gently, and you nodded, joy shooting through you.

“Yeah, it is. I told him I’d get Jeff to give him a ring or send him an email with some more information since he was a candidate pretty recently, but maybe you could too?”

“Of course, yeah.” You put the piece of paper securely into your pocket, patting it to confirm, before turning back to Thomas.

“Anyway, you were saying something before. You can continue now.” Thomas tensed up again almost immediately, and your mood was already beginning to lower again, but you tried not to let it sink any lower, no matter what Thomas had to say.

“I was just trying to tell you I was sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I mean, you loved her. Of course, she was going to know more about you, and it was messy, so there was unfinished business on her end and clearly some on your end, too. Which wasn't exactly a shock because you were still pretty upset over it when we met, I just didn’t know it still cut you up now.” You shrugged, confusion flicking over Thomas’ features, before dismay and disappointment were taking their place.

“That’s the thing, though, I didn’t know there was still unfinished business until she showed up. She was right there, and she was speaking about things like it was still a fresh wound and not something that happened almost two years ago, and it threw me.”

“Thomas..” You paused, nervous sickness sweeping over you again and you tried to steady it. “I think a little part of you must have known. I mean, I get it. It was sudden, and you were invested, and there was no build-up. But, you still had pictures of her up in your living room, and you still had her number, and ever after all this time, you were still willing to ‘catch up’ with her when she stepped back into your life. Somewhere, deep down, you knew, you just didn’t want to think about it.”

“I know how it looks, okay? I do, I really do, and I know I fucked up what we have going on, but there was more to it.” He paused, stuttering a little, before going silent, his words falling away, and he cursed himself under his breath as he tried to decide what to say. “She knows my mom, and I should have told you about my mom, I was going to, I planned to. But, it’s hard to just come out and say.”

“You think I’m mad, because you didn't tell me about your mom?”

“Well, I mean, I’m taking it from your tone that’s not what you’re mad about, but I don’t know if you’re mad at all, and whether that’s a good sign, or a really bad one, but-” Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you jumped violently, having forgotten that it was even there because you never normally carried it on shift, usually leaving it in your locker, but today was an exception. It continued buzzing, clearly not a text but a call, and Thomas’ face flushed with anger. “You’ve gotta’ be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot I even had it, let me put it on silent, okay?” You pulled it out, brow furrowing for a second as you looked at the number on screen, trying to place why you knew it, before the last few digits clicked in your mind. “Oh, it's the hospital! It must be about Gally!”

You looked up to Thomas, whose face smoothed over from anger at another interruption, but he nodded his head, seeming at least a little relieved. “Answer it, everyone needs to know.”

You clicked ‘accept’, bringing the device to your ear, and taking a few steps away to answer it. As you listened to the nurse on the end of the line talk, you could only focus on a few key pieces of information, humming and mumbling a few words of acknowledgement as you chewed on the nail of your thumb, pacing in the entrance of the garage.

Thomas watched you, waiting for a few minutes, trying to put together how you were feeling clearly as he stared at you, puzzled you didn’t doubt, and you eventually gave up on the spot. Nodding your head to the man, you motioned toward the common room, and he made his way to your side, the two of you walking there in silence as you entered the room, and Thomas made sure to round up anyone who wasn’t in the room, including Vince, everyone gathering in silence and the television being turned off as they all waited.

When you finally got done, all eyes were on you as you thanked the nurse who had called you, clicking your phone off and putting it away. Letting out a deep breath, your hands rubbed together, and a smile pulled on your cheeks.

“Gally is okay.” Cheering went up around the room, a giggle on your lips that only increased when Fry scooped you up, swinging you around in circles once your feet left the floor, and you slipped in his grip slightly, insisting he put you down so you could finish what you had to say; “They got the bleeding under control yesterday evening, he’s all stitched up, and last night he woke up from his meds and was able to do a few tests, before the painkillers knocked him out again. He’s had all his shots, and they finished up their examinations.”

“Why does it feel like there’s a ‘but’ to come, though?”

“Because there is.” Vince’s eyes narrowed a little bit, analytically as he studied you again, and you sighed, the joy in the room dropping away as everybody turned from their celebratory chatter to focus silently on you again. “There was a lot of nerve damage in his shoulder, and he still has some movement, but he struggles to make a tight fist. He doesn’t have enough strength to lift anything up, not even something light. Admittedly, it’s only been twelve hours and they’re optimistic about it, they have great physical therapy programs and Gally is a healthy guy, but they said they can’t promise anything solid yet, but he may not be able to return if he can’t pass the physical requirements with that arm anymore.”

“He’s okay, though?”

“He has some use of the arm, right?”

“They say anything else about his recovery?”

“How long until they discharge him?”

The questions came flying in, overwhelming you a little, and you sighed, swallowing down the lump in your throat as hesitation swept in. “He’s okay; and yes, he has some use of his arm, which is a really good sign right now. They said some people don’t show signs of movement after that kind of trauma for days after surgery, so he’s doin’ good. They didn’t say a lot, but that’s because they have to talk to him about his recovery options first, doctor-patient confidentiality, y’know?”

They nodded, taking it all in, and Clint spoke up, from where he’d been leaning against the wall in silence. “How long until we can see him?”

“We can go see him from tomorrow, as long as it’s during visiting hours, of course. As for discharging him, I’m not too sure, they didn’t say. If I had to make a guess, though, I’d say they’ll keep him for observations for another week or so, and then send him home on extended leave for work.”

That seemed to soothe everyone, plans to visit Gally and who would go and when immediately taking up, and Vince excused himself from the room, remaining professional despite his relief as he gave the reasoning of going to arrange a temporary Truck lieutenant replacement, but you suspected he just wanted to relax in his relief alone, where he didn’t seem any less strong or fit to lead by doing it in front of his crew.

You were floating on a little bit of a high, having seen Aaron and now having good news for Gally, what had started as a bad day was very rapidly becoming an epic one, despite the lingering sadness still hanging over it.

Scooter woofed, loudly, expressing his own excitement as he sensed everyone else's, and he sat up in his bed, the new cushion with his name stitched across the front that had arrived a few days ago, chosen specially by Minho himself as everyone chipped in for it, and you crouched down, tapping at the floor for him, and the puppy came bounding over.

Scratching behind his ears, his tail wagged excitedly, thumbing against the tiles floor when he sat down for you, before he was rolling over, exposing his belly to you for scratch, and you chuckled at his enthusiasm.

Golden fur as growing back on his body, no longer showing the patches that had been shaved, and he was almost at the end of his medication course, the pills that you had to crush and hide in his food to get him to at, and you certainly wouldn’t miss that struggle every day as you disguised the medicine he needed. His stitches had dissolved and burns were healed, a half-used tube of dog-friendly skin cream having worked wonders, and the bottoms of his paws that had been swollen and sore were all fixed up, allowing him to run and bound every time you took him for a walk without any pain.

“Hey, you know I taught him a new trick?” Minho came over, crouching beside the puppy and scratching at his tummy two, taking over as you pulled your hand back, and Scoot squirmed and yipped happily on the floor with his excitement. Something in Minho’s tone suggested he wasn’t talking about tricks like ‘sit down’ or ‘roll over’, and you chuckled. “Do you wanna’ see?”

“Yeah-”

“No!” Thomas interrupted, and you turned to him, brow raising, standing up a little before him, and his face crumpled a little. “I mean, in a few minutes. Just give us, like, fifteen minutes, please! No interruptions or anything, I just needed fifteen minutes to talk to you.” His tone was pleading, and you nodded, holding up your phone.

“Let’s go put this away in my locker, and then I'm all yours, alright?”

He nodded, following after you as everyone mingled around, returning to their business as they waited for the day to go by, and you unhooked your locker, placing it on the shelf inside as soon as you could. There was evidently a lot Thomas wanted to say, he looked like he was running through it in his mind, various expressions taking over one another in quick succession as his thoughts worked, and he followed you silently as you guided him out of the locker room, and into the hall. He took a breath, before you could speak, and then your name was being called by Brenda from the garage, and Thomas growled under his breath.

“Why are you the most popular person on the surface of the fucking planet today?”

His hand found your wrist, securely but not so tight as to hurt you, and he tugged you along behind him, ignoring the second shout of your name from Brenda as she entered the hallway at the opposite end of the corridor, noticing you. You glanced back, protesting a little as Thomas pulled you with him and guided you through the halls, before opening the door to his office. He looked stressed, closing the door, and turning to face you as your back pressed to it, eyes wide at the look on his face.

“I just need five damn minutes to tell you how I feel and what the hell is going on and I can’t get even thirty damn seconds today.” He wasn’t talking to you, more like yelling at the universe, but he was jittery and on edge over it all.

“Tommy..” His attention moved to you at the sound of the nickname, his features softening slightly.

“You’ve got me now. Just talk, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” He was whispering it to himself, calming down, and his eyes closed. Two deep breaths, and then he was looking back to you, sadness swimming in pretty brown irises. “The first time I called Teresa was a long time ago, okay? You’d been here for, like, two months. We were arguing all the time and I was pretty sure you despised me but you reminded me of her and it made me miss her more. I called her, and told her I missed her. And, yeah, I told my mom that too. But, that was before any of this started.”

He waved a finger between you both, pausing for a second, and you stepped a little closer to him, placing a hand on his cheek, which he happily leaned into. “Thomas, I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” His hand closed over yours, holding your hand there for a second longer, before pulling it away. “I called her again, the night after the first time we spent a day together. After Chuck’s funeral. It had been so long since I had actually seen her, and we were drunk by the end of the night, and when I got home and I was alone again, I was sad and confused. “I wanted to tell her it was over, I wanted to finish whatever was unfinished between us, but she didn’t answer. Admittedly, it was like three in the morning by then, so I’m not really surprised she didn’t. But, by the morning, I wasn’t brave enough to face it again. It fucking hurts, still. All of it, it hurts to dig back up, but not as much as it did.”

“You’re brave, Thomas. You were brave telling me everything you have, and I know there’s something different and deeper that you had with her, and that’s okay. You can never just forget her, she was a part of your history.” He frowned, sensing it was going somewhere else. “I just need to know if I’m going to be a part of your future or not.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, Tommy.” He sighed, lips pursing when his chin wobbled, and you lifted your hand again, hovering near his cheek, and he nodded, letting you cup his jaw softly. “I’m not going anywhere, but you gotta’ decide, okay? I don’t want to be strung along, and I’m not mad at you. I’m not going anywhere, this is my home. So, no matter what happens, I’ll still be here and I’ll still be your friend.”

“I don’t want us to be just friends, though.”

You nodded, dropping your hand from his face, and he looked a little more broken as you did, but he let you step back. “I know, Thomas, but I can’t be a second choice, okay? I can’t be with you, if you’re still in love with her. Just make your choice, and let me know, okay?”

“But I don’t. Love her, I mean. Not anymore, you changed things. I know she’s back, and I sorted things out, and I know it all seems like I didn’t but I..” His words trailed off, not knowing what else to say, studying your face carefully as he tried to find what you were feeling, but if there was one thing you were good at, it was looking your feelings up tight.

Silence fell between you both, only the sounds of heavy and deep breaths to break the tension, before the chiming overhead muted by the closed office door called you both away to a call.

He paused, just for a second, before glancing at the door, signalling the pair of you to go. Once you opened the door, you could hear the rushing of the team, multiple footsteps and the sounds of engines starting as they all ran to their stations, boarding the vans, and as you reached the doorway to the corridor, a second before entering the busy garage, you turned to him, watching as he came to a halt from where he’d followed behind.

“If you want to try and make things work with her, that’s okay. If you want to make things work with me, then you already know I want that, too. I just need you to clear things up, that's all, and if you want us, then we’ll start over, okay? We’ll forget last night ever happened, okay?” He nodded, a vulnerable look on his face as he stared at you, hope flickering over his face. “You promised you’d never hurt me, Tommy, so just don’t hurt me.”

He only nodded, the two of you backing out into the main bay, and Newt was waiting next to the ambulance, the Truck can already pulling out, and Thomas was kicking off his shoes to pull on his work boots as you climbed into the passenger seat, following the first red van, as the second one followed the two of you.

Newt didn’t say anything, which you were grateful for, because your emotions were in overdrive, the idea of him picking an option that wasn’t you cutting deeper than you cared to admit, but he silently offered you companionship on the ride. He didn’t comment on your cracking voice or occasional sniffles as you tried to read off the information that had come through on the screen of the ambulance as he drove, to prepare you both for what was coming.

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #thomas the maze runner #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #firefighter!tommy #ff!tommy #smoke and fire #SAF

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missinghan · 4 years ago

Text

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret.

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner.

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him.

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart.

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty.

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.”

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily.

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out.

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing.

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison.

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.”

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene.

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down.

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds.

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul.

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest.

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address. The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…”

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.”

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently.

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance.

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets.

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint.

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes.

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen.

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest.

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option.

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood.

He won’t make it in time.

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage.

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision.

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner.

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams.

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

“Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors.

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus.

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears.

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move.

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die.

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back.

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.”

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way!

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus.

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious.

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you.

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day.

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp.

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards.

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward.

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted.

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog.

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him.

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches.

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie.

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.”

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path.

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might.

And you’ll die.

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell.

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal.

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you.

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho.

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer.

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.”

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.”

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neonponders · 3 years ago

Text

Part 3 and finale of my Flayed!Steve shenanigans ~ (pt. 1 - pt. 2)

- Read on ao3 here -

• • • • • • •

There was some kind of irony to the way things settled down.

If it could even be called settling down.

The Harringtons got wealthier after nearly suing the entire state of Indiana for whatever the hell happened to their son between Starcourt Mall and the community pool. Billy was fully clear on the details of the lie, but he knew it had something to do with a girl named Barb. And chemicals being where they shouldn’t be - namely inside their son.

Billy didn’t really buy it, though. After Steve stopped being an interdimensional thing’s host, Starcourt exploded with fireworks and monstrosity. With the demon’s web of pawns broken, it...melted them down do make itself a body. If it couldn’t espionage its way through Hawkins, it would crush it, or try to.

Billy really couldn’t decide which was the worst part of all of this. But he and Max were found with the rest of the ragtag team trying to save the world amongst the ruins of the mall. So the two of them got hauled in an ambulance to a random building labeled as a Library, but acted like a hospital.

Turns out, when you take part in top secret, government catastrophes, the perks are incredible. Billy got a physical therapist he didn’t even know he needed, someone else to nag him about smoking at eighteen, and an IV drip so he didn’t even need to drink water. The downside was that they had to show up once a week to make sure no surprises happened in their health or minds. It wasn’t the worst thing, having a reason to get off of Cherry Lane...

He and Max watched the Harringtons pace the hospital corridors. That’s how they knew Steve had been moved here. And how they must’ve either been told or pieced together things on their own. Because not only did they settle out of court with a heap of money, but the rumor was that Steve suddenly had college plans. To wherever he wanted in the country.

Even Billy and Max had been given a sort of “financial allowance,” since their parents were blissfully clueless and, since Billy was eighteen, they spoke to him as if he qualified as Max’s guardian. He didn’t want to think about that too much.

He thought about Steve. He though about Steve a lot.

Robin and Nancy were the first ones to see him. Why that pair, he didn’t really know. Maybe the ex and the current -

“Don’t be weird,” Robin scolded him when he ventured to ask.

“What’s weird? It makes sense that the two people he likes most would be the safest people to meet after...after what happened to him.”

She clapped his shoulder too hard. “Then by that logic, you’re up, Goldilocks.”

Billy didn’t mean to sign up for visitation bullshit. He had no idea what he’d be walking into when he faced the stretch of hallway that led to Steve’s room. But Robin shoved him and spoke to him like no other girl ever had, and off he went.

Nancy still lingered in the doorway, leaning against the jamb while she laughed softly -

Billy heard Steve’s voice. Soft, soft laughter too.

Nancy’s bob twirled around her face when she realized Billy stood beside her. “Oh. Uh. Steve, do you remember...?”

Billy’s brows furrowed, liking this less and less...

Steve lay in a typical hospital cot, but his smile stayed on his face as his eyes found Billy. The last time Billy had seen him, he had a mild summer tan and too much redness from the sauna. Now he had the pallor of someone who’d had their stomach charcoal pumped too many times.

“Billy?” he rasped, needing to swallow to wet his throat. “Or...something about trees?”

Billy felt like an idiot, just standing there. But then Nancy laughed a little and said, “Grove. Hargrove. Hang on a sec.”

All at once, she pinched Billy’s shirt and took him two doors down into a vacant room. Without preamble, she informed, “The doctors are calling it dissociative amnesia.”

Billy shook his head. “And for the groundlings, Shakespeare?”

She blinked at him. Like an out-of-body experience, Billy realized this was the first time they had ever spoken to each other. Regardless, she reiterated, “It’s a side effect of P.T.S.D.. Disassociation is when...like, the person takes a backseat in their own brain, because something is overwhelming them too much. If it’s really bad, they forget. Steve’s forcefully forgotten a lot of things.”

“Well, that’s better, right?”

She tipped her head back and forth, considering. “For now, it’s the best case scenario, maybe. Long haul, I don’t know. He’ll have to remember and deal with this eventually.”

“Who says?”

She stared at him again. “He can’t go through his whole life ignoring this summer.”

“Why not?”

Her pouty lips parted as she puzzled through that. “Because none of us are that lucky. Just - listen. He zones out sometimes during conversations. If you see him doing that, just...touch his hand. Rub his arm, or something. Gently bring him back into the same room you’re in. Okay?”

Billy pressed his lips together. He much preferred exercising with his physical therapist and having the on-staff chiropractor playing him like a xylophone.

“I’m not a psychologist.”

“I don’t care. Steve’s...sweet. He’s real sweet. Just do what you can.”

Billy didn’t know what all that meant. But the poor guy was still in his hospital bed, so he followed Wheeler out of the empty neighboring room and knocked on Steve’s doorjamb. “Are you tired of people yet?”

Steve took his gaze off the television mounted on the corner of the ceiling and shook his head. “No, but my dad says the chairs suck.”

Billy repositioned one of the chairs and disregarded, “I don’t mind.”

He took a moment to look at the tv, and then peeked at Steve. The latter’s attention had returned to the show, giving Billy the time to really see him. His mouth hung open, lips pale, as he breathed...oddly.

It took a longer moment for Billy to remember doing CPR. Breathing probably wasn’t the easiest while his ribs were broken.

A blood bag hung on his IV drip. Two actually, but the first had already emptied out -

“They took as much of the black stuff out of me as they could.”

Billy felt caught with Steve’s large eyes on him. “What? Um - never mind. We don’t have to talk about it.”

His stomach turned as Steve replied softly, like he wanted to reassure Billy for some reason, “I remember more than I can talk about. Talking makes me think. Thinking hurts.”

Billy only nodded, slumping back in his chair. “Okay.” He pointed at the television. “Tell me about this. I don’t get to watch daytime television.”

So Steve did. And...it proved oddly easy to talk to him. Steve was an easy conversationalist, and eventually cornered Billy with, “We’re not friends...are we?”

Billy smile at the show’s dialogue faded. The guy had been through hell; Billy certainly didn’t want to add on top of it, regardless of his own pride. “No...not yesterday, at least.”

Steve slowly absorbed that. So slowly that Billy wondered if this is what Nancy meant by zoning out. “Tomorrow looks nice.”

The back of Billy’s throat instantaneously ached. “Yeah. Tomorrow looks nice.”

Later on, between Robin, Nancy, and Max, Billy got the full story.

Steve’s blood, stomach, and lungs had to be pumped. The damn thing drowned him and poisoned him, making Steve entirely dependent on its life force to stay alive. The sauna killed him.

At least, it would have, if Billy didn’t keep his heart moving.

With Starcourt and the pool closed, Billy kept up his weekly hospital meetings. He was there when Steve stood up on his own, finally. The weather had tilted into autumn wind and coolness despite the blazing sunlight, but Billy got to laugh when his chiropractor made Steve’s shoulders and ribs pop.

“Feel good?” he teased, even as Steve grimaced.

Steve couldn’t quite answer yet, arms contorted as they were with the doctor’s as he twisted Steve’s torso. The sounds filling the room made Steve answer, “I’m really just a skeleton in here.”

“Hey, be nice to that skeleton, he’s grown on me.”

The chiropractor released him and Steve did some of his breathing exercises. He had to do those a lot. It was more meditative breathing than woman-in-labor breathing, but it had become his regular habit over the past several weeks.

As had Billy’s tendency to touch him. Then again...Billy supposed he always had a bad habit of touching Steve Harrington.

The hand he brushed over those dark, long tresses hadn’t pushed him on a basketball court in a long time. Or broke through that mole-freckled skin. Billy still manhandled him but it had evolved from knocking Steve down to picking him up. Steve’s ribs were the last things Billy broke.

Since then, Steve joked that Billy took the place of his wheelchair, but he could enter physical therapy sooner.

“What are you, my food taster?” he teased when Billy used both of their lunches like a mutual buffet.

“I brought you this KFC that you’ve been craving. I get your biscuits.”

Steve did his quiet, safe laugh and handed him a packet of raspberry jam.

Things still weren’t settled in Hawkins, though. Hawkins didn’t know peace. It slept during the day and whispered at night. Now that Billy heard it, he also took to sneaking into Steve’s house after he was discharged from the hospital.

“Why are you walking around like a Scooby-Doo character? I opened the garage for you.”

“Are your parents here?” Billy countered before he meant to. Normal high school graduates didn’t need parental permission. But Billy had never been normal. Not a Hawkins kind of abnormal, but -

“Relax,” Steve reassured. “They’ve been house hunting for weeks now.”

The garage and house door closed behind them as a stone sank in Billy’s gut. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Steve moaned like one word. Billy followed him through the house until he landed on the couch and grabbed the remote for the paused movie. “Wherever they think their perfect house is, I guess. I just watch The Goonies on repeat.”

“Are you serious?” Billy snorted, lifting Steve’s legs to sit beside him. He held onto Steve’s legs on his lap. “Is Cyndi Lauper your thing?”

“I watch other stuff. Old scary movies, but like, the elegant ones. Not the gross ones. Vampy movies.”

“What about The Lost Boys?”

“Sure. Everyone’s hot in that. But I meant like old, black and white movies are sometimes scare, but elegant.”

Billy laughed. “You think black and white movies are scary!”

“They are! When the music kicks up after a lot of silence - the audio pacing is trash, but it’s spooky.”

Billy couldn’t very well let an Indiana boy out-talk a California native about movies. “Okay, fine. Who’s hottest in the Lost Boys?”

Without even blinking at the television, Steve answered, “Marko, Dwayne, and Star.”

Billy grimaced. “Marko?”

Steve peeked at him. “He looks like a Greek statue or something.”

“You wanna fuck Marko?”

Steve sputtered through a messy laugh. When he put a hand on his chest, Billy’s mirth evaporated, hesitant. but Steve relaxed and continued, “No, Star and Paul for that.”

A very different stone slid into Billy’s gut. He tried to play it off by casually saying, “There you go. Some sort of taste.”

Billy couldn’t say when Steve switched to put his head on Billy’s leg. Or when it was just understood that two answers were given for movie character discussions.

But it was two.

And then Billy lay behind Steve during movies, keeping him warm.

And then Billy woke up with popcorn in his teeth even though Steve and Steve alone ate the popcorn.

Billy held onto Steve’s earlobe when they kissed, because Steve - King Steve - was so hesitant. He couldn’t kiss Billy himself, but he could lift Billy’s hand to hold the side of his head. So Billy did. He cradled Steve’s head, and gripped his hair follicles, and stroked the side of his neck before gently holding onto his earlobe while he tasted, tasted, tasted.

Steve tasted like his homemade garlic popcorn. And hot mulled wine. Which was really just heated wine with orange and cranberry juice because the guy was lazy.

It wasn’t all easy.

When Steve disassociated, it did so for a long time. His therapist meetings were awful for Billy; he had half a mind to make Steve stop going to them. He sure as hell insisted on driving Steve after Steve got home and looked at Billy strangely.

“What time is it?” he’d asked.

“What do you mean? I’m talking to you about dinner. Lasagna or nachos?” Billy had naively repeated. Then he realized, “Wait, what time do you think it is?”

Steve had blinked dreamily at the clock on the stove. “I don’t know.”

“Steve. Do you remember driving to the doc’s?”

“Yeah...but not back.”

Somehow, that scared Billy more than the sauna. Maybe because he had Steve now. Because Steve was his. No one else’s. Not some interdimensional creature’s puppet. Not any ice cream boss’s mascot. Steve wore Billy’s jackets and brushed Billy’s hair to relax, and teased Billy by putting on strawberry lipgloss when Billy’s lips were chapped to kiss him better.

Eventually, Billy couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “You never actually came by the pool. I mean...” He didn’t want to say easy pickings. He quickly evaded with, “I guess you didn’t want to be bothered with me back then, right?”

He glanced up to find Steve watching him in that way he had. “I liked you before...way before. I didn’t know...like how you read emotions in the opposite way than they are. I liked you but I hated you. I didn’t hate you enough to...to flay you. But I didn’t love you enough to hold the thing back. I couldn’t go to the pool. I wasn’t strong enough.”

Steve cried against him all night, and stayed in his brain fog all of the next day. Billy took care of him and never asked about the Upside Down or the Mind Flayer ever again.

Nothing was settled. But Billy knew that where Steve went, he would follow. He’d just been dumb lucky to start following after the summer of ‘85.

#harringrove #s3 #flayed!steve #neonponders #pondermoniums #tw angst #tw medical #tw trauma #tw memory loss

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salt-warrior · 3 years ago

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RISE FROM THE ASHES

A When Earth Turns to Ashes sequel

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: The Strength to Stay Away

Cinder ran, legs pumping, hands grasping the walls when she stumbled. She raced down the stairs of her apartment building and out into the frozen air. Her feet carried her all the way to her car before she collapsed, tears streaming down her face, ice filling her lungs as she gasped.

She sat upon the icy ground, unable to feel the moisture seeping into her skin or the cold numbing her body. The sky had faded to a bleak purple, with a burning horizon of orange and red and gold. It was night, and it was cold. But the cold came not from the atmosphere nor the sky— no, it was the soul-crushing feeling that resided within her. The ache that spoke words she didn’t want to hear. The knowledge that her brief happiness had come to an end. From this point on, she would be on her own. She couldn’t allow herself to find new friends, a new love, if that were possible. And she sure as hell wouldn’t seek out Cress or Iko or even Thorne.

And Kai— she would try to bury him in the depths of her mind. He wouldn’t be the first to enter her mental graveyard, tucked away forever. But hopefully he would be the last. Perhaps she could live out the rest of her days thinking of no one, living as if she were the only soul upon the planet. It would be lonely, but it would hurt less than the agony of losing another loved one.

With shaking fingers, Cinder slid her car key into the lock, twisting until she heard a faint click. On hands and knees, she climbed into the car, ignoring the ache in her bones and the tears upon her face. She started the engine and, without another thought, drove away.

Her headlights were the only light in the dark, like a distant star, wandering in search of companionship, but finding none. She didn’t know where she was going, only that it had to be away from Kai— as far as she could possibly go. Her gut twisted.

Cinder started to cry— to really cry. Not just the tears that had already been tracing down her cheeks, but full-on sobs. She wailed into the night to release all the sorrow of her soul. But her despair was a hydra; the more she fought it, the harder she tried to kill it, the more powerful it grew.

She pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and turned off the car. She could no longer see the dark and the blackening sunset. The road was a concept her brain could not manage to grasp as her mind replayed the horror she’d undergone but minutes ago.

There was fire, and there was Kai. She could see it— and it was that she could see. The flames as they cascaded down, as if from heaven itself. The way they backlit Kai, turning his hair to amber and eyes to gold. And then there were his screams.

She couldn’t stop hearing them. They echoed in her head, trapped there forever. His screams, though not prolonged, would be her eternity. If there was a Hell or an Underworld or some eternal damnation after this life, his screams would be her punishment. They would destroy her.

His words to her after the fire had been put out were mere whispers of the wind by comparison to the roaring river of his screams. His pleas for her to stay had hardly registered in her brain above the horror in her heart. His hands reaching out, trying to touch her, to comfort her, were mere wisps of smoke to the fire raging within her mind.

She had pleaded with him. She’d begged him to let her go, just as he had begged her to stay. And behind the smoke and swirling flames, she could see his face when she’d put in her final request— her final words to him.

“You have to let me go.”

“I can’t.”

She knew he meant it, but it didn’t stop her from hoping. Because he had to let her go— he just had to.

“Kai,” Cinder cried, his name her only comfort now that he was gone from her. She swiped at the tears on her face and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Kai’s sweatshirt. The gray one that he loved so much. For a moment, she felt sad that she had taken it from him, and then the slightest bit comforted that she had something of his. Almost as if he were hugging her.

She pulled the collar of the hoodie up to her nose and tried to breathe in his scent. It was hard to latch onto, but there all the same. Soft and sweet and familiar.

Cinder thought back to just weeks before when she had feared that she was losing Kai. Back when his days of melancholy and grief had been the most terrifying thing in her life. When the idea of leaving him had cut her to her core. She had feared him leaving more than anything else, and now here she was, abandoning him.

“Is that why you leave everyone? Because that’s the only way you know how to love?”

His words should have hurt more than they did. He’d meant them to. He’d tried to get a rise out of her— attempted to get her to stay. He’d given it his all, but she’d known it would come down to this. She only regretted not leaving sooner. If she’d run away at the library, Kai wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

No, if she’d left then, she would have come back. Kai’s screams would haunt her forever, but at least they would give her the strength to stay away.

A calm came over her then, causing her tears to cease and the turmoil within her to quiet. It was a calm born not out of peace, but of reflection. Throughout the entirety of her life, her mother had protected her. In a way that caused more harm than good, yes. But she’d protected her in her own sick way. She’d taken love from Cinder’s life. But perhaps it had been for a reason.

Maybe Cinder’s mother hadn’t been the problem after all. Maybe it was Cinder. Her mother had killed the people she loved before Cinder could grow properly attached. It had hurt, but it had not ached as it did now. It had torn at Cinder’s heart to know that her mother had killed Ran and Peony, but the idea of her own flames killing Kai— that was worse.

Her mother had sworn to protect her; but was she protecting Cinder from others, or herself? Was it possible that Cinder was the demon?

Cinder stared down at her hands, one marred by burn scars, both tinted blue with cold. She remembered the way in which the flames had come as she left Kai— almost as if by command. She’d wanted to be left alone; she’d wanted for him to let her go. And then there was that flash of light.

“No,” Cinder whispered, rubbing her hands into her eyes. It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a world in which people had powers of fire. Her world may have been encapsulated with ghosts, but supernatural abilities of the living was not an element of that world. She was just an ordinary girl.

Well, not ordinary, but she wasn’t the supernatural being here. It had to be her mother. Her mother, the ghost, who was tied to Cinder’s own life.

But then why hadn’t she come in the last year? When Cinder had loved more than ever before and been loved in return? At least three people should have been dead if Cinder’s mother were still around.

And Cinder’s mother had always been a distinct being. She had a form, a face. She was almost a living thing. But this thing— this ball of fire— it wasn’t her mother.

It was like her mother.

Cinder let out a gasp as everything fell into place. The fear. The fire. The stories. Kai. It all made sense. They’d been wrong all along. They’d been wrong about everything.

A ball of fire wisped to life next to the driver’s side window, and Cinder jumped into the passenger’s seat, fear coursing through her veins. A string of expletives escaped her mouth in the most horrendous way she could muster.

She watched as the ball of conflagration drifted past her, as if it had somewhere to be. Someone to meet. It moved with ease, even as snow began to tumble from the darkened sky. She didn't know where it was going, but she knew what it was trying to tell her.

So with shaking hands and a trembling heart, Cinder slid back into the driver's seat, turned on her car, and followed the flames that led her toward certain doom.

***

Kai stared at the closed door, the fear coursing through his veins more powerful than the logic trying to leak through his brain. He knew he should have been doing something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. All he could see were the flames cascading before his eyes. Even in their absence, he could still feel their flickering breath, almost as if they were laughing at him.

The door stood before him as it always had. The wood was dark, showing beneath a chipping layer of evergreen paint. He’d been planning on repainting it a bright red— his favorite color— as soon as he found the time. Now he wondered where all the time had gone.

His life had always been a broken clock, one that was too fast, leaving him always scrambling behind. He hadn’t had enough time with his mother. No, she had left him while he was still a child. And his father, well, he had abandoned Kai with a suddenness that to this day still caused his chest to ache. Time had never been in Kai’s favor, at least not where love was concerned.

As he sat on the floor, time ticked on, counting off the seconds from which Kai had watched his love disappear. The love of his life, his Angel of Hell, the girl who had been so much more than a girl. She was gone.

And Kai couldn’t bring her back.

He got to his feet and opened the door with the wrong-colored paint. He glanced behind the door, as if his lover would be there, waiting for him. As if she hadn’t actually forsaken him, but was rather beckoning for him to follow.

She wasn’t there.

And when Kai walked down the stairs and into the parking lot, she wasn’t there either. She was gone. A girl never to be seen again.

It was then that Kai began to panic. He felt it first in his chest, that tightening that restricted the beating of his heart and the breaths allowed to escape his being. It felt like the world was caving in. He sunk down on the steps, head in his hands as tears began to stream down his face. The sun was just going down, lighting the purple sky with streaks of orange and gold, as if it too were crying.

Cars passed on the road, all going somewhere. Perhaps home to people who loved them, and would wrap their arms around them when they walked through the door. The thought made Kai’s melancholy heart droop with a wave of agony.

He pulled out his phone to call the only person who he knew could help him— the only one who would always be there.

Tags: @shellyseashell @cinderswrench @healing-winston-pratt @just2bubbly @silverstars21 @gingerale2017 @greasicookies @the-wee-woo-rita @zephyr-thedragon @bookpapaya @cindersassasin @the-jewel-of-ketterdam

#when earth turns to ashes #rise from the ashes #marissa meyer #tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #kaider #kaider fanfiction #tlc fanfiction #linh cinder #selene blackburn #prince kai #emperor kai #carswell thorne #cress darnel #emperor rikan #channary blackburn #a burning world #salt warrior stories

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itsamejin · 4 years ago

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goodbye || part 2 (finale) || yoongi angst/fluff

Part 1

Summary: Yoongi watched silently as you exited the car and out of his life, but he can’t help but feel a sense of panic at the thought of you leaving him for good.

Warning: cursing, fighting (verbal), pining

Genre: angst

Premise: Yoongi drives off without you after a heated argument and now you’re gone.

Commission Request: @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom

Word Count: 5,354 words

—

Yoongi paces back and forth as he calls the police to file a missing persons report. Yoongi was on the street he last saw you in and he had scoured through the neighborhood to figure out where you were- even knocking down on a few doors.

He didn’t want to escalate the situation and post about you going missing on social media- that would be too risky. It would hurt his career and possibly put your life in more danger with crazy fans and flashing cameras looming the streets to get a glimpse of you. Lord knows that’s the last thing either of you need at the moment.

“Yeah I was in my car and she left after we got into an argument,” he repeats for what felt like the eleventh time. The dispatch caller kept asking him the same questions. “She was wearing a red dress and I think black heels. Oh, and she had a pearl necklace!”

The dispatcher took note of his descriptions and assured him that patrolling police officers in the area would let him know where you were. After he hung up the phone, his shaky hands brushed his hair back out of exasperation.

It was already two o’clock in the morning by now and everything in his body screamed to be in bed, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to rest without finding you.

Yoongi had driven from the street he last saw you on and to your shared apartment, hoping that you’d somehow shown up between those short intervals of time. His palms were damp from the sweat and he sat on the hood of his car to gain composure. It just felt like the whole world was against him at that moment.

He couldn’t do much by himself, especially being an idol, and it felt like he had no control over the situation. Yoongi risked calling the cops, aware that they’d know of his identity eventually- that he was Suga from BTS.

Yoongi doesn’t know if he could handle the consequences that came with revealing he was in a relationship and what his company would do if the whole world found out that Yoongi let his girlfriend walk out on him in the middle of the night.

That wasn’t what concerned Yoongi the most, though. All he wanted to do was find you and take you home- maybe even give a proper apology. He never expected to file a missing persons report on the one person he thought would stay constant in his life. He felt his heart rate increase at the thought of you being hurt and that made him grip the hood of the car harder.

Red dress. Pearl necklace. Recently heartbroken.

A perfect description.

—

Walking barefoot on concrete, you held your black pumps in one hand and cringed at the crunching sounds underneath your toes. You were still walking. Towards what? You don’t really know.

You were sure, though, that you were closer to a downtown area when the city lights became more luminescent as you walked. The clouds in the sky were graying and a storm was ready to start. If you didn’t find shelter soon then you’d risk getting caught up in rain at a dangerous time of night.

Truthfully, you were frightened. Walking alone at night in an unfamiliar part of town would always incite some sort of paranoia, especially as a girl, but the idea of Yoongi finding you more than anything else is what frightened you the most. You knew he’d be angry with you for storming off and you weren’t ready to face him quite yet.

You winced as you felt a sharp pebble dig into your big toe and you could only walk it off to make the pain go away just a little. A hotel room seemed like the best option at that point, but you left your wallet back in the car. You sighed to yourself. This really was the worst way to make a dramatic exit from a relationship. Yoongi was probably having the time of his life back at the apartment and here you were, picking off tiny rocks from your feet.

Suddenly, you came to a halt.

Crescent Motel: You Pay After Your Stay!

A motel that would let you pay the next day. It was dingy and the beds were most likely infested with bedbugs, but it would have to do for the night. You’ll get yourself out of this rotten dress at the very least. Plus, you could just ask the front desk to call a friend in the morning.

You walk into the lobby, a cozy sort of room with a television on one side of the wall. You wondered if it even really worked.

“Can I get your name?” the receptionist asks. He was a grimy old man that smelled too much of alcohol and smoke. He kind of reminded you of Yoongi in that he never looked at you directly. His eyes were always somewhere else.

“Do you really need my name?” you ask condescendingly. The least the guy could do was make eye-contact. You’ve had a rough day as it is.

He still refuses to look up and slides the room key onto your side of the desk.

“Don’t tell me if you want to,” he grumbles. “I just need something to put down in the records.”

You scoff, taking the keys off the table, and hiking up your dress slightly to walk past him. You pause for a bit and turn back around.

“Put down Yoongi,” you say, a certain conviction in your voice. “And if a guy who looks like a celebrity comes, don’t tell him that I’m here. Got it?”

He gives you a slight glance before he goes back to filing paperwork and chewing his own spit or whatever was in that old mouth of his.

“Is that even your name?” he asks nonchalantly, quickly penning it onto his records before closing the folder. You shake your head.

“It’s my ex-boyfriend’s,” you say, slightly cringing at the sound of it. Ex.

“Thought so,” the man muttered and you can’t help but laugh. Like Yoongi indeed.

The room key had B28 etched very finely on it and so you ventured on to find the room you’d be staying in for the night. Despite your assumptions, it was actually quite a nice room- dated at most. There was a single bed with light bedding, enough to get you through the night. You shed yourself of the red dress and put on the robe provided by the motel.

Lightning struck outside and you could hear the first drops of rainfall. You sit on the bed with shaky hands, slightly startled at the sound. Almost suddenly, you feel a sense of sadness overcome you.

Yoongi was probably at home, sleeping without much thought, while you had to struggle through an hour of walking to find a place to stay. It made your blood boil, knowing that he was probably fine without you in his life.

If you were a little smarter in your decision-making than maybe Yoongi would have dropped you off somewhere closer to home or maybe you would have gotten enough time to gather your belongings from the apartment. Now you were just in an unfamiliar room, wearing an unfamiliar robe, staring at an unfamiliar wall.

—

Yoongi sits inside as the rain pours heavily on his car windows. The cops are searching through the streets and yet not a sign of you has appeared. Big Hit was informed and now the whole Gangnam Police Force was forced to keep everything under wraps to keep his situation as discreet as possible. This meant, though, that there would be no large-scale search parties and less of a chance to find you.

As the rain poured outside, Yoongi grows restless in his car. There was too much on his mind and yet not enough of his thoughts were fleshed out enough to even act on them. He needed to clear his thoughts.

Yoongi opens the door and walks out of the car, allowing the droplets of water to hit him. It served as a good distraction for the ache in his chest and pretty soon, his hair was practically soaked. He feels a tap on his shoulder.

It’s a police officer.

“Someone reported seeing a woman who matches Ms. [Y/N] at the downtown area,” he informs. “We have reason to believe that she might have taken shelter in a nearby building.”

Yoongi nods, still quite out of it. What would he even do if he actually sees you? What could he possibly say?

‘Hey, I admit I fucked up, can we go back to normal again?’ didn’t quite cut it and he knew you wanted more from him than just a simple apology. You wanted a change in the relationship, an indication that you were more than just a secret to him. He just doesn’t know where to start without completely ruining his future.

“We’ll search around that strip. For now, you should go back home,” the cop suggests. Yoongi shakes his head.

“I’ll do my own search,” he says lowly. Yoongi turns back to his car and sits in the driver’s seat, wincing at the feeling of his wet clothes on the leather seats. He takes a look at the handbag on the passenger seat and feels a lump form at his throat. You couldn’t have gone far... right?

He drove in the dead of night, water splashing across the windows of his car. It was hard to drive with such a big migraine, but the thought of you being out there stranded left him restless.

It’s not like he’ll be able to sleep without you by his side anyway.

—

You laid on the bed, listening to the droplets of water hit the roof of the motel. It was soothing in a way, to know that the world was crying just as much as you were. It felt useless to try and close your eyes and ignore the aching in your heart and so it only made sense to wallow in your own sadness.

You search for your phone, but remember that it’s not with you. You sigh to yourself, using your elbow to cover your eyes but to no avail. Just sleep and forget his existence. Sounds easier said than done, doesn’t it?

You adjust yourself on the bed and try to imagine Yoongi sleeping next to you. It’s a common practice of yours. Even when you were angry, even when you hated his guts, you could not sleep peacefully without Yoongi by your side.

He was a constant presence and when he’d be gone for tours and business trips, you were left fatigued and worn out because of your lack of sleep. It wasn’t healthy, for sure, but that’s what happens when you get into relationships. You grow dependent.

You imagine the Yoongi in front of you humming a lullaby. You imagine that he’s stroking your hair wistfully and whispering that everything will be okay. You imagine that this Yoongi would never dream of hurting you, never dream to even try.

For a second, it worked, but you were left with a deeper feeling of emptiness. That Yoongi didn’t seem to exist.

—

Yoongi finds a place, a little worn down but suitable enough to assume that you’d probably settle for it. Plus, it was the only nearby motel that would let you pay after staying- he had your handbag and phone with him after all. He walks in, soaked and worry etched all over his face. It was a strange sight indeed. A guy with dyed hair, soaked and carrying a woman’s handbag- not exactly the most ideal sight for a motel manager.

The man at the counter gives him a glare, not even bothering to hide his disdainful expression.

“Listen, kid, if you’re gonna rent a room-”

“I’m here to look for someone,” Yoongi cuts him off, a certain urgency in his voice that catches the elder man off-guard. ‘A guy who certainly looked like a celebrity,’ he thought to himself.

“Her name’s [Y/N],” Yoongi continues, “and she was wearing a red dress and had black heels on. She was probably distressed or seemed angry. Have you seen her?”

The old man just sighs, looking Yoongi dead straight in the eye.

“No,” he replies, too stern for the younger boy to truly believe.

Yoongi clenches his teeth. This run down, poor excuse of a motel was his only shot at finding you. Now, it felt like there were no other options but to wait. And he hated waiting.

Yoongi’s eyelids were growing heavy and he felt about ready to collapse from the coldness of his wet skin. This is not how he wanted to end the day off, with mild hypothermia and a broken heart.

“Then can I stay here,” Yoongi pleads, taking another step forward much to the old man’s dismay. “Just for tonight.”

He grunts in response.

“I’ll pay extra. It’s just...”

He trails off, not quite knowing how much he should reveal to a total stranger. There was still a possibility this guy would know he is, but judging from the lack of interest, Yoongi assumed it was safe to just confide in someone. Anyone.

“My girlfriend walked out on me and I need to stay in this area just in case the police find her around here,” he says in a single breath. “Then why this place?” the old man sighs. “There’s plenty of high-end hotels on this street you could stay at.”

He takes a look once more at Yoongi’s feet.

“And you’re ruining the carpet,” he grumbled.

Yoongi bites his lip, now in front of the secretarial desk. This man was pissing him off. Yoongi digs into the pocket of his jeans and takes out his wallet. He smacks a wad of cash onto it, staring at the man dead in the eye.

“Is this enough?” he asks through gritted teeth. The man scoffs and pushes the money away.

Your girlfriend isn’t here, kid. Now get lost before I call the cops on you.”

Yoongi pulls out more, his eyes now getting teary-eyed. The man stares at Yoongi’s shaking fingers. He was quite persistent, wasn't he?

“I just need a place to fucking stay,” Yoongi repeats with more of a timber in his voice. The old man stares at Yoongi directly, the first time he's met eyes with another person in a while.

“You’re the type to think money fixes everything- aren’t you?”

The man glares at him. Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly. You had said those words to him just earlier in the night. He pulls his hand back but leaves the money on the counter.

“N-no,” he says through bated breaths. “I’m not usually like this, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi ruffles his hair and wipes a stray tear out of his eye.

“I’m just really desperate to find her,” he continues. “I’ve just been acting like a fucking dumbass for the past few hours.”

The old man sucked in a deep breath before exhaling loudly. ‘This was a pitiful sight indeed,’ he thought to himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Yoongi wanted to introduce himself as Suga by instinct, but he knew it probably would not have occurred to the old man who you were.

“Yoongi,” he says slowly. “Min Yoongi.”

The old man looks at his list and sure enough, the name you had given him was right there. Your ex. It wasn’t any of his business to help fix a broken couple, but it was in his best interest to get this weeping boy out of his lobby. He takes a pair of keys from under the table.

“I’m not letting you stay because all the rooms are booked,” he states throwing the keys to Yoongi who was caught off-guard. “I’ll let you take this one, but you better not bring the feds here. I’m not ready for this place to shut down again.”

Yoongi nods, slightly confused about why he would hold back giving him a room in the first place. He muttered a small thanks before bowing to the older male.

“Now get out of the lobby,” he scolded, glaring at the wet footprints Yoongi left behind.

He took a look at the keys to see the room number. B28.

—

You were ready to drift off into sleep but it seems the world has a way of wanting you to fear for your life.

You heard a jingling noise at your door, the doorknob turning as if a key was inserted. You held your breath, afraid for your life. You stood up quietly, grabbing the rather large lampshade next to your bed. ‘This motel was shady for a reason,’ you thought to yourself.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath. You got ready into a tackling stance, the lampshade in hand. You took enough self-defense classes to know what you’re doing. When it swung open, the door almost hit you on the face. That didn't deter you though and so you charged at the stranger with all your might.

“Woah,” Yoongi shouts as he just missed your swing, pivoting to the side as you stumbled past him. You recognized that voice in an instant and you locked eyes with Yoongi who was noticeably soaked and carrying your handbag. It was embarrassing, how badly you missed, and he would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the context of the situation.

You stood up straight and give him a glare. Somehow, it made you angrier seeing his face, but you couldn’t quite express that anger when Yoongi brought you into his arms almost immediately. The lampshade and bag fell onto the rug with a thud and you were engulfed by his body.

“[Y/N],” he sighed into your hair, the anxiety of losing you now gone from his mind. He pulls away, examining your body.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi says, panic laced in his voice. “I was so fucking worried something happened. You left your stuff in the car and I brought them with me just in case and-”

You push him away, annoyed with the wet droplets that now stained your robe.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you yelled. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“The old man let me in,” Yoongi swallowed. “I guess he knew that I needed to see you.” You roll your eyes. You knew that old fart couldn’t be trusted.

“Well get out,” you say frankly. “I don’t want to see you.”

Yoongi shakes his head.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking you back home.”

You take a step back from him.

“Yoongi,” you say, scarily slow. “Give me my bag and leave. I’m not going to say it again.”

You try to reach for the bag that was on the floor next to him, but he pulled it away.

“I thought I fucking lost you, you know that?” his voice was shaking. “I thought you’d be gone and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Yoongi looked at you with pleading eyes and it almost made you want to comfort him. Almost.

“Well you did,” you reply sternly.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“I’m tired [Y/N],” he admits sadly, dropping the wet bag onto the bed. “I don’t know what else to do besides apologize.”

You grit your teeth.

“Leave.”

Yoongi shakes his head and you cringe as he sits down, the bed getting wet because of him. It would’ve made you even more pissed if it weren’t for the tears spilling from your eyes.

“I thought I fucking lost you,” he sighs into his hands. You could hear a shakiness in his voice that wasn’t there before. Yoongi was always quieter in how he expressed his feelings. He isn’t the type to just cry outright.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to apologize in the morning,” he tried to say, but you could tell he was a bit choked up, “that I fucked everything up and you’d still be missing or you’d wound up dead or something.” He grounds his face into his palms and it genuinely made you feel sorry for him. You did kind of leave without a trace.

“And its fucking raining,” he says a little more calmly, looking up at you with red eyes. “You hate when you get stuck in the rain.”

It broke your heart, the way he chuckled sadly at his own statement. For the first time ever, it felt like he was the broken one and not you.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, setting aside his wet bangs. You were calmer now. “Go home.”

He shakes his head and leans into your touch.

“I can’t sleep without you by my side,” he whispers and you swear you could hear your heart crack. You weren’t the only one to feel that way too...

You didn’t have the heart to forgive him, but you couldn’t let him go back out in the pouring rain.

“You can stay here,” you say. “I’ll find another room.”

He grabs your wrists and intertwines his hands into yours.

“Please,” he pleads. “Just stay with me. I’ll leave before you wake up.”

You wanted so desperately to say no, but it was clear now that Yoongi was just as hurt as you were. It was in the way he held your hands as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. His fingers were shaky and you could do nothing but comply.

You nod despite it all and detach yourself from him to close the door. You walk over to the closet and take out a spare robe. You hand it to him without a second glance, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Tell the police to stop searching,” you say as you lay underneath the sheets that weren’t dampened by Yoongi. “You found me.”

The words, strangely, were enough to comfort him. He called the head officer and with much difficulty, got everything to be cleared out. He’d have to suffer the consequences tomorrow, but for now, he just wanted to search for comfort in your presence.

Pretty soon he laid next to you in his new robe. You turn to face away from him, afraid of making eye-contact. You were always too forgiving when you looked him in the eyes. Yoongi didn’t make any movement to get closer, he just watched your slowing breaths and wondered to himself.

“You are good enough,” he says into the night. It came out of nowhere and it makes your heart stop momentarily.

“Earlier when you said you didn’t feel good enough to be with me,” he starts off with his voice incredibly low. “You are good enough.”

You take a deep breath to prevent yourself from being too emotional. You turn to face him, about to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I’m not going to apologize again, don’t worry,” he swallows. “I just wanted to let you know that you mean much more to me than I show.”

He closes his eyes for a second before continuing on.

“I’m bad at keeping relationships,” he says honestly, “but I want to stay with you... as long as you would let me.”

You laugh through the sadness of it all. You two were far too tired to have a screaming match with one another and it felt good to just talk rather than yell.

“Yoongi, why did you tell Hoseok you didn’t want to be with me?” you ask, no ill intent in your voice. “I want a genuine answer.”

You could feel him shuffle around in the bed out of discomfort.

“I was mad at you,” he said as nicely as he could put it. “I was frustrated that you kept asking me to reveal our relationship to the public.”

You stay still, worried about what he would say next. It would be the final blow to your already crumbled pride.

“It’s stupid to even admit it and I don’t have any real excuses, but...”

He somehow couldn’t finish his sentence.

“But what?”

He sighs and turns the other way. Now he was the one ignoring confrontation.

“I liked that we were our own little secret you know?” he starts and you feel your blood boil a little at his words, but he continued. “So much of my life is broadcasted to the world and I feel like nothing is really mine anymore. Every single moment is dedicated to my fans and whenever you ask me to let that go, it just feels like I’m losing a part of myself more and more. The part that isn’t an idol.”

You understood what he meant, but at the same time, you felt like it was oddly selfish of him.

“I don’t like being a secret, Yoongi,” you say to him. No anger in your voice, just disappointment. He clenches his fist.

“Yeah, I understand that,” he whispers back. “I’m sorry.”

You reach out a hand towards him and he shivers at your touch. You pull into him, laying your head on his shoulder blade.

“You said you wouldn’t say it anymore,” you mutter into his body.

He shrugs.

“I don’t think I’ve said it enough,” he admits, holding your hand in his. This was how he wanted to end the day off- with you by his side.

“I’m sorry too,” you say and he feels himself crumble at your words. He turns around slowly and engulfs you in his arms.

“Moments like this,” he sighs, nuzzling into your hair. “I want it to be between us.”

“It would still be you and me, no matter what,” you reply.

“I know,�� he says solemnly. “But people will try to get between us and I doubt want to hurt you more than I already have.”

You nod along, but you could feel tears start to prick in your eyes.

“I just don’t want to feel like you’re hiding me from everyone,” you admit. “Being with you should be enough, but somehow it isn’t.”

He strokes your head and the two of you don’t speak any longer.

“I’m sorry.”

You find yourself unable to cry at his words. It seems like he had given up and to you, that’s what frightened you the most. You clench onto him as if he’d disappear at any moment. A few minutes ago, that’s all you would have wanted, but now it seemed like you’d die without him by your side. He eases your panic by rubbing your back and you find yourself drifting off to sleep. He stares off into the darkness of the motel room, whispering to no one in particular.

“I’ll do better.”

—

You find yourself alone the next morning, sprawled out on the bed. Your phone and bag were left on the nightstand and the lampshade went back to its proper place. He left you in the room as if he wasn’t there in the first place. You take a look at the closet and see that he laid out clothes for you from home. Tears start to fall. It was over, wasn’t it?

Last night felt like a goodbye, like a last farewell. Maybe you were asking for it in the way you shouted at him the night before, but your heart was still heavy at the thought of him leaving. You didn’t hate him, you could never hate him, but both of you said so many horrible things last night that you wonder if it could ever be taken back.

You get yourself dressed and walk down to the lobby where the wet footprints of last night no longer stained the carpet. You lock eyes with the old man and slide the keys to him. You take out your wallet, prepared to pay until he stops you.

“He covered it already.”

Your jaw drops slightly and you clutch the cash in your fingers.

“You let him into my room,” you accuse. “I told you to tell him I wasn’t here.”

He ignores your watchful gaze, arranging some stuff on his desk that was already quite pristine.

“You got the closure you wanted, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

“That’s not the point. He could’ve been a serial killer for all you know and you-”

“But he wasn’t,” the old man rolled his eyes. “He was your ex that fucking paid twice the amount you pulled out. I promise you, your safety was a passing thought to me.”

You sigh angrily, scrounging through your purse. Your phone was charged, presumably from Yoongi, and so you called a friend to get you out of this dingy motel. You’d report this crusty old man later. Surprisingly she picked up quite quickly.

“Hey-”

“[Y/N]!” she screeched through the other line. “Look at the news! Oh my fucking god, Yoongi just-”

Your hands were shaking, not paying attention to the rest of her words. Nothing bad could have happened from last night, could it? You hung up before she could screech in your ears once again.

You couldn’t type out his name on your phone fast enough from how shaky your hands were until you heard the sound of the lobby television turn on. The old man had the remote in his hand and he gave you a smirk. You turn your attention away from him and toward the screen instead.

“BigHit Entertainment confirms that BTS’s Suga is in a relationship,” the announcer states with a stern voice. “He asks for people not pry on the identity of his non-celebrity girlfriend and any malicious comments or rumors will be legally dealt with by his agency. More updates soon.”

You felt your eyes tear up, happiness swelling on your chest. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe he actually did it.

“You’re welcome, you know,” the old man said slyly. You ignore his words, slapping a rather large sum of money on the desk before rushing outside. You call him this time, happy tears streaming down your face. Yoongi didn’t even have a chance to say hello before you started talking.

“I love you,” you scream into your phone. You repeat the words so much that you could hear your own echo.

“Babe, I’m getting scolded right now,” he laughed. “I’ll talk to you later okay? No celebrations yet.”

You nod, slightly worried about his statement.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” you ask worriedly. “They’re not planning to kick you out or anything?”

He scoffs.

“And lose one of their best songwriters? Not a chance.”

You shake your head.

“Still cocky as always though,” you tease.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures. “It’s the least I could do for you.”

You purse your lips. He had to make a lot of sacrifices too.

“I love you,” he says lowly. “And I’m not gonna make you ever doubt that again.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his confession. It felt genuine like he didn’t say it just to end an argument. It felt real.

“I love you too.”

He gives a toothy grin, knowing full well that you aren’t able to see how stupidly satisfied his face is. The managers looked at him with watchful gazes and he nervously coughed, wiping the smile off of his.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” he replies, “You know, in our home.”

You smile lightly.

“Okay, see you later then,” you say, already listing all the complications that come with going public, but you’re much happier nonetheless. There’d be no more rumors of him dating other girls or random idols trying to set themselves up with him. Maybe there’d still be doubts, but in the end, you’d figure out a way to work it out. That’s how relationships are after all. “Goodbye,” he said cheerily through the receiver, trying to ignore the staff members telling him to hang up the phone. “I love you [Y/N].”

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you giggle at his repeated confession. “I love you too.”

—

A/N: I didn’t want to end this off on a bad note but I didn’t want to end it off on a super good note either. Of course, problems will still arise in a relationship so I left it off kind of bittersweet (more sweet in this case) but yeah. Thanks again to @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom for being so amazing and so patient with this, I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know how you guys feel!! Leave me any comments, criticism, anything!

I know some of you guys wanted an angst ending but I do too many angst endings and I just feel like I wanted to switch things up you know?? Also... keep an eye out for my drabble game that I’ll post in a few days. I will accept the first ten requests ;)

PS: I don’t respond to comments on my stories because this is my side blog so if I reply back it’ll be on my main blog :((( I’ll try to figure out a way so that I can respond to you guys because I really want to be more interactive. Let me know if you guys have loopholes for this problem thank youuu

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miyalove · 4 years ago

Text

mornings | bokuto koutarou

—pairing: bokuto x gn!reader

—warnings: manga spoilers, swearing, fluffy fluff (literally that’s it), unedited*

—synopsis: 1.9k | waking up at 5 am is not humanly moral in your book, but maybe you can make an exception for when your boyfriend texts in need of some help

—dedication: @kei-kui, & @tobiosmilktea thank you for helping me figure out what bokuto/gym 3 would smell like! you’re answers were heavily appreciated! 🤧✨

[4] UNREAD MESSAGES FROM KOU 🦉💞

[5:01 AM] Hey hey you busy right now? 🤔🤠

[5:01 AM] (Y/n)!! Wake uuuup 😡

[5:01 AM] It pains me to say this but i need your help! It’s important!!!!

[5:02 AM] HELLO? ☹️ Come to my dorm asap!! pretty please 🥺

waking up at 5 am is never an ideal concept. never in your life would you have thought that waking up at the ass crack of dawn was a good idea. whether it be for you, your family, or even your sweet boyfriend…

it just isn’t worth it!

at least that’s what your thinking when you sit up, blinking at the unseen messages on your bright— bright phone screen. you’re grumbling for a while, a whole five minutes to be exact. pouting and muttering curses at your bimbo boyfriend that you love so much because how dare he deprive you of something as sacred as sleep!

he’s so lucky you live less than 10 minutes away from the black jackal dorms because if that wasn’t the case, you would have turned down his request instantly. getting out of your car, you enter the building wanting to get out of the chilly morning air as quick as humanly possible.

you’re wandering the halls in a big sweater (which, more than likely, is bokuto’s) glaring at the carpeted floors as they get lost under your slippers. you’re not dressed in anything special. there’s no fancy underwear, neatly combed hair, or even an ounce of makeup on your face— nope.

if your boyfriend wanted to rip away at your sleep than he must handle you at your most natural state. it’s a punishment, you say to yourself but he’s bokuto, you remind. he’ll probably love you even more…

you roll your eyes at the wholesome thought.

finally, you’ve arrived at your destination. the ugly creme colored door stares back at you almost challengingly, mockingly.

on the other side of this stupid door is your even stupider boyfriend. seriously, i have time to turn back, you think, i could say “oh sorry i was asleep— like every normal human at the time— so i couldn’t come to your room, kou.”

your glaring intensifies at the thought of bailing.

i’m already here… fuck it, i guess.

with a sigh of defeat, you knock on the door once, twice, three times before you’re greeted with the familiar face of your lovely boyfriend.

he’s smiling down at you, pearly whites on full display and his enchanting eyes smile at you too. his mop of hair isn’t slicked up like usual. you can’t but smile at how good the man before you looks with his long hair covering his forehead. it’s a rare sight, when his hair is down, so you take every chance you get to reveal in the moment whenever he’s like this.

but you can’t stray away from your thoughts, just yet. don’t get it twisted, you’re still angry at him, but god, does he look good. his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink and his tan skin glistens with a sheer layer of what you think is sweat.

“i knew you’d make it,” he loudly greets, pumping his chest out in confidence like an owl successfully hunting it’s prey. you can hear the excitement in his tone and it makes you curious as to what is so truly important that he woke you up at this hour.

if only your curiosity beat out your grumpiness, “ugh!” you groan.

“why am i here and what exactly is so important, kou?” you push past him, making a turn straight for his bed. plopping down face first into his thick, comfy sheets.

the scent reminds you of him— musky, smelling of an adventure deep in a mossy forest and the faint scent of air salonpas (essential oils, white flowers, and vapor rub). so many contrasting scents but as cliche as it sounds; it’s comforting. a spicy, woody scent that can only be described as; bokuto koutarou.

with blankets, pillows, sheets and a whole comforter wrapped around you it feels like you’re enveloped in his arms, pressed against his chest. a small smile tugs at your lips, eyes fluttering shut ready to welcome slumber.

you’re so close to sleep.

so close to slipping back into the dark euphoria…

“(y/n)? no! get up! i didn’t call you here to sleep, silly!” you vaguely hear him whine. and your heart skips a little, imagining his pout.

but you were so close!

you sigh a mixture of sleepy disappointment and crabbiness but that doesn’t stop you from sitting up, rubbing your eyes, and turning your attention back to your stupidly adorable lover.

you’re in the middle of a yawn when you grumble out a response, “then why am i here?”

rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, there’s no response. maybe he went to the bathroom? you shift on the bed, fluttering your eyes back open only to be met with two piercing golden eyes meeting your gaze. your heart sputters in your chest.

there’s a soft smile on his face. his eyes blink with an unclear emotion as they stare. if only you could read his mind then you’d have your answers.

bokuto doesn’t move, you’re so adorable! and sometimes he genuinely thinks you think the opposite. how? that’s beyond him.

he can’t help but stare. he’s so stupidly in love with you that you could tell him to jump out of his dorm window right now and he’d do it without hesitation, probably even do a backflip too because anything to impress you, right? so blindly whipped and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not… either way, he’d rather not find out.

snapping out of his trance, his expression changes instantly, “you’re doing this on purpose!” he points an accusing finger in your direction. his eyes are narrowed, brows furrowed, lips tucked into a pout.

you remain in his bed, head tilted to the side clearly confused.

“doing... what on purpose?”

he snaps his head away from you, “you’re just so cute, how can i not get distracted, silly.” he’s talking in pout at this point, words getting mumbled aloud. you can’t see if he’s blushing or not, but knowing him, that’s probably why he turned away from you in the first place.

there’s a silence, now. he can’t help but think he said or did something wrong. panic slowly settles in his chest, weighing him down but then you speak, “koutarou, i love you. i really do, but if you don’t tell me why the hell i came here at 5 am then i’m going to—”

“exercise!” and suddenly, your boyfriend is high in the air, arms out stretched in a cheer. you freeze, visibly stiffening and he just knows that he’s fucked up somehow. you aren’t saying anything. the two of you are just making awkward eye contact, bokuto debates on explaining his thoughts...

you can see the gears turning in his head, mentally you chuckle at your boyfriend’s thinking face. his brows are scrunched and lips are pursed. if this was a children’s cartoon, smoke would probably be coming out of his ears at how hard he’s working his brain.

you decide to give him a break, “exercise for what? like jogging?”

he sighs and across the room you see the tension leave his shoulders.

“no! i’ve forgotten how to jog anyways so that’s out of the picture,” you cant help but giggle because that was a habit he developed in high school. “forgetting” how to do basic things. it’s nice to know that somethings remain the same despite years passing by. he waves off your giggle though and instantly looks over to gage your reaction. seeing your expression the same as before: confused and tired, he continues, “i just needed motivation to do some dorm exercises!”

golden eyes once again meet yours. his million watt smile rivals the bright aura hinata radiates. you love seeing him so happy, but that doesn’t stop you from probing more, “motivation like how?”

a beat of silence, he walks to the side of his bed standing across from you. his large hand reaches out towards you and he nods reassuringly at your figure. it’s times like these when you silently thank any god that’s out there because this beautiful, beautiful man is yours.

grabbing at his callous hands, he guides you to the floor gently laying you down. your gazes connect for a split second and his eyes glow with admiration, there isn’t a foggy veil that indicates a double meaning with his actions so with that you lie down comfortably still.

you trust him.

but sometimes trust can only go so far without explanation.

it’s when he situates himself on top of you, his hands are on both sides of your head and he hovers a top of your figure for a few seconds. your eyes widen, a pink blush creeping up on your cheeks. your hands swiftly fly up to cover them from embarrassment.

“kou? what— what are you doing?” but the words die on your tongue as quickly as he bends down to come face-to-face with you. his lips merely a few inches away from yours.

“that’s one…” his voice is velvet against your skin, pleasant and soft. he’s so close to you. if he drops down any lower, you’re sure he could hear the rapid beating within your chest.

he doesn’t move for a while, holding his stance quite literally hovering right above your figure. his intense stare doesn’t leave yours and you wish you could hold it but with such a handsome boy staring at you like that it’s kind of really difficult.

you let out a shaky breath, “what are you doing?”

“that’s one, (y/n),” he’s speaking slowly, “that means… one kiss!”

did you just hear that correctly!? your face felt like it was on fire. a blush spreading to your ears that could make a certain middle blocker’s hair jealous. god, did he really just say that? and so confidently too? who was this man? you want to say something but the words choke at your throat, and you’re gapping like a clueless fish.

noticing your shock, bokuto’s fast to speak up. with on brow raised, he’s smirking down at you, “huh? you’re acting like we’ve never kissed before!”

he does have a point. why all of a sudden you’re so flustered about this is beyond you. you’ve both been in a happy relationship for the past nine months and to get flustered over merely kissing was sort of ridiculous on your end.

but you can’t help it, bokuto koutarou is by far the most handsome, genuine, and absolutely adorable man all wrapped up into one big, beefy package. how can you not get flustered whenever this man ask for a kiss?

sighing aloud, you finally get those fleeting thoughts past you. bokuto’s figure is still hovering over you, his arms shake a bit at the plank position he’s stuck in but his smile doesn’t fade. you lean close placing a fleeting kiss on his lips.

giggles are exchanged (but bokuto’s “giggles” usually end up shaking up the whole room. he has a very large flare for the dramatics), small brief glances, and smiles. you’re both having a good time. helping your boyfriend with something as simple as working out never felt so great.

it is at the 78th push-up, at the 78th kiss that you realize… maybe early mornings aren’t all that bad after all.

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mikasaluna · 4 years ago

Text

生きていたんだよな

⚠ WARNINGS：potentionally triggering content ! graphic suicide descriptions ! self harm ! dark content !

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY.

「 Keep in mind your triggers and do not engage if it will provoke negative emotions. You are responsible for your own actions. 」

♥️

notes：gender neutral pronouns, angst, fluff (kind of?), 1,640 words

If you need help I recommend posting on r/suicidewatch or searching for your area’s local suicide helpline using ctrl+f on the following wikipedia page.

♥️

A/N：Also, I didn’t realise until now as I’m writing the tags, that most people spell Kuroo’s first name as “Tetsuro” without the “u”. I wrote it differently because that’s just the direct Japanese spelling and I didn’t know. Sorry about that.

Haikyuu!! / ハイキュー!!

Kuroo Tetsurou 黒尾鉄朗

Kaji, hatsu, mame. Kaji, hatsu, mame. Kaji, hatsu, mame. You repeated the radicles to yourself as you wrote out the character over and over, feeling the muscle memory in your wrist kicking into gear. Your head was throbbing, hundreds of kanji readings swimming around in your mind. Now more than ever, the pressure of growing up had began to weigh down on you like a pile of bricks. Trying to make sense of all the pre-set rules in your life was difficult enough as it was, but just trying was never good enough. Nothing ever was. For every happy person in the world, there had to be an opposite, there had to be a person like you. It was pathetic. You were so damn pathetic.

Your relationship with your mother, who’d left Japan to raise you all on her own, was hanging by threads. Could you really blame her though? Your grades had been falling steadily over the semester, and the scholarship which you’d worked so hard for was slipping through your fingers. You’d given up on yourself, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d given up on you too. The things that used to be so easy, laughing together at your little wooden dining table, became so far away, every night like a video tape stuck on repeat.

一体何を思ってるんだろう！バカの？

“What the hell are you thinking! Are you stupid?”

Why should you care? Maybe things would be easier if you just let your life fall to pieces. Maybe once you had nothing left to hold on to, you could finally break free. Maybe all this time, all you ever were was stupid.

わかんない。

“I don’t know.”

You were lying through your teeth. Of course you knew. You were stupid for ever believing in all the things that made your life worth living, because they didn’t mean a thing at all. Locking yourself in your room, like you always did, isolating yourself. Too craven to face your problems, too tired to care. I can’t do this anymore. You’d been wandering through life aimlessly for so long. Searching for something, anything; waiting for that reason to come into your life, like every other person was insistent it would. Forcing yourself through each and every day, waiting and waiting; but it was time you realised, that reason never really existed at all. It was just another lie people told themselves, to try and make sense of their own existence. You were sure they knew as well as you did now, somewhere deep in their hearts, that their lives, your life, was just another figure on the chart. Another meaningless statistic. Your thoughts were racing, clogging up your brain and threatening to spew out of your mouth. You pulled your diary out from under your pillow;

’Thursday, 24th of December’

「Today’s a special day, isn’t it? I don’t know if I’ll be around for Christmas this year, that’s okay, it was never really my thing anyway.

お母さん、ごめんなさい。いま、離れなくちゃダメだ。　　」

“Okaa-san, I’m sorry. I have to leave you now.”

With that, you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d been thinking about this day longer than you could bear, drafting your final words over and over in your head. But when it came down to it, was there really a right thing to say?

Grabbing your grey hoodie, you plugged some headphones into your i-pod. You’d figured that leaving your phone behind was a better idea, it meant that no one could call or track you. You’d do it right, and this time you’d make sure not to wake up ever again. Reaching the pavement outside, you began moving along you streets. You walked slowly, taking the time to look along the streets one last time. It was almost nostalgic, dream-like in a sense. The urban road you grew up which you had never payed much mind, was calming. For once in a long time, you felt truly at peace.

There was a parking building nearby, one which your Okaa-san often parked in. It was tall and old, reaching 7 storeys into the sky, surrounded below by solid, grey asphalt. This was it. In the elevator ride to the top floor your heart was beating hard in your chest, thoughts so loud you thought they’d grow out of your mind and become real. You couldn’t allow yourself to look back now.

Standing by the ledge of the building, you looked out over the city, and wondered if anybody could see you up there. What would they think of you, somebody who’d throw their life away so easily? Hitting play on your i-pod, 生きていたんだよな (ikiteitandayona) by あいみょん (aimyon) began to play. The lyrics were tragic and bittersweet, but the rhythm made your adrenaline pump. You teetered even closer to the building’s edge, legs wobbling. The height made you feel dizzy as you peered down off the drop, and all the way down to the pavement below. But not for a second did you feel scared.

冷たいアスファルトに流れるあの血

♩ ‘On the cold asphalt, their blood flows.’

赤さが綺麗で綺麗で

♩ ‘That red is beautiful, beautiful.’

How long would you fall? You thought, sitting down and swinging your legs over the side of the building. You almost wanted to laugh. It reminded you of all those times you had snuck onto the school roof with your classmate in high school, what was his name again? Kuroo? Right, Kuroo Tetsurou. On the last week of school while you were skipping last period maths together, you had convinced him to smoke a joint with you right there on the roof. Those were the final memories you had ever made together, since you’d each left for different universities. Why were you thinking of him now, of all times?

最後のサヨナラは他の誰でもなく

♩ ‘Their last goodbye,'

Standing up, you leaned back and looking out over the view, one last time.

自分に叫んだんだろう

♩ ‘screamed to nobody but themself.’

You took a breath in, deep enough to feel your lungs burn. Tears stung at your eyes, but you bit them back and closed your eyes. Part of you wished you could fix this all, but you didn’t know how. You didn’t have the energy to try and make things better.

鳥になって雲をつかんで

♩ ‘becoming a bird and grabbing the clouds’

Shuffling your toes over the edge, you had made the decision in your head.

風になって

♩ ‘becoming the wind...’

Your muscles relaxed, and you allowed yourself to fall off of the edge.

“WAIT-!” You heard a scream for a split second, a hand grabbing hopelessly at the back of your hoodie as you began to descend. It was too late now. The wind in your ears blocked out the voice yelling from above, muffling the sound. It was strangely tranquil here, floating down off the the 7th floor, the clearest your head had felt in months. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but wonder.

Was this the right choice?

Finally, the concrete embraced you as your body slammed into the ground.

[This artwork does not belong to me. I saved it to my laptop a long time ago and now I can’t find the source, if you know the artist please send me a message so I can credit properly.]

________________________________________________________________

Your eyes fluttered open and bright white light flooded your vision.

Where the hell am I?

Everything hurt. Your head was pounding and your mind was fuzzy. Cotton sheets lay underneath your aching body and a mess of black hair lay beside you. Someone was sitting on a chair next to the bed, his cheek resting on your arm, shoulders rising and falling slowly in his sleep.

“Tetsurou?” Your voice came out broken and hoarse.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes red and swollen, had he been crying?

“W-where am I?”

“We’re in the hospital,” he said shakily “the firefighters caught you when you fell.”

The memories came flooding back. That’s right, you jumped. So, that wasn’t the ground you felt back then? Your head was filled with questions, but you weren’t sure where to start. He probably thought you were pathetic too, but part of you was just so happy. Happy you were alive to see him again. Kuroo had to be the only friend who ever really understood you and your stupid humor, having him there reminded you of that. Maybe it had impacted you more than you realised, not having a single person at uni who really got you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He uttered quietly from beside you.

“Tell you what, Tetsurou?” You looked over, sitting up steadily. His eyes were filled with pain.

“I was so scared, why didn’t you tell me what was going on!” Kuroo covered his face with his hand, but you could still see the tears falling onto his lap as he spoke. “I-I love you, you know that right? I still love you, and I would do anything... so why the hell didn’t you come talk to me!” His confession was broken and hurt, but it made your stomach twist. You couldn’t even understand it yourself, why you felt like this.

“What was I supposed to say? I’m pathetic, I don’t have any other reason.” It was true. Compared to most people, your life was easy. You had a family, a home, friends, education. What reason did you really have? To try to end your life, to be unhappy at all.

“I don’t care about that, just please... don’t leave me again.” It was the first time you’d ever heard Kuroo being so serious, and it almost scared you. Tears were stinging in your eyes at his words. You felt his big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a safe, warm hug as your tears stained his shirt. Were you really so oblivious that you never realised how he felt about you?

“O-okay... and, Tetsurou?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo angst #kuroo x reader angst #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo imagine #kuroo tetsuro x reader angst #kuroo tetsuro angst #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroo tetsuro drabble #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro imagine

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carpe-somnium · 4 years ago

Text

The night Dazai left the Port Mafia

They entered the seemingly small chapel, after Chuuya had his fun with the guards outside. Pathetic, they could at least have made it a little harder for him. It was boringly easy for him to beat them up and stack them in a pile. Dazai sighed dramatically as he took the first step down the dark hardwood steps.

“Dammit. This is the worst day in years.”

He waved his hand to underline the statement. The Worst day in years, eh? Chuuya thought about this for a second. Usually, he doesn’t really keep track of his worst days; only if they were pure horror, so it was hard not to think about them. That unwillingly made him think about the worst day he had in the past couple of years.

“Yo Dazai, ever heard of Pétrus?”

He didn’t really know why he decided to bring up the topic. Maybe it was to rub it into Dazai’s face, how much he did not miss him at all.

“The flabbergastingly expensive wine.”

Dazai almost sounded bored as he answered Chuuya’s question. Probably because Chuuya always talks about wine, or at least thats what was Dazai’s impression of him. He didn’t really listen closely to the Chibi, anyway.

“The night you vanished from the organization, I opened an ’89 bottle in celebration.”

To keep up with Dazai’s pace, Chuuya jumped down a small set of stairs, and gracefully landed on one of the platforms, which was a turning point of the staircase, without making a sound.

“That’s how sick of you I was.”

Now he has said it. He didn’t ever bother telling anybody about this, since there was nobody who could have seen him that day, anyway. But for some reason, the urge to tell it directly to Dazai’s face the first time they were on a mission again, was just too big.

“I remember setting a bomb under your car that night.”

“That was your doing?!”

That actually explained a lot. Chuuya would never admit it, but this was the defining reason, why he didn’t go and look for Dazai that night, and instead drank the entire bottle of wine. He often had wondered if it was a coincidence, that his car had blown up, just as he pressed the remote button to unlock it. Dazai must have known, that he would always press it, when he was a few meters away from his car, out of an impatient habit. He didn’t even have a scratch in the end, despite his car blowing up into a million pieces.

All of that has happened on a breezy autumn day. Chuuya had woken up with a strange feeling in his guts that morning, but he didn’t give into it. He had a solo mission this day, a very welcome alteration to his usual partner-missions he had with Dazai. It would cost him fewer nerves if he was on his own. The mission was relatively simple, so it was clear from the start that there would be no scenario where he would have had to use corruption. This was reserved to difficult partner-missions with dimwit Dazai so there was at least a chance of survival for him.

When Chuuya returned from his mission however, the atmosphere in the Port Mafias headquarters had changed. Everybody seemed to be on edge, the air basically felt electric. It only fuelled his bad gut feeling, but still he didn’t give in. He probably had eaten something wrong that day.

Chuuya returned to Mori’s office to give him a first report of his successful mission and the files he had acquired. With a smug grin on his lips, he walked up to the Port Mafias leader and stretched out his hand with the files. He told the leader briefly how the mission went along and concluded it by saying: “It went even smoother than we thought. No problem at all.”

Mori took the files with a small smile and nodded. “Thank you Chuuya. You can rest now.” That was weird. Usually, he at least suggested writing down a report, just in case there would be issues concerning the mission in the future. He shrugged it off and thanked Mori as he went to the door. When Chuuya’s gloved hand touched the doorknob, he heard Mori clear his throat, so he turned around to face his boss, who was still sitting in his chair.

“Oh before I forget it... Unfortunately, Dazai left our organization today when you were away on that mission. For future missions, you will need a new partner.”

Chuuya froze in place, his hand clenching around the doorknob. His bad gut feeling instantly exploded into a rush of shock that washed over the redhead without warning. Dazai left our organization today. He repeated Mori’s words in his head a few times, until he realized that he was still standing in front of the door and had been staring at it, instead of opening it.

“Very well... Thank you for informing me. I’m glad that I don’t have to babysit this waste of bandages any more.”

Chuuya opened the door and walked out of Mori’s office, his body feeling weirdly numb all of a sudden. He didn’t understand why he was so shocked. Why wasn’t he running down the halls, cheering on top of his lungs because that bastard was gone? Instead, he had to force himself to walk down the hallway.

Dazai left our organization today.

Mori’s words repeated on the inside of his skull, over and over again. They seemed to burn themselves into his body, he just couldn’t stop thinking about this. He had to find Dazai. Convince him to come back. This was clearly a mistake. One of his sick jokes that he liked to pull. He can’t be gone. Not like this. Not without saying a damn word to his partner. But on the other hand... why would he have said anything? They hated each other, right?

Without thinking too much about his actions, Chuuya went to the parking spots on the back of the building. Down the stairs, not making eye contact with anybody on the way. They all better minded their own businesses. With an unnecessary amount of force, Chuuya kicked the backdoor open - or more like kicked the door out of its angles. At this point, he saw red. If he found that damn boy, he would beat him up until he came to his senses. It just wasn’t fair to leave him - no, to leave the Port Mafia - like this!

Chuuya pressed the small emblem button on the keys of his BMW to unlock it, still walking forward in the direction his car was parked. Not even a second later, the world went silent. It forced Chuuya to stop dead in his tracks for the second time in the span of not even an hour. He watched in a strange state of awe and shock how his red BMW exploded in front of his eyes. Instinctively, he started manipulating his own gravity, so nothing would hit him, but that was almost unnecessary. Almost like the person who had placed the bomb knew he would stand far enough away to leave the scene without a scratch. Even though this really sounded like a Dazai kind of thing, he couldn’t quite believe it.

And that was the exact moment, when Chuuya gave in to all the feelings that had built up inside him that day. He dropped to his knees, his own gravity manipulated, so he was ten times heavier than usual, and started to scream on top of his lungs. It felt good to scream. It felt good to destroy. It felt good to have the rage pump through his veins like hot poison, fuelling his frustration even more.

He didn’t know how long he had sat there on his knees, screaming out the frustration and anger that had built up in his body all day, but eventually his throat became sore and not a single sound escaped through his lips any more. This idiot. This fucking idiot. He always knew how to tease Chuuya until he basically exploded with rage, just as his car did right in front of his eyes. Dazai was probably hiding somewhere around, right? Laughing about his success. Breaking the charade. Laughing at Chuuya because he actually believed that Dazai had left the Port Mafia. That Dazai had left him. But Chuuya didn’t hear laughter. He didn’t see a mop of brown hair or a lanky idiot wrapped in bandages. A burning car and a destroyed parking lot, that’s all there was.

Chuuya got up and wiped some dirt off his pants. He took a quick look around in the parking lot, hoping that nobody had seen his silly outburst. And then he started to laugh. Laughed about himself. About how stupid he was. He was finally free, wasn’t he? So why not enjoy the newfound peace? Without noticing it, he had started to cry. Hot drops of salty tears had started trailing down his cheeks. Probably due to the thick smoke that came off the car wreck. A little annoyed, he wiped the tears off his face and went back inside, silently still cursing Dazai as he went to his room.

When he entered the room, Chuuya slammed the door shut behind him with a loud bang. He stripped out of his coat and vest, which smelled like smoke, and carelessly threw both to the ground, shoes and hat following them only seconds later. Chuuya went to the small cabinet that had his most prized possessions in it - a lot of very old wine bottles. With a quick look around the cabinet, he found what he was looking for. The slightly dusty bottle of ‘89 Pétrus looked like just what he wanted to celebrate with. He grabbed the bottle and opened it by manipulating the cork’s gravity a bit. That was one of the most useful things, his ability allowed him to do.

He grabbed one of his lead crystal wine glasses and poured some wine into it, after he sat down in the leather chair next to the window, that was facing the port. The first sip of the expensive wine felt like the first breath after you had your head underwater for a while. It filled up Chuuya’s senses. The slightly sweet smell in his nose, accompanied by a sweet and sour taste in his mouth and the alcohol quickly spreading throughout his body, numbing some of the tension that had built up inside. He would never admit it, but Chuuya was actually a bit of a lightweight, so the effect of the alcohol kicked in pretty quickly. But it wasn’t enough to make him forget why he started celebrating.

Drinking actually had a reverse effect on him: He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Just why would he leave without a word? Chuuya just couldn’t understand it. He had to understand it. Even if they were bickering all the time, deep down he still cared about the suicidal maniac that was - no, used to be - his partner.

One glass of wine followed another, unitl the bottle was empty way too quickly for Chuuyas liking. He had drank it all on his own and ended up laying on the floor, staring holes in the ceiling. His thoughts eventually got slowed down by the alcohol that intoxicated his body. He cursed Dazai’s name so often in those lonely hours in his room, slightly hoping that would be enough to summon that damn demon. But Dazai didn’t come. So he fell asleep like this, cursing Dazais name, curled up into on the floor.

The demon whose name was cursed by a small redhead miles away meanwhile sat in his favourite bar. Alone and unbothered by anything. He had done what Odasaku had told him: Dazai had left the mafia. Why was he feeling so shitty then? It already felt like he was missing something, even though it hadn’t been more than a few hours since he had walked off the Port Mafias grounds. Before leaving, he had left a bomb in Chuuya’s car, just in case. He knew that his ex-partner was impulsive and would try to chase him down and therefore making himself a traitor, too. But he also knew how important the Port Mafia was to Chuuya, so he just took this as an extra measure to save Chuuya from himself. It was just fair. His goodbye present. Dazai raised his glass to an invisible audience and then drank to his newfound freedom.

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AN: I looked everywhere but couldn’t find any clue about what Chuuya’s car might have looked like. Since he’s probably an aggressive driver, I had to decide between Audi and BMW but went with a BMW (a bit biased on this one :D). His red bike set the colour choice. If you happen to know what his car really looked like, please let me know, and I will change it!

Ao3-Link:

#bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x dazai #soukoku #port mafia

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writefightandflightclub · 5 years ago

Text

Hush (First Order!Poe x Reader)

What is this? 5 of 14 prompt requests for my 500 follower celebration! See OP and credit for prompt list creators here.

What is the prompt? “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” with First Order! Poe. Thanks to the FABULOUS @tintinwrites for a FABULOUS request. (I hope it’s to your liking!)

Author’s note: This is a different take on FO!Poe compared to my other writing, so let me know what you think of it! Also, it has some smut but it’s not smut-centric. It’s a bit angsty, and even has backstory. Stay for the plot? I REALLY HOPE THIS ISN’T SHIT.

Word count: This story possessed me and so I feel like it’s not even my fault it’s 3.4k words, ok?

Warnings: (18+ only!!!) Smut, language, prison, mentions of execution. WARNING YOU ABOUT THE INEVITABLE TYPOS.

GIF: By @anxstesia

As a spy on behalf of the Resistance, while infiltrating the ranks of the First Order you’ve tried very hard not to land yourself in any... compromising positions. Having the First Order’s most notorious Commander back you up against the door of your holding cell notwithstanding, you’ve managed to do relatively well so far. In fact, Commander Poe Dameron has been responsible for the majority of the compromising positions you’ve found yourself in, and on those occasions, you were most definitely not complaining.

“I gotta have you right now.” he purrs, his voice causing a quickening as you both hasten towards sweet union. Heavy-lidded and laden with need, he urgently unbuckles you and forces his hand down beneath your waistband. His brows are drawn together, his breathing ragged, as if every moment that he’s not inside you physically pains him. Your thighs spread eagerly for him, granting him access, his eyes trained intently on your face as his finger reaches your slick folds. His touch causes you to moan softly, readily into the air. Satisfaction lilts briefly over his features before his broad hand clamps down on your mouth, the sound dying on your lips. “Do you think you can keep quiet for me?” Your eyes alight with anticipation, you nod in agreement, adrenaline and arousal pumping harshly through your veins as he yanks your pants from your hips and another moan blooms and dies in his palm.

This takes you back. Takes you back to the first time you officially met. The first time you fucked. You had happened upon the commander in a data vault in the dead of night, sneaking around where he shouldn’t be. While you were sneaking around where you shouldn’t be. He had quickly pressed you to the wall, covering your mouth firmly with his hand and asking if you could keep quiet for him, those dulcet tones thick like honey, his hot breath uneven on the shell of your ear. The harsh pressure of his body was still the kindest touch you’d had in.... Well. It had been some time. And you don’t know why you said what you did next, but it was perhaps one of your more inspired slip-ups. “Sure, unless you can give me sufficient reason to scream, Commander?”

Your words, the wanton look in your eyes, were like the striking of a match. He had responded just as immediately, instantly ablaze. Perhaps, that first time he’d rutted into you, delivering the only warmth you’d felt in this cold, dark shell of a ship, the inexplicable heat you’d both generated was simply relief. Relief that someone was just as compromised as you. Relief that you could finally take an edge off the loneliness of keeping all your own secrets. At least, here was one you could share together. And you couldn’t explain why you so easily felt you could trust him with so many of yours.

If relief explained the first time, you couldn’t say what kept you returning to one another; not exactly.

Of course, he’d figured out you were a Rebel spy, and you’d figured out he was the mole, acting as informant for the Resistance. Since then, you fell into an easy alliance, of sorts. Each of you a little compromised in your own way. It’s not like you wanted all the same things. He didn’t want to bring down the Order, not entirely; you wanted nothing less. But you damn sure wanted each other. And so, your interests may not have aligned but they certainly overlapped. You had enough common ground and certainly enough common loneliness for this thing to keep happening.

You couldn’t be seen together, of course. So, every time, you would be forced to rely on snatched moments, to settle for a rushed fumble, whether crushed up against the wall of a service corridor, bent hurriedly over some table, taken urgently in some supply closet. As if your double-life wasn’t bad enough, you were forced to secret yet another vital part of you away, until all of you felt just as crushed up and bent over as the way your lover took you. Yet another part of you to keep hidden in the dark.

But still, you managed to build a love, of sorts. Gave it a vessel to shape it. Gave it an engine to thrum for him. Gave it wings and imagined it soaring. But you’d built in the dark, built it from scrap. Built it with a man you knew through piecing him together from fragments of moments, moments half-lived. From stolen conversations and stolen kisses. It was a machine that might never get a chance to fly, you knew. A machine that could appear on no radar, not the Order’s, not the Resistance’s, or everything you’d built in the dark would be shot down in flames.

So that’s what you became. That’s what you had together. A distorted, borrowed love. On borrowed time. Every time you met was governed by a rush to get away from each other.

If there’s one thing that has plagued you, it’s always been an abundance of running out of time. Yet you were grateful even for these moments.

Eventually, Poe began to say it was a good thing he never got to just lay down with you; to take things slow. A good thing that he never got to walk with you, dragging your toes in soft grass, or over white sands. That he never got to lay with you in between soft sheets, skin on skin, for a whole stretched-out morning. He said it was a good thing, because if he lay down with you he might never want to get up. That he might realise he had nothing left to fight for. That there could be no war for him, couldn’t possibly be, because everything he could conceive of fighting for would be in his arms.

You knew he loved you then. At least the version of you he’d built from scrap, from stolen moments. Haphazardly pieced together.

But then. Then you slipped up.

A small mistake, but enough.

Enough for the First Order to out you as a spy. To fling you into a holding cell. Now, here you are, your gallery execution -for crimes against the Order- scheduled for the morning.

Always an abundance of running out of time.

Poe had come to you. You knew that he shouldn’t as equally as you knew that he would. Under the guise of a final intelligence gathering attempt, the commander was granted access to your holding cell.

And, now, you’re seeking comfort from each other in the only way you know how, one more time.

“Don’t make a sound, ok?” He winks at you and you feel a rush of affection for the man. The man who you’ve known for years now. You’ve watched the grey gradually filter across his hair like smoke from a slow-burning wildfire. This man who struggles so much with the weight of what he’s done, on behalf of the Order. The acts he’s been complicit in.

Before you’d known him, before you’d looked too closely, you could have easily believed that the heaviness in those turbulent, brown eyes was darkness. But it’s worse than that. His are warm eyes blackened, scathed by regret. By remorse. He’s not made of darkness. He’s haunted by it.

Now, in this moment, his eyes are as heavy as you’ve ever seen them. All you want to do is to cling to him and make him feel light again. Even if it’s just for an instant.

You’re not sure whether he’s a good man, exactly. He’s good to you. So good. And you think that he could be. You kiss him -you always kiss him- as if he is a good man.

This much you know; whether he’s a good man or not he’s definitely not an innocent one. You sure as hell enjoy it when he’s sinful, though.

He delves between your legs and glides a single, thick finger inside you, causing your hips to writhe against his hand, coating him in your arousal.

Maybe it’s ludicrous to think about fucking right now. Or maybe it’s the perfect time to think about it. All you know is that Poe entered your cell, and the instant the guard slid the door closed his lips were on yours, his strong arms guiding you to the nearest surface so that he could push himself into you.

Nothing but relief, like that first time your lips had met. Relief that you were seeing him again one more time. And then that formidable heat which followed. If a stolen moments were all you were destined to get with him, you were determined to steal one more.

Your pants have slipped down to your knees, and he stands on the seat of them to yank them all the way to your ankles, allowing him to lift your knee and hook your leg around his hip. He shimmies his own pants down and takes his thick, pretty shaft in his palm, his hand already slick with your juices. Craving more contact, your arms wrap around that rounded ass, those sturdy thighs of his, and he rumbles, low in his throat, as he positions his head at your entrance. He makes sure to keep you quiet as his hips tilt, his cock sliding slowly, ever so slowly all the way up into you. Taking his time. You feel every contour of him slip inside you, stretching you out.

He watches you in satisfaction again as he gives it to you, thick and hard. The rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flutter of your eyes, the dig of your hands into his hips and the singular way you tighten around him telling him everything your silence cannot convey.

“Hate to stop those pretty moans. Only ever wanted you moaning under me.” he coos, voice honeyed. And when you think he’s given you all he’s got he thrusts a final inch into you, filling you up completely. Completing you.

He holds his position there a moment more, and that’s as long as he can wait before he begins to work you, hips pitoning his length up into you again and again as he has you up against the door. Taking you roughly, urgently. He whispers a string of dirty, sweet words in your ear which you can’t even respond back to. You simply clamp your hands into his sturdy, muscled flesh and pull him deeper into you.

It’s not happy, it’s not light-hearted. Not at first. His thrusts are burdened, his brows still knitted together. He crushes up against you so hard it’s as if he fears you will both break apart if you’re not being held together. As if there are too many cracks in your makeshift love for you to withstand this.

So, it’s a quick and dirty fuck; your motif as lovers. But there’s something deeper there too. This sex is full of the shorthand of familiar lovers, only possible for those who know each other’s bodies, each other’s hearts so well. There is some comfort in that. In the way he knows exactly how hard and how fast to give it to you. The way you know exactly where that sweet spot on his neck is. The way he doesn’t even have to think to understand when you’re close; he knows just how to draw it out of you. The way you look into each other’s eyes and so efficiently say so much. So wordlessly.

The words passing between you now are deafening.

And he can’t. He just can’t silence you anymore. Maybe he’s spent so much time trying to shut you up when for so long only wished he could hear you. Hear the way he makes you feel, uninhibited. No more hiding in dark corners. He removes his palm and dips his head into the junction of your shoulder. Lets you moan lightly against his ear as he works his strong thighs to pump himself up into you.

“Poe. Poe you feel so good inside me. You give it to me exactly how I like it.” You whisper, breathlessly. “I need you... I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby.” And his words wrap and wind around your heart as if they fill all of the cracks in this love you’ve built. Weaving into all of the places the stolen moments have never been able to reach.

You swell with it, about to soar. He knows you’re close and motions to cover your mouth with his palm again but you softly shake it away. “I won’t make a noise, Poe. Please just... hold me. Please.”

And so, he wraps his arms up around you as he tips his hips for his final thrusts into you, enveloping you with his warmth. You bite into his shoulder as the feeling spills over you, as he gives you that glorious rush of pleasure, like a feeling of lift-off. Like you’re looking down on everything from space, soaring above the world.

Then it is Poe who makes the noise. Of release, of pleasure, but also partly of anguish. Anguish because the one making him feel like this, so good like this is you. And you are running out of time.

You jam your hand over his mouth -you hope, just in time- as he pulses his seed into you, and you feel him come so hard and so warm inside your still fluttering core. He buries his head in your shoulder, shuddering against you for a moment, his sweat mingling with yours.

That is, until you have to hurriedly push him away from you.

“Fuck, Poe. That was loud.”

He grunts and unceremoniously pulls out of you. The two of you quickly straighten yourselves up, your heart racing as you hear footsteps plod towards the cell.

“Everything ok, Commander?” A guard asks, peering through the open grate at the top of the door.

“The little bitch won’t give me anything. It’s as if she wants to die tomorrow.”, he states with a level of frustration that would appear to match his outburst. And yet his eyes flick to yours, deeply apologetic as he speaks the words. “I’ll be out shortly. Check-in with maintenance for me, see if my TIE is ready.”

“Yes, Commander.” the officer responds, and you hear their footsteps recede down the corridor.

You look at each other and you both look suddenly lost. As if you already have so little recollection of the moments prior. As if heat evaporates so quickly in this cold, dark ship. Poe had momentarily transported you out of this cell, but how quickly you had come crashing back down. It had felt good, in the moment, but the happiness was like a stone thrown into an abyss. It does nothing to close off the gaping sadness.

Then he is back at you, his hands on you, his lips on you, maybe trying to regain something of that shortlived feeling. You kiss him. You kiss him as if he is a good man.

Then, there are his apologetic eyes again. Always so sorry for something these days. Sorry for things he had no control over. That you knew he would do his best to undo, if only he could.

You bring a firm, reassuring hand to his face, trying to be strong. “I know. You have to go.”

He looks at his watch.

“Five more minutes?” he bargains. “I can just lie with you.”

A lump forms in your throat, a tightness blooming in your chest as you shake your head softly. “No. I love you. So go. Go now. If you lie with me I won’t ever want you to get back up.”

You think you might shatter from the force in his eyes as he makes his promise. “I’ll find a way to stop this.”

You look at him gently. Kindly. Pleadingly. “Hush, Poe. We’ve talked about this. If you disrupt it, they’ll know it’s not only me on the inside. And it’ll blow the whole operation. Everything we worked for. We won’t get another chance like this.”

You think he might say he doesn’t care about that, about the operation, about himself. But you know he wouldn’t dare. After everything you’d sacrificed for this fight, he’d never undermine that.

“I’ll find a way.” He reiterates softly, his voice breaking. “I have to. I won’t get another chance to love like this.”

The tears are brimming in your eyes now and you can see how desperately he’s trying to remain strong too. You grip his face tenderly in your hands. “If you can’t stop this, Poe... it’s ok. It’s ok. You can’t blow your cover. Please. Do you think you can keep quiet, for me? Do you promise me, Poe?”

Your eyes search his as he hesitates, careful not to offer you any promises he knows he can’t keep. He smiles softly, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “What is it your Resistance always say? Something about hope? Well baby, we’re the spark. We can light the fire that burns this whole Order down. I gotta believe that now.”

“But you don’t want...”

“I just want you.” he interrupts, the pad of his thumb on your lips. “You’re good, you’re so good. I can’t believe in anything that hurts you. Not anymore.”

You are suddenly brimming with so much pride that you can no longer feel the need to cry. That’s a nice thought to go out with, you think. You like that thought. That if you go, somehow, he will find the Resistance. That he can be somewhere that will see the good in him, nurture it, celebrate it. Like you’ve tried to in all those snatched moments.

Poe’s brimming with so much heat. So much drive and passion. So much love and warmth. And he doesn’t belong in the cold, dark shell of this ship. Doesn’t belong in the cold, dead grasp of the Order. That orange flight suit would look better on him than this insipid charcoal grey ever could.

You try your best to smile now. To give him something. You want to be a happy memory for him, not another layer of pain in his overburdened eyes.

“Poe. You’re a good man. And I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll find a way. And if I don’t... you can be sure that when I’m done there will be nothing left of the Order.”

His hand brushes down your arm, his fingertips snagging on yours as he moves towards the door.

He leaves you. He has to. Running out of time is all the two of you have ever had.

So, Poe leaves, knowing that they might make him watch. Knowing that he has a hard choice to make: whether he should try to save you, or to save what you were fighting for. He used to only be out to save himself, but that was before you showed him there was another way. That when you cared for someone it could be returned in kind. That there were good things in the galaxy, after all.

He picks up his hat and pulls it on, dragging the brim down until it almost covers his eyes; becoming one of their soldiers again. You can’t believe you’ve never quite noticed just quite how ill the Order suits him.

As he leaves, like always, you find yourself wishing that you just had a little more time. But, in truth, you’re still glad for those stolen moments. Yes, you may have pieced him together, but now you have a full picture. A full map of his heart. You know him. And in his heart, he doesn’t belong to them at all. You’re more certain than ever that he’s your Rebel.

And, your Rebel has given you a spark of hope. You can either set yourself down on the floor and cry for everything you never got to have with him. Cry that you’ve just said goodbye to the man you love. Cry because you might be executed tomorrow. Or, you can try and think, with renewed hope, of a way to get yourself and him out of there.

Tomorrow would decide whether you had run out of time. Whether you would lie down and never get up again. Or whether your love was sturdy enough to fly you both out of there after all. Maybe your vessel is strong enough to stand a chance. Even though you’d built it in the dark, things built out of love were always stronger than those built out of darkness. At least, that’s what you’d been raised to hope for.

Plus, you have the best pilot on your side. Poe Dameron can fly anything.

Maybe, just maybe, even a love with broken wings can land safely.

THE END

Like this? Please consider reblogging, or sending feedback in a comment or ask. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU AND STORIES ARE NOTHING WITHOUT A READER. YOU ARE EVERYTHING AND ILY.

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fleetwoodmak99 · 4 years ago

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Primed for Sin (2/10)

SUMMARY: This is Arthur's point of view of meeting Elena and the effect it has on him. Arthur doesn't really know what he's gonna do but he doesn't know that she's the one.

WARNING: Delusions, masturbation, smut, stalking, smoking weed and mental illness (Borderline Personality Disorder and PBA)

Please kindly do not read this if these offends or triggers anyone. Im always here to listen if someone needs it.

Hey again. This is part 2 of idk how many parts to the Primed for Sin story. Like I said before idk where I'm gonna go with this but this chapter is gonna be more dark when it talk about stalking and mental illness. I decided to have Elena too have stuggles with mental illness as well because I felt it better represent what I'm going through with my own mental health. So I apologize if I offend anyone or if anyone feels misrepresented.

Primed for Sin Part 1

Arthur could feel his whole body ache as he sat on the couch in the apartment he shared with his mother. His legs bounced as he sat back on the couch. One of his hands coming up to his mouth to take a drag of a cigarette while the other one held the boys toy train. He could feel another one of his laughing fits hit once again.

He couldn't help the raging fits of laughter that escaped him as he felt the sharp pain of anxiety shocking his body. He remembers the events that had happen earlier that day.

He tried to think of something else, anything else but he couldn't stop himself from thinking of how beautiful that girl was when she had smiled at him earlier. How she smelled of peppermint, it reminded him of Christmas. Even though he never really was able to really celebrate it, something about the season always brought him comfort.

He felt his pain starting to ease as the laughter once again started to die down for what seemed to be the millionth time today. Ever since this morning he's been having laughing attacks left and right. He squeezed the toy train even harder. His thoughts beginning to roam again. He didn't know anything about that girl but he knew he needed to know more. No, craved to know more. There was nothing that would keep him from her. He already knew this, he just didn't know how far he would take himself for it.

He imagined that she would be the perfect good girl for him. She's already seemed to be a mother figure which delighted Arthur. Maybe one day she would be round with his child.

No. Stop it Arthur, he thought to himself. There will be plenty of time for that. For now, he wanted to know more about the boy she was with. Who was he to her? Her son? Has she been with another man? Is she a virgin?

The thoughts ran rapid through his head as he started to spiral. Nothing made him more upset than thinking about another man's hands on her. So he did what his thoughts told him to do. He gathered information on her. Anything he could find. The easiest way to do this was to follow the woman as she goes about her day. He knew it was wrong, the small voice in his head told him so but there there even larger voices telling him to go through.

After a few days of this, he was able to find out more about the sweet girl. Her name was Elena Wheeler. She worked at a comedy club, one that Arthur had gone to often. She did singing gigs on the side while she bartended for the most part. Arthur noticed she like to cover 50s songs as well as write some of her own songs. Arthur would find himself relax while enjoying her voice each night. She would work this job most days while the boy would go to a behavioral center for children.

The boy on the other hand wasn't her son but her younger brother, yet she was the one who had custody over him. This was most likely so he too wouldn't end up in the system.

This gave Arthur some relief as his virgin theory might be true. He'd watch the two of them interact with one another. Almost being jealous of the way they played together. He wish he had that with someone. He will, soon.

It was obvious that the boy had some major abandonment issues. He would cry every time she would kiss him goodbye. Only calming down hours later when he's starts watching a cartoon or until she returns. But Arthur could also tell that Elena had some issues of her own. She too would be antsy every time she was away from the child. Never allowing herself to rest until she knew she was ok.

Arthur would watch her through the window of the complex building. One thing he did notice immediately was the constant hits from a bong. He was honestly surprised how much she could smoke. If she were drinking, he would actually be concerned for her. The girl was small and shouldn't take much to get a high yet there she was coughing up a storm from hitting it so much. Michael was in the other room watching his Thomas show. Arthur couldn't help but wonder why she did this so much. Maybe she was lonely too.

Arthur was able to keep track of her favorite things, what upset her, what made her happy. Everything and anything. He would notice her moods would change frequently. She would be happy one minute and crying the next especially when she was away from Michael. He could see her trying her best to hold it together for the little guy. He really did. His heart leaped just watching it. His heart leaped even more when he saw he watching the Murry Show being played most nights after putting Michael to bed. She's perfect.

Arthur started to understand her more when he was able to get his hands on some of her records. He won't say how but let's just say he has his ways aka breaking and entering. He was glad he did when he saw an entire file dedicated to her.

She had been diagnosed with Boderline personality disorder when she was 18. She herself had been in behavioral centers for having difficulty controlling her anger. She also lived in foster home for most of her childhood it seemed since both her parents abandoned her when she was around 4 years old. Even though her parents had started coming in and out of her life when she turned 18, she never really gained anything from it.

It saddened Arthur to see she had had to struggle so much but that just seems to be a common theme around here in Gotham.

_________________________________________

After a long day of clowning around at his extremely emotionally draining job. He had done his nightly routine of watching Murray and cooking for his mother. After what seemed like an eternity, his mother had finally drifted off into sleep. He felt himself finally relax and with this he let his mind wander.

He wanted to see her. Just see her face. That's all he needed. Even if it was through a window in the freezing cold in the ally way behind the building. Luckily she didn't live on a high floor. That was enough for him to take action.

Arthur quietly grabbed his coat and shoes as he slipped out the door and into the cold. He shivered as the coolness hit his body.

Finally making it to his usual spot for that last few days and set himself up, only looking up when he was finished. His eyes focused on Elenas apartment window. It was dark with the only light coming from the TV in one of the bedrooms. He figured she had put Michael to bed because he could see her all alone, he paused, in only a gray tank top and black panties.

His heart started to race and he could already feel his throat starting to react. The laughter was ready to pour out.

Maybe this isn't a good idea, he thought to himself as he started to reach down to grab his things.

Yet he still couldn't tear his eyes from what he was seeing. Her tangled in the covers with her short brown hair all messy from moving around. It certainly was a sight to see. His cock agreed as it immediately started becoming hard.

The small voice in his head told him to stop. He knew it was wrong to watch her but when her hand started to move up and down her bare leg he knew he couldn't turn away. It was like she knew he was there almost. Like she was putting on a show just for him.

He grew harder and harder the more he watched. Watching her eventually making her way down to her panties, slipping her hand just inside. It didn't take long for her face to start turning and her body to start squirming. It didn't take long before he became hard enough it started to hurt leaning against his pants. He wanted to relieve himself so bad. More importantly he wanted to relieve himself in her but knew that couldn't happen right now.

He couldn't take it anymore when she started to grab at the sheets of the bed. He pulled out his cock that was already leaking with precum. Arthur didn't get a lot of action so when he did he just couldn't contain himself.

Arthur placed his dick in his hand as he started to slowly pump himself. He tried to match the same movements as her, trying to think it was her hand instead. He imagined they would be gentle and soft. His were the total opposite.

He imagined her saying his name. Whispering as she cums or screaming it as he fucked her. He knew he wasn't gonna be able to last long with all these dirty thoughts roaming his head. To his delight she couldn't seem to either. Elenas back was arched as her hands started to tease her breasts underneath her tank top.

He was right as her body started to shake, her chest move up and down swiftly as she starts to come down from her high. This gave Arthur the silent ok for him to cum as well. And when this boy cums, he cums everywhere. He just can't hold himself back. Shamefully cumming in a nearby trashcan so no one would see.

He quickly cleaned himself up, looking up and down the ally to make sure no one is watching. He couldn't help the connection he felt with her. She was so sweet the first time they meet and she's perfect now weak against her mattress.

Ok its time to make a move.

#arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x y/n #joker #arthur fleck smut

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shepherds-of-haven · 4 years ago

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College!Au of Shepherd members? What likely are they (i.e. jock, player in the soccer team, bad-boy, the clichès.)? definitely not thinking of writing an au, and im certainly not thinking of maybe making a small edit about it. nOt aT aLl cApTAiN

Hi there! Have you seen the college AU asks? This one is pretty detailed about what kind of students they are, and this one is more succinct with their majors/minors! But I’m always happy to go more in-depth about AUs! 😉

In my imagination, Blade, Trouble, and Chase were suite-mates freshman year and get an apartment together when they’re not living on campus. (Halek, Red, and Riel are also roommates and then Riel can’t stand living in a dorm anymore so he buys a townhome with his family’s money and allows Halek and Red to live there to give himself some semblance of a social life.)

Blade is the scion of a very wealthy family who’s expected to take over the family business one day. Instead he majors in Criminal Justice and--in my imagination--secretly aims to become either a detective or a prosecutor because he suspects his family is involved with criminal organizations. He’s generally quiet, solemn, broody, and troubled (just like in the game lol) and is only dragged out to do “normal” college things by Trouble and Chase’s persistence! He’s in the fencing club and also goes to a mixed martial arts gym off-campus, sometimes with Trouble, which also happens to be the one Briony goes to.

Trouble is in ROTC and majors in mechanical engineering, with dreams of joining the Air Force and becoming a pilot after graduation if he can keep his grades up. For some reason I have this idea that he got into this university on a soccer scholarship? He plays guitar and later gets a dog because fuck it, he’s always wanted one, and he’s rebuilding an old motorcycle in his spare time at this garage where his old school friends work. He definitely wears bomber jackets and letterman jackets like, a lot. He’s very popular and considered a “jock,” but a friendly one! He has an English class with Red and a math class with Riel, going to both of their study groups and then driving them crazy because he either doodles instead of studying or texts. Part-time, I feel like he delivers pizzas for some reason...

Chase is the third part of their trio and is more lax about his studies than the other two (which is a bad influence on Trouble). He does not talk at all about his family or home life and generally spends the holidays with either Blade or Trouble’s families. He’s an undeclared major and has no idea what he wants to do after college and is not worrying about it. He pays smart kids to do his homework for him, so he has an excellent GPA, much to the class president’s (Riel) fury. He’s part of a frat but doesn’t actually drink at parties, more concerned that everyone’s having a good time and making fun memories than he is about himself. He doesn’t allow any scummy behavior in the frat and secretly, on a whim, auditioned for a student play and is surprisingly very into it, to the point where he asks Briony and Trouble for help with his lines. After throwing a huge party where [x] happens, he starts a group chat with everybody involved in this story and it’s sort of how they all become friends, even though many of them already knew each other individually. Oh, and he’s very into Tinder, much to the chagrin of his other two roommates.

I think Briony, Ayla, and Lavinet are also roommates, and so are Shery, Tallys, and Mimir. Briony-Ayla-Lavinet’s place (BAL? Brionaylavi?) is Party Central, whereas Shery-Tallys-Mimir’s place (STM? Shallir?) is Quiet Coffee-Drinking Art Loft Sometimes Hipster Slam Poetry Book Clubs Central.

Briony is either a journalism student or a law student, I can’t really decide. She takes a lot of extracurriculars at their university as a way to blow off steam, including a painting class (which is where she met Shery) and a horseback riding class, because why not? She has been training at the same mixed martial arts gym since she was a teenager, and she starts bringing Ayla and Lavinet there so they can defend themselves when they’re not altogether. Despite her cheerful attitude and popularity around campus, she seems to be running from a past back in her hometown that she doesn’t talk to anyone about, not even her closest friends: an obsessive ex and a dark past are just some of the things she doesn’t want catching up to her. Sometimes she earns part-time money covering shifts at the cafe Shery works at.

Ayla is a journalism/communications student who will later switch majors to hospitality and hate it. She gives wilderness tours and white-water-rafting tours in the summers as a seasonal job and plays volleyball on the university team during the spring seasons and track and field during the fall. Her grades are abysmal and she goes to the tutoring center often for help, which is how she meets Red and Riel. She rides a Vespa around town and also attends the yoga class that Tallys teaches. Yes she wears leather jackets and occasionally beanies. She was too cheap to a buy a meal plan at the university cafeteria so she often skims from others or uses their extra meals before the week runs out. She is a lover of junk food and crams their apartment pantry with all manner of chips, soda, ramen, packaged mac and cheese, and etc! She also definitely games.

Lavinet is a wealthy socialite daughter of the CEO and founder of a huge conglomerate: think a Paris Hilton, but more grounded. She’s majoring in business and political science, being groomed to take over her father’s role, but she wants a taste of “normal” life before that happens. All of her rich friends from high school thinks she’s slumming it with the other kids, but Lavinet’s having the time of her life. She tries not to stand out too much, but she unconsciously does, anyway: wearing designer coats and sunglasses to class, driving a flashy convertible, and keeping her books in a high-end handbag, because backpacks are “schlubby.” She means well but can sometimes be a bit of a drama queen to her roommates. She also loves juicy gossip and eats it up! She has been known to take her roommates’ phones and flirt for them with potential dates. She has a popular vlog and Instagram account, which I imagine is how Briony’s dark past catches up to her. She loves to get coffee at the shop that Shery and sometimes Briony work at and always seems to have a latte in her hand. She can point at any given person and name what lipstick they would be if they were one. She’s fairly good at her studies and loves to be in charge of study groups and gets into a war with another girl who tries to ‘poach’ her study partners. She absolutely takes French and fashion design classes and heads all over campus turn when she walks past!

Red, Riel, and Halek live in what is known as the “Nerd House.” Red is pretty much always at coffee shops and libraries, studying and reading, so much so that he doesn’t notice multiple other students checking him out in his rolled-up sweater sleeves and messenger bag. He’s got a bit of an “Academic Hipster” vibe and definitely has hipster tastes in music and books. He goes to poetry readings at cafes (of which Mimir is a staple) and goes on a lot of first dates that don’t lead anywhere, giving him the reputation of either a really picky person or a playboy. Does he wear glasses? Absolutely. Is it because he needs them? Probably not. On some subconscious level he is probably aware that he looks smart and cute in them. Sometimes he plays pickup soccer with Trouble’s practice team (he played in high school) when he realizes he’s been sitting around too long reading and needs to get some blood pumping! He studies philosophy and history as a double-major.

Riel is the class president and later valedictorian of their class. He majors in math, business and finance, history, and psychology as one of the university’s only “quadruple majors”. He comes from an extremely wealthy family that has donated so much money to the school that many of the buildings have his last name on them. Occasionally he volunteers at the tutoring center, where his worst and most rebellious student is Ayla, who he vows to break. You can often find him in the music building, reserving one of the practice rooms to play beautiful classical piano, which he doesn’t like to play at home with his roommates around. He abhors eating or studying outside because, mysteriously, every time he walks through the quad, a frisbee hits him in the head. He is the head of a business fraternity that is constantly being pranked by Chase’s frat.

Halek initially attended their university as a Food Science major, but dropped out and now attends the culinary arts institute across the street. (His twin brother, Naolin, goes to a prestigious university across the country and is studying to become a doctor.) He works as a barista at the cafe where Shery and sometimes Briony work as servers: the one with sleepy eyes that you end up spilling your life story to when you sit at the counter to drink your frappe and study. Plays the drums in a band that performs at open-mic nights and owns a tank of fish. In class he was constantly falling asleep at his desk but has no trouble now. Definitely smokes weed in his room occasionally and has a litany of tattoos up and down his forearms and hands (and for that matter, Ayla does too).

Finally, the Art Loft trio, Tallys, Shery, and Mimir, who definitely have a garden on their roof and hang their clothes up to dry in the sun up there, which Lavinet for whatever reason refers to as their “solarium.”

Tallys is a plant biology major who aims to be recruited into the country’s top holistic/nature-based pharmaceutical company. She teaches yoga outside of class to make money (and Ayla and sometimes Lavinet attend her morning classes). For whatever reason I feel like she smokes and looks really freaking cool doing it but decides to quit after a relative has a cancer scare. She enjoys classical music and plays the violin when she can. She is shares cooking duties with Shery and picks her up from her job at the cafe so she doesn’t have to walk home at night, leading many to mistakenly assume they’re girlfriends. She constantly has AirPods/earphones in, listening to music, and rarely speaks to others outside of class. Strangely, she owns a flip phone and owns no social media.

Shery is a nursing student who loves to cook and bake as a hobby. She’s a natural introvert and prefers to stay in with her roommates, watching TV while she embroiders, or something, but one day she decides she wants to be more social and that’s how she befriends Halek and Briony. She owns a cat who rules the roost in their apartment as well as a hamster. She keeps detailed diaries and also writes poetry, but is too shy to share it with anyone, including Mimir, her roommate who’s an art major. She always wears pastels and very cute clothing and is a straight-A student. Her parents are pretty stingy so she works at a coffee shop, the Haven, as a way to earn money. She’s also helping with costume design for Chase’s play and rides a bike to campus and to work. She’s close with her professors and often visits them during office hours just to chat.

Mimir is an art student who’s making a big splash in the local scene, as she’s regarded as something of a young genius for her bizarre slam poetry and cryptic, surrealistic paintings. She often does readings at the Haven coffee shop during open-mic nights, and she constantly wears a hoodie, even to class. She paints her nails black and rocks that goth artist aesthetic, complete with dark eye makeup and black lipstick. She rarely speaks, but when she does, it’s usually to say something startlingly-insightful or incredibly mysterious. She feeds birds in the main quad on campus, to the point where they recognize her and will fly to her hand. She smells constantly of incense and can sometimes be seen rummaging around in trash cans on campus for her art installations. There is a mysterious cloaked figure on campus who rides a unicycle while blowing on bagpipes that also spew fire that everyone thinks is her, and she only smiles and fades away when anyone asks.

#aurynofhavens #Shepherds of Haven #AU #modern AU #college AU #college #university #all characters #long

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nomunamuinmybrain · 4 years ago

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Bitter 6

Finally! It took me so long to get it together and finish this chapter. A lot has happened in my life since I last posted but most importantly I graduated from university. Now that I have all the time in the world I want to give all my attention to writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope you are all safe and healthy given the situation with the pandemic.

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Summary: Sometimes our thoughts get the best of us. Sometimes depression gets the best of all of us. Too oblivious to realize that we are surrounded with love. This is a story about learning to receive love, learning that you deserve love. A fun group of friends and their lives as they gradually change and grow. Sometimes bitter other times sweet much like chocolate such is life.

FLUFF WITH A SPRINKLE (or so) of smut/Slow pace

words: 1.7k

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Chapter 6

A knot forming in my belly, the sensation stretching to my heated mound forcing my thighs to rub in frustration. My hand slithers from my aching breasts to my slit, I can’t believe how wet I got just thinking about him. Next thing I know, the other side of the bed sinks under his weight as he makes his way over me. I am not sure how he got here but I don’t care. I can feel his scent, heavy and sweet, making me dizzy. His hands take over from mine, teasing and touching me. I want him to taste me everywhere. Devour every inch of my being with his sinful mouth, marking me as his. It’s as if he is in my head, knowing my every thought, every desire. My hands pinned above me held by his hand.

No longer thinking reasons to resist this, I completely surrender to his touch. My back arches wanting even more, he is everywhere, I breathe him in and in my utterly intoxicated state that’s when I hear it, beeping loud in my ears, my alarm clock. I knew this seemed too good to be a fragment of reality. Grunting noises escape me while I roll around trying to mute the source. The boys must have gotten up earlier or maybe they left the room right after I fell asleep, making sure I get some rest since they know how stressed I was about this whole coffee meet cute and that’s when I felt it. A strange flutter in my lower belly, a tingling but it was nothing of anxiety, it was pure excitement. I jump off the bed to get ready and after a much appreciated pep talk from the guys I was already out the door and on my way to the coffee shop. Namjoon was sweet enough to text me good morning and ask for my order beforehand. We lock eyes as I am crossing the street and I am positive his smile is outshining the sun, thankfully I did not faint in the middle of the street. Deep breath.

“Here you go. Iced latte, medium, double shot espresso with soy milk and one pump of caramel.”

“Sorry for making you memorize the whole thing. I’m a bit particular with what I like. Especially coffee.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, I’m no better. Iced Americano, blonde roast, extra ice, extra shot with foam.”

“Are we sure the barista didn’t spit in these cause I think I would if I had to make this order.” My silly remark made him laugh and the flutter in my belly grew stronger.

We started walking, heading towards the park. Conversation with him was smooth, effortless, he seemed to be as invested as I was which was refreshing cause for once I felt like I wasn’t blabbering someone to boredom and every time I took my turn to say anything he would look at me. He gingerly brushed his fingers against mine, weaving them with mine, brushing his thumb softly. I guess for the first time I felt interesting to someone other than Hoseok and Tae. There was nothing we didn’t touch on, from family stuff to career and childhood and lost dreams, there wasn’t a topic off the table. When we got to the unavoidable point of discussing relationships and experiences of that kind I tensed up a bit and unfortunately he picked up on that.

“It’s okay if this is too much for you, we don’t have to…”

“No, it’s fine. It’s better to be upfront with things like this.”

“I agree. Took me a while to come to terms with confronting people and situations.”

“Well, I’m in the same boat you know. I don’t have much experience with dating and I’ve never even been in a relationship. My insecurities plus my anxiety and depression haven’t, how should I put this, they didn’t leave any space for that stuff. Working on my relationship with myself and my mental health seemed more important. Also I never wanted to burden anyone with my issues, it wouldn’t be fair. Society has us believing that through another person we can finally feel whole but, well, it’s nothing but a sugar coated pill. Building a strong and healthy relationship with yourself is a blessing on the long run. To the eyes of others it might seem like I’m behind on that stuff but it doesn’t faze me as much anymore.”

“For the record you are not behind on anything, that’s bullshit. You made your wellbeing a priority and that is admirable to say the least. My last relationship has left me with so much trauma it left me frozen, unable to put myself out there to meet someone else. I wouldn’t even have approached you if it wasn’t for my friends pushing me, I feared that I was damaged goods, sort to say.”

I halt my step, turned to look at him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not. I hope you know that you’re not.”

“I know. Now, I know.” His hand cupped my check and I could feel the redness spread as I leaned into his caress. “I hope you know that too.” he continued.

He leaned in, his breath fanning warmth against me, he looked in my eyes, my lips and then back into my eyes, longingly. His plump lips parted letting out a sigh. “I- I really want to kiss you.”

I drew in a sharp breath and answered in a small voice. “Me too.”

His kiss was deep, intoxicating and somewhat controlled cause let’s face it we we’re in the middle of a park. A satisfying grunt escaped me and he did something that I can only describe as a low growl, it was sexy and I could feel the tingling intensify. With both hands on my face, his thumbs tracing patterns on my cheeks, he withdrew his plush lips to lovingly nudge my nose with his.

“I’m so glad we can be together in this moment. Wait, no, that sounds weird. What I meant, what I’m trying to say…”

I take the lead to put him out of his misery. He looked adorable fumbling for the right words.

“Namjoon relax. I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”

The rest of the walk we joked around and I honestly haven’t let go with another person so soon, he has a way, a warmth that just makes me feel comfortable and most definitely desired and appreciated. Before we parted we set another date for Sunday at the movies and for the first time in forever I felt excited for something. Once we got to my building we kissed one more time and even though I told him to go he waited to see me go up which I wouldn’t have done given the situation I had to witness. The door was open and the apartment was full of people. Squeezing my way in I browse for Hobi and once I spot him in the kitchen I make my way to him and grab him from the arm.

“What’s all this?!”

“We are pregaming before we get to Jungkookie’s party. It’s a last minute situation and I offered to help. You do remember we have Jungkook’s thing today, right?”

“It’s 15:46! And yes, I do remember. Isn’t it a little early for pregaming anyway?”

“Um, not when you have a bunch of art hippies. It’s called a brunch pregame or something like that, who cares. Pancake?” he stuffed it in my mouth before I had a chance to answer. Tae jumped and hugged me from behind, most definitely tipsy, playing with my curls.

“How was coffee with dream man Kim Namjoon?” he asked

“She’ll tell us later when we are not in a sea of strangers.”

“In a word, perfect. I’ll head to my room and get ready.”

In the sanctuary of my room I drop my phone on the desk and head to the shower. A much needed scorching hot shower later and with the date replaying in my head, I sit on my desk to do my makeup. It’s already 19:40 by the time I’m finished and the noise has died down assumingly because everyone has left. I wasn’t all that excited about being among people tonight but I would never skip any of Jungkook and Andy’s parties. I think it’s a new sold out show that we’re celebrating but who cares really it’s just going to end up crazy. Jungkook notoriety for making each meetup an unforgettable event is unbeatable. After last time’s paint war debacle I opted for jeans to be as comfortable as possible.

Half an hour later we’re already parked outside of Jungkook’s house and then Hobi locks us in. Tae was the first one to give him the stank eye and question the sanity of his action.

“What the hell?”

“Tae, I am not gonna make the party if y/n over here doesn’t give us the details of this mornings event. I might actually eat my own hand.”

“Okay, okay, but I’ll fast forward a bit because I don’t want to drag this on. I had a wonderful time with him, he is so sweet and considerate, we talked about everything and anything. Also, we kissed and I cannot wait to go on another date.”

Hobi and Tae couldn’t hide their happiness, so prominent in their expression. They both jumped me to give me the tightest hug possible.

“Baby girl we’re so happy for you.”

“Let’s break this up now and get going Jungkook is waving from the door.”

We get to the door, Jungkook waiting for us, arms open, cigar hanging from his mouth.

“You’re into smoking now?” Tae asked

Much to our surprise he bit down to reveal the molten caramel center. Of course its made of chocolate, he’s a candy nut. We’re all ushered inside, everyone’s scattered here and there in the large common area having conversation over the latest pieces acquired in his personal collection. Among new faces and a few familiar ones I spot a face my memory could never erase, he looks up at the same time, eyes locking with mine and shoots me a wink.

My old crush.

The ever so charming, Kim Seokjin.

#bts #btsfic #bts fanfction #bts college au #bts namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #seokjin #bts seokjin #bts hoseok #taehyung #jungkook #thekimlinenet #hyunglinenetwork

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part six Word count: ±3400 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part six summary: Sam goes back to Zoë’s hotel to pick up his lost phone, but the state he finds her in is both shocking and familiar. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Preparing himself for a rant, Sam knocks on the door of room 17. He’s standing in the corridor of the Hampton Inn after the receptionist allowed him upstairs, recognizing him from the night before and believing his story when he gave her an excuse. It takes a while before someone grants him access to the suite, but when he’s about to knock for the second time, the door opens. “Sam...” Zoë grunts, sounding like a sixty year old whiskey drinker who smokes at least a pack a day.

As he enters the room, he notices the gun in her right hand, which she held behind the door in case she had bad company. The music playlist from last night is still playing, 2+2= by Bob Seger currently on. Zoë adjusts her PJ shorts, the Nirvana shirt hanging from one shoulder and her wavy hair a bird’s nest; she looks like she’s experiencing the worst hangover ever. “Are you alright?” Sam checks, carefully. “Yeah, just a bad night,” she mutters. “You were fine when I left,” he recalls, surprised by her state. She doesn’t respond and drags her feet to the bathroom. Sam hears the water falling down in the sink. She’s probably attempting to freshen up a little. “I left my phone here somewhere,” Sam informs, before Zoë asks about his visit. No answer, not even a smart comment. Somewhat worried, Sam peeks around the corner. Zoë is leaning on the sink with one hand, pressuring her other palm against her forehead. She has her eyes firmly shut, every muscle in her body tenses; she’s in pain. “You’re not alright,” Sam notices and walks in to support her, but she shrugs him off. “It’s nothing, just leave me alone,” the huntress snaps.

Without granting Sam another second of her attention, Zoë saunters into the room and turns down the music, annoyed by the sound of the guitar that only amplifies the throbbing inside her skull. Instead, she switches on the TV while rubbing her face, steadying herself against the back of the sofa.

As Sam observes her, the gears in his head start to turn. She seems ill, feverish almost, as if she’s fighting off an infection. Something about her conditions is familiar. Unable to catch a breath, clammy skin, dizziness. The feeling of being run over by a sixteen wheeler, a bass drum pounding through one’s head, as if they were inches from an amplifier at a concert all night long. Then it clicks.

“You had a vision.”

Startled, Zoë looks aside. Shit. How the hell did he pick up on that? Surely she’s a mess, but Sam must have the exact same symptoms in order for him to figure it out this fast. She cannot let him know, though, and so she recovers quickly. “No, I didn’t. It's migraines.” She shrugs it off and looks back at the television. Sam keeps reading her while the local TV station brings them the latest news. She tries to concentrate on the screen, but feels Sam’s burning eyes. Then she snaps at him. “Stop trying to find things that aren’t there, Sam.” “You’re lying.” Sam knows. She sighs with an eye roll and turns up the volume. “No, I’m not. Now drop it.” “I’m not gonna drop it.” He steps between her and the TV, blocking her view. “You were dying to know about my visions from the moment you learned I have them.” “I’m watching that,” she voices, annoyed with his intrusion. “And I’m talking to you,” Sam returns with an attitude.

She gives him a look that could kill and steps around him to have a clear view of the screen again, trying her best to ignore the hunter and not blow up on the guy. He better not push her, because he has no idea what would be coming for him. “Headaches, black spots, nausea right after you wake up,” Sam sums up. “You have them.” “Would you shut the fuck up for one second?!” Zoë hushes him violently.

It’s just now that the news on the TV catches Sam’s attention. She’s not just agitated with him because she doesn’t want to talk about the paranormal powers they have in common; there’s actually something on the local news that’s worth their attention.

“In Paragould, the body of a man has been discovered. This morning, Bill Van Dyke was found deceased in his own home, and the Paragould Police Department are considering his death to be suspicious. Local authorities claim that the family were home during the time of death.”

“Shit,” Zoë spats. “What is it?” Sam glances aside. She sighs, still watching the screen as another reporter at the scene gives more information about the incident. “He died the same way Robert Shire did.” “The girl’s father?” Sam checks, remembering the surname of ‘Shire’ engraved on Laura’s tombstone. Zoë nods in confirmation as the reporter in the studio takes over again.

“Bill Van Dyke, the principal of Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Paragould, was a pillar of support to the local community--”

Zoë doesn’t hear the rest of the report, the sound fading out as her gaze locks on the school building, which is shown on the screen. She recognizes that building. “It’s her,” she knows. “That can’t be. You salted and burned her bones,” Sam brings to mind. “I’m aware of that, Sam. I dug her up myself,” she hisses, as she opens her closet and takes out her suit, her actions hasty and on the edge of aggressive. “Something is keeping her here, an object maybe. Fuck!” “Guess you’re staying in town a bit longer than expected,” he concludes. “Guess so, but I don’t have time for this shit.” Zoë mutters and takes off her shirt, putting on a white blouse as if she’s alone in the room. Sam averts his eyes, awkwardly, but the huntress isn't bothered. “Nothing you haven't seen, Sam,” she comments, perky. Nevertheless he turns away from her, uneasily staring out the window. For a second he considers offering their help on this job, but he’s quite sure she will reject anyway. Besides, they have their own case to deal with.

Rushing, Zoë gets into her dress pants, which she just pulled out of dry cleaner plastic a moment ago. “How can you be so sure it’s Laura?” Sam wonders. “Laura was a 4th grader at Woodrow Wilson Elementary” she explains. He shrugs. “So? What did Van Dyke ever do to her?” “Her gym teacher knew about the abuse. My guess is that the principal knew too and didn’t do anything,” Zoë presumes, pulling a thin leather belt through the loops. “How do you even know that her teacher was aware? You couldn’t have seen her already, not in his short amount of time. Admit it; you see things,” Sam’s pushes.

Zoë huffs, half shaking her head and well aware that Sam will not buy the bullshit. She wasn't planning on telling him, but the younger Winchester brother might be the one person she can trust when it comes to her abilities. He’s special, just like she is, and neither of them have a clue what is going on. He’s in the dark, just like her. Telling him would involve certain risks, though. Afterall, he is a hunter, one who she just met. “Zo, start talking,” Sam coerces. “Alright! I see things! There, I said it. Happy now?” she cries out.

The confession is as much as a surprise to Sam as it is to Zoë; did she just say that out loud? Shocked, Sam stares at her, but he’s not sure if he’s so stunned by the information of the statement itself or because of the fact that Zoë just told him the truth. Disoriented, his eyes wander off as it slowly starts to sink in what this means; he’s not alone.

“You have visions, just like me?” he recaps. “Not entirely,” Zoë says as she buttons her jacket. “You dream about the future, I dream about the past.” “Like flashbacks?” Sam questions. “Something like that, yeah. But there’s no possible way I could know these things, you know? Most of the time I don’t even know the people who are involved,” she explains, frustration evident in her voice. “Tell me ‘bout it,” Sam replies with a chuckle.

A glint of a smile pulls at Zoë’s lips as she looks up. A feeling she hasn’t experienced in quite a while comes to her. Relief, recognition, as if a weight just fell off her shoulders now that she finally told someone about the secret she has been carrying around for so long. She wishes she could just get it all out of her system, tell him about the other issues that she’s involved in, but she can’t. Besides, there’s little time and still a lot to do.

Zoë slips into her pumps, takes her FBI identification out of her duffel and puts it in her inside pocket. “That’s how you pick your cases, isn’t it?” Sam now understands how Zoë can get to a scene with not much visual evidence, at least not visible to outsiders. “First I didn’t, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. But then I thought: Hey, I’m having these flashbacks for a reason, I might as well check it out,” she elaborates before she steps into the bathroom and starts applying makeup. Sam nods at that, agreeing. “Good point.” Maybe he should start seeing the dreams as clues, too. If he had listened to the visions in the first place, Jessica might still be alive right now.

He watches how the woman of many faces basically shapeshifts, going from the groggy, hungover girl in PJ’s to an autorical, tough as nails federal agent. Zoë ties her hair back into a tight ponytail, the look really sending the message that she will take absolutely no bullshit. But under that facade, the role she takes on and hides behind, Sam sees something else; she is nervous, restless, anxious even. “What’s going on, Zo?” Sam confronts her, his tone supportive, however.

For a moment she stops fixing her hair and places her hands on her hips. The huntress takes a breath as she searches for words, deciding what she can tell him without giving him too much information. “I’m on a bit of a time schedule,” she admits. “I need to finish this case before tonight.” Sam narrows his eyes, concerned, trying to read her. “What kind of time schedule?” “It’s personal,” she cuts off, immediately.

Her eyes bore into his, warning him not to ask another question. It’s clear as day that she is not going to give him an inch on this. Intimidated by her gaze, he decides not to dig further. “What happens if you can’t put her spirit to rest in time?” “I’ll make it,” Zoë responds, sure of herself. “You don't know that,” he argues. “I’ll have to leave town, case closed or not,” she adds simply, walking around the bed to pick up her phone from her nightstand. “What?! You’re just gonna give up a case?” Sam disapproves. “I’ve seen hunters do it before,” she says with a tone, straightening her back and standing a little taller. “So? Then they suck!” Sam exclaims. Zoë snorts, not disagreeing with him there, but the young Winchester isn’t finished yet. “Laura will keep haunting this town and every one who might have the slightest connection to her death. Do you have any idea how many could end up dead?” Sam tries to make her see. “I don’t. Have. A choice,” she states, pronouncing her words slowly and loud, as if Sam suffers hearing loss. “You do,” Sam corrects. “You always have a choice.” “You should have a poster made with those words, Gandhi,” Zoë responds sassy.

She has gathered her keys and her motorcycle helmet now, ready to head out. Sam doesn’t seize his plea, though. “Let us help you,” he offers. After halting abruptly, the huntress slowly turns her head and stares at him for a brief moment, then she laughs out loud.

“No way in hell,” she chuckles, apparently finding the proposition ridiculous. “Why not?” Sam wants to know. “Because I don’t team up with others. The moment you depend on someone other than yourself, you’re vulnerable. You start to trust people you shouldn’t trust and when it all goes wrong, people die,” she states. “What about covering each other’s backs? Looking out for your partner?” Sam brings up the bright side of cooperation. “Apparently that isn’t for me, and believe me; I’ve experienced it,” Zoë comments, a speck of pain edging her voice.

Sam is not sure what the young huntress means by that, but he can read from her eyes that whatever happened, it still hurts her. He keeps quiet for a moment, but then continues with a calm tone. “Hear me out. We can take over the case completely and you can go wherever you need to go. We’re in the same hunting fields, so why shoot at each other in order to get rid of the competition when we can split up. Dean and I can handle this,” Sam ensures. “I believe you can, but I’m not the type who lets someone else do the dirty jobs. I got this one, I just need to make good time,” Zoë assures as she heads for the door. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crime scene to investigate.”

She holds the door for Sam, her piercing eyes telling him without words to get out of her suite. The younger Winchester lets a sigh slip from his lips as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment. There’s absolutely no way to get through to that woman, he thinks to himself as he walks outside before she locks the door. The sharp thumps of her heels echo through the lobby, when she hastily parades to the parking lot while taking out her shades. Just before she walks out, Sam stops her by laying her hand on her shoulder.

“Zoë…” She spins around, not keen on the physical contact. “If you need help, call me,” he insists. “You know I won’t, Sammy,” she reacts, pushing the sunglasses onto her nose. “Don’t - don’t call me Sammy,” he mumbles under his breath, watching her stride away to her Harley Davidson. After putting on her helmet, she starts the engine and rides off, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Defeated, Sam turns to the Impala, which is parked on one of the taxi spots. A thin layer of dust covers the black car, which seems to boil in the early morning sun. It’s awfully quiet. No ear blasting rock tunes from the radio, no Dean jamming on his air guitar. Sam peeks through the window of the passenger’s side and finds his brother fast asleep. He can’t see Dean’s eyes because of the sunglasses he’s wearing to cut out the light his hungover brain cannot tolerate, but his head rests half against the window, tilted slightly backwards. Sam’s thoughts go back to the day before yesterday, when they parked the car in front of the pharmacy and Dean scared the shit out of him by slamming his fist against the window. Of course, Sam can’t resist doing the same thing and hits the window right on the spot where Dean’s leaning against on the other side.

“Kelly Clarkson!” Dean cries out spooked, as he bumps his head up against the hardtop of the car. With a big smirk on his face, Sam walks around the car just as victoriously as his brother did the other day, and settles in the driver's seat. When he sees his brother’s confused expression, he can’t help but laugh. “Man, that’s so not cool,” Dean mutters with a raspy voice as he rubs his face.

“Got what I came for.” Sam holds up his Blackberry. “Did you have to wake me up for that?” Dean takes off his shades and narrows his eyes against the bright sun. “No, that was just for fun,” Sam grins. “Bitch,” Dean grumbles. “Jerk,” Sam returns with a smile. “I have another update by the way.” “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Dean wonders, carelessly, resting his head against the cool glass again. “We’re staying in town for a couple more days,” Sam informs.

He got Dean’s attention with that notification, all right. His older brother looks up at him and although he can barely keep his eyes open, Sam can tell that he’s curious for more info. “What? Werewolf turned out to be a coyote?” Dean assumes. “Not really, but there’s still a case here,” Sam begins to explain, while taking the car keys from his pocket. “So? It’s Sullivan’s case, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Dean makes clear. “Aren’t you happy you can hang out with Denise?” Sam persuades, hoping to change his mind. “Oh, no. I know what you’re doing.” Dean sits up straight and smirks, on to his little brother’s persuasiveness. “You’re trying to make this seem brochure perfect, but this isn’t about Denise. Spill it.”

Sam sighs. Damn, there goes his master plan. Although he gets the impression that Dean can't stand the female hunter, Sam decides to tell the truth. “I think Zoë needs help,” he admits. “The last time you thought that I ended up in a bridal suite with a shapeshifter and you got dumped in a septic tank with our damsel in distress,” Dean recalls. “Did she ask for your help?” “No, not re--” “- Did she accept your offer?” Dean asks again. “No, but --” “- Then we ain’t helping her,” Dean decides.

“Come on, Dean. We can’t leave her like that,” Sam tries. “She’s a big girl, Sam. And a damn good hunter too. She’ll be fine,” Dean assures. “I don’t know, man. Something doesn’t seem right,” Sam ponders. “She told me she’s on some sort of time schedule or something.” “Yeah, her period. Guessing it’s coming up to that time of the month,” Dean grumbles, sarcastically. He has lost interest in the conversation and crosses his arms in front of his chest, tugging deeper into the seat.

“She’s gonna leave town tonight, case closed or not,” Sam clarifies. Dean opens his eyes and looks aside. “You really think she would leave a job unfinished?” Dean wonders. Sam shrugs. “Apparently.” “That deadline must be pretty damn important,” the oldest brother concludes. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we stay until tonight, see if she manages to wrap up the case in time. But after that, we’re off to Texas. I was looking forward to that wolf hunt.”

Satisfied with that compromise, Sam starts the engine. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Looking Out My Back Door sounds from the radio of the classic car, built around the same time that this song was hitting the charts. By the time the Chevrolet leaves the parking lot, Dean has looked up Denise’s number and is on the phone with her. Fuck the appropriate time to wait until reaching out. This is a booty call; the regular rules of dating don’t apply.

“Hey… No, you didn’t forget anything. I just couldn’t wait to call you…. Yeah, I’d love to get together again. I’ll probably have to leave town in a few days, so… tonight? Alright, sounds great.” Dean gives Sam an exaggerated wink. “At her place,” Sam half mouths, half whispers, making sure Denise doesn’t pick up on his words. “One sec, sweetheart.” Dean presses his hand on the microphone and looks aside. “Having plans for tonight, Romeo?” Sam glares at him and Dean returns his attention back to Denise, who started talking to him again. “Your place, you say? At eight? Cool, I’ll see you tonight then… looking forward to it, too… Alright, bye.” They both hang up and Dean smirks satisfied. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Sam comments while shaking his head. "Oh, I'm unbelievably irresistible,” his brother replies, victoriously.

Just as Sam decides to turn right, a weird soft roar sounds from inside the car. “What the hell was that?” Sam looks around. “My GPS is telling you to make a left,” Dean explains. The youngest of the two looks aside at his brother who’s pressing his hand on his hungry stomach. Now Sam looks over to the left and spots the yellow zigzag arrow above an In-N-Out restaurant. He laughs, he should have known. “I see,” he grins and makes the turn. “Drive thru?”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter seven here

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