#update: i got them to 12 pounds. grins

[wygolvillage]

a quick serene snack break in springtime snow for a very, very busy breeding pair

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Lifeboat 12: SQUASH?!

“What did you want me to see if I could get seeds out of again?” Lana asked as she looked around inside of the newly placed crate.

Sesa looked up from working on the lid of the crate. Thinking about the question, the woman looked over at another crate set on a chair. There were a few crates that had been set around Sesa for sorting supplies. “Oh the vine berries. I got some from the store. It's a sweet-savory fruit. I think it's a fruit?”

The giant woman looked at another crate and poked at the wrapped things. Careful not to tear the paper as it had updated news. The lid to the crate was set aside, so Sesa could use both hands, opening a few containers and then set one beside where she was working on making a second doorway for Lana in the crate lid. Unwrapping and happy to see nothing broke, or oozed. 

“I like the savory berries, but I've never got one to sprout, just rot in the ground.” Sesa set the container down on the big table, then smoothed the paper out. Scanning for anything interesting in the news, but smiled at seeing a recipe, trying not to laugh at the text of, ‘Nutty pie! So good even Bitta will move into your home!’

“Do you like nuts?” Sesa blinked and looked up, spotting Lana sitting on the edge of the crate and kicking her legs. Sesa realized she needed to make some sort of stairs for the Bitta.

“Yes, well, nuts I'm used to. I thought I saw what looked like chestnut trees on the way here.” Lana tilted her head, unable to help thinking of a big nutshell about the size of her. Everything was so weirdly big in this place!

Sesa looked around and picked something up from in the massive pots that Lana had yet to really see inside of yet. The giant woman was alarmingly fast, but thankfully Sesa had learned to slow down around Lana. She was holding something tan and brown between two fingers and once more, Lana felt her inner thoughts grind to a halt. Staring at something she almost recognized, but the scale was… off.

“That looks like an acorn.” Lana blurted, “That's… the size of the jars.”

The nut inside was likely the side of her head. The nut had to be a few pounds at least as Lana rattled the shell to listen to the nut inside. Maybe five pounds? Did it have more tannins being so big? Or was what was in a normal nut all stretched out? 

Was that possible?

Lana’s brain was getting so much bafflement, she wondered how much more she would keep having. The young woman found herself grateful that Sesa was so patent with her and did not leave her in that giant's city. With how the ‘peaceful’ dinos all seemed to want to eat Lana too, she was not sure what animals would show up in a city.

“Not a…chestnut?” Sesa's voice asked, jarring Lana back to reality. So looked up, then down at the acorn, and shook her head. “Oh… not good then?”

“Nuu, this is still good,” Lana paused, making a face at her own confused words, “Wait. I mean, yes, good thing. Do you have more? Or different types of tree nuts?”

“I have a few nuts I've collected,” Sesa admitted, puzzled but was smiling a bit at Lana’s fascination. “I can dig them out once we finish getting you set up.”

The bigger woman grinned at the clear, tiny, pout. Sesa wanted to reach out, put her project down and cup her hands around Lana. It was almost an irresistible urge, the want to do, but Sesa took a breath and made herself not. She finished the cut into the wood, and hummed before setting the lid upright how it would sit in the crate. Just on the table. “Is this a good enough size door? Can you walk through?”

Lana looked down at the nut, carefully set it down before the Bitta hopped down. Sesa would definitely need to make some sort of steps for her. Not a lot, maybe just a few like four or five wide steps. Sesa should have something even like that around. She had not used up all the materials to make the Bitta home models. Not at all.

The giant woman felt awkward at the thought of her hobby and now had a real live Bitta here. Again. 

She focused back on track, watching as Lana came over and peeking through the opening. Sesa smiled watching Lana ease through, hands carefully touching the sides. “Needs to be fixed. I need to make it a bit taller, and wider. unless you want it narrow?”

“A little wider would be nice,” Lana looked up, eyeing the new door frame above her. “It should be tall enough though.”

“Almost,” Sesa dared to carefully touch a fingertip to Lana's leg, “The lip of the crate was most of the way up you shin when you were sitting on it. The door isn't big enough. Hop up in the crate so I can measure better?”

Lana looked back and forth, considering before she understood. “Oh! I get it, it's like a foot and change up...will be.”

A foot?

Sesa grinned as she looked at the, maybe inch or so space. Suddenly getting an interesting idea, was an inch a foot for the Bitta? Once Lana was safely inside the crate, Sesa lifted the lid and set it against the spot it would be on, the door space did shrink about a third of the space.

“...yeah, I see, not big enough to be comfortable.” Lana's voice called from inside, and Sesa chuckled.

The giant woman reached for her pencil, holding the lid with her right hand. Starting to make a better opening as Lana popped out. Leaning out to see what was going on, tracking the movement of the pencil. “How's that?” 

“I think? Is the knot going to be okay halfway through?” Lana pointed at something just to her right.

Sesa leaned down to look, where there was a slight color difference. “It should be alright, but I can cut the other way instead to avoid the spot. Or you can have a window?”

The giggle that came at once had Sesa smiling down at Lana. The Bitta extracted herself to go inside the crate and look around. “Maybe windows would be nice. Not sure where yet.” 

“We can always add some later,” Sesa assured as she lifted the lid, finding that Lana was sitting on the floor of the crate. “It might not be much to start with, but if you want more of a bed I think a few of the little… ‘Models’ of Bitta houses might have something inside. I still want to smooth that little cooker thing out.”

“I did kind of like the two levels,” Lana assured, “Unless it's a safety thing?”

“It is, that chip has to stay in a sand buffer, just like mine. Don't want your new home here to catch fire.” Sesa said, moving the lid and using a carving knife to make the door the right size. “My house is made of thick stone, but I really like this table. My grandfather made it when he made the house.”

“Safety first,” Lana smiled, for now happy to sit on her spot and watch Sesa world. “Nothing wrong with that. Can I ask some more things?”

“I don't mind.” Sesa said, smiling as she worked. Not wanting to admit how much she was enjoying the morning talking with the Bitta. Someone that was not demanding Sesa do something for them, but looking up at the bigger woman with weary hope. 

Sesa paused her carving for a moment, as it really sank in that this tiny person was going to be dependent on her. Mostly depending on her, for more than protection. The woman wanted Lana to be as set up as possible. Turning back to her task as the Bitta asked.

“What are we going to do for a door?” Lana asked, still peaceful in her spot. 

Sesa paused, realizing that was a good question. Doors were good things. “It’s not very impressive for now, but I did get a lot of the fabric scraps from the weavers. Maybe we can use a piece of that until I can make a hinge small enough.”

“That could work.” The bitta tilted her head, remembering how stiff some fabrics from the other day was, mostly Sesa’s vest. “Better than nothing, ya?”

“Yeah,” Sesa echoed, looking at some of the things on the table. Glanced down at what she had done before adding as she lifted the lid. “Here, let's try this.”

The lid was fitted back into place, and there was a happy sound from inside the crate. “Much better!” 

Sesa could not help smiling as the giant watched when Lana came back to the door, being careful of the edges still but there was a good space between her on all sides now. “Yes it is, I’ll sand the edges down for you too.”

“Thank you,” Lana backed up reflexively as the lid of the crate was moved and pulled off. She paused once sitting down at the edge of the crate, “And… um, Thank you Sesa.”

“For what?”

Lana looked up, finding golden eyes back on her, “For helping me, even if I was… am, scared. For not putting me in like a pet tank, or leaving me somewhere. Thank you for saving me from the dinosaurs that wanted to eat me.”

Sesa’s neutral, concentrating expression softened. Getting that more pleased, or happy look like when they were cooking together. “You’re welcome, but I couldn’t leave you. That dosen’t seem… right. You’ve been… are a person. Just….very oddly- erm.”

“Tiny?” Lana snorted softly, hopping down to the ground, tabletop. Walking around the crate lid to where Sesa hand set the containers of ‘vine berries.’ pausing as a large hand stopped just short of her, as if Sesa was moving on reflex but stopped herself.

Lana considered, then took a few steps over to pat the back of Sesa’s hand. 

Hearing the rumble back, “Very small. But you’re very cute.”

Lana flushed a bit, looking away and walked to the equivalent of berry containers, only, well. Crate sized…

Exactly like those big crates at fall of pumpkins at the stores because it was full of pumpkins! 

Vine berry.

Lana rested her hand on the edges of the container, leaning over it a bit. It felt like wood, but was thin enough to bend, yet thick enough that it almost looked expexive to Lana. not like particle board, but… it was one piece? Paper? paper -ish? Wait, Lana thought as she picked up a white pumpkin up off the stack in the container. Remembering some little boxes like this at a farmer’s market but with strawberries.

She felt a bit dizzy again as another facet of the size scale hit Lana, standing beside a giant’s berry container. That was a pumpkin. Whites and what Lana recognized as being marbled green and orange, a seed pumpkin?

How much stuff filtered over to this world?

Definitely not plastics as far as Lana could tell, but she turned the pumpkin around in her hands. She knocked her knuckles on it, hearring the hollow sound, and then tested the skin. Rine really. Definitely ripe and ready. 

“We can definitely grow some pumpkins.” Lana smiled, paused and then brightened up turning to see a surprised and happy Sesa. “OH! Hey, I just thought of something Sesa!”

The giant blinked, expression turning confused as she paused and had what looked like sandpaper in hand. Watching the human run back to the crate. Pumpkin set on the side of the crate, not completely forgotten but set aside. Lana had climbed up and was rummaging through her lifeboat, and her backpack left inside. 

“...what did you remember?” Sesa guessed, watching in some amusement as the Bitta pulled over a decently sized bag for her back by the vine berry. Plopping down to start pulling things out. A change of clothes and an assortment of other little things Sesa could not tell what they were. 

“Okay, you know how I told you I set up gardens and stuff to make money on the side?” Lana asked, pulling a thick bag out, envelope really but nice and protecting the smaller little clear bags, as well as some paper bags. It took a second for Sesa to realize there were patterns on the paper as well as miniscule writing.

The giant woman leaned over, folding her arms on the table and had to get close to try and see the details. The words seemed gibberish to Sesa, but she controlled her breathing and focused on the little bits, and saw the tiniest of little pictures of plants. Fruit? “...you have seeds with you?”

“Yeah,” Lana smiled, taking a few deep breaths with the giant woman’s head so close. She was fine, it was okay. “Including some pumpkins! I have the big ones, sugar pie, even some blues. Not to mention I have several other squashes. Some veggies and flowers too. Even have some strawberries! A lot… My Auntie’s wanted a lot of those.”

The bitta paused, tilting her head and picked something out that she had been hoarding while on the lifeboat. A packet of dehydrated fruit from a friend. “I might have some more too, I almost forgot I have some stuff that might sprout too.”

“All the things,” Sesa said softly, before moving back and straightening her back, smiling, “At least you can have some familiar things growing?”

“Is it safe to grow things outside for me?” Lana wondered, not really able to see outside well. Or just out the window of Sesa's cabin from where she was. “With the dinosaur lizard things?”

“... good point.” Sesa eyed her pots, and then shrugged, “We can find something inside for you, I was told the vine berries… pumpkin? Need to grow inside anyways.” 

“Do you have any more containers like that?” Lana asked, pointing to the container with the pumpkins.

“I do, some older ones too I haven't done anything with. Oh and the pots the miniature trees are in.” Sesa looked over to her right to point at the pots, “I do need to get those repotted, and the garden birds into something. They've probably laid a bunch of eggs and need water. Let's at least get you something to sleep on, Lana, and some basic supplies if you want to cook. Get the garden birds somewhere safe after. Maybe they're an animal you can use?”

“Maybe?” Lana paused, thinking about the mention of eggs. Could it be chickens? 

That seemed a little too good to be true.

“What do they eat?”

“...you know I'm not sure, I know they like the scraps of the cooking gourds. I normally let them go in one of the protected garden plots. They seem to eat bugs that try for those plants.” Sesa was shifting back and stretched again working a stiff muscle out. She was moving to look for something, paused and sighed. “I left it in the shed. I'll be back, Lana.”

“Okay?” Lana answered, puzzled as the only shed she was aware of was back at the cove. Then realized that she really did not have an idea of what it looked like outside other than having seen a barn-like building to the… east of the house’s main window. 

At least the left of the window when facing it. 

Lana almost asked to go with Sesa as she was getting boots on. Then changed her mind, not wanting to see the even bigger world outside right now. She gave a nervous giggle, and after getting glanced at blurted out, “Watch out for monsters?” 

Sesa grinned, “Don't worry, I can kill any monsters Lana. And if for some reason I can't, I'll get John to come down from his cabin.”

Sesa pointed to her bed still in the living space, and the fur blanket on it. “He hunted and made that for me after all.”

“That's one creature?” Lana squeaked. 

“Maybe two,” Sesa considered, “he had to use something to even it out.”

“I don't think I want to see what that came from. Or meet it.”

“You won't,” Sesa promised as she got up, “Not alive anyways. John keeps them away. I'll be right back.”

Lana waved, not sure if Sesa saw it, but that was okay. It was notably quieter with the giant gone as the door opened and closed, but not too much so. She could still hear whatever animals outside, and those chitters again. Lana walked over the table top, until coming to the ‘pots’ that held the trees. She could not see what was inside them, did not sound like a chicken but did sound like a bird of some sort.

Backing up, Lana tried to see what the tree was, it seemed like a plum, or cherry? 

“What is this place?” Lana wondered aloud, glancing around, not meaning her current… residence? The cabin was more like…several malls put together? At least cabin fever might not be that bad. Hopefully.

Hearing the distant footsteps coming back some fifteen minutes later, Lana looked up from where she had come back to. Currently setting all the pumpkins out in neat rows away from where all the work was going on. At least away from Sesa’s work area. The main door opened, the giant woman had what looked like a tray in one hand with a few assorted things on it. 

Definitely a different shed somewhere closer then the one at the cove.

“Welcome back?” Lana called, and got a smile back. “Goodies?”

“Goodies? Oh, heh, that’s cute. Yes, goodies.” Sesa was still smiling as she got her boots off again, paused as if considering something. “I need to find my other shoes. Might be in the storage room.”

Sesa came over, hesitated before getting to the table and made herself take a breath. Lana tilted her head but understood as the giant woman slowed her steps the last few paces before sitting down. That was kind, Lana realized, willing to come over as the tray was set down and the crate lid moved to the side. It was a few feet tall at least, the edges that was, and when Lana found it came up to her middle and peered in. 

There were some more of those bent wood containers, Sesa had grabbed them and they just looked a bit dry or dusty. There were also a few small her-sized things, like a table! A bench, and a few more things that were carved from wood and… and…

Well.

There was a boxy like room thing, and a car sized squash fruit.

Not like pickup size, but the size of a small compact car. ‘Just’ small car sized. It likely could fit on a flatbed truck?

Like the massive world record pumpkins, only it put those to shame and even held its shape. It looked like scallop squash, but was colored dark green with dark orange stripes and spots freckled over it.

Lana could fit in it!

“This is an eating gourd!” Sesa said cheerfully, then was leaning over to look at the vine barries. As if comparing again the difference between the two. Or what was alike?

Lana did not want to sit in the giant pumpkin... Well, no, there was still that intrusive thought to want to be a godsdamns fiery and sit in a hollowed out giant pumpkin. “What’s it taste like?” 

Sesa laughed at the confused question, “Tasty? Better with seasonings.”

“You could make so many pies, and soup and everything with that.” Lana wondered aloud. Paused, and then she climb over the edge of the tray and came closer. Almost running into a solid seeming table before getting distracted by that.

“....You can make pie out of gourds?!” Sesa demanded leaning back, startled. She looked around, even up at the recipe books she had, then to that paper with the nut pie recipe. “No one told me that! Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”

The demand was not aimed at Lana but the Bitta giggled as she looked up at the almost offended expression on the giant.

“...how do you make it?”

“Well,” Lana thought, remembering the days spent with her family cooking. “You have sugar, the squash, I saw a bunch of seasonings. Something has to be alike to what’s needed. Do you have milk or cream?”

“I’m about to, when the cows give birth.” Sesa brightened up. “I also froze some last fall!”

“Do you have a pie crust recipe?”

“I found one in my grandmother’s books I use!”

“Do you have edible eggs?” Lana asked, tilting her head.

Sesa stared out the window, blinked slowly before brightening up. “I don’t yet. But I’ve been meaning to trade a neighbor for egg layers!”

Lana giggled again, “Well, we can make some pie then when we have everything. Depending on that milk. You might like some whipped cream on top too!”

“....What now? That sounds odd…is it good? Whipped cream?”

“Very good, more so if you make it a little sweet.” “Sweet cream… like fancy tea in town? It can be whipped?”

[mehoymalloy]

PUDDLE HOPPER; The Stillsands

Continuing with the black box shorts that are a small part of my Horizon Big Bang 2022 piece, because I think these soldiers' stories deserve to be heard (even if I made them up).

The Stillsands Black Box Transcript:

CAPTAIN BUCHANAN: Copy that. We'll have the cargo on the ground on schedule. Over.

I can't believe how responsive this plane is. 240 feet long, 700,000 pounds on takeoff and it turns faster than my 12-seater puddle hopper. Plus they only wheeled it back out of a museum a few months ago. Hah. Hell of a way to tick this beauty off my bucket list.

Listen to the audio log on my photomode Twitter account here.

Buchanan's gaze swept over the instrument panel, taking in the various controls, meters, and indicators. Bright LEDs, glass-covered dials and gauges, physical switches and buttons, even labels stamped on with white paint. It looked like one of those old busy boards that his mom used to sit him down in front of at the dentist's office to keep him happy. Even at six years old, he had pretended it was a cockpit. He was always going to be a pilot, just like his old man, despite how much his mom tried to persuade him otherwise.

Thirty-something years later, and here he was flying a classic—one his dad might even have flown back in his day. Idly, he ran his thumb along the paint labeling underneath the nav lights switch, resisting the urge to pick at a peeling fleck on the second 'F' in 'OFF.'

A loud beep in his ear. He glanced to his right, noting with a smirk that Henderson was dead asleep, headset hanging around his neck, oblivious to the drone of air control requesting a status update and informing them of local weather projections.

"Copy that. We'll have the cargo on the ground on schedule. Over."

Silence again, save the quiet snores of his copilot.

Buchanan steadily angled the yoke, flying well out of the way of a developing sandstorm. It would only put them a few minutes behind schedule.

"I can't believe how responsive this plane is," he murmured to himself, filling the quiet with his own thoughts. "240 feet long, 700,000 pounds on takeoff, and it turns faster than my 12-seater puddle hopper. Plus they only wheeled it back out of a museum a few months ago. Hah. Hell of a way to tick this beauty off my bucket list," he said with a muffled snort of laughter, finding some amusement in the situation, despite…everything else.

"You're talkin' to yourself again, Buchanan." A gruff voice cut in on his musings, timber low with a lingering rasp from sleep.

Buchanan smirked, cutting his gaze to see Henderson snuggling further into his seat. "Well I can't exactly talk to you when drool's rolling down your chin, now can I?"

Henderson snorted, then cracked an eye open, shooting Buchanan a sly grin to go with the side-eye. "If it bothers you so much, wipe it off yourself." His grin only widened when Buchanan hastily averted his gaze. "You said puddle hopper? What kind of plane you got?" Henderson asked.

"A literal puddle hopper. A seaplane. Specifically, a Daher Kodiak 100—belonged to my old man."

"No wonder you have such a weird appreciation for the antiques. How old's that thing gotta be? Forty years?"

"Forty-five. Still flies like a dream, though."

"You're shittin' me!"

Buchanan barked a surprised laugh, easing into the confidence that came with discussing something he was proud of. "I mean it. Before– Well, before all this, I took it out on the lake once a month, always kept it tuned up."

"How the hell'd you get the authorization to do that? Thought the FAA cracked down on public flight during the Clawback; emissions and all that."

Suddenly bashful, Buchanan became even more engrossed in studying each button, switch, and knob on the instrument panel. "Well, uh, you don't have to ask for permission when you own the lake."

"I've been flying with you for three months and you're telling me this now?"

"You've been sleeping wi–" Buchanan stumbled over his words, then quickly redirected, "while I fly."

Henderson didn't miss the slip-up. "So what, you got a nice lake house with a view?" he prodded, teasing.

"So what if I do?" Buchanan shot back, a tad defensive.

"So…" Henderson drawled, finally sitting up fully in his chair just to lean over the arm, closer. "I'm thinkin' you'll have to take me home sometime," he said, implication bold, that southern twang leaving no doubt of what exactly he was suggesting.

It was hard to ignore Henderson's toothy, lopsided smile when he was so close. And when Buchanan's face warmed with a sudden flush, that gorgeous grin got even wider, stretching cheeks and crinkling laugh lines, long lashes fluttering as Henderson chuckled lightly before he finally relented and drew back.

"I mean it, though," Henderson said, tone softening with sincerity. "I'd love to see that puddle hopper of yours."

Buchanan shot him a shy smile. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

Black Box 2/12

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

[17wishbones]

Will fix GIF quality later. I had a better one but, for whatever reason, it wouldn’t update or save the post! //sad face

But here it is! This one is a nice one, I think. And it’s got a tasty lemon at the bottom. As always, thanks for reading! Next chapter will be out in a couple of days. :> - - - - - - - -

                               CHAPTER IV: BLOOD AND BONE

On missions, you both kept it professional. Your first objective was always to save any humans in danger. The second was killing demons on sight. Third was seeking out the 12 Kizuki and Muzan.

Your eyes wouldn’t lead you wrong. With time passing, his aura trailed in a thin line. You slowly followed the trail. You needed your nerves calm and your anxiety dialed down to a 2.

“You got this, _____!” Rengoku cheered behind you. “Just concentrate. I have your front and your back!”

What a pleasure to have him on this journey back to Osaka.

“Nn.” You didn’t quite approve of doing what you were about to. ‘I haven’t done this since Lord Ubuyashiki took me in.’ You returned to that same alleyway from last time and where wandering eyes wouldn’t be on you. ‘This saved me from being killed many times. I survive on instinct thereafter.’ You gently gathered a bit of the aura in your hand and licked at your palm.

Your vision blurred as your brain scrambled to make sense of what it was seeing through this vile taste. You heaved seconds later with beads of sweat dripping down your forehead.

“What did you see?” Rengoku helped you up.

“Doors. Many doors. To… a different place, beyond our reach.”

Rengoku looked at you with concern drawn on his face. “Were you able to see past it?”

You swallowed hard as you tried gaining your senses quickly. “Yes. These hallways never end. They go on and on and…” His aura was honestly the worst. His aura made you sick to your core. “There’s a biwa demon lying deep within, and a corral of Lower Rank Kizuki.” You swallowed again and closed your eyes, as a figure formed in the center. “He must meet with them there. And even to them, he is menacing and dangerous.”

“We should push forward!”

You grabbed for his wrist, shaking your head vigorously. “No!”

“Sunflower?”

“If we were to invade by ourselves, our lives will be cut short. Just like--” doors opened and out came an arm of teething flesh! An upward slash crippled the large arm, splitting its burning flesh in two. “Flame Breathing. Second Form. Rising Scorching Sun.” You jumped out of the way, but this arm went on the offense towards you both. Both of you breathed in.

“Flame Breathing! First Form! Unknowing Fire!”

“Flame Breathing. First Form. Unknowing Fire.”

You and Rengoku blitzed in sync, damaging said arm until it retracted back through the doors. “Just like that.”

Rengoku caught you before your knees buckled. The aura was lingering in you. It wouldn’t be for some time for it to leave you. He wasn’t going to waste time on asking if you were going to be alright or not. He wasn’t about losing you here. “To the streets!” Rengoku dashed with you tossed over his shoulders, coming out where the crowd passed them by, looking at the both of you weirdly. “We have to return as quickly as possible!” Rengoku tried whispering to you as he set you on your feet. “I can carry you if you are unable to walk!”

You shook your head. “It will lessen in pain over time. Let’s head back as you suggested.”

“Right!”

You and Rengoku made the long trip back to the Demon Slayer HQ. You had one hell of a piece of information to tell Ubuyashiki as you didn’t even expect to come across anything this useful. And you won’t forget staring into the depths of moving flesh as it tried devouring you.

Being a Demon Slayer was not for the weak and weak willed. You survived due to momentarily gaining instincts to attack and live, but it was to Rengoku that you both got out alive.

You were certain now, more than ever.

Aoi gave Rengoku a hand by setting up your futon as well as preparing some tea in order to help you recover at the Butterfly Estate. She had never seen his eyes downcast and his brows so close together as he held you in his arms. “Please, take care of my Sunflower,” he spoke at a reasonable volume, “I shall be back in the morning.”

You tugged at his haori to gain his attention. “Warm me as you usually do.”

“With pleasure.” He pressed a warm kiss on your forehead and squeezed your hand with reassurance. “Goodnight, Sunflower.”

He left you with a sirene smile on your face and love in your heart.

The night grew lonely without your presence and it made him feel that he shouldn’t have left you there, but he wanted to be home with Senjuro whenever he returned, but what kind of husband was he going to be if he left his wife by her lonesome? He lied on his futon, conflicted while trying to go to sleep.

“I’ll just go back now!”

“Go back where now?”

The room warmed as your healthy presence surprised him. “Sunflower!” He didn’t waste a breath as he embraced and kissed all over your face. “You’re feeling better?”

“Much better!” You laughed. “I haven’t done that in a long time so it’s due to make me sick, but I didn’t think for that long. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay! I didn’t want to leave you alone so I had decided to make my way back to you.”

“But then we wouldn’t have any privacy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and drew him into a kiss. As each slow and soft kiss progressed to lip sucking and tongue exploration, Rengoku unbuttoned your uniform while you untied his nemaki (sleepwear).

You trailed your fingers up from his Adonis belt to his neck. You lifted his head up and kissed him from his jaw to his ear. Your lips made a pathway over his chest, his abs, and to the tip of his erection.

“Let me service you.” Rengoku’s body flushed red when you began taking him in your mouth.

“That’s good, Sunflower.” His groans and hands in your locs always turned you on, but they paled in comparison when he looked down at you with lust filling those gorgeous eyes of his.

You held steady at his hips, sucking him sloppily, the way he liked it. You wanted him wet and ready when he entered you. You knew the moment he started stroking into your mouth that he was ready.

It took everything in you to not let him pump his worth down your throat, though you’d swallow with glee. You let him free, staring at your hard work before getting his nemaki and spreading it down on the floor. He needn’t ask as you got down on your hands and knees and looked back at him. “I heard this was a good position for…” you blushed. “You know.”

“My Sunflower is so thoughtful!” He leaned over you with his erection rubbing between your thighs and his hands roaming up to your breasts. He rolled his thumbs over your nipples as he sucked and bit on your left earlobe. He then kissed from your shoulder, down the middle of your back, and to your hefty cheeks.

He gently pinched and tugged your nipples which had you moaning lightly and grinding up against him. He grinned with excitement as he erected himself upright and positioned the tip at your entrance. “You have an amazing back. You know that, Sunflower?” He began praising. “Your legs are strong, thick and yet smooth, soft.” His fingers roamed down your sides and thighs. “I love the way your body looks and feels.”

Ever since he saw how others treated you, he found it his life’s mission to compliment you as much as he could, to show that the girl he saw was extraordinary.

Whenever your gaze fell upon him, he could feel your love and admiration for him every time you two were together. Your energy was unrivaled. And whenever you needed that shoulder to cry on or advice, Rengoku couldn’t help but love how much you relied on him to see it through to your success. It was all worth it to get to here, and speaking of. . .

You lowered your upper half and spread your legs open so that he could dive deep into your waterfall. “Show me how you feel about me, Kyōjurō.” If he could praise the way you looked down below, you’d never hear the end of it, but it wasn’t for here or now. Definitely after the wedding, though!

He groaned once he pressed a well-positioned stroke within you, feeling the walls inside form around him as they always did. He had to have you.

Rengoku grabbed unto your hips and thrusted into you like this was going to be the last time. “I love it when you call my name,” your fingers clenched tight as his strokes echoed out into the hallway, “When you moan,” your lips quivered, “When you scream,” a few soft “ahs” escaped your parted lips as he kept a strong and steady pace, “I love it all!’

He made his intentions clear as he hiked up one of his legs and sped it up. “Nnf! Nnf! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Right there, Kyōjurō!”

“Just like that?” He let up for a moment as he drew back, before plunging down to the base, hearing your voice cry out into the night.

You crumbled first, what with your body shivering from the pounding Rengoku put on you. He put passion into everything he did, with one of them being sure he took care of you first, but you wanted that feeling inside you, too. “Please, fill me.”

He did just that, his body shuddering as he filled your opening, a creampie. Rengoku gazed at your blissful expression with a smile. “My beautiful Sunflower.” - - - - - - - - - Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; light touching.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Tomorrow will be a 12 hour day for me. Working on Xmas but oh well. I got this done on my one day off and I hope I survive the next week coming up!

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

Your time at Regia passed quickly and slowly all at once. You were woken most days abruptly by Barnes pounding on your door or standing over you with his smug half-grin. Then you dressed in clothes you reviled and ate a breakfast you couldn’t enjoy for all the expectation of your intake. You were allowed some recreation though that was often reading bland historical texts or walks in the garden with your keeper.

Your least favourite part of each day were your dance lessons. You had to relearn how to walk, talk, look, and eat, but you had never had much rhythm. Besides, being so close to Barnes with him commenting on your every misstep was hardly fun. He delighted in every mistake you made, eager to reproach you for each, and was easily amused by Priscilla’s stick smacking across your legs, back, and ass.

You counted eleven days as you began to truly fledge. You were tired, annoyed, and to be honest, hungry. That day, you beat Barnes’ early disturbance. You sat, in a coral blouse and a pleated grey skirted, with the lowest pair of heels in the closet. He greeted you almost with approval and that made your want to tear the blouse and shred it.

You didn’t. You followed him downstairs to your usual miserable meal. When you finished, he escorted you back up the wide staircase to the hall of mirrors. You hated the room. It gave you an all to inclusive view of your ridiculous attire. You didn’t look like you. Sure, you were one for a scholarly look but this wasn’t really that. This was a pompous, over-stylised look which would go well only with a silver spoon on your tongue.

A man waited in the hall of mirrors, a woman too. The man was slender and tall and his long fingers were twined together as he waited emotionlessly. He bowed as you entered and recited a dull ‘your highness’. The woman was squat and stuffed into a patterned wrap dress spotted with bright reds, pinks, and oranges. She was more jovial as her voice chimed with the same recitation.

“Lester, Deanna,” Barnes announced, “My apologies for the delay. I trust you are ready.”

“Darling, your highness,” The stout woman swayed over to you, “Come with me.”

“Huh,” you looked at Barnes and he smiled as he gestured you forward.

“Just go,” he ordered, “She doesn’t look like much but she’s not one for defiance.”

You sighed and let the woman usher you over to the attached room. The racks of dresses were gone but long garment bangs had been hung from a hook along the opposite wall. The door snapped shut behind you and Deanna flitted around you, like an elephant in heels, and turned you to face her.

“Oh, love, you are gorg,” she chimed in a peculiar accent, “I think however Lord Barnes was a bit off on your measurements,” she grasped your waist, “Lovely, lovely.”

“I hate to be a bitch but what the hell is going on?” You asked.

She blinked and laughed. She drew away and pushed her dark curls back as they burst forth from the jeweled pin behind her head. “Oh dear, you are fiery. The king will… like that. I think.”

She didn’t sound convincing as she spun away and marched over to the hook and took down the first bag. She unzipped it as she neared and turned it to reveal the contents. A white lacy dress with thin straps and a scalloped hem around the neckline. The bodice was fitted and the skirt flared out into a princess silhouette. You knitted your brow as you stared at it.

“Your wedding dress,” she sang. “Oh, it will surely look splendid on you, darling. Your highness.”

She stripped the bag away and was careful not to let the skirts touch the floor as she held it aloft and folded the swaths of fabric over her arm. She held it out to her as she beamed at you.

“So… I don’t get to choose?” You wondered. You didn’t care very much but you hated that all your decisions were made for you.

“Oh, but this was refashioned from the former queen’s dress. It is a tradition in Astrania. In fact some of this would date back centuries!” She explained, “Of course we do update the style.”

You chewed on your lip and shrugged. “Let’s just get this over with,” you muttered.

You felt defeated as you couldn’t help but fixate on the white gown. It was like you were wrapping yourself in a flag of surrender. You’d wave your skirts and let yourself be taken. You undressed and stepped into the dress as she opened it for you. She pulled the straps over your arms and zipped it up. 

“Rather, it fits you well,” she came around as she pinched at the fabric and smoothed out the seams. She wasn’t wrong, though it felt rather constricting. “Well, come on. Lester needs to do his figures. He’s always the better eye for this. I just sew.”

She took your hand as you lifted your skirts with your other. You let her guide you back out to the hall of mirrors and you avoided looking around you. You couldn’t look at Barnes either as you sensed him watching you. You blurred your vision as you lifted your head and the tall man, Lester, walked around you. He began to pin little pieces in place and Deanna pulled out a small notepad as she began to jot with a stubbed pencil.

“Hmm,” Barnes appeared before you and your vision cleared, “Not bad…” He brushed the lace with his fingers and traced the curve of your waist with his hands, “However…” He lingered just below your chest, “You can’t show the entire kingdom your bra. You would do better to leave that behind on the day.”

“We can add some structure,” Lester offered evenly. “But our adjustments will be minor.”

Barnes reached over and tugged the skirts from your hand and fluffed them out around you. He rounded you and gripped your shoulders. You saw yourself in the mirrored wall and tried not to show your surprise. It wasn’t awful but you still didn’t like it.

“We have three days left. You have the other dress?” He asked.

“We have options,” Deanna said, “We were uncertain if the king would prefer red or blue.”

“Let me see,” Barnes sidestepped her and went to the attached room. 

Deanna glanced at you and waved you after him as she approached and gathered your skirts. She followed after you and your vigilant chaperone. She released the vast skirts and went to Barnes as he neared the hanging garment bags. She unzipped both and he tilted his head and tutted.

“Red,” he said, “I believe the king will be in blue.”

“Very well,” Deanna pulled the dress from the bag. “Now dear, let’s get you changed.”

Barnes turned back and neared you. He faced you and reached around you. He pushed the zipper down slowly and leaned in until his breath tickled your nose. “Three days.” He reminded you. He drew away and left you as the bodice fell slack. He closed the door behind him as Deanna replaced him.

“Darling, I think red will look marvelous on you. And the king in blue! He has the most amazing eyes. Oh, if I was younger… maybe, skinnier,” she giggled, “Well, should I even tell you? You’ve seen him. Ugh, handsome bugger, he is.”

“Mhmm,” you grumbled as you wiggled out of the gown, “What a tragedy it’d be if his outside was ugly too.”

👑

That night was as restless as any. You laid in bed for a time, tossing and turning. You tried to forget about the blinding white dress and the abhorrent red number that came after. And how time seemed to pass regardless of your fears or your desires. You felt helpless. You used to be in control of everything and now, you couldn’t control even yourself.

You sat up in a slat of moonlight. You weren’t going to sleep. Your frustration mounted the longer you squeezed your eyes shut and clawed and clutched for rest. You grunted and stood as the duvet fell away from your legs. The short silk nightie sent a chill up your spin as it fluttered around your thighs.

You crossed your arms and went to the window. The lawns were peaceful despite the anxiety within the palace. You turned away as the lush green rippling in the silver shadows only heightened your uneasiness. You took the blush coloured robe from the chair sat before the vanity and swathed yourself in it as you neared the door.

It was, to your surprise, unlocked. As strict a warden as Barnes was, you just assumed he would have locked you in. You let out a breath and stepped out into the hallway. The portraits of your predecessors, dead and dusty, watched you pass as you tiptoed along. The windows cast shapes around you as you went along and at times, you were certain you heard whispers.

You descended to the lower first floor and ventured down a wing never explored before. Your eyes were attune to the darkness but still played tricks as you crept along. You heard the distant, muffled, and quite possibly, imagined ripple of water. You smelled a pool, the sharp scent of chlorine. Your senses brought you to a door at the end of the corridor.

Frosted glass framed in heavy metal. You pressed against the slotted handle and the clasp slowly lifted. You inched inside as you peeked around the door. Broad shoulders, bare and thick with muscle, beneath a head of dark hair. You were shocked by the scars along Barnes’ left shoulder and the arm no longer in place below. You’d never even noticed the prosthetic now laid out with his clothes on a bench near the wall.

He shoved himself into the pool and the water swelled around him. You placed your feet carefully as you eased the door shut and neared the bench where his suit was folded neatly with his shoes, socks, belt, and tie. You bent closer as you admired the hand at the end of the prosthetic; you touched it curiously. It felt lifelike even as it sat limp.

“Convincing?” Bucky’s voice frightened you as you heard the water move around his body. You turned to face him as he brought his right arm over the edge of the pool. “Don’t worry. You can toss it around. I won’t feel a thing.”

You were speechless; embarrassed. You hadn’t meant to intrude upon him but your fatigue mixed with your confusion had goaded you on.

“Sorry, I… I couldn’t sleep.” You hugged yourself and swept back to the door. “I wasn’t meaning-- I shouldn’t have--”

“Just an arm.” He said as he pushed himself up and turned to display what was left of his arm, a scarred stub just below his shoulder. “Good thing I was born with two.”

“Barnes…” You backed up until you were against the door. “I should go.”

“Alright,” he pushed himself back and floated with his single arm outstretched. “I always found swimming helped… with sleep.” He said lazily. “Calming.”

You didn’t move. You only watched as he floated along in only his briefs. He was entirely unbothered by your presence as he hummed and reached out to stop himself at the other end of the pool.

“Well, are you enjoying the show or you going to join?” He asked.

You watched him warily. “You’re not mad?”

“Maybe slightly irritated,” he shrugged, “You hovering is ruining the mood.”

You stared at him and slowly pushed yourself away from the door. You took small steps forward and lowered yourself along the rim of the pool. You held in a squeak as you hung your legs into the cool water.

“So, were you just not going to tell me there was a pool?” You chided.

“You didn’t ask,” he said as he waded casually through the water. “To be fair, you didn’t seem much interested in this place though as I’ve gathered, you are disinterested in most things.”

You frowned and rolled your eyes. You peered over at the wall and pondered leaving him as you found him. You were surprised by a wet hand on your knee.

“If I can get to you so easy, Steve’s gonna drive you mad,” Barnes said. “So if you’re going to be so easily perturbed, you better work on hiding it better.”

“Whatever,” you huffed.

“Whatever,” he mocked as his hand slid under the water and he gripped your ankle. “Loosen up.”

He kicked himself away from the wall and pulled you down into the pool. You plunged with a yelp and threw your arms up in panic. Your nose and mouth filled with water and he let you go. You bobbed back to the surface and spat as your silken night clothes clouded around you.

“What the fuck, Barnes?” You sputtered. 

“I’ll admit,” he said through chuckles, “I had a drink or two.” He winked as he moved around you. “Well, Duchess, you do play the role much better than you think.”

“Ugh,” you turned away and reached for the wall of the pool, “You are the worst.”

“Wait,” he pressed against you and caught you around your waist, “Wait, wait.” He drew you back with him. “Come on. Relax.” He dragged you further into the water, “Look, you’ve only got a few days left and even if you hate to listen to me, you should. Once you’re at court, this won’t happen. Ever.”

“What do you care? You haven’t so far.” You struggled with him and dipped below the water again. You twisted and turned and came up facing him as he clung to you.

“Duchess,” he warned, “Don’t be a brat.”

“A brat?” You blinked. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

He grinned and held you to him as he moved backwards across the pool. You felt something between you. It moved against your pelvis and as he spun you and pinned you against the tile, you realised what it was.

“Are you serious right now?” You snarled. “What about your king, huh?”

He chuckled and his hand slid down your back. He squeezed your ass as he kept you against the side of the pool. He was so close you could feel his breath and smell the remnants of his sweat and cologne.

“I’m supposed to show you how to be a good wife,” his finger tickled under your thigh, “In all areas.”

“I doubt he had this in mind,” you pushed against him but he was too strong. He slid between your legs as his hand stretched along the crease of your thigh. “I mean it, Barnes--”

Your voice gurgled as he reached below your nightie and stroked the front of your thin panties. The water splashed as you slapped his chest and growled.

“James!” You cried out. “Stop!”

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He twirled his fingers and you gritted your teeth against the tingle it sent through you. You stared into his eyes, fighting against the urge to let him go on. You shook your head slowly and pressed your hands to his shoulders. He let you push him away as his hand trailed over your leg.

“Oh, you just wait, Duchess,” he purred as he combed back his damp hair, “The king isn’t so willing to take orders.”

[lucrezia-thoughts]

Every Story is a Love Story

CHAPTER 12: THINK YOU CAN DO IT AGAIN?

Pairing: Marcus Pike x (F) Reader

Warning(s): 18 +, oral (f & m receiving), squirting, unprotected sex

Series Summary: You never expected the story of how you met the man of your dreams to start with, ‘He walked in while I was ass up on his desk moaning about how handsome he was…’

Chapter Summary: Your heart was pounding in your ears as you followed Marcus out of the club and into the parking lot...

Link to Master List

~~~~

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you followed Marcus out of the club and into the parking lot, heels clicking along the pavement as you tried to keep up with his wide stride. Ever the gentleman, Marcus held the door open for you once you reached his car and you couldn't help but press up against him before sliding into the seat. "Fuck." He groaned as he shut the door and ran around the car to the driver's side.

Getting in, his hands were shaking as he tried to get the key in the ignition. Gently, you reached out and helped him guide the key into the hole and leaned forward to press a kiss to his dimple.

He turned his head and captured your lips in a passionate but quick kiss. Pulling back, he very deliberately faced forward. "Just a little longer." He mumbled out the words you'd said to him on stage and threw the car into gear. You bit your lip and watched him carefully as his hands gripped at the steering wheel desperately while he drove. His entire body was tense, but you knew better than to try anything in the car. He was about one touch away from exploding.

As soon as Marcus turned the car off, he was on his way to open your door while the garage door shut. Once your door was open, he tugged you up into his arms. "Honey-" He groaned as he slotted his lips against yours and pushed his suit jacket off of your shoulders.

You moaned into his mouth and started to press against him, but he jerked back. "You can't- I'm not gonna- shit, baby-" He tried to explain, but you knew what he was trying to say. With a quick peck to his lips and a grin full of pleasurable promises, you took his hand in yours and lead him to the bedroom.

With a gentle shove, you pushed him to sit on the bed and slowly sank to your knees. "Honey, you don't have to-" Marcus tried to assure you, but you shook your head.

"I want to, Marcus." You bit your lip and looked up at him through your lashes. "Can I please taste you?" You cooed as you slid your hands up and down his thighs.

"Shit...yes, yes-" He panted, but cupped your chin as you leaned forward to undo his pants. Raising your eyes to meet his, you shivered at the intensity you found in them. "-but after I'm going to eat your pussy until you scream." He growled and you whimpered as your cunt clenched and he let your chin go to lean back and pull off his shirts.

Taking a deep breath, you made quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his pants. Tugging at his pants and boxers, he lifted his hips so you could pull them down and off.

Your eyes widened as you took in his length and girth and you whimpered again as you felt a fresh wave of arousal crash over you and you bent down to lick him from root to tip. His moan was music to your ears and you slowly took him into your mouth, making sure to look up at him as your painted lips stretched around him. You felt his muscles straining and his balls drawing up tight almost immediately so you sucked in a deep breath through your nose, took as much of him in as you could, and swallowed around his cock.

"Fuuuuuuck, honey-" Marcus groaned and fell back against the bed as he came down your throat. You licked and sucked him until you were sure you got every drop. With a wet pop, you pulled off and licked your lips loudly.

"Mmmmm..." You moaned and gently removed your nipple tassels, tossed them over your shoulder, and laid down next to Marcus on the bed as he caught his breath.

"I'm sorry bab-" He started to apologize, but you shook your head and leaned down to kiss him deeply.

"I knew you were close." You whispered between kisses and lifted your leg up to straddle his waist.

"Gotta give me a few minutes, honey." He chuckled as he grabbed your hips and his cock twitched and made a valiant attempt to harden. "Besides, it's my turn." He grinned and flipped you so you were laying on the bed with him hovering over you.

Leaning down, he kissed your lips quickly before he started trailing kisses down your neck. You whimpered when he reached your chest and took a nipple into his mouth to suck on for a moment before giving the other one the same treatment.

"Marcus..." You breathed and threaded your fingers through his hair as he made his way down your stomach. Reaching the waistband of your bejeweled panties, he pressed a kiss right over your covered clit before he tugged the panties off.

Pushing your legs back and apart, Marcus settled between your thighs and reached up and spread your lips open. "You're so wet, baby." He groaned.

Leaning forward, he licked through your drenched folds and moaned into your cunt as you gasped at the sensation. "Oh my god!" You whined and tried to close your thighs, but his shoulders kept you from succeeding as he licked at you again before sucking on your clit.

He alternated between licking into you and teasingly flicking his tongue over your clit and after a few minutes you were thrashing your head on the bed as he started focusing on your clit. "Marcus...Marcus, please, I'm gonna-" You whimpered and he sucked harder at your clit as he slid a finger into you and rubbed against your g-spot.

That was all it took to push you over the edge. "MARCUS!" You screamed and felt an unfamiliar and intense rush of liquid leave you. Your hands clenched the bedding and your body locked up as Marcus moaned into your pussy and drank down everything you gave him.

Pulling back he stared at you in wonder as you panted and blinked slowly at him before you started to shiver. "Shit, baby-" He groaned. "I think you just squirted."

You whined when you saw his lips and chin shining with your arousal and tried to turn and hide your face in the bedding, but he was quick to hold you close. "Hey, hey." He soothed as you teared up from the intense pleasure still pulsing through you.

Your eyes swept over his face as one tear escaped, but he was quick to wipe it away. "Marcus..." You whimpered and he cupped his hand around your cheek.

"I'm right here, honey." He whispered and you bit your lip.

"I...I've never done that before..." You confessed and you would have thought you'd told him he'd won the lottery with how wide he was grinning.

"Really?" He asked and you nodded as you slowly stopped shivering and reached up to rest your hand on his chest. "God, I love you, baby." He groaned and leaned forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling back from the kiss to take a breath, he reached down, hoisted your leg up over his hip, and you felt him pressing at your entrance. With a smirk, he rubbed his nose against yours as he slowly pushed into you and grunted. "Think you can do it again?"

~~~~

CHAPTER 13: AS LONG AS YOU’RE MINE

~~~~

A/N: As always, comments and feedback are love!! Oh, and please let me know if you want to be tagged on updates!

TAG LIST: @sirowsky @mrschiltoncat @alberta-sunrise @fleurdemiel145 @mrsparknuts @jedi-mando @styxfan06sworld @prideandpascal @what-iwish-you-knew @paintballkid711 @artsymaddie @computeringturtle

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 11

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) – highly suggestive scene and the angst train is back in action for this part

Word count: 2470

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

The celebrations continued even once you were back in Blayne. News travelled that Jaehyun had come in fourth with his score at the rodeo, earning him a cash prize and a qualifying ticket. When his truck hurtled down the main street, the evening was brighter than usual.

You peered curiously at Avery and then at the diner’s lights. “Shouldn’t that be closed by now?”

“They’re waiting for us,” he mentioned with a loose grin, and you blinked blankly. “To celebrate!”

“Oh! Right, of course. Everyone knows you’ve done it.” Glancing over at Jaehyun, who had been mostly silent for the ride home, you gave him a small smile before swallowing down your emotions.

Once you had pulled away from that life-altering kiss, Jaehyun had been taken in one direction and you in the other. He had interviews to do, and people within the circuit to meet with. Although the sun had still been out when he had finished his run, dusk had swooped in and carried it away by the time you were finally loading back up into the truck.

There was so much to talk about with Jaehyun.

“We won’t stay for long,” he announced when he parked the truck into the free spot outside the diner, and a small gasp left you when you found the place bustling with people.

Avery smirked. “We’re a tight-knit community. We celebrate everyone’s successes like this.”

“And everyone’s misfortunes too,” Jaehyun muttered, plastering a smile on his face before opening the door to the truck.

You hesitated to get out, and Jaehyun turned back to look at you questioningly. Rubbing your neck, you pointed awkwardly to the party. “Should I come in or wait out here?”

“Why are you even hesitating? You’re part of this world now.”

Still unconvinced, you took the hand he offered to help you down and then nodded softly, feeling rather subdued despite the happy atmosphere.

The noise once you were all inside increased tenfold, party poppers and streamers going off around you both. Jaehyun laughed and held out his arms to the heavens. “Looks like I’m still pretty decent, huh?!”

And then you lost track of all the conversations that began around you. Jaehyun was proudly talking about his run and Avery had shown everyone the recorded clip of it. You nodded and clapped along when prodded to join in, but remained on the outskirts.

It was foreign for you to see so many people come together like this to support each other. Sure, you had friends and family, but even then, it was never like this. A text to say congratulations when you got a promotion from your parents or some quiet drinks with a few friends to celebrate an award you had received. Nothing as loud as this.

You realised you craved this more than what you had back home. The community here was one that cared about each other. Even if they gossiped endlessly and had no filter at times, each person within the diner cared about the one they sat or stood next to. They had grown together, shared their burdens and prevailed against the odds as one.

It amazed you how much you still had to learn about Blayne even after living here for a couple of months.

“Y/N, did you enjoy the rodeo?” a voice asked, and you turned, smiling warmly at June.

“It was quite the experience.”

“You look rather exhausted.”

You nodded once. “A little.”

“Jaehyun, can you run Y/N home now?”

“Oh no! This is all about him, and I’m fine. Honestly.”

Jaehyun was at your side almost immediately, and he grinned. “I bet this is all too much for Miss City here. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“But-!” you exclaimed as he gently tugged you out of the seat you had managed to secure earlier, dragging you to the exit with a hasty farewell. He opened the door to the truck and helped you in before rounding the other side and climbing aboard.

You stared at him. “You don’t have to-”

“My Mum is a gem, isn’t she?” he stated with a small smile, waving to those inside the diner. “She always finds ways for me to escape.”

“You mean her coming over to me just now was…?”

Jaehyun grinned. “Thanks for saving my butt tonight. I get really uncomfortable after an hour of being praised. It feels foreign to me.”

“Why? You’re the golden boy. No one can touch the Jung’s.”

Jaehyun smiled sadly as he started down the road. “Attention isn’t something much that I enjoy.”

“It sure looks like you did at the rodeo,” you mentioned, and Jaehyun shook his head, changing gear on the truck before reaching for your hand.

You could tell he had been craving your touch for some time.

“I wanted to have some time with just you earlier than this.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I need to be anywhere else.”

Jaehyun sighed. “Don’t you have people waiting on you though?”

“People where?”

“Back in the city. Your work colleagues, your friends, your family. They’ll need you.”

“I miss them, for sure. Especially Natty. But it’s not like it is out here. Relationships are different.”

“We’re different?”

“Well I’ve never met a cowboy in the suburbs,” you teased, and Jaehyun chuckled.

“What you said earlier, what we did, I get it was the heat of the moment. A different atmosphere than what we both usually-”

“Are you backing out on me, Mr Cowboy?” you asked firmly, and Jaehyun glanced at you several times before stopping the truck in the middle of the country road.

“I’m giving you an option if you want to take it.”

“Didn’t you give me that once you ducked under the bar and came to my side?”

“You’re serious?”

“You don’t think I could love you already?” you proposed, staring intensely at the man beside you.

Jaehyun opened his mouth to speak, only to close it a moment later. He grinned. “You’ve rendered me speechless.”

“Why? Because you hoped I didn’t?”

“No, I hope you fall madly for me.”

“I’m well on my way,” you confirm, and Jaehyun shook his head incredulously. “What? Has no woman ever told you that they like you?”

“I’ve never felt deserving of it, no.”

“You and that self-worth of yours,” you muttered, reaching over to cup his jaw in your hand. Jaehyun caught your gaze, and you smiled. “I love you.”

“I don’t think that’s ever going to get old to hear.”

“You’ve not said it back once,” you pointed out, and Jaehyun chuckled.

“You’ve been waiting for it, huh?”

“Normally most people describe it as one says I love you, and the next says it back. I’ve seen enough movies about it,” you mentioned as Jaehyun finally started to drive again, soon heading down the start of your driveway.

“Claim? How come you sound as if you haven’t said anything like this before?”

“Because I haven’t,” you confessed, and Jaehyun stared at you then. You darted your gaze to the drive and reached for the steering wheel to balance the truck out. “Would you watch where you’re going?!”

“Would you stop making my heart swell so much?” he breathed, and you chewed on your lip quietly, Jaehyun taking back the wheel and gripped it tightly.

The energy was charged between you by the time he turned off the ignition and opened the squeaky truck door, you soon following him out.

Stretching your fingers out to try and loosen some of the tension coiling up within you, you both walked side by side up the porch and over to your front door.

“Well, if you’re exhausted, I should let you rest,” Jaehyun stated, and you nodded numbly, reaching in your purse for your keys.

“I had a good time. Thanks for taking me.”

“Sleep well, won’t you,” he said as you opened the front door, stepping over the threshold and taking hold of the wooden frame. You turned to glance back at Jaehyun, the deep way he looked at you causing your stomach to flip.

He didn’t move, however, and you slowly moved the door to close it until his hand reached out and stopped it, your heart now pounding with anticipation.

“I’m so in love with you,” he confessed hurriedly, stepping over the doorframe and picking you up in his arms.

You curled your limbs around him effortlessly, kissing him with demand as he shut the door, hands roaming and tugging at the clothes between you both.

It felt like too much effort to follow the path up to the bedroom, Jaehyun acting disorientated as he moved around the place, shedding your upper clothing in the process. Somehow you ended up in the kitchen, a moan leaving you as he propped you down on the countertop, your hands finally ridding him of the singlet that had been under his rodeo shirt.

He equally had removed your bottoms, staring at you in a way that made you feel like the only woman made for him. You embraced him as soon as he was close enough to, and Jaehyun groaned into your ear. “I’ve been in love with you for some time now.”

“It’s not a race. Just because you hold a record around these parts, doesn’t mean you need to prove you beat me to feel something back for you.”

“You’re something else you know that? Who knew you’d come into this town and change everything for me?”

“Whatever happened to the guy who told me I wouldn’t last a month?” you breathed out, arching your back as his mouth trailed from your neck to your chest.

Jaehyun smirked at you then, his hands moving to cup your breasts within them. “You made sure about adapting to this place.”

“It’s not so bad. I mean, sometimes I would kill for the accessibility of the city, and have a Starbucks nearby. The smell sometimes out here is something I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to either.”

“I feel there’s a but attached here,” he mused, reaching up to kiss your lips passionately. It was strange to be having such a conversation with the temperature and physical needs between you increasing.

Yet when you pulled back for more air, you beamed at him. “But I’m falling in love with this place, this town, and your people. I couldn’t imagine my life any other way now.”

The new week began, and you felt as if you were riding along on cloud nine. Everything was beautiful out here. You worked, you explored, and you loved long into the summer nights with Jaehyun. Your riding lessons continued, and now that you had the hang of loping, you would often feel exhilarated riding Roger. You felt free and empowered.

Blayne was more than just a small blip on any map.

Despite it all, you still regarded the reason you came here as a priority. With your plan neatly tucked into your briefcase, and slipping into one of your more casual business attires, you looked into the mirror of the bathroom and smoothed down your hair.

“Today’s the day,” you told your reflection, smiling brightly.

Everything about you felt ready right now. You had all the signatures you had sought out, and word had travelled enough for Mr Jung to reach out for this meeting to happen a day earlier.

Today you would get the piece of land you needed to start the redevelopment.

You drove to the Jung’s homestead with your game face on, your finger tapping on the steering wheel repeatedly. You hummed a tune to yourself and ran through the opening part to your proposal in your head. When you parked the car, you smiled brightly at Avery when you crossed him on the yard, but he didn’t return the gesture quite as genuinely.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” you greeted all the same, and Avery grimaced.

“I think you might need to prepare yourself.”

“Oh, I’m completely ready for this,” you assured him, but Avery shook his head.

“Not for your plan. Listen, Y/N, things have-”

“You’re here,” Mr Jung cut in, and you turned your attention to the elder, nodding confidently at the man. “Come inside.”

Following him in and frowning at Avery’s worried expression, you stopped midway in taking the seat across from Mr Jung’s desk when you noticed Jaehyun sitting in the one next to it. “What are you doing here? I can pitch my idea to your father alone.”

“Pitch your idea?” Mr Jung repeated, laughing hollowly. “I didn’t ask you here today to listen to any nonsense about the resort plans your company has. I have no interest in them.”

“With full respect, Mr Jung, I’ve worked incredibly hard with the people of Blayne to find a happy medium.”

“And just how many of them did you sleep with or was it just my boy here?”

“Dad!”

“No. I want to hear it from her. Was it in the plan you made to sleep with my son to get the land, to trespass onto what can never be yours, and fool this idiot into thinking you could actually have something together?”

You were rendered speechless, your game face falling away and crumbling into a thousand pieces. You tried to say something, anything, to not only prove your sincerity but to defend yourself against his vicious attack.

However, Mr Jung’s tongue wasn’t done yet, and he glared at his son, shaking his head slowly. “I should have left you to die in that fire you started. If this was how you wanted to end Blayne, I’d much rather you have gone up in smokes back then than face you and your betrayal now.”

The information stunned you further, and your head jarringly turned to the man now sobbing in the chair beside you. “You were the one to start the fire?”

“It’s not how you see it!” Jaehyun exclaimed, though to whom, you didn’t quite know.

Regathering yourself, you shook your head. “Mr Jung, please allow me to explain myself, as you requested earlier.”

“You have nothing of worth for me to listen to. I’d like for you to pack your bags and be gone from Blayne before sunset.”

“Excuse me?! Surely I can do something to change your opinion-”

Mr Jung slammed his fist down on the table. “Outsiders like you only cause problems for the people who breathe for this place. Get out and don’t come back.”

Glancing at Jaehyun, who was rocking back and forth in his chair holding his head, and then back at the resolute expression on the owner of this land’s face, you finally allowed your emotions to burst through, choking on the sob that followed.

“I’m so sorry!” you announced before turning for the door and running out it.

_________________

Part 12

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[NCT Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[immxrtalbi]

I finally did a masterlist!! It’s categorized in ships and I rounded them. They’re not really in any order, and will update whenever I do a new story and so on. Also read the tags carefully in the other page! Give love and comments :)

~~~

~ Tom/Harry

Physical Obliviate [E, 15k; Ongoing]

Harry wakes up with no memory of his past life. The only thing he remembers is a girl screaming at him to run. Luckily, he meets Abraxas who treats him real well and even lets Harry stay at his manor. Sounds simple enough. But upon meeting a man named Riddle, Harry can't help but feel like he's met him before, and the scar on his forehead burns just by looking at him.

Azkaban Break [ E, 9k]

"Are you afraid of me… Potter, is it?" He mocked. Bastard.

Harry nodded, still wary.

"Oh. For a second, I thought I forgot about it," Voldemort said in a dull tone.

It shouldn't be surprising that his temper got the best out of him. "I'm Harry Potter. And of course I'm not afraid! You're here because you murdered several people and almost ruled Britain! You got everything you deserve."

Twinkle Riddle [T, 1k]

Harry Potter is a portrait, and makes a living in making Tom's life hell by pretending he doesn't hear the passwords.

Horcruxes Dearest [T. 800 words]

Tom somehow ends up in the future where a young man named Harry wears his belongings.

Feasting on a Lie [E, 800 words]

"You know how we do it," Tom reminded. He gulped a mouthful of blood and then reached the back of Harry's head, pulling the hair before pushing him forward in a deep kiss.

Scaly Rumors [M, 6k]

Things got stranger for Harry. He kept dreaming about the lake, the light he saw. Hands touching him. He would wake up every time, sweating and calling out for someone. Harry didn't know who to talk to about this without sounding insane.

The wound on his collarbone didn't heal. It left a huge bite mark—that wasn't from a grindylow. Harry told no one about it. And what made matters worse, everyone seemed to be aware of his obsession with the lake.

Home of Three [T, 2k]

"Teddy is fine," he insisted, narrowing his eyes towards him.

Harry had frowned and said, "Teddy, be nice. Tom didn't mean any harm."

"It's quite alright, Harry." Then Tom crossed his arms, lips forming into a grin—which Teddy found scary. "Teddy," he tested the name out, almost mockingly, "I get a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

Dirty Little Secret [T, 2k]

Harry would've been scared of a furious Tom if he was sober, but not right now. Instead he sighed and glanced at his empty glass. While he was relieved that he didn't kiss Cedric, he was disappointed that nothing exciting happened.

A part of him wanted to believe that Tom would declare his love and kiss him in front of everybody. But alas, his dream didn't come true.

"What do you think you're doing?" Tom hissed closely, careful to avoid others from overhearing.

Caged Love [M, 4k]

Tom's heart did a flip. He never wanted to let Harry go. "If I ever meet them, I'll kill them."

Laughing, Harry shook his head and pulled him closer. "You're such a kidder!"

But Tom wasn't kidding. He was being dead serious. If this was love, Tom would make sure to keep it caged up so others wouldn't have it.

Harry was his.

Paper Crane of Mistakes [T, 1k]

Harry grumbled and walked faster, hoping Tom could take the hint. He didn't. Tom kept talking about how Harry should try harder in school and stop causing trouble.

"Don't you ever stop talking!" Harry glared at him. "You need to loosen up. Go get laid or something—"

"Is that an offer?" Tom smirked.

Harry raised his hand and made sure the punch left a good mark.

Two Alike Sides [T, 1k]

He covered his hand on Harry's—it was still on his chest—and gently pulled it off, but he didn't let go, instead he laced their fingers together. "Your way of thinking will be your demise one day," Tom informed him, almost darkly.

"Maybe so," Harry whispered, and he attempted to pull away, except Tom wouldn't let him.

*Series We’re Not in Hogwarts Anymore [Ongoing, currently 5k]

*Part 1: Magic Gone [T, 2k]

"If you're here for money... let me assure you that you won't get a single pound from me," Tom promised.

"I don't want your money! I have my own in a vault!" Harry snapped.

"A what?"

"Forget it." Harry pushed away his plate. All he had was his wand and a few Galleons in his pockets. "I have nowhere to go. I'm not from around here. Can I just stay for a few days until this gets sorted out—"

*Part 2: Reliving Nightmares [T, 2k] 

"Then why do I still make you scream?" Then Voldemort touched Harry's scar on his forehead, causing Harry to cry in agony. It felt like he was struck with crucio.

'Stop it, stop it, stop it! Please!'

Then Harry was awakened by someone shaking him. By the same man who made his life a living hell.

"You were crying in your sleep—" Tom didn't have a chance to finish as Harry pushed him away like a maniac.

*Part 3: Scotland Blues [T, 2k]

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't raised his head. The whole time he was staring at Tom's collarbone because he knew if he looked into his eyes… Harry would see a strong emotion he wasn't ready to face just yet. He could deny his own feelings, but not Tom's.

~ Cedric/Harry

6 Year Anniversary, Not 5 [E, 1k]

"Happy Anniversary," Harry breathed. He liked the way Cedric's fingers massaged his nape; it brought shivers down his spine.

"You're the best husband I could ever ask for."

~ Regulus/James

Broomsticks & Crushes [T, 2k]

Taking Harry to get a broomstick was what James was looking forward to, however, he didn’t expect Regulus Black to be the owner of Black’s Brooms. And that his crush on James hadn’t faded since their times at Hogwarts. Would he give Regulus a chance this time around?

~ Teddy/James S.

Nothing to Worry About [T, 1k]

"Can you please stop pacing? It's making me nervous," Teddy said with a frown.

James, who was circling around the couch, replied, "How can you not be nervous? We're telling my dad that we've been dating for a while—How are you this calm?"

~ Rarepairs

Badges Off [T, 900 words] (Cedric/Draco)

Draco asks Cedric to the ball after Cho told him she’s already going with someone else.

To Being Roommates [T, 1.5k] (Regulus/Harry)

Regulus and Harry are forced to be roommates since both own 12 Grimmauld place and no one wants to leave.

Reserved Seeker [T, 1k] (Regulus/Harry)

Regulus was hanging upside down. His legs holding onto the broom, his hair falling all around his face, and a smirk on his lips. Harry had never been more enamored.

Decode Me [M, 6k; Ongoing] (Edward/Harry) 

Harry just had to save people's lives, again, not caring whatever happened to him. He assumed that the time-turner would kill him... not landing Harry in a river in the middle of nowhere. Bleeding and hurt while walking around the forest, he didn't expect a good looking man to save him, or for Harry to sense something wasn't right.

~ No Pairings

Secret Diary [T, 1k]

Albus and Scorpius read Harry's old diary and find out that Voldemort was the not worst thing he had dealt with.

[stayextrafrosty]

I Am Your Future, I Am Your Past: Chapter 12

A Roswell New Mexico Soulmate AU

AN: I’m so sorry for not updating this. I hit a bit of a wall but had some lovely friends help me out. I’m starting to plan the rest of the story and it’s looking like it’ll be between 23-25 chapters. So hey! Halfway point! Anyway... thank you for reading and being patient with me!

Read on AO3 // Masterlist // Chapter 1

-

Alex checked the rearview mirror to make sure Michael was still behind him. He grinned and shook his head at how close he was tailing. Alex wasn’t one for road rage but even he was tempted to hit the brakes, just to freak him out a little bit.

Alex looked down at the map spread on his passenger seat. The reception would be spotty until they got to the cabin and hooked up the Wi-Fi. They should be coming up on the “driveway” soon. It was a hunting cabin left to him by Jim Valenti that he would visit with Kyle when he was young. The trees and boulders scattered around provided more than enough cover to play hide and seek.

He finally saw the small worn sign signaling the beginning of private property. He signaled and slowed down, remembering the trench that was near impossible to see just off the road. His car would be ok but would Michael’s old truck?

They hadn’t passed another car in at least ten minutes. He released a breath of relief that Forrest – or anyone else – hadn’t followed them. Then again, his father never knew about the cabin. Jim always kept it a secret between them.

The dust kicked up and obscured Alex’s view of Michael but he could see the dust from his truck in the side mirror. Five minutes later, the cabin came into view and Alex noted the young chinaberry tree he had selected to get some shade on the property. The leaves still a beautiful green even as the season was coming to an end.

He slowed as he pulled up. Putting the car in park, he stared at the small house. The wood rack on the side of the cabin was filled with wood left over from the landscaping. His eyes ran over the solar panels on the roof and down to the porch. He stared at the front door. He would be living here for who knew how long. Alone. With Michael.

Michael’s truck rumbled up next to him, pulling him from his daydream. Alex folded the map and put it back in the glove box before stepping out of the car. He walked up the steps without looking at Michael, pushing the key in the lock and opening the door.

The place would need to be dusted but most of the furniture was covered with white cloth. He felt Michael’s body heat step up behind him. He still jumped when his fingers brushed his arm. Alex moved in further, trying to seem as natural as possible.

“Start pulling covers off of things and I’ll get the power going,” Alex said, heading to the back storage room. He didn’t hear a reply from Michael but he felt the confusion through the mark. But if Alex could feel the confusion, couldn’t Michael feel his nerves?

His reaction to Forrest this morning had been real. He was beyond pissed but the feelings had already taken root. He was searching for a reason to forgive him. But he had kissed Michael a few days ago and it wasn’t as though he regret it. It felt more right than anything else but he wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t residual feelings from the vision they shared.

He pulled open the fuse box and started flipping switches. His eyes landed on the spot where Michael had kissed his hand. It felt like it was burned into his skin. He shook his head and continued messing with the fuses.

Alex flipped the last switch. Nothing happened for a moment. Suddenly sparks flew as the fuse short circuited. He jerked his hand away but the sparks burned his skin and he hissed in pain. He cursed under his breath as he held his hand to his chest. The pain faded quickly and he looked down, not a single burn was left.

He spun and rushed back to the main room where Michael would be. His eyes scanned the room and he saw Michael sitting on the couch, jaw clenched and gripping his hand, watching the burns appear.

“Michael! I’m so sorry. Come on, we need to run that under some water,” Alex rushed out, grabbing his arm. He followed without protest to the kitchen sink. Alex turned on the water and listened to the pipes groan before water spat out.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Alex, but it’s just a small burn. I’ve gotten worse working on cars,” Michael teased gently. Alex ignored him and grabbed his hand carefully, pulling it under the cold water.

They were both silent as the water ran. Alex’s heart raced at the warmth of Michael’s skin under his fingers. The heat rose to his cheeks as he pulled the cabinets open, looking for a towel. He pulled one out and shut the water off, handing it to Michael. He hurried to the lone bathroom in the bedroom where the first aid kit was.

Alex spun to go back to the kitchen and ran into a firm body. Michael’s hands held on to his waist, keeping him from stumbling back. Alex looked at his face for the first time since they arrived. Michael’s gaze burned as he glanced down. His heart pounded in his chest, just like Alex’s.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.

“I’m not,” Alex insisted, though he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Michael didn’t say anything back. Just released him and walked out of the bathroom. Alex’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. Being around Michael was like all the air was ripped from his lungs. The only solution his brain could ever come up with was to step closer until they were breathing together.

Alex followed him out, glancing at the bed in the middle of the bedroom. He and Kyle had always slept on air mattresses in the living room. He hadn’t considered that he and Michael would have to share the bed. He shook his head. He would have to sleep on the couch.

“Michael, let me bandage your hand,” Alex said as he stepped back out the front door.

“It’s fine, Manes.” His last name was like a slap in the face. Wasn’t he the one who said he didn’t want to do that anymore? He yanked the passenger side door on his truck open, pulling out his bag and box of stuff. Alex stared at the truck as he kicked the door closed and walked past him.

He blinked a few times before turning and following him back inside. What had he done to piss him off? Alex didn’t want to think it was just because of the slight avoiding.

“Michael—”

“Is your car still unlocked? I’ll grab your things,” he said, cutting him off. Without waiting for an answer, he was walking back out the door.

Alex clenched his fists. Why wouldn’t Michael just talk to him? He heard the slamming of car doors and soon Michael was carrying in his bag and headed to the bedroom. Alex followed him again.

“Hey,” he tried again.

“I’ll stay on the couch. And I can run back to town for food.” Michael tried to push past him.

Alex’s nose twitched and he grabbed the door, slamming it shut before Michael could leave. He jumped and raised an eyebrow at him. Alex stared him down, refusing to be the one to look away first.

“What are you so mad about,” Alex demanded. Michael scoffed and shook his head.

“Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do such a complete one eighty on their feelings. One minute you’re furiously protective and the next you’re horrified at the idea of even being around me.”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“You avoided me and then tried to lie about it. Message received loud and clear. I feel everything, Alex. I can make an educated guess about what you’re thinking.” Michael grabbed his hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. “You regret yelling at Forrest. Because fuck you actually still have feelings for the guy. After everything he did. So just forget it.”

Alex was frozen. Only moving to allow Michael to leave the room. He didn’t understand how Michael could have such a clear picture of his emotions when Alex could barely pick up on his. He gripped his shirt over the mark and heard the truck start outside.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus. He tried to reach out mentally. To decipher which emotions were his and which were Michael’s. Everything was tangled together but it was like two different colors. Alex a vibrant blue and Michael a muted green.

He picked through the anger and confusion. Separating the betrayal and the annoyance, the desire and love. The love… swimming in the background of every emotion, refusing to be separated.

-

A week passed in discomfort. Alex and Michael talked but never about anything important. Michael slept on the couch and refused to let Alex take a turn, insisting that he’d be a terrible person to make the one missing a leg sleep on the ‘lumpy piece of crap.’

So Alex moved around the kitchen, emptying the case of eggs to make a couple omelets for them both. Michael groaned from the couch, blanket tossed lazily over the lower half of his body. Alex had gotten used to seeing him shirtless but he still couldn’t control his heart if he let himself stare too long.

“I told you that you could sleep in the bed,” Alex called to him as he sprinkled cheese onto the eggs.

“And I told you that I wasn’t going to let you sleep on the couch,” he responded with a grunt. His bare feet padded up behind Alex before shifting to walk to the fridge. Alex glanced at his back and let his eyes follow the muscles to where his pajama pants started. Then he refocused on the food in the pan.

“We could just share the bed you know. It’s not like it’s small.” The silence that followed the suggestion was almost enough to make him want to take it back. The food sizzled and Alex shifted it with the spatula.

“I figured you would rather not. You can hardly stand to be in the same space as me.”

Alex sighed. He was still convinced that he was avoiding him. And maybe he had been but it was over now. Alex couldn’t avoid him when they had to live together. The easiest way to get through this was if they were at least friendly. Friends could share beds. Girls do it all the time. At least, according to Liz, Rosa, and Maria.

“Michael. Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company,” Alex snapped. He hadn’t meant for it come out as harsh as it did but this argument had been going on since the first day. Even though they had hardly discussed it. Enough was enough.

“Oh yea, that’s convincing.”

“Well maybe if you stopped being a jackass for a second and listened to me. You can read my emotions Michael, not my thoughts. And I think you’ve severely misinterpreted them.” Alex shut off the stove and placed the eggs on a plate before turning toward Michael. HE stood with his arms crossed, a slight frown settled firmly onto his face.

“Well enlighten me. What have I misinterpreted?” he bit out sarcastically. Alex shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed before he started speaking.

“I care about Forrest, yes.” Michael scoffed and began to turn away. Alex grabbed his arm. “We were friends Michael. Probably on our way to something more. What did you want me to do? Sit and wait patiently for you to decide I’m worth it? You rejected me. And I don’t blame you for that. We didn’t exactly leave things in a good place.”

“Friends?” Michael laughed. “You knew him for maybe a week.”

“From what I remember we only knew each other for about that long back in high school.” Michael’s eye twitched as he looked away from Alex. “Michael. I care about you. There is no doubt in my mind about that. But I can’t shake this feeling that maybe it’s just left over from the visions.”

Alex watched Michael’s eyes soften. He released his arm hesitantly, hoping that he wouldn’t bolt for the door. Michael ran a hand through his hair before leaning back against the counter.

“I’m not avoiding you. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel around you.” Michael’s gaze seemed to turn intense. Alex couldn’t help but blush.

“Why don’t you try explaining it,” Michael said.

Alex turned away from him, grabbing the food he had made and bringing it to the table. He set it down in front of their respective chairs before sitting down himself. Michael followed suit, sitting across from Alex. He pushed his food around with the fork, debating how to explain this. Couldn’t Michael just read him? Wasn’t that the point of the mark?

“I… I’m nervous. Being around you has always made me nervous. And it’s even worse now.” He started.

“Why?” Alex felt naked. It was a reasonable follow up question but he was terrified at the answer. He couldn’t even lie to make it less awkward.

“Because feeling you… your emotions. They’re so clear all the time and I… I hate knowing that mine are the exact same way for you.”

“So you search for any wall you can put between us. And right now that happens to be Forrest.” Alex looked up at him briefly before refocusing on the food.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “This curse pushes us together. And me wanting you this badly… it can’t be natural.”

It was silent for a while. Neither of them eating a single bite of food. Alex froze as Michael’s chair scraped across the floor. His bare feet padded along the wood until he stood next to him. Alex looked up at him, heart pounding. Michael brushed his fingers over the mark beneath Alex’s shirt. His breath caught in his throat.

“And yet you’re the one thing that does come naturally to me.”

Then Michael stepped away, taking the breath from Alex’s lungs with him. He left the food on his plate as he walked toward the master bedroom. After a few minutes, Alex could hear the water of the shower. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Why do you have to say things like that?” he mumbled to himself.

He picked at his food for a few minutes, just listening to the water running in the background. Eventually he stood and put both plates in the fridge, figuring they would want to eat later. Had that conversation even solved anything? He still didn’t know how to talk to Michael and his own feelings didn’t magically make sense.

Alex walked to the front room and sat on the floor for his daily stretches. He grimaced but pushed himself down anyway, pulling his legs into a butterfly position. He took deep breaths as he counted to ten, only flinching once.

He was on his back, pulling his leg into his chest when the water stopped. The idea of stopping never crossing his mind. His eyes closed to concentrate on his breathing and pain management. Alex had shifted to his other leg when Michael wandered back into the front room. Alex felt his pulse jump.

Alex opened his eyes to look at him. His hungry eyes could have started a fire under his skin. His hands gripped the t-shirt he was holding. Alex cleared his throat and pushed himself into a sitting position. Water dripped from Michael’s curls onto his chest and Alex felt his mouth go dry.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Michael teased. Alex hoped the blush on his face wasn’t visible.

“I was done anyway.” Alex would have stood up by himself. He was more than capable. But Michael wordlessly offered his hand, black t-shirt tossed over his shoulder. He wanted to smile and say ‘no thanks, I can do it’ but he grabbed Michael’s hand instead.

Michael pulled him up faster than he was expecting, making him stumble forward. Michael’s free hand landed on his hip, keeping him steady. Alex couldn’t look away from his eyes. At least not until he found himself tracing the lines down to his mouth and the way they were just slightly parted.

Michael’s hand was warm and Alex guessed his lips were too. He wanted to close the distance but wasn’t sure if it would be welcome. He looked back up at Michael’s eyes, getting lost in the golden brown. Michael’s thumb slipped under the hem of his shirt, rubbing over his skin gently.

Michael was the first to pull away, clearing his throat as he did. He moved back toward the kitchen, pulling the shirt over his head. Alex just stared at the spot where he stood. He should have known better than to think their conversation would have fixed anything. Did Alex even want to kiss him again?

Yes. I want him.

He shook his head and walked into the bedroom for his own shower. He couldn’t trust his own desires. If it wasn’t real, then what? If they broke this curse and Michael felt nothing for him, could he really live with that? Or what if his own feelings vanished and he hurt Michael? He couldn’t handle that either.

It would be best for them to stay separate for now.

-

There was no way Alex didn’t know what he was doing. Michael tapped his fingers on the counter as the microwave spun. Alex talked about his stretches but always did them while Michael was out. Watching the way his muscles moved under his clothes was more than he could take. He almost turned right back around for another cold shower.

He hadn’t expected Alex to actually accept his help when he offered it. So he pulled harder than he meant to and there they were. Face to face and Michael wanted more than anything to close that distance. Alex had wanted it too. But based on the conversation they had, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The beeping of the microwave pulled him back from the daydream. He groaned and pulled the food out. He supposed he couldn’t blame Alex for thinking the way he did. It was even possible that he was right. No one knew how the curse worked.

He ate his food slowly, listening to the water running and opening himself to feel Alex’s heart. He glanced toward the cracked bedroom door, just visible from where he was sitting. His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Izzy.

How’s the honeymoon?

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t what this was. Sure Alex had agreed to it but he knew how he hated being trapped. Work could only occupy so much of his time and surfing the web was never really his thing.

It’s hiding Iz. Not exactly fun. He messaged back.

Have you guys at least figured out that whole consummation thing?

He stared at the message. It was obvious what they needed to do. But something like that…

Michael was comfortable with casual sex. Always had been. But with Alex it could never be just casual. He couldn’t ask Alex to do that just for the sake of maybe ending the curse without going through all the trials. Not to mention that Michael’s heart wouldn’t be able to handle having him once and then never again. He had denied himself for seven years. It was only easy now because he was used to it. But his control was withering every day.

No. He sent back.

If he told Isobel, he didn’t trust it wouldn’t get back to Maria. She was smart and had probably figured it out already but he didn’t want to hurt her by hearing it from a person she didn’t even like.

Look, do I need to send DeLuca over there to get your ass in gear? I swear she’s more invested in this than you are.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose but couldn’t help but help smiling. She really was amazing. He only hoped that someone else would see it eventually. Someone just as strong to be her partner.

I’ll talk to Alex. He mentioned having some theories. No need to have her make a special trip.

His phone was silent after that. He wondered if Alex would be willing to look into the stone again. Maybe there was something they missed. Maybe it didn’t have to be sex. But calling forth the spirits of Samuel and Thomas was exactly what was making Alex hesitant. Going back in would only push them further apart.

The sound of water no longer came from the bedroom. Michael stood to clean his plate before Alex came back out. He hurried out the front door, needing to think about how he would talk to Alex about it. He laughed at himself as he stepped off the front porch. Of course it was sex. That was how these stories always went.

The sunlight made him squint as he moved to the side of the cabin where all the wood was stacked. An axe leaned against the wood next to the pile. Most of the logs probably didn’t need to be cut but he needed an excuse.

He moved to grab the axe just below the window. It was when he looked through the small crack in the chiffon drapes that he knew he was done for. Alex’s bare back moved fluidly. There was no doubt he had muscles but he was still soft. Michael wondered if he would still make the small whine he used to when he squeezed his hips.

Michael tore his eyes away before he got too lost in thought. His jeans were quickly becoming too tight. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the first piece of wood on top of the pile.

-

The next couple days came and went, and Michael still hadn’t brought up the idea of the consummation or what they should tell Isobel. He had caught Alex looking at him curiously a few times but he never said anything either. He was running out of time. Eventually Isobel would come storming through the door demanding to know the details of the vision.

Alex was frowning at his laptop when Michael pulled out the chair to sit across from him. He only glanced up a moment before refocusing on his work. Michael just sighed and pushed the lid of the laptop down slightly.

“We need to talk.” Michael watched as Alex’s shoulders stiffened. He closed the computer gently before leaning forward on his arms.

“About what?” Alex asked. Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“The vision, Alex. Isobel wants to know how to break this curse. What do you want to tell her?” Alex looked away from him, his heart rate jumping.

“Maybe it’s not what we think it is,” Alex offered unconvincingly. He picked at his nails and his nerves were overwhelming any other emotion Michael might be able to read.

“Did you want to go back into the vision?”

The blush on Alex’s face was cute. Michael would never get tired of seeing it. But this wasn’t the time to focus on it. Alex’s embarrassment told him all he needed to know. Going back into the vision wasn’t the answer.

“We have to come up with something, Alex. Isobel already threatened to send Maria to help us figure it out.” The guilt that swept over his face made Michael’s heart ache. Not that he didn’t feel guilty about it but he couldn’t ignore his feelings for Alex.

“Just tell her to keep it a secret,” he finally said. Michael watched the way his hand clenched and wanted nothing more than to be able to reach over and grab it.

“Isobel? Keeping a secret?” Michael tried, joking. The glare he received in response reminded him just how close Alex and Maria were. He let his tone turn serious again. “I can ask her to keep it but I can’t promise anything. I know you don’t want Maria to know because neither do I. But eventually we won’t have a choice.”

Alex stared at the table, the wrinkle between his eyebrows only getting deeper. Michael tuned in as much as he could to the emotions swirling between them. He only wished that the uncomfortable tension that permeated everything could be broken.

“Do you…” Alex started. His fingers began tapping on the table. The embarrassment was front and center again. “Do you want to… consummate?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

There it was. Out in the open. Michael wanted him but if it was under the guise of ‘consummation’…

“No.” Alex jumped at the suddenness of his voice and a quick flash of hurt swept through him. “If we’re going to sleep together, I want it to be real. Us. Not some means to an end.” Alex looked away from him, seeming to bite his tongue. “What are you thinking?” Alex was right when he called him out for making assumptions about Forrest. And maybe this communication thing worked better than guessing.

“Will it ever be ‘us’? Isn’t all of this a means to an end?” Michael’s heart panged with hurt. Hadn’t he made his feelings clear that night they saw the vision?

“We came here for protection, true. But even if it was safer to be apart, I don’t think I could stay away from you.” Alex shoved his seat back and jumped up, groaning as he ran his hands through his hair. He paced around the kitchen, sounding angry but Michael couldn’t miss the way his heart fluttered.

“Stop. You can’t keep talking like that.” Alex yelled. Michael stood slowly and slipped his hands into his pockets as he stepped toward Alex.

“Like what?”

“Like you fucking care about me!” Alex spun to face him again, glaring. “You say these things that I don’t know what to do with! And your damn heart…”

“Why is it so hard to believe that I care? That I’ve cared for the last ten years?” Alex stepped back as Michael moved forward. Eventually Alex’s back hit the counter. His eyes jumped everywhere except to Michael’s face until he was standing right in front of him.

“Don’t…” he mumbled out halfheartedly.

“Only if you stop lying to yourself.”

Michael trapped him between his arms, his shallow breaths brushing over his lips. He kept leaning forward slowly. If Alex really wanted him to stop he would. But instead of pushing him away, Alex’s hands landed on his hips. His fingers trembled and Michael watched his eyelashes flutter closed. Their foreheads pressed together. Michael could feel both of their hearts racing as their lips brushed over each other.

A loud knocking on the front door made them jump apart. They both panted as they watched each other. Michael waited for the person to go away, his fingers twitching as the desire to touch Alex only grew. More knocking, then a voice.

“Alex! Michael! Open up,” Maria called. They were both frozen. Michael replayed the conversation they just had in his head. He couldn’t believe Isobel would actually send her.

Alex moved first. Composing his face and hurrying to open the door. Michael stared at the space on the counter. The squeak of the door opening made him turn around. He could only hope his face wasn’t covered in guilt.

Maria pulled Alex into a hug. He held her tightly for a moment, a gentle smile settling on his face.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you. But why are you here?” Alex asked.

“Isobel said you two were dawdling on figuring out your visions so I’m here to help. I am a psychic after all,” she said, winking. She looked toward Michael and he could almost watch her thought process play out on her face. How she was supposed to react to seeing him. But eventually she just grinned and moved further into the cabin, looking around.

“This place is much nicer than I was led to believe. How long have you kept this a secret, Manes? Why didn’t we use this to get drunk and smoke in high school?” Alex just laughed and shook his head.

“Uh, probably because in high school, Jim Valenti still used it regularly and he was the sheriff.”

“Got a point there.” Maria shoved the blankets and pillow to one side of the couch before plopping down. “Michael I sincerely hope you aren’t making Alex sleep out here on the couch.” Michael just rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“Actually Alex sleeps on the floor. No bed in this place.” Her look of disapproval just made him smile more. “Come on DeLuca, who do you take me for?” She just shrugged and crossed her legs.

“Apart from the sleeping arrangements, did you bring a book or something to help us decipher the visions?” Michael watched as Alex tried to hide the fidgeting of his hands. His own heart rate speeding up to match.

“I did bring books but I just figured you could tell me what the visions were and I could point out common metaphors and connections. It would make things go a lot faster then all of us sitting here in silence reading.”

Alex glanced at Michael. They had agreed to tell Isobel. Did they really want to make this leap? He thought on his feet. He wanted Alex to make the decision about when to tell her. They were best friends after all.

“When did you get so close to my cousin anyway? You two always hated each other.” Now, he could have been wrong but he swore he saw her blush. She shrugged it off quickly.

“Hate is a strong word, Guerin. And since all this curse stuff, she’s been weirdly helpful and almost nice.” Alex sat down next to her on the couch while Michael plopped down in the rocking chair across from them.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Michael was trying to control how often he looked at Alex, only noticing it because Maria was there. She glanced between the two of them and sighed before pulling a book from the bag she had brought with her.

“We can sit here all day. But I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” Alex scratched his head before taking a breath and speaking.

“It’s just… the visions are… Personal. You shouldn’t be subject to that,” he said, trying to dissuade her.

“Look. I know you two better than anyone. Nothing you tell me could possibly be that bad.”

“It’s not bad, per say…” Alex trailed off.

“The visions aren’t us. They’re the original pair of Samuel and Thomas. And their feelings for each other… they’re intense,” Michael continued for him. Maria raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

“What’s your point?”

“It’s often a lot of stuff that wouldn’t be talked about…” Alex tried again.

“Oh for fucks sake,” she exclaimed. Both Michael and Alex jumped at the outburst. They shared a surprised look. “Sop walking on eggshells around me. I love you both. Truly. But watching you try to spare my feelings by hiding your own just makes it that much more obvious.”

Alex wrung his hands together, refusing to meat Michael’s eyes. He could only sigh and face Maria again, who just looked annoyed.

“I’m sorry. I should know better than to hide things from you.” She just grinned and leaned back, crossing her arms.

“You already know what it is don’t you? This consummation?” Michael just nodded. Maria sighed and pushed herself up from the couch. “Well then get your ass on the phone with Isobel because quite frankly, I’m done dealing with her pacing and ranting about what a terrible team player you are.” The floorboards squeaked under her boots as she moved toward the kitchen.

Michael looked back over to Alex. His eyes were focused on something a million miles away. His emotions swirled around him, as though he were trying to keep them to himself. Everything was out in the open. They had been called out by the one person they were both lying to.

“You guys keep any food or do I have to make it?” Maria asked as she opened the fridge. Michael stood and moved to the cabinets, shuffling through them. He finally found the one with the snack food and stepped to the side.

“There’s some protein bars and cookies in here but otherwise you have to make the food.”

-

Maria hung around for the day. She didn’t press for more information about the consummation but the looks she was shooting at both of them made Alex’s nerves spike every time. She knew. There was no way that she didn’t.

She didn’t seem mad. Quite the opposite actually. She seemed lighter and more free than he had seen her in a while. The stress of trying to figure out this cure was taking toll on all of them and her most of all. Alex knew that Maria loved both of them. He was sure having the two people she’s closest to in constant danger of dying wasn’t an easy thing to deal with.

Michael had gone grocery shopping. Alex offered to come with and every time Michael said no and left without waiting for him to respond. It was annoying but he was sure the reason would be something about his protection.

Instead he and Maria played cards. She had always been weirdly good at poker.

“There’s no way you aren’t cheating,” Alex joked, tossing his cards to the table.

“Sorry babe. This is all natural talent.” He rolled his eyes at her and pushed the small pile of quarters toward her.

“I guess I should just be happy you didn’t want to play strip poker.” She fluttered her eyelashes to an exaggerated degree.

“As beautiful as you are Alex, you’re not really my type anymore.” Alex just snorted and started shuffling the deck again.

Another few games brought just as much success as the others. That is to say, ‘none.’ Maria let herself do a small happy dance that Alex noticed resembled Liz. They had been hanging out a lot more and he felt terrible for how little he saw them.

“Hey…” Alex started hesitantly. Maria’s expression turned serious almost instantly. She placed the cards to side and leaned forward.

“It’s ok you know.” Alex met her gaze. She just smiled before continuing, “It’s ok that you like him. I probably knew somewhere deep down that we weren’t meant to last. He was always just out of reach. Holding something back.” He rushed to shake his head and he grabbed her hand.

“No. Michael loves you. And he will always love with everything he has.” Her sad smile broke his heart. The guilt ate at his gut. He couldn’t do this to her. He and Michael couldn’t do this to her.

“As true as that may be, it’s hard to give everything when you’ve already given it to someone else.”

“Maria…”

“And that’s ok, ya know? I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy. And if you are happy together then who am I to tell you ‘no?’”

Alex stood and moved to stand next to her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from her chair and into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his waist firmly. He smiled against her hair, wondering how he got so lucky to have her as a best friend. She pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek and wiped a stray tear from her eye.

“Someone is going to come along and give you the world.” She chuckled and straightened her back.

“Oh please. No one needs to give it to me when I can just get it myself.” Alex laughed and hugged her again.

The sun dipped below the horizon, splashing vibrant purples and pinks across the sky, eventually fading to blue-black. Alex pulled Maria outside to the fire pit in the back of the house. He was building a log cabin out of logs when he heard the rumble of Michael’s truck. Maria offered to go help him with the groceries and left Alex to light the fire.

A gentle breeze blew across the desert, tangling his hair. He would need to cut it soon. He wasn’t technically out of the service and that demanded he keep it a certain length, even if he liked it a bit longer.

He picked up a fire starter and laughed at himself. If he really wanted to, he could do without it. But he did like the convenience of not needing to survive. He crouched down and picked up the lighter after placing some small kindling in with the starter. It burned fast and jumped to the nearby logs. Alex just watched as the flames licked up the sides of the mini cabin he had built.

Dizziness swept over him, making him fall backwards into the dirt. The fire seemed to burn brighter as the black started to creep in at the edges of his vision…

-

Thomas stared into the fire, the warmth permeating into his bones. His father was going to be angry but he didn’t really care. Since that night Samuel had first kissed him, it was all he could think about. Samuel hadn’t made another attempt either. They spent as much time as they could together but that was it.

Samuel had convinced him to sneak out and there he was. But nothing had happened. The fire snapped and Thomas glanced up to the other man. He worked on skinning a rabbit he had caught for dinner.

“I’m sorry you have to eat peasant food when you’re with me,” Samuel said, making a cut to remove the insides.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I never think to bring you a real dinner.”

The silence stretched a bit longer. Eventually, Samuel was tying the rabbit to a stick and placing it over the fire. He picked up a scrap of fabric, wiping the blood from his hands. He came to sit next to Thomas, watching the flames dance.

“Samuel… Why are we here?” He asked hesitantly. Samuel shifted next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“I just wanted to be with you in a place where we don’t have to hide.” Thomas wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his chin on them. He fought against the grin that threatened to overtake his face.

“And yet it feels like we are hiding,” he said, only half joking. A beat passed before Samuel reached around him to pull him close. His lips pressed to his hair gently. Thomas sucked in a breath, the heat on his cheeks no longer from the fire.

“Then don’t hide. Tell me what you want.” Thomas looked up at his best friend. He was in love with this man.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Samuel moved slowly. Trailing his hands over his arms and up his neck to rest on his face, cupping his jaw. Samuel leaned forward, just barely brushing his lips against Thomas’. They both sighed at that first touch. With Samuel’s breath tickling his face, Thomas leaned forward.

His heart threatened to beat out of his chest the longer they stayed pressed together. Eventually Samuel pulled back and Thomas let out a small whine. It wasn’t enough.

“Again.”

He felt the smile on Samuel’s lips when they pressed against his again. It was firmer this time as Thomas wrapped his arms around Samuel’s waist. They pulled at each other. Bodies searching for any way to get closer.

Thomas ended up on his back, the beautiful man hovering over him. Samuel made sure to press the whole length of his body against his. He kissed him again, rocking his hips slowly.

They were so lost in each other, Thomas hadn’t realized just how close to the fire they were. He grabbed at what he thought would be dirt and grass but a red hot burn made him yelp and shove Samuel away from him.

He gasped and gripped his hand to his chest, tears threatening to fall. He cursed under his breath as his hand throbbed in pain.

“Follow me. Now.” Samuel demanded, grabbing his arm.

He pulled him along for a couple minutes before the sound of running water could be heard. A small creek glittered in the moonlight. Samuel yanked him to the ground again, shoving his burned hand into the cold water. Thomas hissed but the cool water began to ease the burning of his hand.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” Samuel said quietly. Thomas just shook his head.

“It’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention either.” Thomas reached up with his free hand to brush some curls out of his face. “You are the only thing I can ever focus on.” He turned his head into his palm, kissing it.

“I would take this injury for you if I could.”

-

Alex yelped and scrambled away from the fire. He blinked rapidly as the past fell away and was replaced with the desert of New Mexico. His left hand burned. The same one as Thomas. The one that his father crushed on Michael.

He looked down at his palm. It wasn’t bad but it would be difficult to use. Before his eyes, the red started to vanish until it was like it had never been there. Alex ground his teeth together and pushed himself up, running inside the cabin.

Maria was watching Michael in both amazement and horror. Michael’s grimace as he watched the burn appear pissed Alex off more than anything. The problem was that he had no one to be mad at. The Gods? Tessa? Himself?

Alex clenched his fists and hurried wordlessly over to Michael, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the sink, just like he did on the first day. He turned on the cold water, forcing his hand under the stream.

“Did you see the vision?” Alex asked quietly.

“Yea,” was his only response.

“You two just… shared a vision?” Maria stammered out. Alex looked back at her but she was focused on Michael’s burnt palm. Were the visions going to become a regular thing? Now that they were more connected to their past lives, would the spirits become restless as they demanded to see their proclaimed soulmate?

“How long was I zoned out?” Michael asked her. She shook her head and squared her shoulders.

“A couple minutes maybe? What was the vision?” She tried to hide they way her voice wanted to shake. Alex smiled at her and shook his head.

“We’ll tell you another time. I think you might need time to process what you just saw.”

“No! I’m here to help you with this exactly so…” she trailed off as her eyes fell to Michael’s hand again. Michael shut the water off and wrapped his hand in a towel as Alex pulled Maria toward the living room.

“Maria, listen to me. This is a lot. Knowing it happens is one thing. Watching it happen is another.” She nodded slowly. “You’re welcome to stay the night…”

“No. I should go home… I… I need to talk to Isobel about this.” Alex wanted to question but he figured now wasn’t the best time. She pulled her shoes on in silence, only looking back when Michael came to stand next to Alex. His hand was wrapped in bandages, covering old and new wounds alike.

“You don’t have to go,” Michael tried one last time. She just shook her head and smiled sadly at them.

“I do. I’ll be back soon.” Then she vanished.

They listened to her truck kick up dirt as she pulled away. Alex jumped when Michael’s hand touched his arm gently but he didn’t pull away. Everything that had happened just before Maria showed up still stuck in his mind.

He had wanted Michael so bad that he forgot that it might not be real.

“Will these visions show up more now?” he asked softly. Michael sighed.

“I don’t know.” Alex turned to face him, trailing his gaze down his body to his bandaged hand.

He took it gently, turning it so his palm was up. He ran his fingers over it gently, careful not to push too hard. Before he knew what he was doing, Alex lifted his hand to his lips, kissing his palm.

[demigodreading]

Ella Gets Shot

*Stole off google because I couldn’t find a gif that I liked*

Summary: First of all, Protective Olivia lives rent free in my damn brain every day... Other than that I am going to let this speak for itself! 

Characters: Ella Alina Benson, Elliot Stabler, Olivia Benson 

Warnings: SPOILERS for end of Season 12 and Season 13, Blood, Gun Violence, Character Death... *I don’t know if I missed something*

Read on AO3

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

Olivia didn’t like having Ella walk alone from school to the precinct but today that situation was unavoidable. Ella texted her as soon as she got out and told Olivia the exact time that she should be at the precinct. Once the text was sent Ella placed her earbuds in, turning her favorite song on as loud as she could. Ella danced along to Forget You by CeeLo Green on repeat till she reached the end of her ten-minute walk. Maybe if she had taken off her earbuds like she always did when she got off the elevator she would have heard the commotion that was going on in the bullpen. But by the time she realized what was going on it was already too late.

Elliot released three shots from his gun in rapid succession. The first two went straight into Jenna’s side. As she fell to the floor the trajectory of the third bullet was soon discovered. Olivia looked up, still trying to hold her hand over Sister Peg’s wound. Her eyes were met by a terrified Ella, her hand holding onto her stomach. A large bloodstain was starting to seep through her light gray shirt. Ella pulled away her hand looking down at the blood.

“Mom,” Ella whispered before her eyes rolled back and her legs gave out.

Olivia jumped up from her spot running to her daughter. She got to Ella right before she completely fell to the ground. She held Ella in her arms, placing her hand over the blood that seeped from her stomach. As soon looked down at her daughter, images of Alex Cabot ran through her brain. She remembered the way Alex’s eyes had fluttered shut. The way that Alex’s life seemed to slowly slip away from her body. Ella was doing the exact same thing now. She was living her worst nightmare over.

“Ella! Baby! Ella you have to stay awake,” Olivia said, causing Ella’s eyes to flutter open for a small moment, “There you go. That’s it, baby. Stay with me. Stay with Momma.”

“I’m just so tired Momma,” Ella whispered, “I just want to go to sleep.”

“No! No!” Olivia screamed as Ella’s eyes began to close again, “Ella. Please. Please stay awake.”

Ella opened up her eyes once again, reaching her hand up to gently cup Olivia’s cheek, “I love you, Mom.”

Tears were now rolling down Olivia’s face as she tangled her fingers through Ella’s hand, “I love you too baby girl. Please stay awake Ella. Don’t leave me. Please.”

Olivia kept repeating these words until an EMT lifted Ella’s limp body from her arms and onto the stretcher. With the help of Fin she got to her feet and followed behind her daughter. Elliot watched the scene unfold in front of him as he gently placed his gun down on the floor. He had shot two teenagers. Jenna laid in a pool of her own blood, the EMTs declaring her dead on the scene. The only hope he clung to was the fact that they rushed Ella to the hospital. He couldn’t have killed his partner’s daughter. Not Ella. The girl who had been named after him. He knew that he should go after them but instead, he merely sat frozen to his spot.

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

“Are you Ella Benson’s mom?” The nurse asked.

Olivia, her clothes still stained with blood, stood up from her chair in the waiting room, “Yes I am. Is she okay? She went into surgery three hours ago.”

The nurse nodded, “She is asking for you. I can take you to go see her but I would recommend that we change your clothes first.”

Olivia looked down and nodded knowing that she didn’t want the first thing her daughter to see was her mother covered in her own blood. The nurse offered her a pair of scrubs and Olivia changed quickly. Tossing her clothes in an evidence bag Olivia rushed to the room her daughter was staying in. Ella was sitting up in bed with a large bandage covering her stomach. She was flipping through channels on the TV lazily before she looked at the door.

“Momma!” She yelled a smile growing on her face, “Nice outfit.”

“Same to you,” Olivia grinned nodding towards Ella’s light blue hospital gown, “How are you feeling my sweet baby girl?”

“They got me on the good stuff,” Ella giggled, lifting her arm up, “I feel light as a feather!”

Olivia shook her head, kissing Ella’s forehead gently, “I’m glad you aren’t in any pain.”

Ella reached out for Olivia’s hand, “I’m really sorry Momma.” “Oh baby, why are you sorry?” She asked, wiping away Ella’s tears.

“I should have been paying more attention. I had my headphones in and I didn’t hear what was going on. I could have stayed safe,” Ella replied, her shoulders shaking with her sobs, “You always tell me to be aware of my surroundings. I just thought the precinct would be safe.”

“This is not your fault, my beautiful Ella,” Olivia reassured her, kissing her forehead, “You did nothing wrong. I am just glad that you are still here with me.”

“Can you come hold me? ”

“Of course.”

"You aren't going to leave me for some work emergency right?"

"I am not going anywhere, my sweet baby girl. I am going to sit right here next to you."

Ella seemed calmed by this fact and shed a small smile at Olivia. Olivia knew that her daughter had always been terrified of certain things, losing her mother being the top on the list, and she could only imagine the anxiety that Ella was having about this situation. Ella scooted over allowing Olivia to crawl into bed with her. Careful not to get in the way of all the tubes that were sticking out of her Olivia laid down next to her daughter. She wrapped one arm around her allowing Ella to tuck her head on top of her chest. Within moments Ella was sleeping with the sound of Olivia’s heartbeat in her ear. When she was sure that Ella was sleeping Olivia let more tears fall down her face. She kissed the top of Ella’s forehead thanking the world for not taking her daughter away from her.

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

Ella had just returned home that evening and was now taking residence on Olivia’s bed. Olivia was reluctant to leave her but she needed to return to work. More importantly, she needed to talk to Elliot. She had left him over a dozen voicemails with no response. She was hoping that he would be at the bullpen when she arrived. So with one final kiss on Ella’s forehead, she left her in Mary’s care. Mary assured her that she would call her hour on the hour to update Olivia on Ella’s condition. Olivia thanked her mother and then walked out the door.

As soon as she got to the precinct the world was chaos once again. She was approached by Cragen first, “Olivia, I’m sorry about your weekend.”

“No, it's fine. I don’t want to talk about it,” Olivia said, throwing her hands up.

She placed all of her things on the desk before the Captain filled them in on the situation. As they all rushed off Cragen was greeted by the new blonde detective he had been waiting on. She introduced herself as Amanda Rollins and then immediately jumped into the deep end with the rest of them. He admired that about her and hoped that this kind of attitude could withstand the high intensity of the job she face in front of her

When Olivia was able to bring the witness in for questioning she led her to a table and then went to find Cragen. She was stopped in her tracks by a young attractive blond woman.

“Hi. Amanda Rollins,” The blonde said, extending her hand out.

“Ah transfer from Dallas right?”

“Yeah-well Atlanta,” Amanda said, trying not to correct the beautiful woman that was standing right in front of her.

She did everything in her power to keep the conversation going but Olivia was already annoyed with the distraction. She had other things that needed to get done so she could take her lunch and facetime her daughter. She flat-out ignored the slight flirtation that Amanda threw her way.

“Yeah, yeah I haven’t briefed the captain yet..” Olivia said, turning on her heel and heading into Cragen’s office.

While she was in the debriefing meeting Olivia’s eyes fell upon Elliot’s desk. Still strewn with papers and his personal items he had been missing all day. There was something majorly wrong with the picture Olivia could just feel it. Before she left she politely answered Cabot’s questions about how Ella was doing. Then as soon as she left the room she went outside and called Ella. She smiled as her daughter’s image pulled up on the screen. They talked for a couple of moments before she had to rush off to handle the next emergency in her day.

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

He is like a son to me. Exactly like how you are my daughter and Ella is my granddaughter. It may have been a good shooting but he shot an innocent bystander. Who just so happens to be his partner’s daughter. Ella almost died right here. She almost died in your arms.  This isn’t going to go away easily Liv.  

The words of Cragen still rang in Olivia’s ear as she left another voicemail on Elliot’s phone. She took a long sip of her beer before Fin sat across the bar from her.

“Elliot’s probably afraid to talk to you Liv,” He said as she pounded on the top of her beer, “Probably doesn’t want you to talk him out of it.”

“Talk him out of what? He is not going to quit.”

“He shot a teenage girl,” Fin sighed, “He shot Ella. By accident but still Olivia. Ella almost died on the floor of the precinct. You can't have already forgiven him for that.”

“Don’t remind me,” Olivia retorted before slamming the rest of her beer, "And don't act like you should know what my emotions are."

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

Olivia shut the door to Cragen’s office, “What is it, Captain?”

“Elliot put his papers in. There was nothing I could do.”

Olivia felt her heart beginning to rip inside her chest as she searched for an answer, “He’s earned it.” “And then some,” Cragen said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to take a day?”

“No... please stop trying to be my dad right now,” Olivia said, tears welling in her eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Liv… I’m sorry sweetheart.”

With those final words, she walked out of his office and made her way to the only room she knew she would be safe in. As she leaned up against the wall of the interrogation room she felt the tears falling down her face before she could stop them. Her partner was gone. Without even giving the courtesy of telling her goodbye. Without telling his goddaughter goodbye. It might have been an accident but he could have at least apologized. After all, they had been through she deserved more than this.

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

Olivia walked into the door of her apartment. Mary was strewn across the couch, the remote almost falling out of her hand as she snored away. Olivia placed a blanket gently over her before moving to her bedroom. Ella was sitting up in bed with a book in her hands. When she saw Olivia she smiled, placing the book down.

“Momma, how was work today?”

Tears filled in Olivia’s eyes as she sat on the edge of the bed, “Ella we need to talk.”

“Why are you crying? Did something happen to PawPaw? Uncle Fin? Uncle Munch?” Ella asked. She didn’t even speak about Elliot anymore. Her nightmares of the incident had constant flashes of his face. She would wake up screaming and crying only able to fall back asleep wrapped in Olivia's arms.  Olivia knew it just as much as Ella did the image of him pulling the trigger was burned into her brain. IT was something that she would never forget.

“I know you might not want to talk about it but it’s actually about Elliot,” Olivia sighed, taking Ella’s hand, “He’s not coming back Ella.”

Ella tumbled this thought over in her head before she broke into a complete panic attack. Her body began to shake. Tears rolled down her face. Her breath came in short gasps. Olivia launched herself across the bed taking Ella into her arms. She rocked her gently back and forth until Ella had calmed down.

“Is it my fault he left?” Ella whispered, “He knows that I wasn’t mad at him. The shooting was an accident. I didn’t blame him. He never even gave me a chance to explain.”

Olivia kissed Ella’s temple, “He knew Ella. I promise he knew. This was not your fault.”

That was the first time Olivia ever promised something to Ella that she was unsure if it was true. She had made a habit of promising Ella nothing that she couldn't absolutely guarantee. She didn’t know the answer to Ella’s question but she was sure none of this could have been Ella’s fault. Ella was the victim in all of this. She only knew one thing was certain. Elliot was gone.

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection. 

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming. 

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again. 

 Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

 They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder… 

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean. 

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again. 

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab. 

“Prudent,” he deadpanned. 

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes. 

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked. 

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said. 

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar. 

“Ready to go?” 

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said. 

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?” 

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit. 

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret. 

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object. 

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again. 

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist. 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say. 

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong. 

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence. 

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?” 

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?” 

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice. 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback. 

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense. 

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?” 

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.” 

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.” 

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.” 

“— Because you thought I hated you.” 

“A little bit.” 

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.” 

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.” 

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.” 

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.” 

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort. 

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said. 

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh. 

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.” 

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.” 

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

 Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real. 

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue. 

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.” 

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him. 

Oh. 

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming. 

“Mornin’,” he said. 

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider. 

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas. 

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways. 

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!! 

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg. 

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class. 

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest. 

“Too early,” he mumbled. 

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless. 

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake. 

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.” 

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer. 

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest. 

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean. 

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?” 

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him. 

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.” 

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?” 

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.” 

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.” 

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?” 

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.” 

“But it’s a party.” 

“Yes.” 

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?” 

“Only a week.” 

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once. 

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated. 

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?” 

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention. 

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.” 

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.” 

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door. 

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.” 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile. 

 They didn’t make it to the party. 

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television. 

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly. 

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?” 

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?” 

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing. 

“Dean?” 

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement. 

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic. 

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out. 

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face. 

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot. 

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop. 

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?” 

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground. 

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick. 

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.” 

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him. 

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

tag list! let me know if you want to be added/removed :)

@nguyenxtrang @castielsbeeslippers @fortiusnitius

[telli1206]

Wag My Tail

Carlos is drunk and just wants to see some puppies. 

Just a little pseudo-prompt initiated by my teaser for Chapter 7 of The Wedding Date (made by @bunny-lou and @hersilentlanguage).  It’s NOT an extension of the fic, I just used the idea to have some fun, and made it Halloween-themed to get in the holiday mood 🎃😈💀👻

“Eves, I blame you for this.”

Jay wraps his coat a little tighter, hugging it as securely as he can against his body to combat the bitter chill of the night air. He’s now fully regretting letting the girls convince him to wear body paint over a regular dog costume. If he had known they’d be spending half the night walking through the streets, he never would have gone for it.

“What?! What did I do?” She tries to pout pitifully, but her painted on whiskers and pink nose make it look almost comical. Mal is huddled next to her, cuddling against Evie’s side as Evie walks quickly with her phone out in front of her, texting frantically.

“Have you ever seen a vet uniform that tight? That costume you made hugs, like, everything!” Jay shakes his head, picking up his pace. “I should’ve just locked him in our room and kept him there the second I saw him in that fucking thing.” He mutters, shoving his paw-covered hands under his armpits for more warmth.

“Jay, just chill, ok? We all agreed sexy was the point of these costumes, remember?” 

Mal rolls her eyes, pulling on Evie to walk faster as she keeps her eyes glued to her phone.

“I mean, it’s not like cats have hips and boobs like these, do they?” She cups Evie’s chest. The bluenette quirks a little smile as she elbows Mal lightly,  all the while still texting. “And you’d be wearing a fucking shirt, Scooby.” She gestures to Jay, chuckling as he glares back.

“You had your part in this too Mal, don’t even get me started. You never should have given him that many shots. Pup doesn’t say no to you, you know that.”

Mal chuckles, shrugging at Jay. “Doug’s got an eye on him, we’ll get him back.”

-----

He’s ok, he’s in front of me. Outside Auradon City Grille. HURRY.

Doug tucks his phone in his pocket quickly, blowing on his hands and rubbing them for warmth before shoving them back in his pocket. Texting location updates every minute is not helping with body warmth at all.

He’s stil happy he spotted Carlos though, stumbling out the door of the party with some random Tourney player he’s never met. Not that he talks to many of the jocks anyway. But this guy was very tall and broad, skin an even darker bronze than Jay’s, but his long, dark hair was thick and curly. He’s pretty sure it was Moana’s son, but he’s not about to go up and ask a tall, muscular, guy why he was wrapping a tight arm around his friend’s waist and practically helping him walk out the door.

Not without Jay backing him up at least.

Carlos was chattering excitedly, gesturing with one hand while the other was wrapped tightly around the other boy’s, propping himself up as best he could to walk. His words were a slurry mess though, as animated as they were, and his stumbling walk was so bad he was mainly turning his shoes out with every step, so close to twisting his ankles each time it made Doug wince in anticipation.

“Ssssooooo izzz black ‘n’ white?!” Carlos asks the boy, eyes bright and eager. The boy nods, the arm around Carlos’ waist starting to slip lower as they slow their pace.

“Dam-Damaltion? Or maybe, Auzrali-lian She..p...shep...” Carlos stumbles on his letters, pulling back to try to force out the sound. “huh...huh...Shep-huh-erd?” He giggles softly once he’s able to get out all his words.

“Yeah, yeah, the last one! You got it.” The guy nods, smiling as he scoops Carlos in closer. “And he’s adorable, wait till you see! Only a month old.”

Carlos laughs, swatting at the guy’s hand on his waist. “No wayyyy. Thaz too baby! He can’t be away from hizz mamma yet. Izzz gotta be like, 12 weekz, right?” Carlos looks up at him with a droopy-eyed grin.

“Uh, right. You’re right. He’s 12 weeks. Sorry.”

Doug huffs, shaking his head and whipping back out his phone.

Asshole is a liar. No puppy. Groping Carlos. GET HERE NOW.

-----

A tiny gasp slips out as Evie reads her new text, enough to make Mal look over and take a peek. Her eyes widen, and they both look to make sure Jay’s not watching.

“We’re close, right? Mal whispers, as breathy and quietly as she can. Evie just nods, eyes still on Jay as he jogs to the next corner, eyes whipping all around, desperately searching for the missing vet.

“Jay! Left!” Evie shouts, pulling Mal along with her. 

He makes no acknowledgement but follows her instruction, turning to the left down the next street. He immediately spots Doug and breaks into a sprint, grabbing him harshly by the shoulders as soon as he reaches him.

“Where is he?!” He shouts, making Doug flinch at the volume of his voice. He hesitates, then looks to his right. Jay follows his line of sight, instantly spotting the larger boy hugging Carlos as they disappear down the next block over.

“Thanks Doug!” He yells gratefully, pointing as he starts to run. “You’re the best. I owe you!”

Evie squeezes Doug’s shoulder, smiling warmly when she and Mal finally reach him.

“You really are the best, Doug. Thank you for keeping Carlos safe.”

Doug grins back, a light blush tinting his cheeks as both girls continue to smile at him 

“Anytime. Go get your boy!” He waves as the girls start running to catch up to Jay. He shakes his head as he wrings his hands, finally shoving them back into his pockets and sighing as he feels the warmth they so needed.

“But if you don’t start chaining that boy’s ass to Jay whenever you let him drink I fucking swear I’ll do it myself.” Doug mutters to himself as he heads back to his heated dorm room.

Evie hooks Mal’s arm to drag her faster as Mal groans, starting to pant heavily from keeping up with the girl. But Evie is increasingly worried about the potential scene they may walk into if Jay is left to his own devices with the boy that swiped Carlos from the party.

“Tane!”

Thankfully, the girls catch up just in time to see Jay confront his teammate. The boy turns around, trying his best to carefully slide his hand back up to Carlos’ waist so as not to alert Jay to its original position.

“Jay!” Carlos exclaims, his droopy eyes brightening slightly. “Tane got a puppyyyy! We’re gonna go zee it. You shoul’ come!”

He leans forward to slip out of Tane’s grip. The boy tries to curl his arm tighter arond Carlos’ waist, but Jay dips in with a forceful glare. Tane freezes, letting his arm go and dropping Carlos into Jay’s arms. He scoops Carlos up quickly, pressing him firmly against his chest and trying his best not to give an audible sigh of relief.

“He got an Auzzie, Jay! They so pwetty...” Carlos drawls, almost sleepily but with a big smile still curled on his lips. 

Tane nods insistently, “Yep! Exactly. I was just taking Carlos to see him cause he asked. No big deal.”

“Oh really?” Mal quips, loosening her grip on Evie to take a step towards the big, hulking boy. “So tell me then, Tane, how big is your pup going to get?

Mal stands sternly, arms crossed as she stares him down. He pauses, staring back with a blank expression.

Evie steps forward with Mal, putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder as she harshly juts her hip out. “Yeah, Tane, tell us. Your parents would want to know how big of a dog would be in their house, wouldn’t they?” She tips her head to Mal, who returns her knowing look.

Tane sputters indignantly, mirroring Mal’s crossed arms. “Um. Just, like, 25 pounds? My parents didn’t want a big dog.”

Mal smirks, turning to Jay. He grins back, stroking Carlos’ hair calmly as he dips down to the boy’s ear.

“‘Los? How big do Aussies get?”

Carlos hums, leaning into Jay’s soft touch. “Femalezzz...35 to 50 pounds, but the malez range anywhere from 55 to 70.” 

Jay smiles proudly, planting a kiss to the top of Carlos’ head. “That’s my boy. Nothing can stop that beautiful brain.”

Mal turns back to Tane, flashing a wicked grin. “Well T, I think you better run home and have a chat with mommy and daddy. Because that’s not an Aussie at your house.”

Evie smiles, both girls waggling their fingers teasingly at the boy. “Bye T. Get yourself home safe now.”

Tane scoffs, glancing at Carlos. Jay tightens his grip, holding Carlos tightly as he keeps steely eyes on the other boy.

“Whatever,” Tane snarks, rolling his eyes as he starts his walk back. Alone.

Evie’s smile brightens as they see the boy leave. Grabbing Mal’s arm, she turns them around fully to face Jay.

Carlos has flipped himself around in Jay’s arms snuggling against his neck and making Jay giggle quietly. The girls watch, gazing fondly at their freckled boy. 

Evie leans forward, combing her fingers gently through white curls. “Crisis averted,” she whispers, looking around at Jay and Mal’s nods of approval.

Jay drops his body down and quickly hoists Carlos over his shoulder, prompting a sharp yelp from the tipsy boy. Carlos wiggles and whines, but Jay wraps a tight arm around his hips and another across his legs, trying to keep a steady handle on him despite the massive furry paw gloves he’s wearing. He moves to catch up to the girls and start the trek back to the dorms.

“Eves, I hope you learned your lesson,” Jay teases, walking up beside her, trying to blow a loose saggy dog ear away from his face.

Evie just rolls her eyes, giggling a little at the sight of Carlos slung over Jay. 

“Please, Jay. Don’t pretend like you’re not always asking me to make his clothes tighter,” she retorts, waving off Jay’s glare at her response. “Oh stop it, Carlos won’t remember a damn thing tomorrow anyway.”

“I know. And, I know what I told you about his clothes, but maybe not his party stuff? I don’t even know...like, the stuff he gets drunk in.” 

He sighs, looking at the boy who’s somehow managed to pass out with his head hanging down. His face is flushed and red from blood flow, but snores are still escaping his lips.

“I just don’t want anyone touching what’s mine.”

Mal perks a brow at Jay and stops in her tracks. He watches her cautiously as she approaches, suddenly whipping out a hand and slapping Carlos’ ass, hard. The boy wakes with a yelp, squirming and forcing Jay to hold him back down.

Jay glares as Mal barks out a laugh, grabbing her shoulder and turning to shove her back at Evie.

“Stop it Mal, you know what I mean.”

Evie shakes her head disapprovingly at her girlfriend, grabbing her arm and pulling her close as they walk up the steps to the dorm. She pulls off Mal’s cat ears and gives an affectionate nuzzle to her head, prompting Mal to press into Evie and rub on her neck.

“Pup’s going to get an earful in the morning, I swear.” Jay mumbles as Evie helps with his door, opening it and allowing Jay in first. He walks quickly to Carlos’ bed and plops the boy down, pulling the stethoscope off his neck and allowing him to snuggle his face into his pillow as Jay pulls the blankets over him.

“I don’t know why I bring him out sometimes.”

Evie bends over to plant a kiss into Carlos’ curls, pulling off her own cat ears as she casts a disapproving glance at Jay.

“Because you’d be miserable without him, Jay. Your life is no fun without Carlos and you know it.”

He rolls his eyes at Evie, but Mal swats him on the back and scares a yelp out of him.

“You love being that boy’s hero, just admit it. Carlos’ knight in shining armor.” She twists to looks at him, pulling on his floppy dog ear and flipping it back in his face.

“Or shining dog fur, at least.” Mal chuckles.

Jay sighs, staring down at the boy cuddled in bed. He rips off the dog paws and unhooks his furry head and ears, dropping them to the ground and climbing on the bed over Carlos, settling himself under the covers behind him and pulling him close. 

Carlos hums quietly and tilts his head towards Jay, rubbing his nose softly against Jay’s jaw, making him smile wide.

“You’re not wrong, pussy,” he says with a contented sigh. He keeps his eyes closed but smiles, feeling Mal’s own angered eyes boring into him.

“Now scram. My pup’s safe, and you have your other pussy to tend to, don’t you?”

[idkxwriting]

Treacherous - Chapter Thirteen

Author:  idkhaylijah

Pairings: Reader x Elijah Mikaelson, Reader x Dean Winchester

Word Count: 5.9k (extra long chapter since it’s been a billion years since the last update and you guys have been sooooo patient!)

A/N: man, what a year I’ve had. But, my muse is back (for now) and I hope you guys like this chapter. I can’t wait to share the rest with you. Thanks for reading! If you don’t know by now, Treacherous is the last story I will be doing with a tag list - so if you want to stay up to date, follow @idkhaylijahwrites​ and turn on notifications as it will be only new work :) 

Chapter 12  - Masterlist - Leave Feedback

Y/N leaned back into the worn leather of the booth she occupied, blinking heavily. She looked around, taking in the familiar scene of the Mystic Grill before her. “I need another drink,” she commented.

Damon nodded and smirked. “Wait right here,” he said, making his way up to the bar.

Y/N smiled to thank him, and glanced around her old stomping ground. She let the warmth of the fireplace in the center wash over her as she thought about how many nights had ended with her, Caroline, Elena and Bonnie in the very booth she sat in. She smiled into the flames.

“Y/N,” Sam’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find him walking toward her, Dean in tow.

She hoped her expression hadn’t betrayed her, but as they approached, Sam glanced between her and his brother. His face fell as he realized he was once more in the middle of something he wasn’t sure he understood.

“Mulder, Scully!” Damon returned from the bar, drinks in hand. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

“Told you you were Scully," Dean said under his breath to his brother before clearing his throat. "We just wanted to relax a bit, grab a drink. Stefan mentioned the Grill. ‘Best bar in town,’ he said.” He glanced around. It wasn’t a dive bar, so it was a step up in his book.

“It’s the only bar in town,” Damon winked. “Have a seat,” Damon gestured, steering Sam into the empty bench as he flagged a waitress down. He was quick to sit next to Sam, leaving the only available seat beside Y/N.

Dean rolled his eyes, his jaw tightening.

Y/N scooted out of the booth. “Please, sit,” she gestured awkwardly. “I’m just gonna hit the restroom…” she shot Damon a disapproving glare, but his smug smile showed no remorse.

She brushed past Dean, her steps rushed as she tried to get out of there. She felt his eyes on her, and she quickened her pace.

As she turned the corner she slammed into a hard body, stumbling backwards. “Sorry,” she began, her eyes trailing upwards to find a familiar grin.

“Y/N?”

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Matt! How are you?”

He shrugged, his hand waving down the front of him. “Picking up a shift, what are you doing here?”

She also shrugged. “Just home for a visit,” she answered vaguely.

He knew better, Matt always did, but she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to fill him in, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be roped in. He laughed, bending down to hug her. “It’s good to see you.”

She shared in his sentiment, hugging him a little longer than necessary. “You too,” she grinned as she pulled away.

Matt glanced over her shoulder. “Is Elijah with you?”

She shifted uncomfortably as she shook her head. “Uh, no, he’s at Stefan’s, actually…”

Matt glanced at her with curiosity but didn’t push.

“Listen,” she started. “I’m gonna let you get to work, but it was good to see you.”

He nodded. “You too.” He hugged her once more and as he turned to walk away she called after him.

“Matt?”

“Yea?”

She bit her lip. “Do me a favor and maybe get out of town for a few days.”

“Y/N if there’s something I should know…”

“There’s always something,” she paused, considering her friend for a moment and everything he could be if he could just get away from it all. “You deserve better than Mystic Falls.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, and she knew he’d insist on being involved later. He always did when push came to shove. “I’ll catch you later,” he said, turning to clock in for his shift.

Y/N continued to make her way down the hall. The bathroom was empty, and she was grateful for a quiet moment to gather herself before facing Dean. She let out a deep breath, running her hand through her hair as she studied her reflection.

The image in the glass flickered, and she leaned in closer, sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her face reflected back at her, but it didn’t match. She reached out tentatively, her fingertips tracing the surface of the mirror. It was ice cold beneath her touch, and the lights began to dim.

Her heart raced as she realized it wasn’t a trick of the mind. Her reflection gave a sinister smirk and when she stepped back it screamed in horror, the high pitch shattering the glass in the mirror. Shards flew everywhere, the sharp edges slicing her skin. She was quick to cover her face, her forearms shielding her eyes as she tucked her head low, trying to drown out the unbearable screaming, but it was too much.

She dropped, sure her eardrums would burst, the pain unbearable. She tried to cry out but it was useless, the shrill shrieking drowning her out.

*****

The world went quiet once more, and Y/N opened her eyes, her surroundings completely different.

She was so sure she had been in the bathroom at the Grill, but she had somehow managed to find her way in the alleyway behind it, instead. She stood carefully, feeling disoriented. The sting the glass cuts had left had faded, and she studied her arms, finding no evidence of the shattered mirror at all.

“Y/N?”

She turned around to find Matt, trash bags in hand. He tossed them with ease into the large dumpster, and she looked around. “What happened?”

He furrowed his brows at that. “A little too much to drink, I hope…” he suggested cautiously, moving towards her.

She nodded slowly, her hands coming to rest on her temples as her head began to pound.

“You okay?” He asked, moving closer.

She nodded again, but began shaking her head, suddenly scared and angry. She backed away from him. “What’s happening to me?” She asked.

He moved toward her, gripping her arms. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

She felt her gums burn and panic set in. She struggled against Matt’s hold and he pulled her in, holding her close to him.

“Y/N, calm down, you’re gonna be okay,” he said, trying to soothe her.

Her vision began to blur and as he turned away to shout for help, she saw the vein in his neck throbbing.

Her panic subsided, and she stood tall, a feeling of control washing over her followed by a thrill she didn’t recognize. She lunged, and as her teeth met his flesh she covered his mouth - his muffled screams filled her ears and her world spun.

*****

Y/N gasped, catching her breath and sitting up slowly. She was back in the bathroom. She looked around, trying to get her bearings and unsure of what she had just seen. She felt disoriented, but relieved the screaming had stopped.

Until she focused in on the pounding.

“Y/N!” The hard pounding continued and she shuffled up onto her feet. “Open the door!”

Dean.

She reached for the door and pulled, but it didn’t budge. “Dean?” She tugged harder.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

She didn’t know how to answer him, pulling harder on the door still. “It’s stuck,” she called.

“Sounds like a witch problem,” she heard Damon groan, the door shaking under his strength but not moving. “What the hell happened?”

She leaned her head against the door frame and took a deep breath. “I’m not really sure. The mirror shattered, and I think I passed out...I don’t know, I saw Matt…” her breath caught and she began to panic, shaking the door handle as much as possible in an effort to get out. “Oh my god, Matt...Damon you have to find him!”

“I can smell blood, and you’re worried about Donovan?” He said dismissively.

Y/N cut him off, the worry in her voice evident. “I’m fine,” she glanced at the few cuts on her arms, bleeding lightly but nothing she couldn’t recover from. “Find Matt, he’s in trouble.”

She heard them speaking, and she could make Damon’s voice out in a harsh whisper. “I’ll find the quarterback,” he sounded annoyed, but urgent. “Call Freya, get her over here, now.”

“Y/N,” Sam’s voice came in. “What do you remember?”

She shut her eyes, letting herself remember, though she wasn’t sure if it had happened or if it was a vision. “It was like...screaming...unbearable screaming...you didn’t hear that?”

“We didn’t hear a damn thing,” Dean said. "You've been in there for ages."

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she pushed on. “And then it all stopped, only I was outside. And Matt -my friend - he asked me if I was okay, and I started to panic, and then I felt angry. So angry. And I was scared, and he came toward me, and I...I…” she started to cry, remembering the way Matt’s muffled calls for help sounded as her teeth ripped into his flesh.

“Hey, just breathe, okay?” Sam tried to calm her, hearing her voice begin to break. “Take a deep breath, we’re going to find your friend and get you out of there.”

“Move,” she heard Dean grumble before a loud thud hit the door followed by a few curses as he presumably tried and failed to break down the door.

“What’s going on back here?” She heard an unfamiliar voice ask.

“Bathroom’s out of order, lady,” Dean snapped.

She heard a disgruntled voice before Sam’s cut in once more. “I’m going to fill Freya in, see if she can meet us over here…”

“Keep me updated,” Dean mumbled.

She heard him sigh, and she could only assume they were alone. Y/N sunk down to the floor, leaning against the door.

“You okay?”

Y/N glanced again at her arms, the cuts stinging, but mostly superficial. “It was like I was there...like I killed him…”

“I’m sure your friend is fine, and you’re right here, okay? You’re right here and I’ve got you,” he pressed his hand against the wood of the door.

She sighed at that, thinking back to their earlier fight, how she had ruined everything between them.

“I’m sorry…”

She sat up at that. “What?” She shifted so her ear was against the door, making sure she heard him right.

On the other side, Dean swallowed nervously. “I shouldn’t have said what I did tonight. I was angry,” his chest tightened, and he took a deep breath, pressing forward. “I know I blew it, and I’m sorry. The truth is, Y/N…” he swallowed nervously. “The truth is you’re the one good thing I’ve got going for me, and I don’t,” he sighed, hating that he was doing this here and now, that he couldn’t see her, but he couldn’t hold it back. “I don’t want to share you. Not with Damon, or Elijah, or anyone else. I know we haven’t figured everything out yet, but I don’t want this to be over.”

Her mouth went dry as she searched for her words, but before she could reply, Sam came back. “Freya is on her way,” he said.

She heard Dean clear her throat, knowing the conversation would have to wait until later. She felt guilty that she was relieved by Sam’s presence - grateful for the time to process Dean’s words. “And Matt?” She asked.

“Damon’s taking care of it,” Dean reassured her. He shot Sam a look of concern, as if he wasn’t sure he believed his own words.

“I’ll text Stefan,” he whispered, stepping away from the door.

The unease in the pit of her stomach grew - Damon should have been back by now. “Where the hell is he?” She asked.

*****

Sam and Dean had successfully blocked off the bathroom area, moving a wet floor sign into the entryway and redirecting the wait staff under the guise of being from the township looking at a water main. They were grateful the majority of staff were teenagers, either too dumb or too lazy to care to look into things more.

They kept Y/N calm, asking her to recount the events again and again as the three of them tried to piece together what had happened until Freya had arrived. Much to Dean’s annoyance, her brother and Stefan in tow.

“What happened?” Elijah demanded, immediately aware of the scent of Y/N’s blood, taking note that at least it wasn’t fresh.

Y/N sighed heavily behind the door, still worried about Matt. “I’m fine,” she grumbled.

“You’re bleeding,” Elijah countered.

Dean stepped back, leaning against the opposite wall as Freya immediately got to work, her hands hovering above the doorway, sensing the magic keeping Y/N locked inside.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “The mirror broke.”

“Y/N?” Freya interrupted. “It’s a simple locking spell - I can undo it.”

“Great,” Dean mumbled. “Let’s get this done.”

Freya and Elijah both turned, shooting a look of disapproval at the elder Winchester, and he could see the relation.

Freya rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the door. “Did you see anyone?”

“No…” Y/N answered, tired of answering questions and eager to be out helping find Matt who had seemingly disappeared from his shift.

“This isn’t a complicated spell,” Freya explained. “Whoever did this wasn’t a witch - at least not a well practiced one.” She flicked her wrist and the lock clicked with a pop, the door unlocking.

Y/N stood and opened the door quickly, relieved to be out. She threw her arms around Freya. “Thank you,” she said before heading towards the back exit.

Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Not so fast,” he growled.

“I swear, I’m fine!” She shook Dean off, but when she turned back around Elijah stood in her path. She met him with a defiant glare, but he simply raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. She let out an exasperated huff, holding up her arms. “Just a couple of cuts,” she argued. “I’ve got to find Matt,” she said impatiently. “Please.”

Elijah stepped aside at her pleading, letting her pass through.

She pressed her weight against the heavy door, bumping it with her hip to open it. She rushed out into the alley by the dumpster, where she had so vividly seen Matt attacked. And yet there was no sign of the attack, no sign of Matt, or Damon for that matter.

Elijah and the others followed her outside.

“He was right here,” Y/N searched, kicking at the few trash bags along the side that hadn’t made it into the dumpster. She peaked behind the small gate that housed the recycling bin searching for any evidence that it had been more than just a nightmare.

“Is there any chance he could have just gone home?” Sam asked.

She shook her head absently. “He had just gotten here, and Matt wouldn’t bail like that.”

“And we’re sure he’s not inside?”

Dean shook his head. “The manager said she hadn’t even seen him show up for his shift.”

“I saw him!” Y/N argued, turning to face the group.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, studying the scene (or lack thereof) before him. He tilted his head curiously, taking a step forward.

Y/N caught his movements, watching him. “What?” She asked.

Freya also stepped forward. “Brother?”

He looked towards his older sister, his expression grim and as Freya moved toward him she stopped, becoming aware of whatever it was that caught Elijah’s attention.

“What is it?” Y/N asked.

“A cloaking spell,” Freya said cautiously. She bent down, her fingertips resting on the pavement as she began to chant quietly.

They all stepped back as the area before them rippled, like an invisible wall began to falter, until the scene before them was revealed.

In front of the dumpster was a pool of blood, thick and glossy as it settled. They followed the mess, splattered up the dumpster, sticky drops oozing from the corner like molasses.

Y/N stepped forward, her hand covering her mouth as she prepared herself. “What’s in there?” She asked, her voice weak.

Sam stepped forward and glanced over the edge of the dumpster, tall enough to see inside without climbing up. He winced, slamming his eyes shut and turning away, bringing his arm up to cover his face.

“Sam?”

He ignored her, glancing at his brother. “Help me,” he said, solely focusing on what needed to be done.

Dean nodded, and he leaned over the edge of the dumpster taking in the scene that lay there. “Shit,” he mumbled.

Sam reached in, heaving up and Y/N watched as a leather clad arm - Damon’s distinctive ring on the middle finger - came into view. Dean pulled and Elijah moved to take over when they got the body up and over.

Elijah laid him on the pavement gently and Y/N rushed toward him, her heart pounding. She leaned forward, trying to find any sign of life, but his body was still.

“Y/N,” Elijah said, reaching into Damon’s chest and yanking out a sharp object, seemingly a rusted screwdriver.

She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he’d wake up.

But her relief was short lived, as Sam and Dean pulled another body from the rubbish, lowering the limp form of Matt Donovan carefully.

Y/N let out a choked sob, quickly moving towards her friend, her knees scraping on the pavement through her jeans beneath her. She ignored the burning, instead scrambling to reach for his hands, searching for the ring that would bring him back. “Matt!” She called, her brain trying to catch up with what she was seeing. “No, no no,” she cried upon finding the Gilbert ring gone. She pressed her head to his chest, crying into his shirt before shifting to turn his neck, seeing the damage to his throat.

“What happened?” Stefan rushed towards them, dropping to check on his brother first. He turned, seeing Matt and dropping his head in sorrow as his best friend continued to cry over his corpse.

“Did I do this?” She sobbed. She leaned backwards, her back hitting the side of the dumpster and she looked at her hands, shaking in front of her, covered in blood.

“Hey,” Dean knelt in front of Y/N, pulling his face into her hands. “You did not do this, do you understand me?”

She shook her head adamantly. “I saw this,” she sobbed. “I felt this. I was there...this is my fault.” She began to cry hysterically and he pulled her into his chest, holding her tight.

“This isn’t on you. There was nothing you could’ve done, you hear me?”

Elijah watched them for a moment, and he listened to the Saturday night crowd shuffle their way out of the front entrance of the Grill - closing time was approaching. “Get her out of here,” he commanded.

Dean looked up at the vampire, nodding in understanding as he stood, scooping her up with him, grateful that Baby was just around the corner.

*****

Damon groaned, his body stiff as he sat up from the couch in the Great Room. Stefan stood over him, his arms crossed. He glanced down at his chest, pulling his shirt away from his skin. “This was my favorite shirt,” he sighed. A blood bag dropped into his lap, and he looked up, shooting Elijah a grateful look as he tore into it, taking eager gulps.

“Do you remember anything?” Stefan asked, getting straight to the point.

Damon held a finger up, telling him to wait as he sucked the blood bag dry. He licked his lips with a satisfied sigh, laying back down onto the couch. “You got any more of those?” He asked, shutting his eyes.

“Matt Donovan is dead,” Elijah stated, his patience lacking.

Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m honestly surprised he lasted this long…”

“Damon,” Stefan warned.

Damon sat up, rubbing the back of his neck before looking up at his brother. “I know, okay. I know he’s dead, and now I’ve got to figure out how to tell my girlfriend that her best friend is dead and I didn’t stop it, so I know, okay?”

Elijah eyed him with disdain, frustrated at Damon’s lack of ability to see anything outside his own world, and a small one at that.

“I already called Elena,” Stefan said.

Damon shot up. “Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” He shouted. “Now she’s coming back here!”

Stefan didn’t flinch at his brother’s outburst, holding his ground. “She deserved to know.”

“Niklaus is on his way back with Caroline...reluctantly, of course,” Elijah added.

Damon shook his head in frustration. “Look, I know I wasn’t his biggest fan, so maybe I’m biased - but maybe we should wait until after we kill Empusa before dragging everyone back for a funeral which is marching them straight into a trap!”

Stefan shrugged as if it were obvious. “Matt is dead, Damon. And he’s not coming back.”

Damon sighed and walked around to the liquor cart, pouring himself a bourbon.

“While I understand the frustration and concern, I believe what Stefan is trying to say is that our friends need us,” Elijah said.

He held his glass up in a sarcastic cheers gesture. “Well the good news is, no one will need us when they’re all dead.”

Stefan sighed at his brother, figuring it was best not to feed into his antics for the time being. “What happened tonight?”

Damon shrugged. “I went to look for the quarterback. I smelled blood, but couldn’t find the source, and I turned around and next thing I know, Y/N’s stabbing me in the chest.”

“It wasn’t her” Stefan started, but his brother cut him off.

“Well aren’t you just the world’s greatest detective,” he snapped sarcastically.

Elijah cleared his throat, deep in thought. “Why would Empusa keep you alive?”

“My devastatingly handsome good looks?” Damon suggested.

“Perhaps,” Elijah noted with an eye roll. He paused. “She enjoys toying with her prey…Niklaus believed Y/N was the key to getting to us, but what if we were wrong?”

Damon sighed, exhausted. “She got to you without needing Y/N,” he scoffed.

Stefan shook his head, his own thoughts circling for an answer. “It’s a game for her. She’s not toying with us, she’s toying with Y/N. Think about it. What’s the one way to guarantee to get Y/N’s attention? To pull her out of hiding?”

Damon placed his glass down slowly, catching up with Stefan’s thinking. “Kill the love of her life…”

Elijah’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “She had the chance to kill Y/N back in New Orleans…”

“Unless she needed her in Mystic Falls,” Damon suggested.

Elijah and Stefan exchanged glances.

“She’s not safe here,” Stefan said. No sooner had he finished his thought, Elijah was gone.

*****

Y/N moved through her house in a daze. She was vaguely aware of Dean hovering, trying to make sure she was okay, but she couldn’t be bothered to answer him. She had stopped crying, the guilt she felt over Matt’s death, the regret and not telling him to leave then and there, warning him...the pain she felt at seeing him lying on the cold, hard ground next to piles of trash - it was all too much. So instead she shut down. There was a lingering sadness, but mostly she felt numb.

“Baby, listen, you didn’t do this,” Dean knelt before her once more, finishing cleaning up the scrapes on her arm. She remembered the car ride home, repeating over and over that it had been her fault. She wanted to believe him, to know she hadn’t killed her friend, but it was all too real to ignore.

She shook him off, standing slowly. “I’m going to grab a shower,” she whispered hoarsely.

Dean nodded, watching her walk up the stairs slowly, wanting to follow, to make sure she was okay - but she clearly wanted to be alone. He sighed, dropping onto the plush couch and leaning his head back. He sat thinking, and listening for any indication that she would need him.

Upstairs, Y/N stepped into the shower, exhausted. She glanced around her bathroom, tucking herself under the stream of hot water. She focused on the sounds of the drops against the tiles like a lullaby. She closed her eyes, shoving away the thoughts of the day and rested her forehead against the wall of the shower, shivering at the stark contrast of the cool surface against the warm water rushing down her back. She let her mind drift away...

She found herself in a hallway, a mysterious haze clouding her vision. She rubbed at her eyes, and realized she was back in the bunker. Strange, she thought. She hadn’t remembered coming back here.

A part of her realized it must be a dream, but she wasn’t so sure. She placed her hand along the wall, the tile cool under her touch. She studied her fingertips for a moment, confused at how real it all seemed, when she heard a noise.

“Dean?” She called out. “Sam?” She followed their voices into the war room, where she found Sam pouring through books and Dean with his feet up on the table that sat in the center of the room. They didn’t acknowledge her as she entered, instead continuing their heated debate.

“It’s a crime against humanity…” Dean grumbled.

“I like it,” Sam argued. “Besides, Y/N’s here now, she can decide.”

“Decide what?” She asked as they turned their attention to her.

“Sam here wants to order pizza.”

“Great, I’m starving.” She felt hungry suddenly, placing her hand on her stomach curiously. Could you feel hunger in a dream?

Dean shot a glare toward his younger brother. “Except he wants pineapple topping. Fruit does not belong on pizza…”

“We always get meat lovers, Dean! At least do half and half…”

They began to bicker again, but Y/N tuned them out, preoccupied with how hungry she was. She turned, leaving them to their argument, and went in search of a snack in the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards, pulling out bags of chips, and Sam’s trail mix. She set aside a bag of his kale chips with a look of disgust, and kept digging until she found a pack of beef jerky. She opened it, biting into a small piece before spitting it out. She checked the expiration date, surprised to find it was still good, and tossed it back in the cupboard.

She then moved to the fridge, her stomach grumbling. Why was she so hungry??? She tossed through the contents of the fridge frantically, growing frustrated as she grew hungrier and found everything they had to be revolting.

“You’re not gonna find what you’re looking for…”

She slammed the fridge shut, and turned to find Dean. “We need a new fridge or something,” she sighed. “Everything in there is bad.”

He shrugged. “No, it’s not.” He shook his head sadly, sighing heavily in disappointment. “Everything in you is bad.”

“Excuse me?”

He gave her a slight nod towards her feet, indicating that she should look down, and when she followed his gaze she jumped back in surprise. There was a pool of blood beneath her, leading back out into the hallway. “Dean?”

When she looked up again he was gone.

She slammed her eyes shut, breathing intentionally. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” she whispered to herself, but when she opened her eyes, the blood was still there.

She gathered her nerves and followed the trail back out into the main room, a chill running up her spine when she realized the brothers were gone. The silence that fell over her was eerie, and she moved forward cautiously.

“Hello?” She called out.

There was no answer, and she stopped when her foot caught on something large, her balance lost as she tumbled over the immovable mass beneath her. She hit the floor with a thud, blood pooling around her, soaking her clothes. She felt the dampness coating her fingers, and jumped when she realized her hands were covered. “No, no, no,” she whispered as she began to shake. She turned to see what she had fallen over, and there he was, in the thick of it, his body lifeless.

“Sam!” She screamed, pulling on the massive man, shaking him violently. “No, come on Sam, no!” She tilted his head towards her, when she saw the vicious bite marks on his neck - identical to the wounds left on Matt Donovan. The flesh was torn, blood still pouring out. “Help!” She screamed.

She continued to scream until her throat was raw, her voice coming out rough and scratchy. She screamed until she was too tired to do anything but weep, holding Sam’s face in her hands, cradling it in her lap. She began to rock back and forth, hugging him tightly and slamming her eyes shut, praying to wake up from the nightmare that felt like it would never end.

“You did this,” Dean’s voice startled her, and she looked up, eyes swollen and red. “You took my brother from me.”

She shook her head, confused. “No, I would never…”

“Look at you,” he spat. “You’re a monster.”

She laid Sam down gently, rising to her feet, and as she took a step towards Dean, he took one back. “Dean, please,” she cried.

“I should have driven that stake into your heart myself,” he said, chin held high and his jaw set in anger as he looked down on her.

She furrowed her brow. “What?” Her gums began to ache, and she reached up to touch them. As her fingertips felt the sharp point of her canines, she ran toward the bookshelf, picking up a trinket and searching the reflective surface. She could just make it out in the curve of the antique glass, but there it was. The fangs were unmistakable, and in her eyes she could see the darkness as the hunger set in.

Y/N dropped the trinket with a crash, her hands shaking as the realization of what she was sunk in. She held her hands up, covered in Sam’s blood.

What had she done?

She turned to find Dean stalking toward her, his fist white knuckled as he gripped a stake like his life depended on it.

She instinctively stepped back, but she was pressed against the shelf behind her, and too broken to fight. She pleaded, but he said nothing. His eyes were cold, fueled with hatred as he pressed into her, lifting the stake to line up with her heart.

“See you in hell,” he snarled before shoving the stake into her chest.

Y/N crashed back into reality with a jolt. Her heart raced and she took deep breaths, suddenly all too aware that the water in the shower had gone cold. She made quick work of washing up, anxious to get warm again. She shut off the shower and bundled up in her towel, wiping the fog from the mirror and studying her reflection - relieved to find, though a little worse for wear, it was her own.

She pulled the oversize towel over her shoulders after drying off her hair, taking the time to calm down and gather herself before getting dressed and heading downstairs.

*****

Dean stirred awake, surprised to find he had dozed off at all.

“Sorry…” a quiet voice whispered.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking over at Y/N, towel drying her hair damp. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I must have crashed there for a minute…” he glanced at his watch, unsure of how long he had been out.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Y/N said softly.

Dean shook his head dismissing her concern. “You hungry?” He asked. She shook her head, offering him a weak smile and stepping toward him. “You okay?” He asked, swallowing as he took in her appearance. She wore pajama shorts, the kind that hugged her ass and showed off her legs, and a cami that dipped low.

She bit her lip and stood over him, her legs straddling either side of his, forcing him to lean back. He placed his hands on her hips, holding her back. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She ignored his protests, sitting in his lap and bringing her lips to hover above his, daring him to stop her as she ground her hips down into him.

He groaned, slamming his eyes shut as he tried to gather himself. “Sweetheart, I don’t think we should be doing this right now,” he said roughly, turning his face slightly.

She brought her hand up to his cheek, coaxing him to look at her once more, his green eyes boring into hers. She had her other hand on his chest  and began to slowly inch it lower. He gripped her wrists, pausing her movements. He used his size to flip them so they were laying and she was sprawled beneath him. He pinned her hands above her head so he was in control, forcing her to stop.

Still she persisted, her hips rising to meet his, searching.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

She ignored him, instead leaning up and silencing his protests with a kiss. When he didn’t respond she dropped her head. “Don’t you want me?” She pouted.

He sighed heavily. “Not like this,” he admitted, letting her go and pulling away from her. He got up, pacing away from her as he ran his hand over his face in frustration.

She sat up, pulling her knees into her chest. “So what’s the problem?” She asked, her voice small.

He rounded on her, his patience thin. “What’s the problem?” He shouted. “Y/N every single time I try to clear my damn head, you come in here like nothing’s happened! I can’t think straight!”

She sighed, standing and moving across the room toward him. “What exactly is it you’re afraid of Dean?”

He furrowed his brows, but before he could respond she gripped his neck with a surprising amount of strength, pushing him back until his back hit the wall.

“Hmm? That she’ll never love you the way she loved Elijah?”

“Empusa,” he growled, fighting against her hold.

She grinned wickedly, her eyes growing sinister. “I know everything about her, you know. How she thinks, how she feels...would you like to know?”

“Go to hell, bitch,” he spat.

Her knee raised, connecting to his gut with force. Dean doubled over, coughing, and she side-stepped, letting him drop. “Do you know she wished you were him when you shared her bed? She’s using you, Dean.”

He groaned, flipping over onto his stomach as he began to push himself up off the floor.

“Let’s be honest, shall we?” She kicked his back, knocking him down once more with a grunt. “She could never love you. You couldn’t give her all this,” she gestured to the home they stood in. “What can you offer her?”

Dean rolled over, his foot kicking and knocking Empusa down. He moved quick, grabbing the small knife he kept in his boot and rolling on top of her. “I’ve got some moves of my own to offer, sweetheart,” he huffed and slammed the blade into her side with everything he had and she shouted in pain before flipping him over, slamming him into the coffee table.

Y/N rushed down the stairs, alerted by all the commotion. She rushed forward, grabbing the lamp from the side table and slamming it over the intruder’s head, but Empusa simply turned her attention on her, unphased.

She took a few steps back as Empusa marched forward, and she caught a glimpse of Dean’s knife jutting out from her side. She kicked out, her shin connecting with the hilt and forcing the knife deeper.

Empusa’s steps faltered, and she reached down, pulling the knife out and slamming it into Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N yelled as the blade pressed into her flesh, and she gritted her teeth - trying to breathe through the pain. She gripped Empusa by her hair, slamming her head with all her might against the wall.

The monster pressed her palms against the wall, shoving back with all her might and sending Y/N off balance, who fell backwards into Dean as he stood back up. He caught her, righting her once more, and they stood facing off the creature before them.

Empusa grinned, relaxing her stance as she wiped at her bleeding lip.

“Would you look at that, the bitch bleeds,” Dean commented.

She laughed humorlessly, her hands moving behind her back. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you manage to kill me, you’ll never manage to save her, and that’s what you really want, Dean,” she pressed her palm against the wall, a blinding light forcing Y/N and Dean to cover their eyes.

The room went dark once more, and Empusa was gone, the only evidence she had been there was the disheveled furniture and a strange symbol in blood on the wall.

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asked, panting and holding her injured arm.

Dean moved forward, squatting to study the symbol - similar to enochian, but not one he recognized.

As they stood in the living room catching their breaths, Elijah rushed through the front door.

“What happened here?” He asked, taking in the scene before him. Y/N stood in nothing but a large t-shirt, her hair damp. He eyed her, taking in new injuries, before looking at Dean accusingly.

“Well this night keeps getting better and better,” Dean grumbled.

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

Twelve Days of Holly, Jolly Tidings

Disclaimers: I watched “Dash & Lily” the other day on Netflix. This story is LOOSELY based on that book and Netflix series.  I do not own “Dash and Lily” or Newsies or anything recognizable within the series.  There are occasional curse words throughout the series, nothing too horrible but there’s some.  

It’s officially here - I feel like I’ve been teasing this for so long that it’s finally time to post it! This will be updated once a day for the next 12 days. This is a modern Newsies story. Katherine finds out her family won’t be home for Christmas so Jack hatches a plan that shows her the magic of the season, one day at a time, leading up to Christmas Eve. 

Friday, December 13 

The phone call ended as she threw her cell phone across the room as a groan tore through her throat. There was a reason she was living on her own, in her own apartment, away from her parents. But as parents do, they were trying to continue to ruin her life, even though she was in her mid-20s.  

She looked around the small apartment, a smile tugging on her lips. She had lived there for the last year, since graduating college and it was finally starting to feel like her home. She had a real tree set up in the corner, one that her boyfriend, Jack, had helped her set up the weekend before.  Her stocking was hung on the electric fireplace mantel, ready to be filled by Jolly Old St. Nick.  As her eyes swept the area, she paused, seeing a wrapped present under the tree that wasn’t there earlier. 

Walking over to the tree, she sank to her knees, pulling the box that was wrapped in blue snowman paper towards her.  Sliding her finger under the wrapping paper, she quickly unwrapped the box, tossing the paper off to the side. Popping open the box, she saw an emerald green notebook sitting in the box.  A smile on her face, she pulled it out, untying the ribbon around the notebook before opening the book.  On the inside cover was a sketch of her and him, looking out over the city, the sunset in front of them.  Pausing to take in the beauty of the drawing, she smiled seeing the little details Jack had included - the freckles across her face, his hand on her back steadying her as she laughed about something he had said, and the lone light in the corner of his apartment building’s roof. 

Flipping to the first page, she bit her lip seeing Jack’s familiar handwriting.

Katherine,

Happy First Day of Christmas, darlin’. This is a pre-Christmas present for you.  I have twelve different adventures for you, one each day leading up to Christmas Eve.  You said something a couple of days about not seeing the magic in Christmas, due to you being alone on Christmas. Well get ready, my girl, because I’m bound and determined to show you the true magic of the season. 

Now for your first adventure, you’re to go to Rockefeller Center. Once you’re there, grab a hot chocolate and just take in the sights, sounds, and energy around the tree. 

Love you, 

Jack 

Her eyes read over the words once more before shutting the book, grabbing her bag and coat before shoving her feet into her boots. Making her way to the front door, she slammed it behind her, pounding down the stairs, heading out onto the cold New York City streets.  

She hopped on the D train, settling into her seat, watching a group of kids to her left who were talking loudly. Farther down, someone was playing “Have a Merry Little Christmas” on the trumpet. She listened to the music as she swayed with the train as it made its way into Manhattan.   Before long the train pulled into the 47-50 Sts-Rockefeller Ctr station. Putting her bag across her body, she made her way out of the subway and headed to street level. Getting her bearings, she headed towards the massive tree that was fully decorated for the holidays. 

She flushed her body against the building as people rushed around her.  She took a deep breath, watching business men rush to their meetings and women pull their children along to get to wherever they needed to go. She watched teenagers skirt around the groups, laughing about whatever was said. But the thing that caught her attention is that very few people pay attention to the 75-foot tree that was in the middle of the mayhem. 

She tipped her head back, looking up at the tree, her eyes taking in the multi-colored bulbs twinkling. The tree never failed to make her pause in her goings - the sheer height of the tree was something to behold along with the thousands of lights that seemed to sparkle, no matter the angle you took the tree in from. Smiling, she pushed off the building, heading closer to the tree.  

Dashing into an adjacent coffee shop, she rubbed her hands together quickly as the door slammed behind her. Her eyes swept the small shop, smiling at the few customers that milled around before grinning brightly at the barista. She quickly ordered a peppermint hot chocolate, with whip cream.  She smiled at the barista as she handed her the festive hunter green to-go cup. Inhaling the sweet smell, she made her way back out onto Rockefeller Center, quickly finding a bench to sit on, pulling her bag onto her lap.

Pulling out the notebook, she flipped back to the page she read earlier. Flipping to the next page, Jack’s letter continued. 

So you’re on a bench at Rockefeller Center, with a hot chocolate in hand (don’t look shocked . . . I do know you pretty well).  Now close your eyes . . . just trust me and close them.  Listen to what is around you, relax and just listen.

Relaxing on the bench, she sat up straight, her hot chocolate in her right hand before closing her eyes. In the moments she had her eyes closed, she picked up on children’s laughter, sequels of joy, the awe of seeing the tree for the first time, the soft murmurs of people talking, and a stillness within the center that she didn’t notice right away. Slowly opening her eyes, she swept the area, looking at everything and nothing all at once. 

Looking down at the notebook, she continued reading Jack’s note. 

What did you hear? Did you hear the laughter of children and adults as they passed by? Did you hear the awes of seeing the tree for the first time? Take a few minutes and write down everything you heard - don’t leave anything too small or too big out. Don’t worry about being a New York Times writer at the moment . . . just write. 

Pulling her favorite green gel pen from her bag, she did just that. Taking sips of her hot chocolate in between the rush of the pen, she grinned, making sure she included every single little detail she had heard and smelled in those quiet moments. 

Got everything down? Good. Now see the gold Prometheus statues?  Just above it are some small bushes. The third one from the left there’s a surprise for you - in exchange leave the notebook and take the present.  

Merry Christmas, Kat. 

Love, Jack 

Her eyes furrowed as she read his instructions.  She had so many questions - most of them she would ask Jack at a later time but she pushed herself up from the bench, draining the rest of her hot chocolate, throwing the cup out as she made her way above the statue. As she neared, she counted the bushes, pausing at the third one.  Her eyes swept the area - just hoping that Jack would be there to surprise her but she bit her lip in disappointment not seeing anyone she knew. 

Bending down, she grabbed the box that was wrapped in the same blue snowman wrapping paper as the notebook instructed, she left the book in the same place as the box. Standing back up, she looked around the area for a bench. Finding one, she took a seat, quickly unwrapping the box before opening it. 

Nestled in the cotton was a small Christmas Tree charm. Picking it up, she smiled. It was just as pretty as the giant tree in front of her. Putting it back in the box, she tucked the box in her bag, looking to where she had left the notebook. Her eyes widened when she realized it wasn’t there - it was gone. 

Meanwhile

Hiding in the shadows, he held the notebook close to his chest as he watched her.  He grinned brightly as she took in the charm. But the grin slid from his mouth as he watched her notice the notebook was gone. He knew she would be so damn observant and that might work against him but this is how it needed to go for his plan to actually work.   Slipping in with the crowd, he walked towards her, keeping his distance so she wouldn’t pick up on him - he had work that needed to be done before the night was over. As much as he would love to watch her and make sure she was okay, he had other things that needed his attention. 

Kat put the notebook out of her mind - all she could do was hope that Jack or one of his friends had picked it up. Pushing off the bench, she pulled her coat tighter around her as she made her way back to the Subway and home. 

Thank you for reading!! Feedback would be wonderful! Come talk to me about what you think will happen over the next 12 days! 

[galahadwilder]

I donated $12 to Buggachat! Updates to a fic where Lila gets her comeuppance, like Thief or the one where Adrien exposes her through an interview, would be welcome if that offer’s still open!

All’s Fair in Love and War (And Turnabout’s Fair Play)

Chapter 3: There’s a Hole in my Soul, Can You Fill It?

This chapter of “Turnabout” is part of the “Fix @buggachat‘s Laptop Fic Drive.”

Turnabout Archive

*

There’s nothing quite like the heady feeling of power that comes with being Akumatized. Her whole body feels like it’s been plugged into a live wire, and she wants to laugh, to rejoice, to exult as she looks at herself in the mirror. She has power again.

Empathy looks almost exactly like Lila Rossi. She’s a masterpiece of subtlety, she thinks, pressing her fingers around her chin—her hair is maybe half a shade lighter, her eyes a little more flat, but if she hadn’t been looking for it she’d never have noticed.

The susurrus of sensations in the back of her mind grows, then dims, as Mireille passes by the bathroom door. Empathy grins. Hawkmoth has given her his own power, the power to read emotions. She was a master manipulator before. She can only imagine how much better she’ll be now.

And nobody will be able to blindside her again.

She straightens, brushing her hair out of her face with her fingers. Akumatization refreshed her makeup, purged the bags under her eyes, so she looks perfect. She’s ready to go. She can’t go subtle—if she wants to salvage her reputation, she needs to ruin Adrien and Marinette, and she needs to do it quickly. If she can take out Adrien’s reputation, if she can destroy people’s trust in him…

You’re not the only one who can play the victim, Agreste. And I’ve been doing it since I got here.

As she prepares to leave the bathroom, she notices a growing sensation in the back of her mind—concern. It feels odd. She’s… worried? About herself? It feels kind of removed, like—

The bathroom door opens, and in steps Rose—gentle, sweet, naïve Rose, and Empathy realizes exactly what’s happening. She’s feeling Rose’s emotions as if they were her own.

It’s… strange. Unfamiliar. Rose’s worry about something other than herself is something Empathy has never experienced before, but… well, she’s always known Rose was a bit dim. She just… revises her estimation of the girl’s intelligence slightly downward.

“Lila?” Rose says, her voice as soft as her footfalls. “Are you okay?” Her concern pulses in the back of Empathy’s mind, mixed in with fear and confusion and a stubborn determination to push those things aside. Lila can’t get a good enough read on her to know what, exactly, she’s worried about, but she can make a good guess.

She’s afraid that Lila is as bad as Adrien said. She’s afraid that she misread her. But she's also afraid that maybe Lila is perfectly normal, and kind, and Adrien may not be the golden boy they all believed him to be. She’s afraid that one of her friends is lying to her.

And now Empathy knows exactly which buttons to push.

She forces out a sob. “I don’t know,” she chokes out. “I thought—Adrien always said he was my friend.”

Empathy’s gut squeezes in an unfamiliar manner as anguish spikes in her mind, but it mixes with triumph that her words worked, and she fights down a grin. Check.

“What happened?” Rose says, and Empathy’s heart pounds in her chest. (It’s rather unpleasant.)

“I don’t even know,” Empathy mumbles, doing her best to appear like she’s trying not to cry. “All of that stuff was his idea, I don’t know why he’d…” She sobs, letting Rose fill in the rest.

Rose is confused, but Empathy can feel the doubt plant in her mind, and that’s a start. If she pushes too far, tries to suggest conclusions herself, Rose will suspect her. Better to let her come to her own conclusions.

Then Rose’s confusion hardens into resolve. “We should talk to Adrien!” she says brightly. “I’m sure the two of you can clear this up.”

Empathy’s eyes widen. No, she thinks. That cannot be allowed to happen. If Rose talks to them both at the same time, the whole thing will fall apart. “Um,” she says. “I—I’m… I don’t think I can face him right now.”

Rose’s sympathy burns in her mind, forcing her to feel the very fear she’s faking. “Oh,” Rose squeaks.

Empathy smiles, trying to make it look forced instead of victorious. “I’m… I’ll be okay,” she says.

*

The hallways are much worse than the bathroom was. There are too many people—everyone’s nervous, everyone’s panicking. Empathy can feel her nerves buzz, her hands shake, and—God, how do people like Rose live like this?

The pressure on her mind is astounding—she can’t tell anyone’s minds apart from each other, can’t pick out which sensations belong to whom. She feels like she’s drowning under the waves of anxiety that her schoolmates are throwing off like head from a busted lightbulb—everyone’s worried about something, and she can’t separate her own feelings from anyone else’s. She wants to—she wants to hide. To run back to the bathroom and not come back out, ever, not until everyone has left.

The tsunami of hatred that slams into her every time anyone looks in her direction is stunning, too. And completely unexpected. She hasn’t done anything to most of these people—or at least nothing most of them can prove; why do they all care about Adrien? Some of these people have never even interacted with him!

Her throat squeezes in on itself as she feels the hatred in her mind grow into something dark and violent. She wants to—she needs to be punished. She wants to hurt.

Keep it together, she thinks. That’s not your thought.

Tracking down Sabrina is difficult, to say the least. She can’t look anyone in the eye without feeling a rise of loathing for herself, and she keeps having to steer clear of people’s faces, but luckily Sabrina is always wearing those ugly sweater vests.

”Sabrina!” Empathy gasps, yanking on the sleeve of the redhead’s blouse. “I need to talk to you!”

Sabrina turns to her in rage, with what Empathy is sure is invective on her lips, but that rage quickly dies away when she locks eyes with Empathy, replaced with—what is that? Is that—is that pity?

”Oh, Lila,” Sabrina murmurs, and Empathy suddenly realizes how she looks to the other girl right now—she’s trembling and sweaty, and she must look as much like a cornered animal as the crash of everyone’s emotions is making her feel.

“He’s going after Chloé next,” Empathy gasps, and is rewarded with a sudden rush of mind-wrenching panic from Sabrina that makes her want to drop to her knees and scream. 

“What do you mean?” Sabrina says, her panic bleeding from her like blood in the water, and Empathy knows she’s guessed right—she found Sabrina’s weak point. This is where to keep pushing. 

Empathy grits her teeth, forcing through Sabrina’s overwhelming fear. “Listen—Brina,” she says, risking Chloé’s nickname for the other girl. Spike of annoyance. “Sorry, sorry, that’s—sorry,” Empathy mutters. Apparently that nickname is reserved for Chloé only. “Sabrina.” 

Sabrina’s annoyance subsides, much to Empathy’s relief—it’s replaced with gratefulness, that “Lila” noticed how she was feeling, and that “Lila” was accommodating. Which makes this a perfect moment to strike.

”Adrien—he did this on purpose,” Empathy says. “He tricked me into—he told me he loved me, he tricked me into—and then he…” She grips Sabrina’s shoulders. “He’s been doing the same to Chloé,” she says. “I just found out. He’s going to ruin her.”

Sabrina’s emotions are mixed, confusing, much to Empathy’s delight. There’s jealousy in there, and relief, and anger, and shock, and possessiveness. And… wow. Sabrina doesn’t want to be just Chloé’s friend.

Which means she wants to believe Empathy. Wants to believe anything that will push Chloé away from Adrien.

“Chloé won’t listen to me,” Empathy says. “You need to get her away from him.” She squeezes Sabrina’s shoulder. “You have to warn her.”

Sabrina’s shock grows, almost overwhelms Empathy’s mind, until it hardens into something else. Something shaky and quiet. “Okay,” Sabrina says. “I’ll—I’ll make sure she knows.”

*

Empathy flexes her fingers. Two practice runs down, two rumors planted, though she has no idea if Rose will bear fruit. Enough practice, though—it’s time for the big run.

Alya Césaire.

Empathy skips the next class period: showing her face in front of the people who hate her is only going to make them angrier. She needs to make them think she’s hurting worse than she is.

And besides, in her current state, she’s not sure she’d be able to hold herself together for an entire class period with all of her classmates’ insipid emotions cavorting about her skull. What was Hawkmoth thinking? This ability—it’s useful, yeah, but there’s too many drawbacks. It hurts. It hurts too much to use it the way she should be able to.

It must’ve been an accident. She wants to yell at him for his incompetence, but the lack of the pressure indicating his voice in her head means that he must’ve detransformed, so no matter what she says, he can’t hear her.

Instead, she shuts herself away from the school and all their chaotic and useless emotions and goes over what she knows about Alya.

She’ll admit, Alya taking Adrien’s side—and taking down Lila’s interview—was a bit of a shock. Unexpected. But now that she’s had time to think about it, it makes sense: Alya Césaire is a journalist, and as a diplomat’s daughter, Lila knows journalists. They’ll do anything for a good story, and Adrien’s story is juicy beyond belief. Better than Lila’s was. Alya siding with Adrien makes sense now; she’s chasing the story, and she needed to get rid of the interview in order to keep consistency, keep her reputation.

Which means all Empathy needs to do to sway the reporter back to her side is give her a juicier story. One that implicates Adrien, and clears Lila. Alya won’t be able to resist, and she’ll drop Adrien like a hot potato as soon as Empathy gives her what she really wants.

And with her new powers, Empathy can figure out exactly what that is.

*

Empathy skirts the side of the cafeteria, trying to hide out on the edges of the waves of overwhelming emotion. There are simply too many people in the cafeteria, and any one of them seeing her could trigger a debilitating spike of hatred that would pin her to the floor. She’d prefer to get Alya alone, but the girl is a social butterfly—she never goes anywhere by herself. The cafeteria is the only place loud enough to give them any privacy.

“Guys, guys!” she hears Alya shout. “Give Adrien some space!”

There’s a crowd gathered off to the side of the cafeteria, and in the middle of it, a waterfall of red-brown hair. Alya is standing on a chair, pushing people away with a—well, Empathy can’t tell what that expression is, she’s too far away to get a good read. She’s with Adrien, and Nino, and Dupain-Cheng, and the rest of the class seems to be crowded around them, but at Alya’s words they begrudgingly back away.

Adrien says something that Empathy can’t hear, only to be interrupted by Nino, who says something in that annoyingly kind tone he makes when he’s trying to get into someone’s good graces. Dupain-Cheng looks away from them both with downcast eyes, and Ivan adds something, turns around, and begins to clear the rest of the class away.

Then he locks eyes with Empathy, and she doesn’t even need powers to feel the force of his anger. She shrinks, trying to appear nonthreatening.

He leans over toward his pig of a girlfriend and murmurs something in her ear. Immediately, the rest of the class turns to look at Empathy, and the surge of their collective hatred (where is this coming from? She did nothing to most of them! Or at least nothing they can prove) pushes her bodily against the wall.

She wants to hurt. Instead, she bolts from the room.

*

Lila has spent enough lunches with Alya that Empathy knows which bathroom she prefers. Without any ability to actually go into the cafeteria, she’s forced to wait for Alya to come to her. She’s already spent the whole day in the bathroom, hiding from all the goddamn emotions that are pressing on her mind.

Remember, Empathy, this is what you asked for.

“Hawkmoth,” she growls. “You want me to win? Help me out here.”

There’s no answer. Of course there’s no answer. She wants to—she wants to—

Actually, she feels… pretty good. A bit vindictively satisfied, maybe, but…

Wait that’s—

The door to the bathroom swings open and Alya steps through.

“Alya!” Empathy cries, grabbing at the other girl’s arm. “We need to talk—!”

Her sentence is cut off in a shiver as Alya’s eyes turn toward her, and everything Empathy has felt over the course of the morning jerks into perspective as Alya’s blood-curdling rage slams into her like a truck dropped from orbit.

“Rossi,” Alya snaps, her voice cold enough that Empathy actually feels the chill strike into the marrow of her bones. “I told you to stay away.”

Empathy gasps. “I know, I know,” she says. God, she must’ve risked more damage to Alya’s reputation than she thought if the girl is this angry. “I’m sorry. But—you need to hear this!”

Alya’s expression doesn’t change, and Empathy feels her veins catch fire as the other girl’s rage and hatred presses down on her. Come on, Rossi, she thinks. Just tough it out a few more seconds. Then she’ll be on your side again.

“Alya, Adrien is stalking Ladybug!” Empathy hisses.

She’s expecting Alya’s anger to instantly turn to interest. Empathy knows how Alya is about Ladybug, and this is a truly juicy scoop. It’s everything Alya could possibly want—

Why is she getting angrier?

“Why should I believe a single word you say?” Alya says.

Empathy is shaking with Alya’s rage at her words; she wants to smack something, to punch something, to pound her fist into the sink until the porcelain snaps. Not mine not mine not mine—

“Adrien was trying to discredit me,” she says. “I found out he was using me to get to Ladybug and—”

Bile surges up her throat, cutting her off mid-word.

“He was using you?” Alya hisses. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Empathy shivers. “He—I found out he was—”

Alya snorts. “He was what, Lila?”

This—this isn’t working. Why isn’t it—this is the biggest story that’s come across Alya’s nose in months, why isn’t she biting? Why isn’t she at least entertaining the idea? Alya’s emotions aren’t making any sense. There’s no interest at all!

“What—what are you—” Empathy gasps, her heart pushing up on her sternum. “Why don’t you believe me?”

It takes a moment for Empathy to realize the confusion she’s feeling isn’t just her own.

Alya steps back, horrified. “Believe you?” she says. “You’ve been attacking my friend and lying to me about it for months.”

Empathy’s stomach swoops. “Marinette—she’s lying to you, she’s—”

A piledriver blend of indignation, disbelief, amusement, disgust, and condescension crashes through Empathy’s forehead. Alya shakes her head. “Should’ve known,” she murmurs. “Mari knew. Of course she did.” Alya narrows her eyes, and suddenly Empathy wants to—drop to her knees and beg forgiveness from that stupid hussy? Protect that ridiculous blond asshole? She wants to—she wants to—

Alya—Alya is actually their friend. Alya actually cares about them. No. Impossible. She can’t—she can’t be wrong, can she?

“Eat shit, Rossi,” Alya snarls, turning on her heel. “I’m gonna find another bathroom. Don’t follow me.”

As her rage retreats, Empathy is left with only her own emotions in her head. And they’re unfamiliar ones. She’s—she’s lost, she’s confused, she’s… she’s relieved that she’s not feeling the self-destructive force of Alya’s rage, and yet it’s like there’s a hole in her chest, right where her heart goes. Something is wrong. Something is—something is missing. Something that Alya had, something that—

No, she thinks. I can’t be wrong. The—the powers are useless. She collapses back against the wall, pressing her palms against her skull. Hawkmoth, she thinks, what have you done to me?

Turnabout Archive

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