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thesimulationswarm · 6 months

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Balsam, Chapter 4: A Little Cemetery

This is a story about trauma. What trauma does to a person, and what trauma does to a community. And how, in the midst of it, people find their way to joy, delight— even love.

Pairing: Joel Miller x original female character Summary: After the events of tlou, Joel and Ellie try to establish a “normal life” in Jackson, but neither of them are any good at normal. A town doctor tries to care for residents who have experienced unspeakable trauma, and struggles to overcome her own past at the same time. Joel finds himself drawn to her, as their lives become increasingly intertwined. Meanwhile, outside Jackson, troubling things are happening… Rating: explicit 18+ MDNI Word count: 5.7k Warnings: slow burn (there will be smut eventually), canon-typical violence, descriptions of medical situations, trauma/PTSD symptoms, painful adolescent social dynamics, LGBTQ issues, Ellie and Joel figuring out how to be family, Tommy and Joel figuring out how to be family

Series masterlist

At the council meeting, it was Jenna Starkey who saved Dr. Connor.

She sat up straight, eyes puffy but dry, and looked at the people of Jackson. “He got to die with his wife, his baby, and his dignity. I know it’s what he would’ve wanted.” Maria watched the audience nodding gravely at her words and murmuring among themselves. Most people there had seen enough of violent deaths to know going quickly was better than going slowly.

But there were dissenters. Big Michael, of course, who felt betrayed by Nina. He’d come to her to save his closest friend, and instead she’d killed him. He was calm today, at least— subdued, the weight of grief settling down into his shoulders.

Archie Hayes, who ran the butcher shop, said Nina “had no right to take the Lord’s work into her own hands.” Maria saw Nina’s eyebrows rise at that, and knew what she was thinking: pretty rich for someone who spent his days eviscerating chickens and sawing through the leg joints of lambs.

But thankfully Nina kept her mouth shut. Tact wasn’t always her strong suit.

Then there was a group of women from the kitchens, where Starkey had worked. Chrissy, Lena, and shy Marisa Robinson, her face stained with tears. They all came up together and spoke about what the community had lost when Starkey died, and how he hadn’t even been given a chance to survive. The testimony had emotional impact, but it ultimately couldn’t outweigh the opinion of Starkey’s widow.

Maria watched the crowded room carefully, assessing every face and posture. She had experience reading juries, but it was harder when the jury was the size of a small town. Sure, Nina wasn’t on trial— not in any official sense. This was just a discussion of what had occurred on the day that Starkey died. She knew the council members, and knew that given the circumstances, the majority would not favor any sort of formal charge.

But even if most folks approved of Nina’s actions, any serious objections still spelled trouble, and she was alert for signs of them in the meeting room. The doctor could walk freely out of here today, then be attacked in the street tomorrow. She’d seen it before: an accused murderer acquitted, only to be hit by a rival gang. Or simmering tensions could grow over time until they split the town into rival factions.

Maria kept her exterior carefully controlled as she sat there on the dais, but underneath she was edgy, preoccupied. She had wanted to believe that, in the safety of Jackson, they’d moved beyond mercy killings. But after this last brutal winter, their environment was more hostile than ever. Spring had begun, but the patrol attacks hadn’t stopped, and she was afraid that something truly awful was happening outside of Jackson. She could see the signs gathering, like dark clouds massing on the horizon.

They would need to be prepared.

And she worried about Nina, too. The doctor was efficient and effective at what she did. She clearly cared about Jackson and the people who lived there. But Maria knew that as a person— as a friend— Nina was troubled. She’d seen flashes of it over the years they’d known each other. Nina had that stubborn self-sufficiency, an unwillingness to let other people in. She could be reckless, with her temper and her predilection for dangerous men. And then there were her episodes, when she went flat and unresponsive for hours or even days at a time.

After the incident with Starkey and then Big Michael, she’d shut down like that. Anya and Brandy had to physically lift her from the street where she’d knelt, and hold her arms as they’d walked her back to her place. Maria had followed them and taken Nina upstairs to her apartment above the clinic. She sat her at the kitchen table and made a cup of tea.

Nina had stared down at the cup with empty eyes, and made no effort to lift it to her lips.

And as Maria stood there and watched Nina’s insensate face, she’d wanted to shake her, make her snap out of the trance she was in.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t pissed off. Not that she disagreed with what Nina had done, exactly, but she was not too pleased with how she’d done it. Not telling Starkey. Not telling Starkey. Doing it out in the street, in front of half the town. The cavalier way she’d administered a lethal injection, then snapped at the dead man’s shocked best friend. It was going to stir people up in Jackson, make things difficult for Maria and certainly for Nina as well. And then the woman wouldn’t even speak or meet her eyes. Yes, Nina couldn’t help it— but it still rankled.

Maria had looked around her kitchen, struck by how sad her living quarters were: the battered table, the single chair, one chipped dinner plate on an otherwise empty shelf. No personal touches— art or flowers or knickknacks. Her home looked abandoned, even though someone lived there.

She’d leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the tea grow cold on the table. Her back and her feet ached, but as frustrated as she was, she hadn’t been willing to leave her friend when she was like this. Didn’t want her to “wake up” all alone. So she waited, as shadows slowly lengthened down the peeling wallpaper.

Finally, a flicker of awareness returned to Nina’s features. She shifted in her chair.

“You okay?” Maria asked.

Nina shrugged her shoulders. “Guess so. It’s been a weird day.”

“That’s one word for it.” Maria pointed to the cup, and Nina finally raised it to her lips. “I know you couldn’t save him, Nina. But some people are going to be upset about how things went down.”

Nina was quiet for a long moment, looking out the window at the tangle of tree branches, the darkening sky.

“There’s a quote I think about sometimes,” she spoke softly. “Something an old French doctor wrote. ‘Every surgeon carries about him a little cemetery, in which from time to time he goes to pray, a cemetery of bitterness and regret, of which he seeks the reason for certain of his failures.’”

Maria sighed deeply.

“Girl, you’ve got to get your act together.”

Joel watched from the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He was relieved to see which way things were going, but the whole thing was bullshit. Maria and Tommy knew Nina wasn’t a murderer, and they were still parading her up there in front of the town, while they debated what she’d done.

Calling it democracy. He’d seen how democracy could go—what happened in Kansas City, wasn’t that the will of the people?

Nina sat at a table beside the council members, with her dark hair pulled back and her chin held high. He watched her face, but her expression was hard to read— she didn’t look scared, or angry. Maybe just a little sad. She answered the questions people asked politely, matter-of-factly. Didn’t get emotional up there, unlike some of the townspeople.

Ellie was sitting a row in front of him, beside a group of other teenagers. She’d wanted to come here today and see what it was all about. He knew she was feeling anxious about it.

“It’s fucked up,” she told him last night at dinner, shoveling food into her mouth. She’d never stopped eating like a starving animal. “It’s like people here forgot that everyone is gonna die, and now they’re mad at Dr. Connor because she reminded them.”

She was a smart kid. Smarter than him by a mile, which made him proud and also nervous. He stared at the tilt of her small shoulders, the glossy strands of her ponytail. He would’ve liked to sit with her, but he didn’t want to crowd her or embarrass her around the other kids. He was trying to be a good… whatever he was to her.

He was surprised by how relieved he felt when the council announced that, “after hearing from all interested parties,” they felt the doctor’s actions “had been justified by extraordinary circumstances.” Nina stood and Maria walked her out through the back, with a hand pressed between her shoulder blades.

There was a flurry of movement as a woman pushed through the back row roughly and stormed out to the street. It was the quiet girl from the dining hall, the one who always looked scared of Joel. She’d been up there crying like a widow with Starkey’s other coworkers. Bunch of girls who were either sleeping with the guy or wanted to be, hard to be sure.

As the door slammed behind the girl, voices rose in the room. People were getting up from their seats, talking to each other, standing around in small groups or walking down the aisles to leave. There was a lot to gossip about, he supposed.

He moved toward Ellie, who was still with the other kids. As he stepped into her line of site, she shot up from her chair and strode quickly over to him. For a second, he was worried— then he realized what was happening. She didn’t want to talk to him in front of the other teenagers.

Jesus, was he really that embarrassing? He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to affect a casual stance.

“Doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m gonna head home. You wanna come, or…” He trailed off, looking over her shoulder at the clump of kids.

“Actually, some of us were going to go hang out for a bit?”

“Sure, sure. Just, uh, be home before dinner time?”

“Dinner time. Okay.” She gave him a sharp little nod of agreement, then turned to rejoin the group.

He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself now. He saw Tommy up at the front of the room, talking to a few men. Thought for a brief moment of going up there, but he wasn’t ready yet. He still hadn’t spoken to him since that night he’d met Maria at the bar.

Ellie was moving toward the door now, walking with a boy and a girl who both looked vaguely familiar. He watched as she turned her head toward the girl and laughed. Then the boy looked at the two of them, smiling, and said something he was too far away to hear. Now that he could see more of his face, he recognized the kid who was always walking that dog around town. A tall teenager, a little gangly, but with a nice thick head of hair and a brooding look. Ellie smiled back at him.

So that’s why she was so dead set on working with the dogs. She had herself a little crush on the boy who trained them. And it looked like she was actually making friends.

He walked slowly behind the group for half a block, trying to hold back the smile that wanted to erupt across his face. Then he turned off toward home.

The three of them went to an empty house on the north side of town. It was small and a little sad looking, with a caved-in section of roof. The front door was boarded shut, but Brandy led them around to the back, past a lurching, rotting porch and in through the kitchen door. Ellie ran her finger down the coiled cord of a telephone that hung on the wall, feeling the satisfying way it sprang back after she tugged on it.

In the living room, dust swirled through the air and a floral couch sagged against the wall. Brandy plopped down in the middle, and Ellie and Chuy took the sides. Now that they were out of the crowd, Brandy had grown quiet, and Ellie could see the strain on her face.

“Well that was fucking dumb,” Ellie sighed. “I mean, at least they let her go and all. But I don’t see how any of that meeting was necessary.”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Brandy agreed softly. “As soon as I saw him lying there, I thought, ’This guy is going to fucking die.’”

“I still can’t believe you were there for that.” Ellie was honestly a little jealous. She’d never seen anybody die like that, a shot of poison into the vein. Not that she wanted it to have happened, but if it was going to happen— well, she was super fucking curious about it.

Brandy looked queasy, and she realized she’d said the wrong thing. Dumb, dumb, dumb. She tried to think of a more supportive response, but her mind went blank. Why was this so hard?

“I always liked Starkey, you know? He was nice. And I— I’ve never actually— ” Brandy broke off, her voice cracking. She stared down at her lap. Ellie wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, or maybe rub her back reassuringly, below the smooth cascade of her hair. But she wasn’t sure if she should— was that weird? Was it too much?

“I’ve never seen someone die before,” Brandy choked out.

Oh shit. Poor Brandy. She was biting her lip, and Ellie watched the way the sharp line of her teeth indented the delicate skin. Again, she thought about touching her, comforting her. Again, she kept her hands down at her side.

“The first time is hard for everybody,” Chuy spoke gently. “I don’t think anyone really gets over it.”

Brandy turned and looked at him. “I didn’t think it would be so bad, because I’ve known a lot of people who’ve died. But I keep thinking about his face when he died and the weird look his eyes had, and the way he was breathing. It was awful, kind of a rattling, drowning sound.”

Chuy nodded. “I know what you mean. After my dad died, I kept seeing it whenever I closed my eyes.”

“Your dad died?” Ellie was shocked. The way Chuy talked about his dad, she’d thought he was still alive. He was always bragging about the great scientist who had discovered all kinds of things about cordyceps.

Chuy let out a ragged breath. “It was before I came to Jackson. We were surrounded by infected just outside Denver, and he fought them off as long as he could. Really he— he saved my life. He saved Coco, too. She was his dog. He trained her to smell the infections and everything, and I only took over because he was gone.” Ellie thought about the sweet, obedient dog, and how bonded Chuy had always seemed to her.

“I’m so sorry,” Brandy said, leaning closer to Chuy.

“As soon as the infected were all dead, he began to walk back towards me and Coco. And that’s when Coco started barking at him—she’d never barked at him before. And I knew right away what that meant. I don’t think he realized until then, either, because he looked down at his arm and he had this horrified look when he saw where he’d been bitten. And then he just… shot himself.”

“Jesus,” Ellie breathed. She saw Riley’s face, contorted with pain, how it had looked that day in the the fucking Halloween store. Facing defeat. Way I see it, we got two options.

“There are these little things I thought about for a long, long time,” Chuy went on. “Like how Coco looked at him with her teeth barred, snarling at him. Or the way his arm jerked as he pulled the trigger.”

Ellie nodded— she knew about those kind of memories, too. You really didn’t get over your first time. The look in Riley’s eyes, when she wasn’t Riley anymore. It was same look Sam had that day in the motel. And the way they’d both charged her… She blinked, trying to clear the pictures out of her mind.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and looked at Chuy. His face was serious and sad, but calm. She didn’t understand how he could just talk about this kind of stuff. Whenever she even thought about it she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she was drowning on land.

And that was when she saw it— Brandy and Chuy, holding hands.

Their arms were resting on the couch between them, their fingers intertwined. There was something so casual about their posture, like… like they’d done this before.

She wanted to throw up.

She was a fucking idiot. Brandy wasn’t like her, and she didn’t like Ellie, no matter how much she laughed at her jokes. Chuy and Brandy were wired the right way, the normal way. Like Joel and Tommy and Maria and maybe everyone else in this godforsaken town, except her.

Joel was cooking dinner when he heard the door bang open, followed by the sound of feet stomping rapidly up the staircase.

“Ellie?” He called out. No answer.

“Ellie?” He repeated himself, louder this time. Again, no answer.

He sighed, turning the burner on the stove down to its lowest setting and wiping his hands on a dishrag. He stopped to pick up the jacket she’d tossed on the floor in the entryway— no matter how many times he’d told her, she never hung it up.

The door to her room was shut. He stood at the top of the stairs for a second, trying to decide what he should do, then stepped forward and rapped on the door with his knuckles.

“What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Fine.” Her voice was clipped, affecting annoyance, but underneath that he could hear the quiver she was trying to suppress. She was crying, or had been crying. His heart sunk.

She was sitting by the window, knees drawn up to her chest. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him when he walked in, kept herself angled toward the gray sky outside. Still, he could see that her face looked puffy and blotched, eyes ringed with pink.

“You doin’ okay?”

She took a sharp breath in. “What the fuck do you think?”

He sat down on the edge of her bed, a few feet from her.

“What happened?” Just a couple hours ago she’d seemed so happy. Walking down the street with her friends, her body loose and light. Whatever upset her, it made the rage well up in him like a fountain. If those kids were mean to her, so help him God he’d snap their little necks.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she replied bitterly.

“I might.”

She huffed out something between a snort and a sigh. “No, you wouldn’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be a fucking freak.”

He felt sick to his stomach, remembering how hard he’d gone at her over working with the dogs. Telling her she needed to be careful, that people would turn on her if they found out, drive her out of town or worse. How was a girl supposed to settle in and make friends with that hanging over her head?

“Ellie.” She wouldn’t look at him, twisting her head further away, her shoulders hunched protectively. He moved over to the windowsill and lowered himself beside her.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you, Ellie. You’re not a freak, you’re— you’re a—” He faltered, trying to find the right words.

Her head whipped around and she pinned him with her eyes. Angry, anguished, pleading. “What do you think I am?”

“You’re a miracle,” he said softly.

She shook her head at him, then took a deep breath, opening her mouth as if to say something. But no words came. After a moment, her face crumpled and she leaned forward to bury herself against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her. He rubbed circles against the bird wings of her shoulders, feeling them heave as she sobbed against him.

“Shhh, shhh. Shhh, s’okay.”

Jack and Old Michael had asked Tommy to help with enlarging the sheep enclosure. He knew it was going to be a long day’s work, digging out fence post holes by hand. Now that the ground had finally thawed and farm work could begin in earnest, there were a thousand back-breaking jobs like this to keep him busy in the coming months.

Not that he truly minded a day’s work in the sun. He whistled as he walked toward the barn, auger slung over his shoulder. When he rounded the corner into the field, work was already well underway. Michael was laying down markers along the far end, while Jack was up near the gate, throwing his post hole digger at the ground with all the force his wiry body could muster.

A few feet away from him, Joel was kneeling, hacking away at the roots of a scrubby bush that was in the way. Tommy’s heart sped up— it’d been a good two weeks since he and Joel had spoken. He’d seen his brother in passing, but he wouldn’t so much as meet Tommy’s eyes.

Tommy knew he’d fucked up. Maria had made it plenty clear to him, that night she came home after running into Joel at the bar. He should’ve told Joel as soon as he and Ellie returned from their trip to the Fireflies. But they’d both seemed so worn down and troubled, that day when they’d stumbled back into Jackson. He knew Joel’s moods, was used to tiptoeing around his rage, taking care not to poke the bear. He’d figured he should give them some time to settle in before explaining why Maria had to know about Ellie. And then… well, the time had never seemed right.

And he was a coward when it came to his brother. Had been since he was knee high to a grasshopper.

As he approached, Joel looked up. Tommy could tell by the way his eyes widened that he wasn’t expecting to see him there, either. He stole a glance at Old Michael; even from this distance he could see the amusement on the man’s face. He sighed. Little old fucker thought he was playing matchmaker, getting the feuding Miller brothers out here to build a fence together.

At least there was work to be done. Tommy set himself up a little ways down from Jack, drilling out the next hole. He felt sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he leaned his weight into his arms, wrenching the handles of the auger around and around.

The four men settled into a rhythm with each other, despite the tension hanging in the air. Despite Tommy and Joel not exchanging one word. They took turns digging holes and clearing brush, setting poles and tamping dirt. It was chilly but not freezing, and the work kept them plenty warm.

Around noon they took a break, cooling down in the shadow of the barn. Jack’s sister, Roberta, brought out sandwiches and iced tea. Bread, cheese, pickles, and hefty slices of chicken— it tasted so damn good after all that work.

Joel had sat down as far away from Tommy as he could, on the far side of Jack and Old Michael. But after they finished eating, the two other men excused themselves to go use the facilities, conveniently leaving the brothers alone. Subtle as a goddamn sledgehammer, those guys.

But in truth, he was grateful for the chance.

Tommy looked out across the field, not sure how to start. There was so much he wanted to say to his brother, and a lot of it he’d probably never find a way to put into words.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Don’t.” The response came swiftly, a warning.

“I should’ve told you. I feel terrible about it.”

“You shouldn’t’ve told her in the first place,” Joel hissed.

“It was the night before you left. I thought I was gonna be the one leaving with Ellie in the morning. And I knew it was dangerous. There was a real chance I wouldn’t come back.” Tommy kept his voice soft and even, trying not to let Joel draw him into yet another fight. “I couldn’t walk out on my pregnant wife, maybe for good, without her even knowing why. I couldn’t risk my child growing up not knowing me, and thinking it was ‘cause I didn’t care.”

Tommy looked at his brother. Shoulders set, jaw taut, radiating tension. But he was quiet at least. Not yelling and not storming off, which counted as a victory when it came to Joel.

“But I was gonna do it, Joel. I was gonna take the chance I’d never see my kid grow up, for you. It wasn’t— it wasn’t really about the cure.”

Joel let out a long breath. They sat for a moment in silence.

“And Maria let me go,” Tommy continued. “I know you think she hates you—“

“She does.”

“Okay, she does. But she trusts me when I say I need to do what’s right. And I trust her. You’ve got to know that she’s safe,” he said, his voice pleading. “She’s family now, Joel. Like it or not.”

He could see Joel clenching and unclenching his fist, that nervous habit he had. He took a few deep breaths, then finally turned to look Tommy squarely in the eyes. There was anger in his expression, but mostly there was sadness. And the cold glint of fear.

“I’ve accepted that, Tommy. But I need you to understand, too. Ellie—Ellie is family now, too. We protect her. Like she’s one of our own.”

Nina stood in the dining hall, tray in hand, looking for a place to sit. She was conscious of eyes on her, sizing her up. A feeling akin to being in a middle school cafeteria. She’d avoided coming here for the past week or so, but she couldn’t stay away forever. And anyway, she had business to see to today.

The Millers were all sitting together for a change— Tommy, Maria, Joel, and Ellie. They looked happy, the four of them, as they talked over their dinner. Even Joel looked a little lighter, the brow not as pinched and the scowl not cut so deep. He looked younger when he wasn’t so surly, she noticed. He must’ve wrecked some hearts in his day, with that jawline and those curls and the solid muscle bunching below his shirt. He could probably wreck some hearts right now, here in Jackson, but from what she’d seen he wasn’t terribly interested in that.

As she approached, he looked up suddenly. His eyes caught on hers, wide and dark and a little surprised to find her watching him. Then he looked back down at his plate, suddenly seeming very interested in his potatoes.

“Mind if I join for a minute?” Nina gestured toward an empty chair at one end of the table, beside Tommy and Maria.

“Doc! Please, have a seat.” Tommy gave her a warm smile, and she felt a little rush of gratitude for his friendliness. She liked to pretend she didn’t care what people thought of her, but the past couple of weeks had been rough. Not just the occasional nasty looks, but the general sense of discomfort people had around her, the awkwardness and trepidation and pity.

“I won’t stay long. Don’t want to interrupt your family time. But I do need to check in with you all about something.”

“Nina.” Maria fixed her with one of her looks. “You know you’re always welcome here, and you know you can’t stay in your apartment all day. Stay and eat.”

So she tried to sit and be companionable as she worked through her serving of stew, but her mind was elsewhere. She knew Maria was worried about her and was trying to be supportive by insisting she join their family dinner. But the more stressed she felt, the less she wanted to be around people, putting on a performance of normalcy. She’d rather be back in her clinic, studying her medical textbooks or preparing elderberry tinctures or something productive. Not making small talk with the Millers, however nice they might be.

She was also acutely conscious of Joel sitting a few few away, and keeping quiet much like she was. Twice she looked up just as his eyes were skidding away from her. Was he watching her because she’d been watching him? Or was he just… watching her?

“So Doc,” Tommy began, “you said you had something to talk to us about?”

She set down her spoon. “I have to go to Lava Hot Springs next week, to meet Mo. Starkey was supposed to go with me, like he did in the fall.”

“Shit.” Tommy rubbed an anxious hand along the back of his neck. “I completely forgot.”

“You’re going to meet the smuggler? That’s so fucking cool,” Ellie broke in, eyes shining.

“Ellie,” Joel admonished her quietly.

“What? You know it’s cool.”

“I know it’s unfortunate timing, but I’ve got to meet him. We’re going to be in bad shape if I don’t.”

“No, you’re right. We can’t afford to miss the rendezvous.” Maria looked pensive, running through the logistics in her head. “Someone else needs to go with you. It’s too dangerous to travel that way alone.”

“I hate to say this,” Tommy said with a sheepish look in her direction. “But I think most folks’d be hesitant to go with you right now, Nina. Not for any good reason, but they might be afraid that…” He trailed off.

“What, like she’s gonna execute them if they sprain an ankle or something? That’s bull-“

“Ellie!”

Joel was glaring daggers at the girl, but Nina flashed her a smile. Tommy was right: people might not want to join her on a trip right now. But Ellie was also right: it was bullshit.

There was a moment of silence, everyone thinking through the options. Then Tommy spoke. “I’ll go.”

Nina caught the way Maria’s eyes flicked at his, widening in alarm, before she composed herself. She knew Maria didn’t want him going on any more patrols, not when she was so close to her due date, and not when things outside Jackson had been so treacherous. Tommy, for his part, didn’t look terribly happy about the plan, but he was resolute: it had to be done.

“No, Tommy. You gotta stay with Maria now. I’ll go.” Everyone turned to look at Joel, who went back to spooning soup into his mouth, nonchalantly.

“That could work,” Tommy mused.

“Is that okay with you, Nina?” Maria was giving her a look she didn’t quite understand— studying her, warning her maybe.

The thing that was disturbing him was that Ellie wasn’t mad. She was annoyed and a little mopey about being left behind, but she wasn’t getting in his face and blowing up at him. She left him alone while he packed his rucksack with clothes and supplies.

He didn’t like it. Kept thinking about what Nina had told him that night in the bar. It’s a good thing that Ellie’s acting out. It’s what teenagers did in normal times.

She hadn’t gone out to work with the dogs, either. Not since that day last week when she came home in tears. He’d even told her, with a great deal of discomfort, that it was okay if she wanted to keep doing it.

She’d given him a shocked look, but then she just shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I dunno, I’m not really that into it anymore.”

“What about… somethin’ else? Some other kind of farm work? Or maybe somethin’ with food, like the bakery?”

“Um, maybe. I guess I’ll talk to Maria about it when you’re gone.”

She had that flatness about her that she got now and then. She’d been that way for a long time after he’d gotten stabbed and she’d been taken by those goddamn fundamentalist creeps. He’d worried then that there was a side of her that was gone for good. That was the way he felt about himself— that parts of the man he’d once been were buried too deep to ever get back.

But she’d resurfaced from that, eventually. She was probably stronger than him, in addition to smarter. Still though, occasionally she would get that look in her eyes. Or that lack of a look, that kind of sad emptiness. It made him feel sick. And he didn’t really know how to help her, because he himself had never learned how to overcome that kind of pain. He just lived like a twisted version of himself in its shadow.

Now he was leaving her while she was in one of those moods, and he felt awful about it. He thought about offering not to go, but he couldn’t do it to Tommy. As he’d reminded Joel, his brother had been willing to put his life on the line for him. For him and for Ellie. And now it was his turn, to look after Tommy and Maria and the baby.

And then there was Nina. He kept thinking about her, and kept trying not to think about her. Kept thinking it was a bad idea to go on this trip with her, when for weeks he’d been daydreaming about her while he fucked his fist in the shower. He barely knew how to act when he was around her in mixed company. How would he get through a week on the road, just the two of them?

There were a number of reasons why he’d hadn’t made any kind of move on her, and didn’t intend to. She was young and tough and smart as a whip, and she was frankly out of his league. He hadn’t hooked up with someone new in over a decade and he wasn’t sure he even remembered how. He’d had no reason to think she was interested.

But despite all that, he wanted to be near her. He wanted to hear her talk with her low, melodic voice. He wanted to look at her dark eyes and darker lashes, the bronze expanse of her skin. The way her hands moved, skillful and gentle, and the way her wide hips swayed as she walked.

She was the fishhook; he was the fish.

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secund4 · 4 months

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a lot of times i feel stupid and ashamed to post. i feel like there’s always an invisible audience on the other side of the post button and clicking it only opens myself up for criticism ( aka being told that nothing i ever do is just good in accordance to my brain ). i know criticism is healthy and necessary, but to someone like me who has felt like they’ve been hunted for sport all their life and is finally taking a decent shot at discovering to be a person and rekindle their interests- it feels like the piercing of a bullet because there it is. there’s the reason i never took an honest shot at anything. amongst an overflowing swirling sea of love and positivity and light i will find the one off colored speckle of sand amongst the rest and my psyche will use that as ammunition to beat me into submission and keep me bored and wishing i could just act. im so deeply ashamed and embarrassed of myself and my thoughts and my body and i was made to be this way. i wasn’t always this way. i used to be so loud. i used to be so happy. i was a fountain of information and words and interests and ambitions. i wanted to be a vet. i loved animals so i wanted to be a doctor for them. ive always devoted my time and attention towards helping and healing. so why is it that i myself am so sick? i feel like a wilted flower in the most literal sense. i feel my brain thump and thud in my skull half the time. my hair falls out in clumps as i run my fingers through it. my stomach is nauseated from the moment i wake up until i sleep. and food sometimes but rarely helps. but i am so hungry. im sitting here even now thinking about this for too long and im talking myself out of expressing myself. don’t make such a fuss. don’t write it out so it doesn’t become real. stop whining, you look stupid. what do you have to be sad for really? i guess i have a lot of reasons, and whenever i tell others theyll tell me they dont even know how im still alive. or they silently nod their heads and rub my back because they have no idea how to respond to most of the shit ive been through. but it still feels.. like artificial pain. i know it was all real, but i feel like an attentionwhore for getting attention about it and liking it. what else could you expect from a neglected abused child ? they want attention. they want love. i want love. i have love. but it never feels like enough. and my hunger for it makes me ashamed. why should i have to hold the burden of not only experiencing how miserable it is to always have a hungry void in your heart, taking and taking and taking and yet never becoming any less ravenous, but also having to deal with the consequences of the responses the people that were supposed to nurture and raise me put on to me? they set me up for failiure from the cery start and here i am. in the trash and desolation that they left me. left alone and confused and vilnerable to look throigh the rubble and try to rebuild what i can, watch the unsalvageable parts of me die, and have to first get myself to a clean slate before i can even start pouring the concrete that will allow the foundation of myself as a human ti stand on stably. im losing my mind. i feel like im falling apart. its not fair. i wish i could live an easy life. this is hard and tiring work and im not sure how ive managed to pull myself by my own hair through the darkest pits of hell just to still be alive today. i want tomorrow to be the end. but i know ot wont be. i know theres going to have to be a lot more tomorrows for it to be the end, and that i have to continue to fight and fight harder through all those days to get to the end. i wish i didnt have to fight for my life just for some peace and comfort and space to be myself. i, as a cuban immigrant, never thought my lofe would get this difficult. but it has proven me wrong time and time again. it Does get worse, and it has. but it also Does get better. i can only hold on, keep tryong, and hope that it starts getting better again soon, and that the outcome will be worth all of this.

i hope we get a cat and a puppy and that i properly learn how to crochet. i want to learn how to skateboard and rollerskate. i want to read more and write more and go to parks to do it. i want to cook meals in my kitchen and get my girlfriend flowers and edibles to surprise her with after work. i want to make friends and build community. i want ti make a difference in my life and the lives of others around me. i want to be seen and known and loved and held as sacred and protected. but i feel like i have been set up with parental controls and now that ive left them i don’t have the passcodes to get in and turn them off. i have so many fake invisible walls and locks in my mind that i give full control to. they do not exist. they are not real. but yet they control me. all i can do is push forward and remember that tomorrow will bring me a whole day closer to my peace. i remember seeing a post on here where someone said they’d bake a pie when everything turned okay for them. im not sure what i’ll do. i suppose i will know the best way to celebrate the end of my long and hard journey once im in the end of it

#come back when it changes #novisoulposting ✴️

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moonrisecalamityretreat · 10 months

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Battle of Armageddon | MM Execution

Jinpachi didn’t have any hope for a future

Jinpachi didn’t have any hope for tomorrow

There was never going to be a tomorrow for him and he really wouldn’t have it any other way. From his most beloved people, despair is denounced and hope is held on high. Maybe not hope, both the concepts that shaped Jinpachi’s life and beliefs have been denounced in full by his beloved.

They will walk away from here with heads held high, they will walk out into a world that they will make their own. No matter how much destruction overtakes it again and again…they will rise. Despair was just a feeling, hope was just a feeling. Two human emotions that exist in tandem with each other. Jinpachi was devoid of the latter and he wished he could make everyone feel the same. Everyone in the world feel the freedom of AEDS and feel the freedom that is despair…

But, they were just feelings that these people could work through. What drove these people felt like it was more than just hope. It was determination. It wasn’t a feeling that guided them, it was the knowledge that they will take action. They don’t hope for a better future. They are going to make one.

For they have faith in themselves to persevere.

How sweet…how disgustingly beautiful Jinpachi found this. He can’t help but let out his small laugh.

“Hmhmhm! So this is the path you’ve all chosen. Regardless of whether this is hope or the path you’ve all chosen for yourselves…I’m a sore loser as you know…”

He looks at them all as his face darkens and the Saints behind him raise up their arms with vocalization. They didn’t speak words but instead chanted. They began to sing a hymn for their messiah.

[♫♫♫]

The madness in his own head spirals out of control. The gears of what was left of him shaking and turning at such high velocity that it all shatters and they fall.

“I hate predictability. What fun would this ending be if it just went how it was expected? Don’t you think that’s a little boring? I won’t just say au revoir and go alone. As much as I desire the despair of death, I desire just as much for you all, my beloved friends, to experience it together with me.”

A smile stretches from ear to ear as his arms rise to the sky with sick delight. As if he had full control of it, as if he was an otherworldly conjurer, a line of flames began and ran past his sides to the back of the room and up the walls.

Just as quickly as the walls become engulfed in burning patterns stretching all along the outside of the room, your own makeshift podiums ignite forcing you all away from them. With the way this was spreading it surely wasn’t going to be long till the room was filled with smoke and falling apart. You can cover your faces and as you look to the opposite side of the room where The Shepherd stood surrounded by fire you see that hopeless face.

If Jinpachi had seen himself as an angel, as a Christ-like figure, you see clearly from his expression that he was actually an Anti-Christ.

[♫♫♫]

“Kill them all my lambs. None of them are to escape from here. I won’t lose my most precious people. I won’t let them live without me in their lives again. If I go then we all go together.”

Jinpachi Otsuka wanted to die, he wanted all of his loved ones to die with him.

To have them all know the despair of Haku Hisakawa felt gripping at his throat as it closed up and strangled him.

To have them all know the despair of Reimi Hanada as the bomb came down on her and left them an unrecognizable corpse.

To have them all know the despair of Rowan Valentine who experienced his greatest fear as she fell from the carriage of the ferris wheel.

To have them all know the despair of Hisakata Imai as his rope was sliced and he fell just like the way his victim did.

To have them all know the despair of Ikko Denda as despite her best efforts to defend the people she wanted to save, she was gunned down.

To have them all know the despair of Sayuri Nomura fighting for her life and yet despite it all taking a swift smack to the head.

To have them all know the despair of Hotaru Doigawa as she saw her sister and suffered the same fate of having a bullet run her through.

To have them all know the despair of Yvette as she was surrounded by the people she loved who could do nothing to save her.

To have them all know the despair of Mio Date as she assisted in trying to kill him and yet her back was torn open by an axe.

To have them all know the despair of Juzo Miyazaki as he struggled against his brother before succumbing to his hands in front of you all.

Were these deaths truly all despair…or were some laced with hope. It mattered not to Jinpachi because they all ended the same way anyway.

The Saints rush the moment they are given their command. Blades in hand, they aim to take your life. If it was one or two then maybe you could take them but with them all at once, the only choice was to run. Before you can even turn, one moves to throw themself in front of you all. They leap right into action. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was the move of a fool, but they were confident in their strength and their abilities. After all, they’ve always sought to be an idiot, after all.

They’ll protect everyone’s tomorrows if they must…

The Chupacabra, the goat sucker, the predator famous for turning lambs into prey: Hanji throws themself through the flames into the heat of them with the wild intent to maim, the instinct the leave the sheep bleed where they stand. Swift like a creature of ambush, they swoop in to deliver a mask-cracking punch towards The Fiend with ease, their knuckles heating up from the blow as the cultist is knocked down momentarily.

Another one of them attempts to strike– the Terror– as they come in from the other side, though Hanji quickly repels the attack with a prompt roundhouse-kick to his side. The blade he held in his grip is sent flying into the puddle of blood Jinpachi stood by, skidding across the floor before it stops. Jinpachi’s blank stare didn’t flinch at anything that was occurring. This is just what he wanted from them all. Pure Chaos.

It’s a bit of an unbelievable sight to behold, seeing one person fight against a whole group as though it was something they did for a living, and it was, and it was because they wanted to, because it fell in line with what they wanted, and how they felt.

If wanting to fight for another chance at life was the move of a dumbass, then they don’t mind being one. They wouldn’t mind having to do this again and again, if it meant a chance to create their own path. To protect those who still breathe, and to live to see the infinite tomorrows for those who couldn’t anymore…

As Hanji continues to fight the Saints off, they look over their shoulder towards everyone else– the group they risked their life to protect, and still are– brows furrowed, expression urgent, voice screeching, scratching against the walls of their throat like nails on a chalkboard.

“Th’ fuck’re all yall gawkin’ round fer?!

Go!! Break the fuckin’ door down an’ git outta here!

Git outta here an’ live, god damn it!!! JUST LIVE!!!”

You can fight, you can stay back and risk your life or you can make a break for it. Even if you wanted to fight, the better choice was to get out of here. And so, you all gather and throw yourselves against the door. It was sturdier than it should be, even being able to withstand a punch from Kazuo Hayashi, but with perseverance you will have your freedom.

There is one however that doesn’t listen, that grips that sharp blade in their pocket.

As if she were a wolf provoked into defending her pack, Mikazuki charges forward. She remembers practicing before in the village, that she was more suited for speed than strength, so she’s quick when setting her sights on the Cursed. A quick shank-like stab aimed for the ribs and an immediate pull-away, and she hit her target. The Cursed recoils, but unsurprisingly, lets out a heaved laugh as he clutches his new wound.

“I told you your days were numbered, you cock-sucking–"

She widens her eyes with mild outrage at Hanji forcing her back, lightly hitting Hanji’s shoulder with her free hand in her adrenaline.

”What are you fucking doing?!“

Hanji’s at the very least relieved they’ve pushed her out of the increasing danger, and fortunately, Mikazuki was hitting a brick wall, but that wasn’t Hanji’s concern. They look back up to see the Saints closing in again, and they grip Mikazuki’s shoulders to both protect them, and to address them.

“I didn’t teach ya that shit fer ya t’die here! Y’ve gotten this fuckin’ far, grab yer brother an’ GIT’!”

Mikazuki looks conflicted for a moment, but really, they know Hanji’s right. As much as she wants to stay and fight, more importantly she wants to get Tsuneo out of here alive.

”…ok, fine! Just–don’t fucking die, dickhead.“

Mikazuki begrudgingly joins the rest in tearing down this door, but not before without the Cursed suddenly stepping towards her, unmasked with a bleeding smile. And they whisper something, something only she can hear, before Hanji plucks him away from Mikazuki and everyone else. He’s thrown away without a fight and collapses unceremoniously; one down, few more to go.

Hanji’s efforts in fending the Saints off don’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, with every struggle they have, they’re able to knock them back ten times more. Each blow is returned harder than it was received, dodging and parrying with precision and skill and years of training. They push back as much as they can as they try to make their way to you, but in their path, they’re suddenly pulled back by their ponytail by the Devout– a long, ribbony hazard both in flames and combat, giving them a disadvantage.

The remaining standing Saints surround them, one of them having retrieved the disarmed knife from earlier, as they’re seemingly held in place by the hair… before they’re caught pulling on their own hair in an attempt to pull the Devout forward for one nastily planned headbutt. The Terror comes in with the knife once more, but with a calculated strafe, the blade connects with their hair, stretched between Hanji and the Devout stumbling backwards with the locks still in his grip.

And it slices through, freeing Hanji.

The long lock of hair falls to the floor, and it eventually catches light from the gentle licks of the roaring flames around them. Strands they’ve kept for years burning up like memories of the past, but giving them the opportunity to grow in something new. Something fresh. Something to look forward to…

There are grunts of pain, there are coughs from the inhalation of smoke but even through this you will not succumb. You’ve all come too far and you will not let this be the end. Let The Shepherd burn away in this hellfire, and get out! This was your fate, it was in your hands and Jinpachi Otsuka wasn’t going to steal anyone else’s life ever again.

Near Jinpachi…down by his feet…a hand curls through the puddle of blood…eyes trying to peel themselves open. Fire…surely…they’ve ended up in Hell just like they deserved. But this wasn’t Hell…this was still life…and standing above them…was their everything. And down here with them…was a silver glint smeared with red.

There was only one way to bring this all to an end…the bloodied hand reaches out…and takes the handle of the knife in their hand…

#ch6

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zombiesun · 3 years

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watching nomadland and there’s this part where an old woman talks about the memory in her life that made her think “if I died tomorrow, I had lived enough” and it’s had me really thinking about the memories that made me feel that way. I really do think life has a lot less to do with achieving anything or finding success and more about having a moment so beautiful and impactful that your soul finds itself no longer restless for meaning.

#vb #I think the most important memory of my life was saying goodbye to the girls I worked with and we were all crying and screaming I love you #and they engulfed me in their arms and I told each one of them why they were important to me and we were crying #and then I stumbled out into the street and my friend dizzy and my then partner quinn picked me up #and then we went to the airport and said our goodbyes #quinn slipped their beanie over my head and told me to remember them #and then I sobbed quietly on the plane back leaving behind all the love I had known for those four months #but knowing that I had meant something. and in turn they had meant something to me #I could die tomorrow knowing that I felt more love then most people have experienced in full lifetimes and that really is enough for me

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Small Bits of Memory

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: None

Premise: Little moments between Scaramouche and the reader.

Author’s Note: Warning, I’m not caught up on the archon quest. I did skim the wiki (which made me kinda sad ngl), but if there are inaccuracies, that’s why. I also may have made Scaramouche a bit sappy because of this.

I took “comfort” to mean “hurt/comfort” so if some of these are a bit melancholic it’s because angst brain does not turn off.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is well familiar with nightmares. He knows the feeling of opening yours eyes in the dark, not moving, not crying out or sitting up; simply opening your eyes as the latent fear of your dreams finally catch up with you and finally your breathing starts to speed in your chest, as your finally realize how afraid you were. Thus on the first night he wakes to you staring intently at the darkness around you, still to the point of stiffness, he automatically understands what’s going on.

At first he’s too scared to wrap his arms around you, afraid that you’ll find the action frightening, or that you’ll instinctively reject him. He only reaches out his hand, secretly relieved when you entwined your fingers within his. Feeling vaguely sentimental in his tired state he whispers: “I’ll protect you from the dark, so stop staring and go back to sleep.” He hopes that you won’t tease him about it tomorrow, as some small part of him knows that it was a very silly thing to say.

Afterwards he grows a little bolder, inching closer to you, then letting one arm rest on your shoulder, fingers featherlight on your skin. Thankfully your penchant for nightmares isn’t too great, so it’s about two months before he wakes up the next day to his arms wrapped around you, you nestled within his sleepy embrace. Seeing you sleeping peacefully after the look of uncomprehending panic plastered across your features the night before calms him like few other things, and he sighs peacefully, letting his eyes flit closed once more. The two of you sleep in that day.

Scaramouche always panics slightly whenever you get hurt. It could be a paper cut, it could be a bruise, it could be a battle injury, his response is relatively similar each time. You might squirm as he cleans your cut off for the third time in ten minutes, assuring him that you aren’t going to die, but he isn’t truly listening to you. There’s a glazed look in his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to register that you’re calling his name. You worry about it sometimes, you wonder what might happen if you were to truly injure yourself. You hope he wouldn’t blame himself too much. Scaramouche has a surprising penchant towards self-flagellation, when he’s not telling himself that he’s superior to everyone around him.

Scaramouche has never horsed around in a river, never experienced a snowball fight, never watched a sunrise for the sake of it. He was not created for such things after all. It’s hard for him to imagine enjoyment in the little pieces of universal humanity, perhaps because he feels somehow separated from such a privilege. You start keeping a list of these sorts of things, small moments to enjoy. He finds the idea silly at first, but gradually grows to like the experience. Perhaps not the individual activities, but the experience as a whole. He might not understand the “universal human experience” as you call it, but the snow against his skin is cold and clear, and the sun looks like fire in the sky, and you’re smiling next to him, and all is well in the world.

Scaramouche doesn’t have much attachment to Inazuma, considering it a desolate land where the people survive despite, not because of, the land. He has no love for the plains, or the skinny forests, or the craggy rocks and hills. The flowers glow preternaturally, and the electricity that fills the air makes unpleasant crackling noises. Nevertheless he has to admit a fondness for the cherry blossoms that bloom on Narukami Islands. It’s as if a small sliver of beauty managed to scrape its way into the world. He’ll take you to see them sometimes, regardless of his status as a Harbinger and a general menace. Perched amidst the falling petals you remind him of some sort of spirit from folklore. If he could draw well at all he thinks he would make a portrait of you surrounded by those blossoms. Certainly there’d be nothing else worth painting.

The two of you like to read together, Scaramouche going over whatever plans he’s currently focusing on, you curled up with a book. If you find a passage or a quote you particularly like you’ll tap him on the shoulder, and Scaramouche will duly listen to you read it aloud. He likes the sound of your reading voice, the way it varies slightly from when you talk. Unfortunately he made the mistake of telling you that once, and you began to insist that he read for you. Though he secretly enjoys doing so, he still grumbles about it out of habit. The both of you know he’s only doing it for show.

Scaramouche once caught you using a broom like a sword. Though you looked very drunk he secretly found it endlessly endearing. He offered to teach you some basic sword forms (despite his weapon knowing swordplay is a basic requirement for all Fatui soldiers). You accepted eagerly at the time, unaware of how much you’d underestimated Scarmouche’s fervor when it came to training. It took a wooden sword snapped in half for him to lay off a little bit, but at least his troops started dropping hints at you that they no longer feared for their lives. Though you think they were joking, you were still glad for the learning experience. You two still spar every once in a while though.

Living up to his title of “Balladeer” Scaramouche has quite the haunting voice. Not particularly high, his range still has a natural warmth to it that belies his cold exterior. You almost never catch him actually singing. The first time it happened was when you had a migraine. Refusing to leave your tent – you hadn’t actually convinced him you weren’t dying – he seemed torn between boredom and worry. At first it was a mere hum, but soon enough it morphed into a captivating song. He refused to tell you the name of it, claiming he’d forgotten, and refused to bring it up the next morning. Still sometimes you’ll catch him now and then humming out a tune, usually when he’s reading or if you’re sick or upset. His singing is something you associate with comfort.

Scaramouche is a terrible letter writer. If you send him ten letters while he’s away he’ll send you three. Still what he lacks in quantity he makes up for in word count. Curt in his official reports, his letters to you are pure stream-of-consciousness, captivating whatever he’s thinking about at the time. Usually the letters are somewhat sappy (or surprisingly bold) missives on how much he loves you and misses you, somehow more honest than when he speaks to you face-to-face. Still you’ve also gotten quite used to a thousand words on how much he hates his fellow Harbingers. You don’t mind, keeping all his letters to you in a box. Though he claims to burn yours, he does the same.

Scaramouche always tell you the days he’s leaving and the days he’s returning. Sometimes he’ll have it down to an estimated hour. Though he appreciates the pomp and spectacle of appearing around others unannounced – something he does quite a bit when working – he refuses to keep you in a limbo of waiting. Secretly he’s also always afraid you might not show up on the docks one day, and every time he sees your face after a long time away a weight lifts in his chest, the pressure on his soul just a little easier to bear every time.

Scaramouche has always felt most comfortable at night. When the world sleeps, when he has the advantage of being awake, being alert, being more powerful. When there are fewer eyes on him, and he can even tell himself that he is the only one awake in the world, can indulge in those moments of wondering, wondering whether he has ever felt something, whether he is missing a crucial piece. Whether he has ever been happy, whether he wants to be so. He can be vulnerable at night, and thus is the reason it appealed to him so much.

Now the night is his favorite time of day because he can always be near you at that time. If you two are in the same land, then you will spend the night in the same room, the same tent, the same bed. Listening to the sound of your breathing, letting himself revel in your closeness, your arms wrapped around his waist, or his wrapped around you, Scaramouche feels truly content. Perhaps he is even happy, perhaps this is what happiness is, what love is. Perhaps it is something more than that, something undefinable, something too abstract to put into words. He loves you, he realizes to himself, he loves you so much. It is overwhelming, like a tidal wave, yet it does not frighten him. He could be struck by lightning and it would not frighten him. It will in the daytime, but now is the night, and now he can marvel peacefully at the fact that he truly loves you.

#made myself emotional with this #genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #headcanons #requested #my writing

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waywardrose13 · 3 years

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Touch of Betrayal

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst, smut, smidge of fluff, graphic abuse, graphic depictions of injuries, fucked up coven, language, all the angst, not enough editing to satisfy me

Word Count: 20,538

Summary: As the oldest sibling, Y/n was supposed to be sacrificed for the betterment of her coven. After her escape, she meets Bobby Singer, who takes her under his wing. It is no secret Dean Winchester hates witches, but Y/n is different, and Dean begins to question his feelings. When Sam is threatened and Dean is given an ultimatum, the trust and feelings that have grown between Y/n and Dean is jeopardized. The touch of betrayal stings.

Commissioned by anonymous:)

A/N- To the lovely soul who commissioned this fic, I hope you enjoy!

Y/N

You could feel the blood from the shackles trickling down your fingers, dripping onto the backs of your bare knees. Shivering, the autumnal air bit at your skin and seeped into your bones. The cold wasn’t the only thing making you shiver, however. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the gold blade laying on the stone pedestal in front of you. Soon, that blade would slice through not only your throat, but four other eldest children of the founding families; Freya, age twenty-four; Marxicus, age twenty-two; Sera, age twenty; Gunthias, age twenty-two; and finally, you, the youngest at twenty-one.

The thin slip hanging from your body did nothing against the cold, your bare limbs exposed to the night air, droplets of blood dotting the backs of your legs. Those damn shackles had cut into your wrists for three days. You could feel how raw your skin was beneath the cool metal. However, it didn’t really matter seeing how you would be dead once the moon reached its apex.

Sera was sobbing loudly to your left. Some of the coven, maybe a handful, looked on empathetically. The majority stared with disgust at her emotional state. Your mother’s words rang in your head from the night before. “This is an honor. Do not embarrass me tomorrow.”

You scanned the gathering. Many people were drinking goblets of harvest mead, others were conversing lowly in small packs. Many people were simply watching you and the other sacrifices, taking in every inch, as if staring so intently would siphon even more power.

No one caught your eye in particular. Not until you spotted him.

His dark eyes were trained on you intently. Biting your lip to keep it from wobbling, you took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me, don’t embarrass me.

As the world faded away, you and Jasper locked in a silent pining, you wondered what it would have been like if you had been able to go through with the wedding. As a female within the coven, you were obligated to have children unless you absolutely couldn’t, so maybe the two of you would have had a few kids, settled in a cabin on the outskirts of the compound. The marriage may have been arranged, but you were friends before lovers. You were lucky when it came to that. Most people were strangers up until their wedding night. You had the privilege of at least knowing Jasper, even if you weren’t friends until after the arrangement had been made. You would have been happy.

Instead, your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again, the thought of him marrying someone else and fathering someone else’s children. You weren’t sure if you loved him like that. Yes, you loved him. He was your best friend. You loved him with everything you had. However, you weren’t sure if you were in love with him. It was rare that the marriages in the coven had any love. You could see yourself falling for him, though. If given the opportunity, he would be easy to fall in love with.

Of all those secret meetings and passionate embraces, you wondered what it would have been like to be together in the public eye. Sneaking off was fun and thrilling, the secrecy and forbidden joinings exhilarating and they certainly helped you fuel the rebellion against your parents and the coven. You two weren’t supposed to be together in any way, even in a friendly manner, until after the wedding. But those meetings? After finding out about your arrangement, you two decided to get to know each other on your terms, not your parents’. Those friendly meetings had turned into so much more, and they were fun. Fun was a rarity in the coven. You and Jasper always had fun. He was a fantastic lover, much more experienced than you were, seeing as he had been your first. You two never spoke about it. It just sort of happened one night. There was no true romance, no heart skipping love. Just two friends having some fun before they were married.

Then your older brother Danny had died, and suddenly your world had crashed down around you. You were suddenly the oldest child. You were going to be sacrificed, the power transferring to you the moment Danny took his last breath. Not only had you lost your best friend, but your future had been rewritten; the arrangement made for you and Jasper had withered, and you were going to be murdered in a blood sacrifice in three years.

You and Jasper no longer were to be married, but that didn’t stop the meetings. That didn’t stop the passion. After Danny, you needed the distraction. You spent more nights with Jasper than you did alone. Not that he complained.

Your last night of freedom was different. Typically, the nights spent together were fast, primal, and more often than not, rough. Three nights ago, your final night spent free, or as free as you could get inside the coven, was spent with your family. Then after they had gone to bed, your mother excited for your honorable sacrifice, your siblings looking forward to furthering their power, and your father despondent and sullen- the thought of losing another child weighing on him- you had snuck out to meet with Jasper for the final time. And like he had been your first time, he was slow and tender. Emotion poured from him and it had frightened you. You knew he felt more for you than you did for him. You also knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way, not knowing your fate. You couldn’t give into your own temptation, or let him taste the sweet tang of the promise of forever, not when you were being ripped from the world by a cruel hand. You two had spent the whole night together, words a rarity, speaking with your bodies, saying goodbye. He was your best friend, your confidant and solace. The person you wished you had the time to love.

He stepped closer to the circle of stones, face still shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering orange lanterns hung by iron wroughts. Ever so slowly, he lifted a hand, a deep yellow spark igniting at the tips of his fingers. They settled there for a moment, glowing bright in the dark, but no one seemed to notice. No. This was for you and you only. Jasper loved art, and that’s what his magic was. The light danced in his palm and glided around in swirls in the air above his outstretched arm.

He was distracting you. Keeping your mind elsewhere as the elders, cloaked in the charcoal gray robes of their ancestors, stepped up onto the dais. Grisha, the High Priestess of your coven, chanted in latin. If you paid more attention, you could know what she was saying. But you stayed focused on Jasper, even as his figure trembled in the light, face pinched to keep emotion from showing. Your heart ached at the sight and you so desperately longed to run your fingers through his chocolate curls one last time. Wanted to feel his strong hand in yours. Wanted to run away from here with him.

But if there was something Jasper was, it was loyal. And his family came before you. He would never leave them, never leave the compound or abandon the coven. Not even for you.

As a founding family, your father was amongst the robed figures. It was by the hand of the creator who committed the sacrifice. For generations, parents held the golden blade to their children’s throat to spill their blood upon the stones. You glanced down at your bare knees, noting the stone’s color; black and a deep gray. The stones were once as pale gray as the standing stones that formed the circle. But each sacrificial slab had held so much death, the color was no longer so.

It made you shiver.

The light flickered brighter across the circle and you raised your eyes to Jasper again. His own dark eyes were pleading with you across the grass, begging you to keep your gaze on him. Begging you to stay locked with him for as long as you could.

So you obliged.

Sera was first. The volume of her sobs increased. She screamed and pleaded with her mother, blubbering and crying until suddenly, she gurgled, and a thud echoed ominously across the circle. You shook violently and you were afraid of collapsing. Jasper brightened his tendrils of light, forming small animal shapes; rabbits hopping, birds flying, butterflies flitting. His distractions only went so far.

Marxicus was next. He had been stone still and completely silent. As his father raised the blade to his throat, all he said was, “sancti libera me.”

Saints liberate me.

The blade smoothly sliced open his throat, and he slumped to the stone heavily.

Freya cursed at her father, both in English and in Italian, snapping and snarling and fighting until the end. She didn’t die immediately. She had fought hard enough that the blade hadn’t sliced through her artery. Her father gripped a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back before pressing harder and deeper into her throat until blood sprayed across his face and her body fell.

You thought you might vomit. Or faint. Or both.

Gunthias pleaded without tears, but begged nonetheless. You saw the blade slice his throat from the corner of your eye, watching as his body fell and slipped half-way off the stone slab.

Finally, as the youngest, you were up. You were shaking so hard, you thought you might fall if it wasn’t for your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. Jasper’s light flickered slightly, dulling into small swirls of yellow dust around his palm. He was too frightened to conjure enough power. He half turned, as if he was going to run, but thought better of it. His eyes never left yours.

Yours left his, however. You scanned the crowd one last time for your family. It didn’t take you long. Your siblings were hugging each other, the twins- Margot and Matthias, both clinging onto each other as if their lives depended on it. Your mother stood over them, hands clasped beneath her chin, lips murmuring a prayer to the Gods as she watched with eyes full of elation. She smirked lightly at you as she caught your gaze, giving you a deep nod.

You looked away quickly, finding Jasper one last time. He was still there, as he said he would be. Always.

The blade was wet and sticky with blood against your throat. You trembled and murmured a prayer to your Gods, wishing for a quick death, hoping the afterlife was as glorious as promised, hoping this was fucking worth it-

The blade swiped through the air, missing you by mere inches, before it lodged itself into Grisha’s chest.

Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd as the High Priestess shrieked and keeled over, clutching at her chest as she began to spasm. You met Jasper’s eyes one more time, his face stunned and eyes impossibly wide. Your father gripped you under your arms and lifted you from the slab.

Then you two were running.

Your father raised his shields as the coven went wild. Many people cowered in fear. Your father had just killed the High Priestess. If he did that, what was stopping him from killing them?

Others were sending out powerful blasts of energy to slow you two down. But your father simply gripped your arm tighter and sprinted from the circle and into the field, the tall grass whipping at your bare legs, your feet slicing from thorns, but you didn’t care. You were escaping. You could do this.

“Faster, Y/n/n!”

You pumped your legs until they burned as the two of you ran. Shouts and battle cries erupted from behind you and you knew the two of you were being chased. Of course you would be. They couldn’t finish the sacrifice. The power would not be fully replenished.

You had to die.

But you didn’t want to. You spent your whole life confined inside the damn coven, in the damn compound. You wished to see the world, wanted to experience life outside. You wanted to live- for you and for Danny.

“Faster. Please, run faster!”

Your father pulled you along until you were nearly stumbling. He noticed and sent a quick surge of purple light, the shackles bound to your wrists bursting apart. You winced as the air hit your raw skin but you were now able to run with more balance.

Finally, you broke through the trees. The confinement within the branches helped shield you from the onslaught of power surges being sent your way. If you were caught, not only would you be killed, but your father would be too. He would be deemed a traitor to the coven, and treason was the highest offense you could commit.

“Where are we going?” You panted between breaths. Your lungs burned and you tried your best to ignore it, but you had never been one for running or for sports. Not to mention, you had been locked away in the Harvest Rite cabin for three days, shackled to a “room” that was really a cell, locked from the sunlight for three days so the harvest moon would touch your spirit better or some shit. Honestly, you had no idea, not interested in the faux explanation the coven founders had spouted centuries ago.

“Anywhere but here,” your father said breathlessly. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we can-”

Red light collided with your father’s back, sending him sprawling. You yelled in surprise and skidded to a halt, falling to your knees beside him. The magic seeped into his back and erupted through his chest in bloody bursts, clawing its way free.

“Daddy!”

“Go! Y/n, please! Go!”

You shook your head and sobbed, covering his chest with your hands, his blood warm against your chilled skin.

“No, no I can’t leave you!” You said. The shouting grew louder and you knew the ones chasing you were close. But how were you to leave him? Especially when he risked himself for you.

“You must. Please, Y/n/n. Please.” His eyes, ones matching yours, pleaded with you behind light lashes. He retched, blood dribbling from his lips. He gripped your hands with his. “I would die a thousand deaths before I would let them kill you. I… I can’t lose… another one.”

You knew he was talking about Danny, about that fateful day that your older brother had drowned in the lake. How the grief had radiated from your father so potently, it physically pained you. It was the worst day of your life. Now you had to watch another person you loved die.

“Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please don’t go.” You laid your forehead to his, the metallic scent of blood surrounding you.

“I… I love you… I… want you to… live… for me… and for… D-Danny… Please… run.”

“I love you, too,” you said. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and pushed yourself up, giving him one more glance, torn between running and fighting the bastards who did this.

“Go. Please. I love you. Go,” he said weakly. His body went limp and you knew that was it.

Letting a scream of outrage bubble in your chest, you vowed to personally kill every single last one of the fuckers who did this. You vowed to avenge your father. Freya. Marxicus. Gunthias. Sera.

Yourself.

Letting your shields surround you and your glamour conceal you, you turned and sprinted deep into the woods, trying to keep your anger and sorrow at bay long enough to prepare yourself to step foot into the outside world for the first time in your twenty-one years of life.

DEAN

“Screw you.”

Dean laughed and reached forward to scoop up Sam’s cards, shuffling them with the larger stack of cards in the center of the table. He had won three games in a row now, and he was pushing for a fourth.

“Admit it, Sammy,” he said, leaning back into his chair. “You just suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. Deal the damn cards.” Sam sat forward and shook out his hands. Dean snickered and dealt cards to himself and his brother.

“Quit while you can, bitch,” Dean said. “Losing four times in a row? Pathetic.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” The brothers looked up at the doorway, Bobby trudging in from the hallway with a beer in one hand and a leather bound book in the other. “Some of us need to research.”

Dean sipped his own beer and threw a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. “How much more research could you possibly have to do? Don’t you ever just… chill?”

Sam furrowed his brows, mouthing the word “chill?” to his brother. Since when had they known Bobby to “chill?”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath and sat down at his desk. “Maybe if you researched more, you wouldn’t have to ask me for help all the time.”

Sam spit out his beer, doubling over in laughter. Dean wasn’t as amused and he threw his next handful of peanuts at his brother.

“Children,” Bobby muttered.

The rest of the night went by in a similar manner. Dean won the fourth round, and the fifth, and then Sam finally gave up before suggesting a new game in which he promptly beat Dean’s ass. Bobby silently read and scribbled notes, answering a phone call around nine.

“You boys up for a hunt?”

Dean rubbed his hands together and lifted his brows. “When aren’t we?”

“Dean, we just finished one yesterday,” Sam said, putting the stack of cards back into the worn box. Dean shrugged and got up from his seat.

“Sounds simple, probably a vengeful spirit,” Bobby said, handing Dean his notes. Dean read over them to himself before silently handing them to Sam who did the same thing. “Should be a one and done thing.”

“Yeah, why not?” Sam sighed.

Bobby waved the brother’s off, Dean speeding from the long, dirt driveway with AC/DC blasting from the stereo. Sam chewed lightly on the tip of his pen as he made some of his own marks to Bobby’s notes.

“So what, you're gonna find another hunt right after this one again? Maybe it’ll take you twelve hours instead of a full day next time.”

Dean’s hands curled tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He liked hunting, so what? Was he throwing himself into hunts more often than not recently? Sure. But they helped. They helped with the rage that simmered beneath his hands. They helped with the itching feeling he got whenever he thought of hell.

Fucking hell.

Literally.

It hadn’t even been three months since he returned to the land of the living. Sam was still in the dark and Dean planned on keeping it that way. He wouldn’t subject his younger brother to the horrors of hell, what he experienced or what he did. He shared everything with Sam. He wanted to keep this to himself.

Hunting helped relieve some of that pent up aggression and fear that burned beneath his bones like fire. Saving people, hunting things. That was his motto, right? Saving people now when he couldn’t in hell, when he caused people pain. Hunting things and killing them to let out some of that burning rage.

If Sam suspected anything, he didn’t say so. Dean thought he might have a few times, but he would quickly change the subject or cut him off.

No chick-flick moments. Another motto he planned to live by.

So he pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, Baby revving beneath him, trees a blur outside his window. He simply let himself drive and listen to his music, thankful he even got to do this, that he could hunt and be with his brother and live.

Even if he wasn’t truly free from the confinement of his own mind, or the burdens of his guilt.

Y/N

It had been nearly a week since you escaped.

A week of hiding and traveling.

You had no money, no way of knowing where you were, no knowledge of anything besides your coven.

Luckily, it seemed you were in the middle of nowhere. You had come across a rundown building with broken windows and shutters that hung from their hinges. Taking a peek inside, you realized it must have been abandoned ages ago. Branches, leaves, and cobwebs littered the inside. You had carefully maneuvered around the broken glass and into a small room. A moth-eaten couch sat cockeyed in the old living room, drapes pooled on the floor beneath the dirt covered windows, dusty books and picture frames laid forgotten on the floor underneath wall to wall shelves.

You still shivered in your shift, but there were a pair of boots by the front door. A quick inspection found the inside to be worn but wearable. After plucking out leaves and a small spider in one of them, you slipped them onto your feet. They were a bit big on you, but they would have to do until you could figure out your next course of action.

You raided the house, finding a small backpack to take with you. You couldn’t stay in a place like this. The only furniture was that god-awful couch and a table in one of the upstairs rooms. But you found a pocket knife, a flashlight (with no batteries), and you had taken a few of the books from the floor, stuffing the items in the backpack before continuing with your journey.

For the rest of the week, you would find small places to settle for the night within the woods. Cover beneath large rocks, crannies between cliffs, in the low branches of trees. You didn’t dare risk making a fire, not with your coven on the lookout for you. Instead, you would summon a warm ball of light to keep you from freezing to death. You would nestle the light and smaller droplets of light around your body as you slept, one hand on the pocket knife, the other cradling your head as a pillow.

You thought of your father every waking hour.

You missed him so much. It seemed as if he was the only one in your family who actually cared about you. Your siblings were too young to really understand anything about the coven, and they saw you more as a prized possession than an older sister. Your mother was devoted to the coven and its members. She loved you. In her own way. But not like your siblings. You were a possession. A thing full of intense power that would eventually return that power to the coven to fuel and replenish it.

You hated it.

You hated that damn coven and its traditional ways. You heard of covens that were modernized and didn’t sacrifice, covens that lived in the modern world. You didn’t know if they were real or not.

You wished your father was with you. He loved you and cherished you as a daughter, not a weapon. You two had always been close. And it was because of you that he was dead.

A week went by, and you were walking along a dark road. The road was made of black stone, white dotted lines painted down the center. You weren’t completely ignorant of the outside world. You knew what roads were, had heard about cars and telephones.

That amongst other little things was all you knew.

Being alone was terrifying.

You allowed yourself to cry. Your mother always told you crying was a sign of weakness, but she wasn’t here. You were alone. For the first time, you were alone in a world that was foreign to you. But you were free.

A low rumbling sounded from behind you. Turning, you caught sight of a large machine barreling towards you. Wheels spun quickly and two lights flashed in your face from the front of it.

A car.

You watched in awe as it sped past you and then stopped a little distance ahead. A man in jeans and a flannel pushed open a door and slipped from the raised seat. A hat with a brim shading his eyes sat on his head, a gray beard covering the bottom of his face. He took a few steps towards you which made you step back.

“You alright, girl?”

His voice was gruff and slightly accented. It reminded you of your father’s voice. You subconsciously took a step towards him, desperate to hang on to that feeling of familiarity that had to do with your father’s memory.

“Miss?”

You stopped when you realized he was taking steps towards you. What was the worst that could happen? If the man tried to hurt you, you would be able to stop him with a single thought. You were a witch, and a damn powerful one. He doesn’t even know witches exist.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

“No,” you answered honestly. Where could you go? You had nowhere. You left your only home behind and you didn’t have any money. Fuck, you really had nothing. Panic began to creep up your throat.

“Okay,” the man said slowly. “Do you need help?”

Yes, yes, yes. You wanted to let him help you. But what would you say? Oh yeah, my family comes from a closed off coven and my father saved me from having my throat sliced open in a traditional sacrifice, then he was killed while we ran. I have no money, no clothes, and absolutely no where to go.

“I…”

“You look freezing. Let me help you out. I’ll get you something to eat and we’ll figure it out.”

Right to business he was. You glanced down at yourself, skin prickled in gooseflesh from the cold, your slip dirty and ripped in some places. Your feet ached in those too-big boots and your stomach growled in hunger. The berries and bark you had eaten for the past week left you starving for more.

Going against your better judgement, you gave in. He helped you up into the truck. You hugged your backpack to your chest, body ready to bolt if he tried anything. He gave you one last look before the car started moving. You started, gasping a little. The man flinched.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you responded quickly. He grumbled something and the truck went faster.

It was an odd feeling, but one you became accustomed to quickly. You felt his eyes on you again, as if he was sizing you up, and it made you a bit uncomfortable. You shifted in your seat. He seemed to notice and promptly looked away.

Not too long later, he was pulling the truck onto a dirt road. Various crushed and mangled pieces of metal were scattered along the yard. It didn’t take you long to realize they seemed to be old cars, scraps of such that the man must use for something. Tools lay forgotten all around, random bits of chain flung here and there.

Water suddenly splashed over your face.

Jumping, you spun to face him with a bewildered look. He looked you up and down again before reaching into his pocket, revealing a knife.

You reached for the door handle, trying to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This was it. You were dead.

“Calm down, girl,” he said. He reached forward to grab your arm and you whined. You didn’t want to resort to using your powers, but you would if you absolutely had to. “I’m just testing you.”

“What?” You asked. He pressed the tip of the knife into your forearm. It pinched for a moment and was gone almost instantly, a tiny droplet of blood forming where it had knicked you. “What the hell was that for?”

“Precaution,” was all he said as he clicked a button and opened his door. He walked around the truck before he opened your door and offered you a hand. You looked at it suspiciously. You needed to leave. You should leave. You were also incredibly confused. The man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt ‘ya. Well, not anymore. That was more for my safety than anything.”

“How?” You asked.

“I thought you were… nevermind. Just, get out of the car, will ‘ya?”

You narrowed your eyes and let your power inch into his head. It slithered inside and easily found his thoughts. You were a telepath, rare in the witch world, and you weren’t very practiced with it, but it came in handy for situations like this, you supposed. Your mother hated that you were a telepath. Danny was a telepath, and anything that reminded her of him was strictly forbidden. And ever since he died, you were forbidden to use your telepathy, and that led to you being incredibly out of practice.

...Didn’t mean to hurt her… she could have been a shifter… I could have sworn she was something…. She looks scared… probably just a runaway… she doesn’t look very old… why is she staring at me like that...

You pulled your power back and took his hand. The thoughts were quiet and breaking up, but you could make out most of what he was thinking. A shifter? As in shapeshifter? As a witch, you knew about some of the other supernatural creatures. But how would a human know about them?

Leading you into the house, the man kept sparing you odd glances, and you hugged your backpack even tighter to your chest. The inside of the house was dark and dingy, cluttered with old books and boxes. The man gestured to a small round sitting table in the kitchen. You sat down slowly, watching as he pulled out bread and some meat from the refrigerator.

“What’s your name?” He asked. He set the plate down in front of you as well as a glass of water. You tentatively reached forward for the sandwich, made up of some meat and cheese and lettuce, the bread spongier than the homemade kind your mother made at home. You picked it up, sniffing it. “It’s just a sandwich. It won’t kill you.”

Thinking back to the knife in the truck, and the scabbed droplet of blood on your arm, you scowled, but took a bite anyway.

The man pushed over his own sandwich not a minute later, seeing how hungry you were.

“Y/n,” you said after finishing the first sandwich, picking up the second one. You wiped the crumbs with the back of your hand and drank the glass of water deeply, gulping down every last drop. The man pushed his water over as well. You drank that, too.

“Okay, Y/n,” he said. He watched you carefully. “Why were you out on the road like that, dressed in a nightgown when it’s forty degrees out, at almost ten at night?”

You paused and chewed your bite of sandwich slowly. You wouldn’t tell him everything. But he seemed to be kind. And he reminded you so much of your father…

“I ran away.”

The man sighed and nodded. “I figured. You an adult?”

“I just celebrated my twenty-first year.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening to say something, closing it only a moment after. He furrowed his brows. “Odd way of saying it, but okay.” He scratched his chin. “Why did you run away?”

You blanched. You weren’t expecting that question, although you should have. You swallowed the food in your mouth. “Um…”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me,” he said gruffly, making you frown.

“Um… well… It’s hard to explain,” you said truthfully. How were you supposed to explain your situation to him?

The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. “I guess if you don’t want to tell me right away, you don’t have to.” He looked you over, noting the still bruised wrists from the shackles and the cuts and various other small wounds from your coven and from spending a week in the woods. He swallowed hard at the sight of them. He reached a hand out for yours, and you obliged. He gently touched the wounds on your wrist, getting up to reach for a box in a cabinet over the sink.

Restraints?... I wonder…

That was all you could get from his head. You wished you were more practiced in your telepathy. Life would be much easier for you.

As he cleaned, applied salve, and dressed your wrists, his face was pulled into a pondering pout the whole time. His silent conversation with himself prompted a quick shake of his head to clear his mind before he was patting your forearm.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you have gone through and you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t hurt you, and I sure as hell won’t let anyone hurt you any more. I don’t know what caused these wounds but… I have an imagination. Just… you can stay as long as you want to, or need to. I have a spare room upstairs. I won’t bother you or nothing, but it’ll give you time to heal and get your shit together.” He thought for a moment before adding, “That is- if you want to.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Without thinking, you had wrapped your arms around the man’s neck, hugging him tightly. He grunted and hesitated before patting your back stiffly.

“Okay,” was all he said. You pulled back and grinned shyly.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

“Call me Bobby.”

DEAN

“Piece of cake.”

Sam scoffed and limped after Dean, who was cradling his arm against his chest. They took out the vengeful spirit, but not without it getting the upper hand on them at one point. Nonetheless, Dean turned to his brother and grinned.

“Aw, come on, Sammy. That was fun!” Dean opened the trunk of his precious car and threw in his salt-filled shotgun. Sam shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

“Your definition of fun is startling,” was all he said as he ducked into the car, closing the door behind him. Dean laughed and slipped behind the steering wheel.

“Please. Your definition of fun is watching Harry Potter.”

Sam scoffed and turned to Dean. “Yours is watching cartoon porn.”

“It’s anime!” Dean snapped. Sam cackled in his seat and rubbed his sore knee.

“Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.”

***

By the time they got to Bobby’s, it was well past midnight, but a light was on in the windows. The air had cooled even more, the light wind nipping at their noses as they hurried to the door.

“Fucking locked-” Dean banged on it. “Bobby! Open up!”

“Dean, he could be sleeping,” Sam said.

“The light is on,” Dean pointed out. He raised his fist to bang on the door again but it swung open. Bobby knocked Dean’s hand out of the way.

“Would you quit it?” Bobby said. He moved out of the way to let the shivering brothers inside. “You’ll wake up-” Bobby snapped his mouth shut.

Dean smirked and let out a wheezing laugh. “Bobby, you sly dog!” He clapped his father figure on the shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sam said simply. Dean was still making sexual jabs. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“I’m not seeing anyone, you idjits,” he said. “I took in a runaway. I don’t know the story so don’t ask, but she was hurt. I honestly thought she was… something at first.”

“Why?” Sam asked. He cocked his head. “Did she do anything weird?”

Bobby shrugged. “Call it a hunch. She’s clean, though.”

“So what, you’re just letting her stay here?” Dean made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. “Why would you-”

A scream tore through the upstairs of the house. A bloodcurdling scream that made the hair on Dean’s neck stand up.

Bobby spun and sprinted up the stairs in the blink of an eye, the brothers close on his heels, however when they reached the door to one of the spare bedrooms, Bobby slammed it in their face.

“What the hell?”

The screams broke off suddenly, and Dean could vaguely hear Bobby speaking softly through the door. A woman's voice sounded back, one that was melodic but had a rougher edge to it.

A few minutes passed before Bobby slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed. “Nightmare.”

The brothers stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Bobby raised his shoulders.

“What the hell, Bobby?” Dean asked. “Why’re you getting involved with something like this? I mean, do you even know her?”

“We help people, it’s what we do. I don’t know her but so what? Call it… a hunch,” Bobby said again. He shrugged for a third time and shouldered past the boys to head towards the stairs. “You two need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Dean followed him, raising a brow.

“She barely trusts me. She’s skittish, is all. I don’t want three men freaking her out, especially two of them as big as you guys.” Bobby opened the door to the house and jerked his head. “You can come back when she settles.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean deadpanned. He couldn’t believe it! All of this over some girl? Some runaway girl who Bobby had just met? “There has got to be more to the story.”

“There isn’t. Now beat it,” Bobby said.

Y/N

Bobby was kind.

The first three days were a struggle. You weren’t sure what to do or what to tell him. He seemed harmless, but you easily spotted the guns and the knives and the sigils around the house. You knew what they were and what they meant. The Devil’s trap was something you had learned to create at a young age.

“Are you a hunter?” Bobby had asked.

“A… what?” You figured he didn’t mean a hunter in the sense of killing animals.

“A hunter. You know about demons and the sigils,” Bobby trailed off when he realized you didn’t know what hunters were. “What are you then?”

“Well, I had to learn about them growing up. Where I’m from, we were taught about demons in school and their protective sigils.” You had chuckled a bit. “My mother told me many people believed we are devil worshipers but we aren’t!”

Bobby simply stared at you.

“You’re a satanist?” He asked. That had you laughing again.

“Like I said, we don’t worship the devil.”

“Who is ‘we?’”

You hesitated, but you figured you could trust him. He had been kind and understanding with you. He knew you must have grown up pretty sheltered. You hadn’t known how to use the telephone and you didn’t know how to drive a car. You had never used a television.

Yes, you could trust him.

“My coven!”

Bobby moved so fast the table shook as his knees hit it, your glass of water toppling over. “Bobby, what?-”

“Your what?”

You cocked your head at his reaction. “My… my coven?”

“You’re a witch?” He was mad. Really mad. So mad, his face turned red and he fisted his hands at his sides.

“Well… yes,” you said slowly.

“We hunt you,” Bobby growled. That had you standing up slowly, hands raised in innocence.

“I don’t understand,” you said. You swallowed thickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Ever?” He snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?”

You froze. Hurt anyone? “Of course not! What are you talking about?”

“Witches kill and maim and bring harm to people,” Bobby hissed. “I knew you were something.”

“I’ve never done any of that! How dare you think I have?” You said. “Up until a week and a half ago, I had never left my compound. I was going to be sacrificed for fucks sake! My coven is traditionalistic. We live a simple life. We have no communication with the outside world. You were the first person I had ever met outside my coven!”

He stared at you dumbly, blinking a few times to process your words. “Are you… are you serious?”

“Yes,” you breathed. You kept your hands up but you shrugged lamely. “If it wasn’t for my father, I’d be dead.”

“Where’s your father?” He asked. Your heart sunk at the thought and suddenly your knees felt weak.

“He died,” you spoke softly. “He freed me and they… they killed him in the process.”

Bobby’s fists unclenched. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “He died trying to save me and I won’t let him die in vain. I’ll leave if you want me to but… I haven’t done anything for you to kill me. You have my word.”

He looked at you for a while, really looked at you. His eyes softened as a tear slipped down your cheek. You desperately wanted to enter his mind but you knew you shouldn’t, especially not now. Finally, he relaxed his position.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “But if you start… I don’t know, killing things or doing any of that evil devil shit, I’ll kill ‘ya.”

You scoffed. “What would evil devil shit entail?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, you idjit.”

In the next few weeks, Bobby had taken you under his wing. He began to teach you how to shoot, which you weren’t terrible at. He gave you books to read on lore (much of which you already knew) and even brought you out on outings with him. He was a bit of a hermit, but the few times he did go out, he’d take you with him.

Needless to say, it was… overwhelming.

There were so many people. So much technology. But it was exhilarating. You had never been shopping before, never been to a restaurant. The diner Bobby brought you to was one he said wasn’t very good, but it was fun. The waitress had looked at you like you had grown a third head as your eyes took in all of your surroundings, gazing incredulously at the picture covered walls and the jukebox- that’s what Bobby called it- against the wall.

Then there was the music. You grew up with your mother’s fiddle and that was nothing compared to what you listened to now. You had chosen so many songs from the jukebox, Bobby had to pull you away from it before you drove everyone insane.

It was amazing and you wished you could experience it all with your father. You wished he could see the new sights and hear the wonderful music. The food was a bit more artificial tasting but there was a whole new world of foods to explore. You especially liked the cheeseburgers Bobby introduced you to.

Three weeks into your stay, Bobby had taken you on a hunt with him. He told you there would be people out there who would want to kill you and wouldn’t listen like he had. You had to keep your witchcraft and religion a secret, or else hunters like him would come for you.

That didn’t help the nightmares that plagued you at night.

Your father’s death haunted you. The screams and pleads of the other oldest children haunted you. Danny’s blue lips and waterlogged skin haunted you.

You couldn’t escape it.

“Here’s some money,” Bobby said. “Go to the bar next door. Get yourself a drink, dance a little. I’ll meet you back in the room when I’m done, okay?”

He brought you along but didn’t want you hunting quite yet.

You did as he said. You drank some new drinks, danced with a man you had met, conversed with the pretty red headed bartender. You let loose and had fun, something you never would have done with the coven.

When you stumbled back into the motel room that night, Bobby had grinned at you, watching as you fell back onto your bed.

“Fun night?” He asked, helping your boots off when you struggled with the laces.

“Screw my coven,” you slurred. You smiled toothily up at him. “That was fun!” You reached into your pocket, holding out the remainder of the money he had given you.

“Keep it,” he said. You smiled and shucked off your jacket.

You were asleep by the time your head hit the pillow.

DEAN

“You think the girl is still there?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Doubt it. It’s been almost two months.”

Sam stretched his legs as he and Dean walked up the steps to Bobby’s house. Dean knocked twice, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Autumn had faded into winter, the leaves long fallen and the flurries of snow drifting around their feet as they walked. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, making it even colder than it was.

The door opened, but instead of Bobby, a woman peered up at them. Dean’s breath hitched in his throat.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were e/c and held a sort of wisdom in them that startled him, but a glint of innocence were beheld in them, too. Her face was framed by long stray locks of h/c hair, half of it braided, the rest loose. She was tall for a woman, but the brothers still towered over her, and her simple t-shirt and jeans showed off her curves nicely. Dean looked her up and down, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hey there,” he drawled. He touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip before giving her a nod. “What’s your name?”

The woman looked between them both, seemingly unfazed by Dean’s advances. “Bobby! There are two guys out here!”

“Let them in,” Dean heard Bobby call. “It’s the Winchester boys I was telling you about.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she stepped out of the way. She held the screen door open for them as they ducked inside. Dean sent her a wink as he passed.

“Sam, Dean,” Bobby greeted. He gestured to the woman who had now gravitated to the corner of the room. She simply watched them, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Dean noticed faint scars around her wrists. When she caught Dean’s eyes, she held them behind her back. “This is Y/n.”

“Hi,” Sam said, giving her a friendly smile.

“Hey.” Dean grinned lazily at her.

“Hello.”

Her voice was soft and Dean’s heart leaped in his chest at the sound.

“Is this the same girl from a few months ago?” Sam asked. Bobby nodded.

“Yep, that’s her,” he said. “I’ve been showing her the ropes.”

“What- like hunting?” Dean furrowed his brows. “Bobby, since when have we brought civilians into this shit?”

“I’m not a civilian,” Y/n spoke up.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dean said.

“I’m a witch.”

“Dammit to hell, Y/n!” Bobby threw his arms out to his sides.

“A witch?” Dean snarled. He pulled his gun without a second thought, but before he could shoot, Y/n’s eyes shined purple and the gun was flung from his hand. “Bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Bobby hissed. “She’s a witch, but she has lived her whole life in a secluded coven. She’s never hurt anyone.”

“She will!” It was Sam’s turn to pipe up. “Bobby, how can you trust a witch?”

“If you knew her, you’d understand,” Bobby answered. He gestured to her. “She won’t hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt her. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Bobby-”

“I said, do you understand?” Bobby repeated himself. The brothers looked at him, noticing how his lips were screwed into a silent growl, his body moving into a defensive position half in front of the woman. Sam swallowed hard.

“Fine.”

“Sam!” Dean protested.

“If Bobby trusts her… then I do, too,” Sam muttered. Dean scoffed.

“She’s a witch!”

“And you’re a dick!” Y/n snapped.

Dean’s eyes widened. He lifted a finger to point at her. “You shut it.”

“Make me,” Y/n mocked. She folded her arms over her chest.

Dean took a step forward. “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Enough!” Bobby roared. He turned to the woman. “What did I say about Dean?”

She sighed deeply. “Not to rile him up.”

“And what are you doing?”

“... Riling him up.”

“Exactly,” Bobby said. “Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Bobby turned to Dean next. “You quit taunting her, would you? She’s turning into a decent hunter, and an even better consultant, and she’s a kind woman. If you would get your head out of your ass, you two actually have a lot in common.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. Which was a bit of a lie, but not really. She was attractive, and he liked her spirit, but she was a witch. How was he ever going to trust the likes of her?

“A consultant?” Sam asked.

“She grew up learning about monsters,” Bobby clarified. “Not only that, but she has the knowledge for spells and herbal magic. She’s given me a lot of great information on healing spells and on some research type stuff.”

“Oh great, she could be poisoning you, Bobby,” Dean said.

“I could poison you.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at the green eyed hunter.

“Bobby, she literally just threatened me,” Dean pointed out. Bobby just shook his head and rubbed his temple.

“Y/n?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Bobby gestured to the brothers. “If you two ever need any help, she’s your girl. Dean, you may not like her, but she’s smart and her herb mixes really do work.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said gently. He grinned at Y/n. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too, Sam,” she said, enunciating his name more prominently. Dean scowled. “I’ll see you two later.”

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked as Y/n made her way to the stairs.

“On a date!”

Bobby started and gaped at her. “A date?”

“Yeah! Remember Ben?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “The EMT from the wraith hunt?”

“Uh-huh! We went out that night afterwards and he called me yesterday for a second date.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Bobby asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I am an adult, Bobby. Besides, the only relationship I had ever been in was an arranged one. I’d like to have my own.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry- arranged?”

“Her coven was a little… old school,” Bobby said.

“To say the least,” Y/n chimed in. “Anyway, I have to get ready. Bye, boys!”

She disappeared up the stairs, the soft click of her door closing echoing down from the hallway. Bobby still looked like he was going to explode.

“How did I not know about this?”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t ask us, Bobby,” he said. “But I like her.”

“She’s great,” Bobby agreed. “Dean, if you don’t lighten up, I swear to God.”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his whole body into it. “Okay, fine, whatever. I won’t kill her.”

“How generous of you, Dean,” Sam said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Dean pushed him away, giving him a dirty look.

“Shut up.”

Y/N

Ben was sweet, and handsome, and decent in bed, but he didn’t send that spark to your core like Dean did.

By your fifth date, you decided to break it off. It had been a month since you last saw the Winchester brothers, and three months since you had met them. You occupied your time with research and exploring the outside world. Ben had been fun, and he was so nice, but by God, Dean lit a fire in you that burned so brightly, all you could think about was him.

So after Ben, there was Derek. He was a bit more rugged than the soft spoken EMT, and if Ben had been fun, Derek was a fucking rollercoaster. He wasn’t more than a month long fling as he rolled through town, but fuck was it great. You liked this new freedom. You liked experimenting and having the choice. Sure, you and Jasper had a good time, and it was the escape you needed, but you two were arranged by your parents and the elders. Ben and Derek were your choices.

You loved having the fucking choice.

And if given the chance, you’d like to choose Dean.

He was an arrogant dick, but you remembered that smirk and the dark look in his eye and that filled you with an excitement you wanted to chase. You knew you shouldn’t chase. That you couldn’t chase.

Because no matter how civil he acted with you, you also knew he wanted to kill you.

But you also thought he wanted to fuck you. He was incredibly confusing.

Your phone calls were always short, and they either ended up with insults thrown at each other, or flirtatious innuendos from the hunter that always left you questioning whether or not he actually hated you. You provided them with copious amounts of information for their hunts, and Sam always took you up on your offer for spells and herbal concoctions. You thought Dean may have been coming around, but you wouldn’t know until tonight when they came to visit Bobby.

It was clear Dean didn’t trust you, and his cocky attitude made it so much worse. But he was a damn good hunter and a great brother to Sam, and he was Bobby’s family. So you’d try to be civil.

You’d try.

***

“Goodnight. Try not to kill each other, please.”

You waved Bobby off. Sam had long gone to bed, and with Bobby leaving, you and Dean were left alone.

And fuck was that awkward.

You looked anywhere but him. You didn’t want to just get up and leave. But you also didn’t want to sit here in silence. Dean seemed to have the same idea.

“So how’s it been-”

“How do you like-”

You spoke at the same time and heat rose in your cheeks. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “How do you like it outside the coven?”

Right, Bobby had told you he told the brothers a bit about your past. Not everything, but enough to help them understand you weren’t evil like Dean thought you were.

“It’s different. A good different,” you said. “It’s… amazing, really. There are so many things I never knew existed.”

“Like what?” Dean asked. True curiosity shined in his eyes and it made you smile.

“Like music. The music is amazing. I have more freedom. There is so much to explore. Television is pretty neat. There are a lot of books, too.”

“You sound like Sam in that sense,” Dean mused. You shrugged.

“It’s just better, you know?” You thought back to your father and Danny, how you wished for the thousandth time they could see this. You wondered about Margot and Matthias, how they would like it. “I wish my family could see it.”

“I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. His eyes were earnest and full of something you couldn’t understand. You desperately wanted to read his mind, itched to. But he already didn’t trust you.

“Thanks,” was all you said. You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “We were supposed to do this together, you know? He was supposed to be with me.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. You couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. “But then I met Bobby and… he reminds me so much of my dad. It was like the goddess gave him back to me.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I lost my dad, too.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes when you looked up at him. “Bobby was always like a father to me. More than my own was. He’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He is.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but the awkwardness had faded.

“So. You were going to be sacrificed, huh?”

You burst out laughing.

Dean stared at you in bewilderment as you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. You covered your mouth with your hands, not wanting to wake up Sam and Bobby, but you couldn’t help the laughs that came from deep in your chest.

“How is that funny?” He asked. He must have thought you were going crazy.

“We… we just had this… heartfelt conversation… and that’s what… what you follow up with?” You said between fits of laughter. You wiped a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking funny.”

Dean’s lip quirked. “You’re very odd.”

That made you laugh again, and this time, he joined.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

DEAN

“You like her.”

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had just gotten off the phone with Y/n and he hadn’t realized he’d been smiling until Sam raised a brow with a knowing look.

“Winchester.”

“Hi, Y/n,” Dean had said. He smirked at her greeting. “How’re you doing?”

“Do you need something?” She asked. Dean’s grin widened.

“You.”

Y/n scoffed and Dean heard some shuffling. “Course you do. Without me, you’d crash and burn.”

“Real funny,” Dean said. “Do you have information on basilisks?”

“Of course I do,” Y/n said and Dean could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Is that what you’re hunting?

“We think so,” Dean replied. He waited for her to speak but the other end was silent for a few moments. “Sweetheart?”

“Oh- sorry. I forgot,” she said. Her voice sounded distant, like she had left the phone across the room. He raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Dean chuckled and leaned back in his seat amused. “Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re sacrificing kittens or something fucked up like that.”

“Damn. You caught me.” A pause. “I’m actually trying to cook for Bobby.”

Dean’s smile faded from one of amusement to one of wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah and this cookbook is so confusing.” He heard a smack-presumably her palm hitting the book in frustration- and a groan. “I just want to do something nice for him.”

Dean’s heart warmed at her words and he closed his eyes. It was hard to hate her. Or in his case, act like it. Sometimes. To be honest, he found it difficult to see her as anything other than good, even if she was a witch. But she still was one, and he knew someday she would turn.

Why did she have to make it so difficult to hate her?

“It’s the thought that counts,” he said softly.

“Well. I’m still trying,” she said. “My mother stopped teaching me to cook once Danny died and the marriage to Jasper was called off. Why know how to cook when I’m supposed to be dead?”

Dean flinched at her words. “What, they don’t teach you how to magically create dinner at Hogwarts?”

She didn’t say anything for a while and Dean thought he had gone too far before she said, “Only how to sacrifice kittens.”

He laughed so hard, it made Sam jump.

Then he heard that bell-like laugh of hers through the phone and he found himself unable to stop smiling.

“Dude, stop flirting and get the information,” Sam said. He narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “We’re wasting time.”

Dean sighed deeply. “Alright, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass needs the basilisk information or else he might spontaneously combust. Sorry to interrupt your cooking, sweetheart, but whaddya got?”

They had met her four months ago. She had been with Bobby for six. Somehow, she had weasled her way into their lives, and at first, Dean hated it. But ever since that conversation with her, watching as the haunting memories of her past swam behind her eyes, how she laughed at something so morbid, how she tried so hard to be good, something had changed.

Dean wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The thought of her warmed his chest. He no longer twitched with annoyance when she spoke or frowned at the mention of her name. He eagerly picked up the phone to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her, to hear her theories.

She was weird but he liked it.

Dean knew she had a rough past. He also knew that she told Bobby some of it, but not all. She was private when it came to her life in the coven. But he knew some of what she had gone through. He knew she was arranged to be married, she knew her older brother had died and that she took his place for the ritualistic sacrifice, he knew her father died saving her. He knew she had to learn all about the world when she escaped.

And she was so smart. She had picked up on the world quickly and it surprised Dean. He knew if he was in her shoes, he wouldn’t do that well. Hell, when he came back to the life of the living after only four earth months, it took him ages to learn about all that had happened.

“I do not,” Dean said. He brushed off Sam’s comment. Liked her? Please…

Did he? He was incredibly attracted to her. Who wouldn’t be? And sure, he liked to talk to her, liked to watch her face light up when he turned on the radio, or when Bobby brought home mac and cheese. He liked to watch her dance in the kitchen and could watch her read for hours without getting bored.

Did he like her?

He shrugged off the feeling, not wanting to get involved. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way. And even if she did, she deserved better. Her gentle heart was no match for his own hell-blackened soul.

“Right,” Sam rolled his eyes. He stood from his seat and picked up his jacket from the table. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Bring me some pie,” Dean muttered. As much as he tried to get her off his mind, he couldn’t. Sam rolled his eyes again and left Dean to his thoughts.

***

At one hour, Dean called Sam, but it went straight to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, he called again. Still voicemail.

At an hour and a half, Dean was dressed and ready to go on a man hunt when his phone rang.

Sam.

He answered it with a low growl. “Dammit, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Hello, Dean Winchester.”

Not Sam.

Dean’s face went slack and his body stiffened at the cool voice that spoke from the other end of the phone. He swallowed down his anger. This wasn’t the basilisk, it couldn’t fucking talk. And it didn’t sound like anyone he knew.

Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly. “I’m Zacharias.”

“I have no clue who the fuck you are but if you have done anything to my brother, I swear-”

“Yet. I haven’t touched him yet,” Zacharias said smoothly. “Although, a Winchester? I can imagine a hundred different things I’d like to do to him.”

“You sick son of a bitch.”

“I won’t touch him, though,” Zacharias told Dean. “I will, if you don’t get me what I want.”

“Why don’t I just find you and rip out your lungs?” Dean spit. His body shook with anger. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“Should I put old Sammy boy on the phone?” Shuffling. Grunting. Then finally-

“Dean?”

Dean sighed with relief. “Sam? Are you okay?”

Sam groaned a bit. “Define okay.”

“I’ll kill them all,” Dean snarled.

“Don’t listen to them Dean. Don’t give her to them. These people, they’re-”

“That’s enough.”

The phone was pulled away as Zacharias interrupted Sam. The man cleared his throat.

“I’m sure you don’t know who I am. We keep to ourselves, but I know who you are, and I know you have access to something I want.”

“Which is?”

“Deliver it to me, alive, and you get Sam back in one piece, not a hair on his pretty little head touched, and we will leave you be forever. We will go back into solitude. You won’t ever have to deal with us again.”

“Who is ‘us?’” Dean was growing agitated. Why was this fucker so vague? “Just get to the fucking point!”

Zacharias laughed. “So impatient, hunter.”

“Listen, Zach- can I call you Zach?”

“No.”

“Okay, Zach. If you don’t get to the fucking point, I will-”

“What? You’ll do what?” Zach sneered. “The way I see it, I have the one thing in the world you care about most. You have something I need, and I have something you need. Besides, I thought you liked causing harm.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

“Feel free to rough her up a bit. I won’t mind. Lord knows she won’t get it once she gets home.”

She. Home.

Who was he talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” Zach’s voice lowered an octave. “I’ve heard the whispers, Dean Winchester. I’ve heard about the part you played in hell, how you were acting a little too well. Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me.”

“What do you want?”

Zach’s breath hitched a bit. “I want the girl.”

Y/N

“Thank you for dinner, Y/n,” Bobby said. He patted your cheek and kissed your temple as he went to rinse his dish in the sink.

“I know it wasn’t great but-”

“I don’t get very many home cooked meals. This was fantastic,” Bobby said. Your chest swelled with pride at his words and you grinned.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to do something to say thank you. It’s not much but… I don’t know. You’ve been very kind to me,” you told him. He gave you an odd look.

“This sounds like a goodbye,” he said apprehensively. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, God no! No, this isn’t a goodbye!”

Bobby’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve gotten used to another person being here. I’ve gotten used to you being here. I know I said take all the time you need, but I selfishly hope for more time.”

“Bobby, I like it here. I like it here with you. You remind me a lot of my father,” you said. You swallowed hard. “You’ve done a lot for me. You’re a good friend.”

Bobby blushed and went bashful. He shrugged and murmured some words you couldn’t hear before shuffling into the study, throwing a “thank you” over his shoulder. You didn’t take any offense. You knew he wasn’t very good at deep conversations.

You cleaned the kitchen and were about to head to bed when the phone Bobby had given you rang. You smiled smally when you saw Dean’s name flash on the screen.

“Two phone calls in one day? I must be special,” you said snarkily as you answered the phone.

“I need your help,” he said.

“What, no ‘hi, sweetheart’ this time?” You mused.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” he said. You frowned at his tone. He was usually playful with you. If he was grumpy, he was usually doing it to mess with you.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ll send you the location. Get here as fast as you can.”

Your knees wobbled a bit as nerves lit a fire in your belly. “Wait, Dean, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain everything when you do,” he said. “Please?”

You sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose. You were tired after researching all night, but you couldn’t just say no. If Dean was asking for your physical help, he must really need it.

“Okay. Fine. Send me the address.”

***

You knew something was wrong when you pulled the car Bobby loaned you into a small patch of trees down a dirt path off the highway.

Bobby had taught you how to drive not long after you started staying with him. You didn’t drive much, but it was cool when you did. The drive to the location only took a few hours, and within that time, you tried to think of the different reasons he would have called you. Surely he wouldn’t be asking for your help unless he really needed it. Sure, he was a lot more civil with you, even nice sometimes, but he still wasn’t a huge fan of yours. He hated witches and that hatred didn’t stop with you.

The thought made your heart fall in your chest, but you pushed the feeling away. You couldn’t feel those sort of things for him. It was a dangerous game to play.

He was leaning against the Impala when you parked the car. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you approached him warily.

The first thing you noticed was Sam’s absence.

“Where’s Sam?”

Sam was always with him. You and Dean never met up alone. The few times you had met up with the brothers when they weren’t hunting, whether it be for some healing spell lessons, research sessions, or just lunch, it was always Sam and Dean. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

You looked Dean up and down, noticing the way his fists were clenched and tucked tightly into his sides. His eyes were wide and nervous, as if you were some cruel seductress here to kidnap him, but his mouth was screwed into a hard line. You watched him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“He’s going to uh… meet us there,” Dean stammered. He gestured to his car. “Get in?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you demanded. “You’re acting weird.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep, settling breath. Energy crackled between the two of you as anger rolled from him in waves. You could sense his worry. His anger. You prodded your power at his mind, running a smooth finger down the inseam as you stepped into his thoughts.

She just needs to get in the car… fucking hell… I need to get Sam… quit acting so weird, Dean, you’ll put her off… get in the car!

That was all you could muster before a sharp pain stung your temples. Damn you needed practice. His thoughts made you more uneasy and you took a step back towards your car.

“Dean, tell me what’s going on!”

“Get in the car, Y/n,” he said darkly. You made a move to run but he lunged, gripping your wrist. You yanked free of his grip and pushed him away. “Just get in the car!”

You turned to face him, but your eyes met the barrel of a gun.

You couldn’t breathe. This was it. He was going to kill you. You had no doubts that he had witch killing bullets in that gun, and you just fucking knew he wouldn’t hesitate.

“This was your plan all along?” You whispered. You tried to keep the emotion off your face, but couldn’t keep it from your voice. “To get me to trust you, then you’d kill me? Really?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” He jerked his head towards the Impala. “I won’t say it again.”

You made a run for it.

You turned and made for the trees. This was the second time you would flee into the woods in your life and you really hoped there wouldn't be a third.

You heard Dean curse behind you and you sprinted. With his long legs, you didn’t get very far, and his arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up in the air. You swung your head back to collide with his face. He yelped as you felt his nose crunch beneath the back of your skull.

That only made him angrier.

He threw you to the ground roughly, pinning you down with one knee to the center of your back. You thrashed and raised your hand, a purple glow emanating from it, ready to strike.

He quickly latched a handcuff to your wrist and your power fizzled.

“What?”

“They’re warded,” he said simply. He cuffed your other hand and gripped a fistful of your hair. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just got into the car.”

Your body ached and your scalp screamed but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain. “Would you have gotten into the car if you were in my shoes?”

“I’d never be in your shoes,” he snarled, hauling you to your feet. “I’m not a filthy fucking witch.”

Ouch.

“You’re still not over that? Really, Dean?” He dragged you to the car, all the while you kicked and thrashed, but he was much stronger than you and the wards were weakening you significantly. “I’m not evil! I thought we were friends!”

His hand gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. His fingers were rough and heavy against your skin as he dug into you, making you wince. Up close like this, you could see the beautiful green of his eyes, even in the dark, and his freckles stood out against his cheeks. You wished this was happening in a different circumstance. You wished you could have been close like this in another way.

His mouth curled into a ferocious snarl as he said, “I’m not friends with monsters.”

He shoved a gag into your mouth, opened the trunk of his car, and shoved you inside before closing you in, concealing you in a darkness that swallowed you whole and muffled your sobs.

DEAN

The compound was deep in the forest.

Dean stood by the driver's side door, waiting. Three cloaked figures walked towards him, Sam hauled behind them, dragged by a crimson energy around his wrists and ankles. His face was a bit bruised and his clothes were dirty, but he was unscathed.

That didn’t relieve the guilt he felt.

“The girl.”

Dean recognized the voice as Zach’s. He gave a long look to Sam before he walked around to the trunk.

He betrayed her. He betrayed her in the worst way possible and now she was going to die because of it. She told him she trusted him. She had learned to trust him after he wanted to kill her.

And now?

Now, he had taken that trust and destroyed it. Bobby would kill him surely. His father figure had started looking at her like a surrogate daughter. Y/n had come into his life and brightened it in the best way possible. Bobby had been so excited when he talked about how well she was doing. How the nightmares had begun to fade. How her scars were barely noticeable. How she didn’t flinch as much.

How she trusted Bobby so wholeheartedly, and how she trusted Sam and Dean.

That was ruined now, and Dean had to face it. He had to face it like he had to face what happened in hell. But he wouldn’t do that. No. He was saving Sam again.

He would always save Sam.

He opened the truck and nearly broke at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. Regardless of the tears, however, she gave him a look that was pure death. It sent shivers to his core as her eyes lit purple. A warning.

A promise.

He yanked her from the trunk and half carried her to Zach.

The new High Priest of Y/n’s coven.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Y/n. I know you know where she is.”

“Why do you want her?” Dean’s stomach curled.

“We have some… unfinished business.”

It didn’t take Dean long to realize it was her old coven, the one she had run from. The ritual wasn’t complete, and it wouldn’t be complete until Y/n was dead. So there was to be an exchange. Y/n for Sam.

“Let Sam go.”

Zach, a tall and plump man with gray hair and a bulbous nose, nodded at the two cloaked figures at his sides. They yanked Sam to Dean. Y/n writhed in Dean’s grip, desperate to escape, desperate not to return to the coven.

“The girl,” Zach said again. Dean looked down at Y/n, whose eyes were so wide with fear, he was afraid they’d pop right from her head. She looked at him then, pleading, begging for him to take her.

Instead, he took the gag off, pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, and pushed her away.

Y/n was so surprised, she barely flinched when the cloaked figures gripped the tops of her arms.

“Dean!” She said his name with yearning as the two figures dragged her away, still chained, still terrified. “Dean, please don’t do this! You know what they’ll do! You know! Please! Sam, Dean, please!”

With an evil grin, Zach sent the brothers a wink. “Thank you, boys. We’ll take good care of her.”

Then in a blast of crimson, the four witches were gone.

Y/N

“You traitorous bitch!”

Your mother hit you again, the whip stinging across your back with the scorching pain of the sun. You keened, tears long fallen, your eyes dry and crusty from how much you’ve cried.

Dean had betrayed you. This was worse than him killing you. Worse because not only were you going to die, but your freedom had been ripped from you, stolen out from underneath you. Worse because your father’s death would mean nothing. Worse because you still loved Dean.

Shit, you loved him. You hated that you did. You hated him while you loved him.

You realized you were in love with him when you were locked in that trunk. You wondered why it hurt so much. Why although he had put you there, you wanted him to comfort you. It was fucked up and twisted, but you were in love with him.

And he had royally, utterly betrayed you.

“I’m sorry, mother,” you said for the thousandth time. The whip cracked against your back again, tearing another ribbon. It wasn’t the first time you had been whipped. It was a typical form of punishment within your coven. Your wrists were bound to the top of a pole, your shirt stolen off your body to display your previously marred back. It wasn’t bad, the scars having long faded to dull lines. But now? Now they were re-opened, new ribbons sliced into your back by your own mother’s hand.

There were some spectators still. Many had gathered around to watch the pariah be punished for committing treason. Usually, treason was instant death in the coven. But you were to die in three days under the summer solstice, the moon at its peak for the season. It wasn’t as powerful as the harvest moon, but the solstice was still great for harvesting energy, and the coven couldn’t wait until autumn to refuel their power.

So they resorted to public punishment, letting you be an example to the children of the founding families who would grow up to have kids of their own to be sacrificed. This was what would happen if you or your child tried to escape. If they did escape.

Thirty lashes later, you were slumped against the pole, your body in so much pain, you were on the brink of unconsciousness. Hands moved to untie you and you slumped to the ground once you were unbound. You cried out in agony as you hit the dirt, screaming when someone lifted you up into their arms.

“I’m sorry.”

Jasper.

You didn’t turn into his chest like you would have a year ago. But you did like the comfort his touch brought you. Your best friend.

That comfort disintegrated when he laid you on your stomach on a moth-eaten cot in one of the cells of the dungeons below the founder’s hall.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said again as he left you, someone else closing the cell door, locking you inside.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t think you could physically cry anymore.

Instead, you wallowed. You wallowed in the pain, your own self pity, your anger and sadness.

You gave up.

You were done running. You were done fighting. Nothing was going to come of it. Nothing was going to change. The man you loved had shoved you back into the cruel clutches of your coven, and you were going to die in three days time, just as you should have died under the harvest moon with the others all those months ago.

DEAN

“Dean.”

Sam and Bobby watched as Dean paced in front of them. The older Winchester brother’s shoulders were hunched, brows pinched, mouth pulled into a sour frown as he paced and thought, thought and paced.

“Dean.”

He ignored his brother again. What was the point? What was the point in talking? He had done it. He had given her up. He had traded her life for his brother’s, just like he had done his whole life.

Sam was everything to him, and although she had weaseled herself into his life, into his heart, that wouldn’t change.

The guilt ate at him. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, an itching fury burning beneath his flesh that left him twitchy. This felt… wrong. This felt more wrong than he thought. What he did was awful. But it felt different. It felt…

No. He couldn’t feel those things. He wouldn’t. If he felt those things for her, there would be no going back, and he would just be hurt again. He would be hurt beyond comparison if he felt those things for her. If his heart raced at the sight of her, if he itched to reach out and touch her whenever she was close, if his mind thought of her when he woke up in the morning and right before he slept at night.

If he felt those things, he’d be a goner. If he felt those things, this situation would be so much worse.

“Dean, goddammit!”

He stopped, turning slowly, finally letting himself look at his brother and Bobby, the former who was the epitome of worry, the latter looking like he was mourning a daughter.

Which, Dean thought, he probably was.

Dean knew how much Bobby cared for Y/n. He could see it in the way his father figure would gently touch her cheek in passing, or press a kiss to her forehead whenever she went to bed. How he went out of his way to keep her comfortable, how he helped her heal. Bobby was never like that with the boys. Sure, he loved them and Dean knew he and Sam were like Bobby’s sons, but Bobby also grew to have a daughter figure in his life, and she had been ripped away from him by Dean’s doing.

“You’re going to get her back,” Bobby said smoothly. His voice was still and unwavering. Emotionless.

“Don’t you think I want to?” Dean asked. “I can’t leave her there. I can’t… It was part of the plan to go back and get her. But what if... what if she’s already dead?”

Bobby was suddenly in Dean’s face, gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall. His face was contorted in a rage Dean had never seen pointed towards him and it made him gulp.

“Don’t say that.” Bobby tightened his grip on Dean’s shirt. “We’re getting her back.”

“Bobby, even if she is still alive, how would we get past an entire coven?” Sam spoke from behind them. He didn’t move to pry Bobby off of Dean.

Even Sam knew Dean made a bad call.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby said. He finally let go of Dean and backed up a few paces. “It’s not the right time for the ritual. She’ll be alive until late tonight if I have the moon cycle right.”

“Wha- Bobby! We’re barely going to have time!” Dean said. Alive? God, he hoped so.

“We need to go. Now.” Bobby was rushing around the study like a madman, collecting guns and knives and a flask of holy water. Dean knew the holy water would do nothing, but watching as Bobby also stuffed a bag full of salt filled rounds, he knew the man was just desperate to get her back, using anything and everything to do so.

“We’ve wasted too much time,” Bobby said. He stalked towards the door and turned back to look Dean in the eye. “You better hope she’s alive, boy.”

He slipped out the front door without another word, the brothers giving each other a long look before following after him, hoping they weren’t too late.

Y/N

As night fell, the moon peeking up from behind the trees, you prayed to your gods quietly. Your mother and siblings hadn’t come to see you since the punishment in the square the day before. You were left alone, back oozing blood throughout the night and into the morning. It still leaked, but much of the blood had begun to crust and clot. You didn’t want to know what your back looked like. It had finally healed enough from the last time you were punished six years ago that you could start looking at your back in the mirror.

You supposed you didn’t have to worry about it now, seeing as you’d be dead by morning.

The cuffs from Dean had been swapped for similar cuffs as the ones your dad melted when you two made your escape the last time. They dug into your wrists painfully, chafing them raw and bloody.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere above the cellar. Your mouth went dry. This was it.

The door to the cellar opened, revealing Jasper. He looked at you solemnly and reached down to grip the tops of your arms. You cried out as your back was jarred, and he ignored it, dragging you up the stairs and into the main hall where someone else gripped your other arm. Together, they carried you outside into the warm night. The hot air hit your back painfully and it took all your strength not to cry in pain. Instead, you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood and tried to push the pain away, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing you hurt.

They carried you to the waiting cell, which was really just a shed, and pushed you inside. You landed on your side, agony ripping through you, and you groaned. They closed the door and locked you inside as everyone prepped for the ritual.

As you laid there, having flipped onto your stomach, you tried to count the minutes in your head, counting the seconds. If you let yourself think of what was coming, you would surely go insane. This was the second time you were experiencing this and thinking about it made you queasy. Thinking about Dean left you conflicted. Thinking of Bobby and your father left you dejected.

So you just counted.

And counted.

Until a thud echoed outside the shed. Shuffling. Another thud. A squelching sound.

“Keep an eye out.”

“No, I was just going to stand here with my thumb up my ass.”

“Real mature, Dean.”

“Thank you.

“Shut up.”

“Hurry up, Sam.”

“I’m trying! It’s spelled or something.”

“You know what? Move.”

Holy shit. Was that-

There was a loud bang on the door and suddenly it creaked open. It was too dark to see, but you could make out the shadowed silhouettes of two very familiar bodies.

“Shit.”

Dean dropped beside you so fast it made your head spin. How had they found you? How did they even get to you?

His hand lifted to your head and he brushed your hair from your eyes. Your cheek was pressed against the cool stone floor of the shed, violent shivers racking your body.

“God, Dean- look at her back.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean made to lift you but you snarled at him, reaching your hand out to slap him away from you.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hissed. You glanced back at Sam, relief flooding you as he looked unharmed. There was some blood spattered on him, but he looked fine. You didn’t think the blood was his.

“Y/n-”

“Shut up, dick,” you said. “Sam can carry me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know how I’m going to. It’s… it’s bad. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly. He bent down beside you as well.

“I don’t think I can walk. It’s going to hurt like a fucking bitch but just do it,” you said. “How did you guys get to me?”

“A lot of fighting and a lot of bullets,” Dean said morbidly. “Bobby’s our getaway driver. He’s picking off a lot one by one.”

“He’s… what?” Your eyes widened. “Dean, there are children here!”

“He’s not killing them all, Y/n,” Dean said. “Just the ones who are fighting to kill you and trying to kill him.”

You let that sink in. They were killing your coven. They were killing the community you grew up with.

“Okay,” was all you said. Sam made a pained sound and reached for you.

Your body was lit with an excruciating fire.

Sam apologized so much, it all blurred together. You gasped and cried and whined as he carried you. Dean had laid his flannel over your bare chest, his face pained as Sam carried you out into the woods. Bodies laid scattered all around, fires licked towards the sky. The compound was devastated, but you could vaguely make out the shapes of some people fleeing into the trees across the field.

You could also see Jasper’s lifeless eyes staring at you from where his body was leaning against the shed, a single bullet hole in the center of his forehead. How you had not heard any of this, you weren’t sure. Perhaps you were too delirious with pain.

Your heart was in your throat now. Jasper. He was dead. Your best friend. Your confidant. Your lover. Dead amongst the ones who wanted to kill you.

He was going to stand by and watch you die.

You bit your lip and tried to push away the urge to vomit. Jasper was dead, you didn’t know about your mother, or Margot and Matthias. Your mother… you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about her too much. A sliver of yourself worried for her… but she didn’t care for you. Not really. The coven was the most important thing to her. Margot and Matthias however, you hoped they were alright. As long as you were alive, they couldn’t touch them.

“We’re almost there,” Sam spoke suddenly, bringing you from your thoughts. You were almost to the car, where you would be taken from this place once again.

“Hurry,” you rasped. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You were gasping for air at this point, the pain constricting even your breathing.

“Bobby, start it!”

“Holy mother of-”

“Just do it! She won’t last much longer,” Sam ordered. Bobby reluctantly turned from where he started forward towards you, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam sat you in the back seat and started to get in with you but was pulled back. He grunted as he landed on his ass, Dean taking his place.

“Not you!” You didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you again.” You laid on your stomach across the back seat, your cheek resting against his thigh as he gently laid your head down onto him. The fire across your back faded ever so slightly, but it had been reawoken when Sam touched it. You wished unconsciousness would claim you but it didn’t. Tears slipped from your cheeks.

“How could you?” You whispered. You found yourself repeating it again and again, Dean’s hand stroking your hair as he shushed you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally, as if the gods had heard your prayer, the edges of your vision began to darken, and sleep claimed you at last.

DEAN

Dean’s back was to the wall. In one hand, he held a beer, and in the other he held a small bouquet of flowers. It was a useless sentiment, he knew that, especially when it was his doing that caused this.

Another yelp of pain from the room behind him and he flinched. Bobby and Sam had been hard at work for the past two hours on Y/n’s wounds. She had kicked Dean out promptly as soon as she regained consciousness. She was furious with him and she should be.

Dean didn’t blame her.

The door opened and Sam stepped out. His shirt was covered in blood, hands stained pink. His face, ashen and pinched, turned to look at Dean.

“Well?” Dean asked.

“She needs rest. She’s… she’s going to scar pretty badly.” Sam sighed and shook his head. “How could they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Is she alright?”

Sam scoffed. “No. No, she’s not alright, Dean. She was given up by someone she thought she could trust, whipped to ribbons by her own mother, and then was thrown in a cell to wait for her slaughter. So no, she’s not alright.”

Dean stiffened. “Her mother did that?”

“As punishment,” Sam seethed. “Apparently it wasn’t the first time.”

Dean thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath and stood up, hesitating. “I want to see her.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Sam said.

“I know. But I at least want to apologize, even if she doesn’t believe me,” Dean murmured. He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, a futile attempt of an “I’m sorry” and he knew it. “I…”

“I know,” Sam said softly when Dean couldn’t finish his thought. He couldn’t quite say the words yet. He didn’t even have half a mind to think them. Sam reached over to squeeze his brother’s shoulder gently. “I know.”

Dean gave a low nod and stepped around Sam, ducking into the study.

It had been turned into a makeshift infirmary. The desk had been cleared of items, a sheet thrown over it, a pillow supporting Y/n’s head where she laid upon it. Everything had been pushed away against the wall, making room for bags of gauze, salves, and other medical tools that Dean cringed away from. It smelled strongly of antiseptic and blood, making Dean woozy as he stepped inside.

Y/n’s eyes were half open and glazed over. She stared unfocused at a spot on the wall beside Dean, and didn’t flinch as he stepped right beside her line of sight. She just simply stared.

Bobby sat beside the desk, one hand in hers- which once again had bandages wrapped around her wrists- as he watched her closely. Her back had been heavily bandaged, blood staining the sheets below her body, tears long drying on her face, leaving streaks on her cell-dusted skin.

“How are you feeling?”

Her eyes lifted to him finally. They were cold and hard and so void of emotion it made Dean shiver.

“What do you think?”

Dean swallowed hard and placed the flowers on a nearby shelf. He wrung his hands together as he thought of what to say next.

“Bobby, would you mind-”

“Don’t even ask, boy.” Bobby didn’t even move when he said it. He just stayed in his position, gaze locked on the broken girl on the table, face pulled into a deep frown.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. “Y/n, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“How sweet of you,” she said. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Dean said.

“I trusted you.”

Dean’s breath hitched. Her voice had turned soft and pained. So unlike her and so full of anguish.

“I trusted you and you betrayed me,” she said. “I don’t trust people easily, Dean. But I trusted you. I trusted you and Sam and Bobby. That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Ever since I met you, you have wanted to kill me. You never trusted me. I’m a witch, just another monster for you to kill. That night? I thought you were going to do it yourself. What you did was worse. You gave me back to the people who I ran from. Who killed my father. You took away my freedom again. You took away my choice again. You took it all away when you gave me back.”

She was crying now, tears silently dripping to the pillow beneath her cheek.

“I’m not the untrustworthy one, Dean Winchester. You are. You call yourself a hunter. You tell yourself you save people. Apparently the bar falls short as soon as you are something different, regardless of what kind of soul you are.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at him. Dean would never, not until the day he died, forget the look she gave him in that moment; malicious and hurt, her eyes dark and narrowed.

“Go back to hell, Dean.”

Dean thought his chest had been ripped open. He touched the skin over his heart as her words sunk in.

Go back to hell, Dean.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me-”

“I don’t need to do shit,” she snarled. Dean winced at her tone, so dark and vicious. “I need you to leave.”

“Y/n-”

“That’s your cue, boy,” Bobby said. Dean’s shoulders slumped. He gave one last longing look to her, taking note of her eyes and how they left him again, staring unfocused at that damn spot on the wall, before turning and ducking back out of the room, finishing off his beer in the hallway and making his way to the kitchen for another.

Y/N

“Please be careful.”

Bobby loaded the last of your bags into the back of the truck. He had given you the same truck he picked you up in a year ago.

Your back was finally healed enough thanks to your spells, scars now the only reminder. You didn’t look in the mirror, not anymore, knowing how it would look. You felt them whenever you accidently touched your skin as you changed or when you showered. You could feel the raised, soft flames that licked up to your shoulders, forever imprinted into your back. The ones you had before were small. But these? These were long and large in number, the spite and anger of the one who created them clear in their abundance.

It had been a week since Dean had given you back to your coven. In that time, you hadn’t seen him again, not since he tried to apologize the night they rescued you.

Of course, you wouldn’t have needed rescuing if he hadn’t given you up.

The boys were due back soon and you wanted to be long gone once they arrived. You were going to start hunting. Really hunting. You were fine, your healing salves and spells doing their job perfectly. The scars would be the only reminder.

“I will,” you promised. You were ready for this. You needed this.

Bobby hugged you tightly, mindful of the pressure on your back, before he pushed you lightly towards the truck.

“Alright, off you go, ya’ idjit.” You grinned and got up into the truck. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “I never want to see Dean again. Not in this lifetime.”

Which was half true. He had hurt you beyond words. He had taken your trust and destroyed it. He had given you back to the people who killed your father and planned on killing you. But at the same time, you understood. Dean’s world revolved around Sam. He would put his life on the line, and has, for his brother. A part of you understood why he did what he did. You went crazy when Danny died, knowing the one person besides your father who loved you just as much as you loved them was dead. You had tried everything, even resorting to dabbling in necromancy, but your mother had caught you, and your last hope of bringing your brother back was gone.

So yes, you understood Dean to a point. You just couldn’t get over the pain it caused you.

Bobby nodded at your words and kicked a rock in the dirt. “I hope you change your mind someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But someday.”

You blinked a few times and processed his words. You were going to answer, but thought better of it, instead going with, “I’ll call you when I know where I’m going.”

Bobby sighed. “You better,” he said. He gave you a wave. “Kick some ass.”

***

Two months later

“Another?”

The bartender tapped the bar beside your empty beer.

“Please.” He nodded and turned to pour you another. You sighed and rested your chin in your hand, your other hand lazily scrolling through your laptop in search of cases. You had just finished a ghoul case that morning and were already itching for another one.

The bartender set the beer down in front of you and raised a brow. “Hard at work?”

You shrugged and sipped your beer. “Something like that.”

He cocked his head, eyes trained on you as he cleaned a glass. “Are you busy tonight?” He shifted nervously.

You looked up at him. He was very attractive, with warm brown skin, hair black as night, and a crooked smile that would make anyone weak in the knees. You had frequented this bar the last few nights and your conversations were always nice. He was sweet and handsome and if this was before your tangle with the coven, you would have taken him up on his offer.

But the scars hadn’t faded.

“Yeah, I’ll be working all night,” you said. He frowned a bit. “And if I wasn’t leaving town tomorrow, I would take you up on that.”

He grinned a bit. “Thanks. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m okay.” You drank your beer deeply and reached into your bag, pulling out more than enough money for the beers. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said. You finished your beer and gathered up your things.

Many of your nights went like this. How were you supposed to explain the scars to someone? They were gnarly and would immediately spark fear and confusion and that was something you didn’t want to deal with.

Your phone rang and you grumbled to yourself. Unlocking the truck, you hauled yourself inside, setting your laptop down before you answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?”

“Sam?” You smiled. You and Sam had stayed in touch. Just because Dean was an ass didn’t mean you couldn’t still talk to your friend. “What’s up?”

Sam loosed a breath. Uh oh. “Look, I wouldn’t call you if this wasn’t important.”

“No.”

“Y/n, come on.”

“No, Sam.”

“Please?” Sam said. “We really need help and no one else is stepping up to bat.”

“What about Bobby?”

He paused. “He actually told us to call you.”

Damn him! You groaned. “Why do you two need help? Aren’t you like the best hunters in the world?”

Sam scoffed. “I know you and Dean have your differences-”

“-Differences!-”

“But we could really use your skill. Please?”

You clicked your tongue and rolled your eyes. “You know, I can feel your puppy dog eyes through the phone.”

“Are they working?”

“... Maybe.”

“Come on. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Sam said.

You pressed your knuckles into your forehead. “Jesus- fine.”

“Thank you!” Sam said. “I’ll send you the address to our motel.”

“Whatever.”

DEAN

“Is she coming?”

Sam turned at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean’s heart thumped heavily in his chest.

“Yes,” Sam replied. Dean grinned. “But don’t chase her away, Dean. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” Dean said quickly. “But this could be my last chance to make things right with her.”

“Dean, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need to, Sam.” Dean looked down at his hands. “I need to make things right. It sucks not talking to her. It sucks not seeing her.”

“Because you lo-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam grinned wickedly and flopped down onto his bed.

“Well don’t you?” Sam asked. He folded his arms under his head, propping himself up to look at Dean.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning his guns. Sam had no idea what he was talking about. Dean wasn’t sure what he felt for Y/n, but he knew it was friendly. He hoped she had once felt the same way, and maybe if she knew what he felt, she could learn to forgive him.

Or this whole plan could crash and burn and chase her even further away.

Regardless, Dean was going to try.

***

Three hours later, someone knocked on the motel room door.

Sam got up to answer it but Dean shoved him back, resulting in a smack on the head, but he was able to reach the door first.

Opening it, Dean’s eyes landed on Y/n. Her eyes met his, a scowl painted on her lovely face as she zeroed in on him. She looked him up and down and hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. It was ratty and worn, but Dean noticed she took it on all her trips. He wondered what its significance was.

“Well. Aren’t you going to let me in?” She asked. Dean, startled by her voice, lurched out of the way, nearly knocking over a small table.

“Nice,” Sam mouthed, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Y/n who stepped inside, brushing past Dean quickly to give Sam a hug. “Thanks again.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” She gave Dean a dirty look. “So. What are we hunting?”

Y/N

The hunt went by smoothly.

It was a vamp nest, and a large one, definitely too difficult for two people but just easy enough with three. You had worked in tandem with boys as if you did it all your life. By the end, they both turned to you impressed.

“Wow. You’ve really trained hard, haven’t you?” Sam asked, bumping his hip with yours as you walked to the car. You wiped blood from your forehead.

“I kinda have to if I want to hunt alone.”

Dean spun to face you, blocking your path. You halted and glared up at him. God, he looked like shit. You noticed it when you arrived at the motel. His face was gaunt, eyes slightly sunken with dark circles beneath them. A permanent frown seemed etched on his lips and he looked like he lost some weight. He looked as if he was being eaten away by something.

He looked as if he was being eaten away by guilt.

A part of you took pride in that, but another part, a larger part, was sad. Sad that he had gotten this way. Sad that the man you loved was in so much despair, all you wanted to do was comfort him.

Of course, that despair was caused by himself, but you pushed that thought away.

“You’re doing what?”

“Hunting? Didn’t Bobby tell you?” You stepped around him.

“I thought he meant hunting with him, not alone,” he said. He hurried after you. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought you cared, Dean,” you said. You shrugged and gave him a pointed look. “Seeing as you’ve hurt me before.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I said go back to hell!”

“Okay!” Sam stepped between you and Dean, lightly pushing on your chest. He glared at his brother, but turned to you with a more gentle expression. “Let’s just calm down, okay? We’ll take you back to the motel.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You lightly pushed his hand away and threw open the back door, slamming it shut. You smirked when you saw Dean start forward in anger at how you treated his car, Sam stopping him with a hand on his chest again. They spoke lowly to each other before Dean slumped and got into the car, Sam close behind him.

Yeah, you absolutely regretted agreeing to help.

***

Later that night, you were lounging in your motel room, watching trash television, when there was a knock on your door.

There was a good possibility it was Dean. You knew that. Yet you still got up to open it. To be honest, maybe you’d like to hear him apologize again. It wouldn’t hurt.

You’d do it for Bobby. Not for yourself. For Bobby.

Opening the door, unsurprisingly, Dean stood there. His head was ducked slightly, face pulled into a nervous pout.

“Hey.”

You leaned against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. “Please?”

You bit your lip and moved out of the way, gesturing him inside. He muttered a thank you and stepped past you. You closed the door softly and turned to lean against it. He stood in the center of the room, looking down at a spot on the ground instead of at you.

“Y/n, I know you hate me. I know that.”

You felt as if you were going to be sick. “I… I don’t, you know, hate you.”

He furrowed his brow but didn’t look up at you. “You don’t?”

“I don’t particularly like you right now.” His lip quirked slightly. “But I don’t hate you.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to sit on the edge of your bed, resting his hands on his knees. One knee bounced and he rolled his shoulders a bit. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer but didn’t look away either. He continued. “What I did… I know it wasn’t okay. I won’t excuse myself for what I did. I just knew I had to save Sam and I went about it very, very poorly.”

You continued to stare at him silently.

“I should have figured something out. I was just so afraid. I do very… stupid things… to save him. I sold my soul and went to hell for crying out loud.” He smiled without humor. “Giving you to them will forever be something I will regret. Seeing you in that cell, bloody and broken, it’s an image I will never get out of my head.” His eyes turned misty and he swallowed thickly. “I will never forgive myself and I will live the rest of my life with that image. I will live the rest of my life knowing I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

You tentatively took a step towards him, and another, until you stood directly beside him. His green eyes finally lifted to yours, lined with tears, and you slowly sunk down to sit beside him. Biting your lip, you reached forward for one of his hands, resting it palm up in yours.

“I’ve… I’ve liked you for a long time now, Y/n,” he whispers. Your heart began to rapidly thump in your chest. “More than like, I think. And it scares the hell out of me. I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You knew about your own feelings for him. Even after what he did, they had been buried beneath anger, but not disintegrated. You traced a line on his palm.

“All I could think about when you gave me up was how much I had trusted you, and how betrayed I felt,” you began. He stilled beneath your touch. “After, I was just so angry. Angry at you for doing that to me. Angry at myself for letting myself become vulnerable.” You hesitated before continuing. “I was hurt. Really hurt. And conflicted. I wasn’t sure how I could love someone and hate them at the same time.”

Dean pulled back from you.

You hadn’t even realized you said it until his face morphed into one of shock.

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You leaped to your feet, mouth open and closing, your brain racing to find something to say. But your thoughts were clouded with panic. “I don’t… I mean… I didn’t mean to say…”

You backed away from him but he stood and followed. His eyes were full of longing as he reached for your hands and brought them to his chest.

“Don’t turn away from me. Not after that.”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he told you.

“Why?”

He grinned. “Because I didn’t want to be the only one with those feelings.”

“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” you murmured. He chuckled a bit.

“I’m supposed to hate you. But look at me.”

“Look at me,” you echoed.

“A hunter and a witch, who would have thought?” He said amused. You smiled shyly.

“I… I forgive you, Dean.” He sagged in relief. “But I won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He lifted his hand to brush his fingers down your cheek lovingly. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, letting his words sink in. Once they did, your grin widened, and you reached up on your tip-toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips.

When you pulled back after a moment, he searched your eyes, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to stop.

But you didn’t.

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, harder this time, wrapping his arms around your waist to lift you to gain better access. His lips were soft against yours, moving in fever, his body warm against you.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t. Because I do.” You kissed him roughly, bringing your hands up to curl in his hair. He growled against your lips and moved you to the bed, pressing you down beneath him gently. He rolled his body over yours and you widened your legs to let him fit between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

He moved to suck and kiss your pulse point, making you moan. “God, me too.”

You cupped his face and dragged his mouth back to yours. His hands lowered to the button on your jeans, popping them open before he pulled away from your mouth again. You whined at the loss and he chuckled.

“Patience, baby.”

You raised your hips as he pulled down your jeans. He kissed down your legs as he pulled off your socks and looked up at you with hooded eyes. He grinned against your skin before he kissed his way back up, landing a kiss to the top of your pelvis. He thumbed your panties.

“Are you sure?”

“God, yes.” You ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and that was all he needed.

He pulled your panties down your legs, kissing the area above your pubic bone as he gently coaxed your legs further apart. You peered down at him, but his eyes were trained on your sex, his pupils dilated wide, lips slightly swollen from your kissing. Jesus, the man was like sex on legs.

He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the hood of your clit. You groaned and jerked at his touch, keening when his tongue ran through your folds.

“Jesus, Dean!”

He ate you out slowly at first, teasingly licking and sucking, before he moved faster, feasting on you like a starved man. His tongue prodded at your entrance before he licked inside, his thumb strumming your clit it time with his ministrations. Your hips raised off the bed, pleasure jolting through you, but he splayed his free hand over your abdomen, keeping you down, making you take everything he was giving.

“Dean!”

He smirked against you, dragging his tongue up through your folds again, sending a deep shudder over you. He hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit a few times, a moan eliciting itself from your throat. He slowly pushed a finger inside you, your back arching slightly as he curled it, pumping a few times before adding another. He suddenly sucked down roughly, a cry pushing itself from your lungs to bounce off the walls, his fingers scissoring in and out at a rapid pace. Your chest was heaving as he curled his fingers again, curling so deep, pads brushing against your g-spot with every move.

You came, falling over the edge violently as he suddenly and harshly sucked your clit into his mouth again. He continued to give kitten licks to your clit as you came down from your high. As you caught your breath, you peeked an eye open to spot him grinning like a cat.

“Don’t ruin it, Winchester.”

He laughed and pushed himself up to kiss your cheek. “But that’s so much fun!”

You smirked and reached for his belt. You unbuckled it and took it off him before throwing it aside. He kicked off his shoes and you unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed himself up to stand and shimmy out of them, peeling off his socks as he went, before he pulled his shirt up and over his head. His boxers strained against his dick, and you went to reach for them, but he stopped you.

“Take off your shirt.”

You froze. If you did, he’d see the scars on your back. They were so gloriously unsexy and you knew he’d look at you in disgust if he saw them.

“No, I don’t want to.”

You were still sitting up, but Dean bent to crawl over you. Your faces were only inches apart, his breath fanning over your face. You shivered.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen your back before it was healed. Don’t hide from me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“They’re ugly,” you whispered. He shook his head and lifted one of your hands to kiss your knuckles.

“Nothing about you is ugly, Y/n,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Please.”

You swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Once you gathered enough courage, you lifted your shirt up and over your head, knowing your scars were on full display for him if he just looked over your shoulder. You sighed and he lifted his hand to run over your shoulder, down your back, and to the clasp of your bra.

“Look at me,” he said. You complied, keeping your eyes on him as he unclasped your bra and gently pulled the straps down your arms. He tossed it behind him, leaving you naked beneath him. He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love every inch of you, Y/n.”

You shuddered as he kissed your neck again.

“I want you,” you whispered into his ear. You ran a hand over his back and up to scratch lightly at the nape of his neck.

He kissed you quickly and pushed his boxers down and off. His cock sprang free, and you reached down, gripping it. He groaned as you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre-cum that beaded there, before stroking him a few more times.

“Do you want me?”

He cleared his throat and grunted as you squeezed him gently. “You know I do.”

You licked the shell of his ear, feeling him tremble beneath you. “Then show me.”

He snapped.

He growled low in his throat as he pushed you down gently, hovering over you, one hand gripping one of yours, the other batting your other hand away from his cock. You giggled and he gave you a pointed look before positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock running up and down your slit a few times, lathering himself in your wetness. He pressed himself gently into you, only the tip of him nestled in your warmth.

He entwined your fingers together, eyes locked on yours as he slowly eased himself into you. You felt your walls stretch to accommodate him, a slight burn following, but it quickly eased as he bottomed out.

“God, you feel good,” he said lowly into your ear. He gently pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside you before pushing back in. He moved in long, deep strokes, and hell did it feel good. You slowly began to feel yourself moving with him, trying to match his thrusts and meet him there.

“Faster,” you pleaded, the coil once again beginning to wrap around itself. He bottomed out with each thrust, and his balls slapped against your ass with each plunge. He quickened his pace, but also lifted your leg to wrap around his waist. The angle allowed him to reach depths you didn’t even know you had. He brushed against your sweet spot with each stroke of his cock, and your eyes fell shut at the intense pleasure.

“Dean, I need more,” you said breathlessly. He moved his hand down between you, his finger beginning to strum at your clit in small circles, the rhythm matching that of his thrusts. “I’m going to come.”

“You can do it, baby,” Dean said. “I’m right behind you.”

He began to rub your clit faster and harder, his hips stuttering into a sloppy pace as he neared his own end. With one more thrust of his cock against your sweet spot, you were coming, body spasming and inner walls clenching around his dick. He followed only moments after, his face buried in your neck as he moaned his relief, spilling himself deep inside you.

You stayed still for a moment, his cock still enveloped inside you as the two of you simply laid together in the afterglow. He kissed your neck and pulled out once his cock had softened inside you.

He left for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He swiped it between your legs, then his own, before he tossed it back into the bathroom. He climbed back into bed with you and pulled you against his chest. You winced as your scars rubbed up against his chest, but he simply pulled you tighter against him.

This was Dean. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Not around him. Not at all.

He kissed the back of your neck. “I will never, ever, hurt you again, Y/n.”

You grabbed hold of one of his hands, tugging it up to your chest over your heart, holding it there. You sighed happily and smiled.

“I know, Dean.”

He gently lifted a finger to tilt your chin back to look him in the eye. “No. You don’t. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He kissed you softly. “I swear it.”

“I love you.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he looked at you. He kissed you again, gently, lovingly, and brushed a hand over the side of your face.

“I love you, too.”

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural #fanfiction #oneshot #commission #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn #waywardrose13

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rachelsteapot · 3 years

Note

Hiiii I saw you would like to write about Arthur Shelby!! That’s great cause there aren’t many stories about him. Could you please write one where he gets jealous or possessive? Please and thank you

OMG YES! One jealous and posessive Arthur coming right up!

Disclaimer: I really do not know how good this is, I wrote it in like one sitting so any constructive critcism is apprecated :)

Warnings: Sexual harrassment, Fighting, blood if you squint.

Tags: @theshelbyclan

I Promise (Jealous!Arthur x Fem!Reader)

From the first time he set eyes on you, Arthur Shelby knew that you were going to be his, and there was no room for anyone else. At first, his brothers thought he was sick; he was so far from his normal demeanour that sickness must have been the cause. It was most unlike the eldest Shelby brother to not hire a whore when they went into town, and god forbid he stopped playing in the snow. Then, his brothers realised the root of this change in his behaviour.

You were the newest addition to the Shelby assistants. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, you were always ready and willing to dive headfirst into a stack of invoices, or sit and steadily decipher one of the brother's chicken scratch handwriting. Tommy had hired you specifically to work with Arthur due to his struggles with most, if not all, literary ventures. Especially the numerical kind.

You had been warned by Tommy that Arthur could be difficult to say the least. According to your boss, he was prone to fits of rage, often came across as rude, and liked to snort cocaine. However, this was a side of Arthur that you never saw. Tommy put it down to your voice, perhaps thinking that the way you spoke reminded Arthur of their mother, but you weren’t so sure. Sometimes you noticed Arthur watching you when he didn't think you were looking. There was something else in his eyes, beyond the sadness, there was love. You weren’t sure, but didn’t exactly intend to ask about it. Sometimes, when you were helping Arthur with his numbers, he would sit you on his lap and have you check his maths as he worked. He was slowly improving, and you were sure that he knew, but more and more often he would seemingly make deliberate mistakes so you had to come and help him.

Throughout your time together, you had grown close to Arthur and he to you, perhaps a bit closer than a boss and his assistant should have been. But what mattered was that Arthur’s work was improving, and you were doing your share of the paperwork.

Recently however, you had noticed Arthur daydreaming when you worked with him. While you were explaining maths, his eyes would drift away, and he wouldn't seem to hear what you were saying. During these periods, the mistakes he made were genuine, causing him to get frustrated more and more often.

The only thing left to do was ask him what was wrong.

It was a warm Thursday afternoon when you noticed Arthur drifting in and out of thought. You were sitting at your desk, reading through a stack of invoices, while he sat at his, reading some memo from Tommy. A heavy sigh interrupted your train of thought and you looked up to see Arthur cradling his head in his hands. You stood, kicking your shoes off before slowly padding over to his desk.

Placing your hands on his shoulders, you leaned over the back of his chair and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” your gentle query received another sigh.

“Nothing, Y/N. Just Tommy being a twat again and not asking what I thought.” came his grumbled reply. You gently placed a kiss just above his ear and sighed too.

“Why don’t you tell him?” That received a dry chuckle as he sat up and you slid off his shoulders, coming to stand next to him.

“It doesn’t exactly work like that, but maybe. There’s a family meeting tomorrow. I might, but I doubt he’ll listen.” You nodded and licked your lips slightly in thought.

“Just let me know if there’s anything I can help with,” you said gently as you returned to your desk. He nodded in response and you both quietly slipped back into a swirling world of numbers and letters.

Friday evening was the next time you saw Arthur. He was working away from his office for most of Friday, especially since there was a race on and Shelby Company limited still operated a betting shop. You had been counting the earnings of today’s race for hours, so when Finn pranced into your office at the end of the day and asked if you wanted to go to The Garrison with him and the boys, the answer was a resounding yes.

As you left your office for the evening, Finn linked your arm with his and walked you to the Garrison, happily comparing the work that you two had done. There was nothing flirtatious about your relationship with Finn, he was too young for you anyway. But, he had an easygoing sense of adventure and was known to crack a joke about anything. Besides, Finn had his suspicions about you and Arthur, and he knew that if it was as he suspected, it would not be wise to try anything.

The two of you arrived at The Garrison and relaxed into the noisy, smoky atmosphere. You could have easily entered the Shelby box, but preferred to mingle with people more akin to yourself once in a while. Finn ordered for you, and before you knew it, you had been challenged to a drinking game. Usually you wouldn’t have bothered, but tonight, you were out to win.

Arthur stepped through the doors of his beloved pub, just in time to see Y/N drinking his baby brother, Finn, under the table. He chuckled lightly to himself, but his mood soon turned sour when he noticed that you weren’t just experiencing his attention. The man sitting next to you at the bar had placed his hand on your waist and was trying to pull you onto his lap. Try being the keyword here, as you had turned to him and tried to explain that, one: you weren’t a prostitute, and two: you weren’t interested. But this man was adamant, even reaching up to feel at your breasts.

Arthur could feel your discomfort from where he stood. He could feel the fire of rage building up in his stomach, until, finally, he snapped.

You hadn’t even noticed that Arthur was here until you felt the man that had been bothering you get ripped away. As you turned to find out what was happening, you saw the side of Arthur that, until now, you had doubted the existence of.

Arthur had your harasser on the floor and was beating him with a fury that you'd never seen before. It was clear that this man was unconscious, and his face was a bloodied mess. If no one stopped him soon, this man may die. And, really, that was what Arthur wanted. You were under his protection, regardless of whether you liked it or not, and no one would hurt you again.

You stepped forwards, wobbling slightly from the alcohol you had consumed. As you approached, Arthur tensed, sensing that someone was coming. Slowly, you placed your hand on his back and he spun around, towering over you.

“Arthur, please. Stop.” Finally it clicked in Arthur’s brain that this newcomer was you. His eyes softened.

“Let’s go home, love,” He croaked, sliding his hand around your waist and leading you out of the pub. You gently steered Arthur towards your home, unlocking the door when you arrived and sitting Arthur down on the sofa. He sat there, silently shaking, while you gathered a first aid kit.

“This is going to sting a little bit, Arthur,” you whispered as you sat down on the sofa beside him and dabbed some whiskey onto a cotton pad, taking his hands into yours to clean the cuts. He winced slightly, but sat still as you began to wrap his hands in bandages.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you do it?” you asked, leaning onto his shoulder as you tied off the bandages. Arthur looked down at you and took your chin into one of his hands.

He held your chin, tilting your head so you looked him in the eyes.

“You’re mine, Y/N. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you. I love you too much for that,” he muttered before pressing his lips gently to yours.

“I will never let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Jealous Arthur Shelby #fluff #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #shelby brothers #shelby company limited #john shelby #finn shelby

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language.

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one.

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home.

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy.

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back.

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.”

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.”

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip.

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.”

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.”

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder.

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles.

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked.

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin.

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark.

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders.

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.”

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time.

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it.

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear.

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep.

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again.

He really wanted to see her again.

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones.

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them.

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly.

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled.

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.”

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink.

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit.

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.”

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning.

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing? She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck.

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this.

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.”

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.”

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.”

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.”

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it.

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.”

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.”

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks.

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed.

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?”

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…”

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.”

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered.

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it.

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.”

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip.

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him.

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her.

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general.

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully.

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?”

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.”

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.”

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across.

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth.

Do what feels good .

It definitely felt good.

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat.

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.”

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again.

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged.

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey.

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth.

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”.

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look.

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head.

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent.

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.”

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded.

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.”

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel.

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.”

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—”

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?”

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider.

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her.

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.”

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right.

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip.

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.”

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet .

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him?

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue..

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.”

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out.

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“See you later,” he corrected softly.

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away.

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door.

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.”

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal.

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.”

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!”

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.”

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door.

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted.

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.”

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.”

Alya’s frown deepened.

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.”

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .”

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked.

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all.

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.”

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful.

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips.

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it.

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm.

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.”

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.”

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?”

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.”

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers.

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #oops #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #i'll never not know you #pro lukamari #nsfwish fic #alya salt #depending on your sensitivity #one night stand to lovers

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

Text

“It’s everything to lose.”

taehyung x reader/oc (but also jimin x platonic reader/oc) genre: angst word count: 6K

a/n: well, this was a process to write lol. Basically, Peaches/reader and Tae are experiencing a mix of feelings due to their best friends’ (Jimin and Dear) break up. Fears of a possible relationship with each other are worsened, plus, Tae and Peaches are just sad because their closest friends are sad. Also, Peaches finally talks to Jimin for the first time after he broke up with Dear, so that’s a big part of this as well. And we get a brief moment between Peaches and Dear, our ride or die duo. Ok, that’s really it. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! :))

Grasping the back of your neck, you massaged your muscles as you yawned, your eyes set on the coffee percolating into the pot. You loved your best friend, and of course you wanted to be there for her, but her post-break up antics were beginning to wear on you as you failed to get accustomed to running on five or less hours of sleep night after night.

Leaning over the countertop, you looked through your most recent texts with your other best friend, Taehyung. The conversation, which started with him bragging about an amazing waffle he had just eaten, had turned a bit sour as you both defended opposing friends in their recent breakup.

It was hard to find common ground with the man these days, as he was on tour with the antagonist of your friends’ little drama, and you were in a constant state of being the shoulder to cry on for the dear protagonist. A sigh slipped from your lips as you scanned through the messages, the grumbling of the coffee pot sounding in the otherwise silent apartment.

You: He dumped her through text while he was away on tour. That’s fucking ridiculous and it’s cowardly.

Tae: You don’t know what’s going through his mind though.

You: There’s obviously not much going through his mind.

Tae: He’s your friend too.

You: And he broke my best friend’s heart.

Tae: I know that. I’m sorry, I hate this whole situation.

You: Me too. I’m sorry and I hate it too.

Tae: Is she at your place again?

You: No, I’m sure she will be but right now she’s out drinking with those stupid friends she has.

Tae: Oh….

You: Yeah. I’m anxious as fuck. I wanted to keep her from going out but you know, I can’t do that. She has to do what she’s gonna do.

Tae: I’m sorry to add to your stress.

Tae: She’ll be ok, Peaches.

You: No, it’s ok, you could never truly add to my stress. You’re my comfort, Tae, you know that.

Tae: I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle like this.

You: I’m sorry you are too. I’m gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, have a good night, Dearest.

Tae: Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Craving for two seconds away from the ongoing story of your friends’ turbulent romance, you scrolled up on your text conversation with Tae, a faint smile appearing on your lips at the photo of a waffle the size of the plate it sat upon, followed by a photo of Taehyung shoving a massive bite into his mouth.

Tae: It’s definitely big enough for the both of us but since you’re not here I guess I’ll have to manage it alone.

Tae: I miss sharing breakfast foods with you.

Tae: Never mind, this is so good, I’m glad you’re not here to eat it all.

Your brief moment of relief was broken when your screen changed to display a caller you were not prepared to speak to. Guilt and anxiety settled into your stomach as your breathing hitched slightly at the image of his name and photo. The contact ID reminded you of simpler times, the man pulling a silly expression with his chin tucked into his neck to give himself two of them. He had called you a few times the past couple days, but you’d consistently ignored them, trying to avoid hearing the voice of the man you considered one of your closest friends.

You almost didn’t answer again. Looking to the room your best friend slept in, a serious hangover awaiting her on the other side of slumber, your thumb pressed on the green circular button on the right side of the screen.

Pausing a moment, you shook your head before raising the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice hushed as to not wake up the girl a few rooms away. A rush of air sounded through the phone, as if the man was sighing in relief, but that was the only response you received. “Jimin,” you sighed.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, defeat coating his tone. He must not have had the strength to pretend to be ok.

Another awkward pause ensued, both of you waiting for the other to break the silence first. With another sigh, you stood up straight, turning your back to the counter as you leaned against it. “Can you say something?” You asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted lamely, you licking your lips which became quite dry suddenly.

“You called me,” you pointed out, annoyance in your words that wasn’t intentional but was true to your current mood. “You’ve been calling me for days, but you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he said shakily, and you were sure there were tears bubbling up in his eyes.

Hearing the sadness in his tone, you chewed on your bottom lip, trying to conceal your own emotions in response to his tone. You weren’t sure your feelings even mattered right then. “Well I answered,” you told him, in a sort of assurance. Assurance of what, neither of you were sure, but it allowed Jimin a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the man whispered, causing you to clench your teeth to hold back your pity and consideration for him as you turned back around to the coffee machine.

“Don’t thank me,” you told him, a slight anger behind your tone. “What do you want to say? I have errands I need to run.”

As Jimin prepared his words, going through his mind to figure out exactly why he was calling you, you patiently waited, halting your movements as your hand sat on the handle of the coffee pot. You knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, and though you were angry with him, you cared for him enough to give him that. “I just miss you,” he admitted, a crack in his voice indicating the earnest admission.

Taking in a shaky breath, you let it out in a wobbly exhale. “Of course I miss you too,” you said honestly. You refused to lie to him about that. “But I don’t want to talk to you, Jimin.”

His words tumbled out of him bitterly, but it was shrouded in frustration, which you believed to be with himself. “You were my friend first,” he said, uncertain whether he regretted the comment or not.

“I’m still your friend,” you told him adamantly, though your voice was still quiet.

“Then please talk to me,” he begged, almost desperate for the affection you normally showed him. Well, that you showed him before he broke your best friend’s heart.

“I can’t,” you told him trying to sound stern, but your exhausted state ruining your feeble attempt to put up a front.

A sniffle sounded through the phone, adding to the heaviness in your heart. “Why not?”

Holding the phone to your ear with one hand, you moved your other from the coffee pot to the top of your head as you scratched your roots in frustration and distress. “I can’t risk saying something awful to you,” you confessed through an unsteady voice. And that was it. You were angry with him, but you didn’t want to hurt him. “I love you, you’re one of my favorite people on this entire planet, Jimin,” you cried, your sniffling giving away your emotion to the man on the other side of the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he told you in a rush as you wiped away a tear.

“I see her every day,” you told Jimin in a whisper, ensuring your voice was too low for your friend to hear you if she suddenly awoke. However, you were sure the quietness of your voice was giving away that the woman he still loved was just feet away from you; just feet away from the conversation currently taking place, asleep in your spare bedroom. “I’m so mad at you, Jimin, god I’m mad at you,” your voice suddenly broke, no longer able to hold back the pent-up emotions. If Jimin’s thoughts had strayed to the girl nearby, the sound of your distressed voice surely brought him back to the present conversation; the present state of your friendship. “I need to process all of this before I talk to you because I love you and I can’t say something I’ll regret or something I don’t mean,” you explained as tears spilled over your lash line.

“I understand,” he said roughly, clearing his voice right after as if he was trying to pull himself together for your sake.

“I just-” You paused, holding your breath as you attempted to swallow more tears. “I need time so I can forgive you,” you told him sadly, clenching your fist together as you tried to steady your breathing. “I’m sorry,” you told him, your voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t apologize,” he begged, choking back a sob. “I get it, take your time,” he assured you. “I’m really sorry for doing this,” he admitted sadly. The man sounded regretful and broken, your pity for him swirling around in the whirlwind of emotions you were currently experiencing. “All of it.”

You knew that was true. You knew he still loved her. And you knew he felt immense guilt for what he did to her, you, Taehyung, your whole friend unit, but mostly her. That much was obvious.

“I do miss you,” you assured him through a small whimper, choosing to give him the reassurance rather than responding to his apology. “I won’t be mad forever.”

“I miss you too,” he told you sorrowfully. “I’ll be here whenever your feelings change.”

With that, you ended the call, leaving Jimin alone in his hotel room. Setting the phone to the counter, you wiped your face once more before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot, pouring some into the mug you had taken out earlier.

Thinking upon your conversation with Jimin, you wanted nothing more than to scream at him; tell him what an idiot he was. But you also wanted to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that he would be ok. You were my friend first. You scoffed, thinking of his remark, though a tear slid down your cheek. You wanted to be there for your friend, but how could you be when your other friend was just down the hallway, passed out after a night of trying to numb her heartache through the use of alcohol? He caused that pain. You were right to be mad at him… weren’t you?

It was almost astonishing how things, seemingly meant to be, could fall apart right before your eyes. Things weren’t always easy for Jimin and your friend, but they loved each other. One would think that love would be enough to get them through. But maybe love isn’t enough. Maybe fate isn’t enough.

Fate. Soulmates. They’re interesting concepts. Souls destined to find each other. But the rhetoric surrounding these notions don’t suggest that you’ll end up together.

But maybe if Jimin and your friend could see past everything that went wrong, they would find something worth fighting for still. It wasn’t simple, but it could be simpler for them.

Something also simple but not simple at all was you and Taehyung. More and more recently, you had been realizing how much you love him. Maybe you both were meant to be together too. Tied together by the fate of your souls. But seeing how things can fall apart, perhaps it’s more risk than it’s worth. Wasn’t it better to have Tae in your life in the role of your best friend than it was to complicate things and lose him? You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t let yourself.

You sniveled as you brought the coffee to your lips, making an attempt at a deep breath before taking a sip. Your emotions needed to be locked down by the time your friend awoke. However, that concern came too late as two arms wrapped around your middle, the surprise affection causing you to jump in start.

The presence of her limbs were tentative as he she carefully rested the side of her face against your back. Breathing out in a huff, you relaxed a bit. “Jesus,” you spoke softly, but your friend gave you no response. Alarm bells went off in your head as her body trembled just slightly against yours. “You ok?” You asked, setting the mug down carefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed against you, and as your mind went into high alert, your heart plummeted into your gut. Immediately, you turned in her arms, wrapping your own around the back of her head, holding her impossibly close to you. Sorry?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you assured her, leaving a kiss to the side of her head on the top of her hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

“My behavior last night could use an apology,” she admitted, causing you to smile slightly though she couldn’t see it with her face buried against your neck.

“Well, maybe that,” you teasingly agreed, thinking back to the few hours earlier in which you had to drive to the club she was at because she had broken down on the dance floor. All anger, if there was any to begin with, however, had completely dissolved when you pulled up outside the establishment to find her sitting against the wall in the cold, mascara stains down her cheeks as she sobbed about how much her heart hurt. “But are you even apologizing for that?” You asked her, realizing she must have heard you on the phone with her ex.

“Partially,” she cried harder. She knew the strain the breakup had put on all four of you, and though it wasn’t her fault, she still felt guilty. You knew she did. Her heart was too soft for her to not take some sort of blame.

Allowing her to cry in your arms, you moved your hand to the back of her head as you tried to make her feel safe. “You’re gonna be ok,” you whispered to her repeatedly in a gentle tone.

After a few moments, she pulled away to look at you, your thumbs moving to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, though more continued to fall, quickly replacing them.

“How is he?” She suddenly asked you, her lip trembling as she held back a sob.

Scanning her features carefully, you debated your answer. If you told her he was ok, it would make her feel pitiful for not being ok, plus it would be a lie. If you told her he wasn’t ok, it could possibly hurt her even more. Locking your eyes on her pleading ones, you sighed. “About as good as you,” you told her simply, holding back your own tears as she broke down, your arms wrapping around her shoulders to bring her close once again.

Placing a hand back against her head, you held her to you tightly. “Why does that make me feel worse?” She asked against your shoulder, her voice muffled from your sweatshirt.

“Oh babe,” you spoke softly near her ear, a tear slipping from the inner corner of your eye. “Because you still love him.”

You weren’t sure if you should have said that, but it was true. And maybe if she heard it from you, she would face those feelings. As she cried against you, your mind raced over everything that had happened that morning already. Everyone was so broken, and suddenly your mind found its way to Taehyung. Because he was the only one you wanted to talk to in that moment. He was your comfort.

But what if you didn’t have him anymore? Two people as meant to be as Jimin and the girl in your arms couldn’t even make it work. Add in your fickleness in love, and where did that leave your odds at success with Tae? You refused to break him, and you couldn’t lose him. You just couldn’t.

Hauling your groceries through your apartment, your phone started ringing in your pocket. Rushing to the kitchen, you set the bags on the floor before grabbing the device, finding Tae on the other side of the video call.

Accepting it, you waited for his face to appear on the screen before greeting him. “Hi,” you answered in a huff, Tae immediately chuckling at your hectic state.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Are you busy?”

“No,” you shook your head, dropping the phone to the counter just after speaking the word, causing the man to giggle further. “Just got home from grocery shopping,” you told him as you discarded your bag off your shoulder and onto the countertop. Taehyung hummed in response just as you propped the phone up against the side of your bag, situating it so he could see you as you stood in your kitchen.

“Did you get anything fun?” He asked, as you scanned the bags on the floor.

“Um,” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I got those cookies you like,” you spoke through your exhale, looking at him through the screen to take in his appearance. “You look handsome,” you told him, the man smiling slightly at you as you stared at his still damp hair atop his head, giving away that he had showered recently.

“You tired?” He asked suddenly, being met with your groan as you stared down at the groceries without moving. “What happened last night?”

“Well, she went out with those friends and of course it was too soon for her to be out partying and I had to pick her up at 2 am outside of the club because she had a break down,” you ranted to him as you knelt down to begin taking items out of the grocery bags.

“Jesus,” he sighed, your eyebrows raising at his response.

“What?” You questioned defensively, piling items onto the floor as you emptied all the bags.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he tried to evade your anger. “I’m assuming she’s not there right now?”

“No, she went back to her place for a bit,” you told him. “What was with the judgmental tone just now?” You pressed.

Looking up at the phone, you watched as shook his hair out with his hand. “It’s just, that’s not really fair to you, is it?”

Scoffing at him, you stood, not bothering to look at the phone as you brought some juice and a few other items to the refrigerator.

“I just mean, you deserve some rest,” he added. “A break maybe.”

“Well I don’t get a break because your best friend broke up with mine and she’s devastated,” you said coldly, shutting the fridge door and turning back to face the device.

“He’s your friend too,” he reminded you, his eyebrows raised, causing you roll your eyes.

“I know that,” you said in annoyance. “But you don’t see what she’s going through every day,” you pointed out, feeling protective over your friend and her broken heart.

Reaching to grab a box of crackers off the floor, you headed toward the cupboard as Taehyung told you, “You really should talk to him.”

Letting out a dry laugh, you nodded to yourself. “Tae, she’s my best friend,” you reminded him once more.

“I get that, but he’s your friend too,” he repeated, causing you to sigh. “He’s going through stuff too,” he added. You wanted to scoff, but if you were being honest with yourself, your anger towards Jimin had diminished significantly since speaking to him briefly that morning.

“Well,” you thought out loud, facing the man once more. Folding your arms over your ribcage, you shrugged. “I’m sure he is but he did this,” you said, trying to remain firm in your coldness.

You were met with the sound of Taehyung breathing out slowly as his eyes stayed locked on you. “That’s not really fair, he’s hurting too,” Taehyung defended his friend.

“I love Jimin,” you clarified. “But I don’t have time to think about him when she’s at my place all the time because she can’t handle being alone in her own apartment for a single night,” you told him, staring at him as you waited for him to respond. Taehyung ran his tongue over his bottom lip as you sighed. “I know Jimin is hurting, but she is too. And it’s bad, Tae,” you told him sadly.

Taehyung sighed as you stared at him through the phone, waiting for his next words. “I know, I don’t mean to be insensitive to her. I know he hurt her, I get that. I’m just here with him and he’s a fucking mess,” Tae huffed. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted sadly, giving you a defeated shrug.

Stepping closer to the phone, you shook your head slowly. “I don’t either,” you admitted. You both sat in silence for a moment, watching each other through opposite sides of the phone, your remaining groceries still waiting on the floor.

Taehyung was the first to break the silence, asking, “What are you thinking?”

Sighing, you ran your hands over your face. “I don’t even know, I’m just-” you stopped yourself, not sure if you should speak your next words; because of the implication to you and Tae.

“What is it?” He pressed, resituating himself on the bed as he sat laid across a pillow, his head supported by his hand. “Peaches,” he said gently, causing you to relent.

“Maybe they shouldn’t have ever gone from friends to more,” you thought aloud, Tae’s silence feeling heavy on your heart as he tried his best to keep his face from giving away any emotion.

“You think?” He asked simply, his feigned indifference covering up the hurt you knew was there.

“It’s just a hard leap to make,” you explained, leaning against the counter on your elbows, holding your chin in your hands. “If it doesn’t work, this is where it leaves you.” Your eyes were glued to the phone as you watched him carefully. Suddenly, you felt angry at these fucking phone companies who couldn’t make a better camera or give you a better connection to be able to read the emotions flashing through his eyes and features more closely.

“Sometimes it works though,” he told you quietly, his voice nearly shaking, almost as if he was meekly defending himself.

A lump formed in your throat that you didn’t believe you’d be able to ever swallow, knowing you were the cause of the sadness he was feeling. “But if it doesn’t, that’s a lot to lose,” you argued, your voice faint as the emotions sat in your vocal chords.

“But it can work,” he said a bit louder than his last comment, his voice more assured as he licked his lips.

“Tae,” you sighed, cocking your head to the side just slightly. You both knew you were no longer talking about your friends’ experience with moving from friends to lovers. There had never been any confirmation from either you or Taehyung, but sometimes it seemed as though there was an unspoken understanding of how you both thought of each other.

“Look at Jin,” Taehyung countered, pointing to the fact that Jin and his old friend had successfully added romance to their relationship over a year earlier. “They’re doing really well, they’re happy.”

“Tae,” you called out to him gently, attempting to swallow as your eyes shined with emotion. When he responded with his silence, his sad eyes scanning over your features carefully, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to hold in your emotion. “It’s a lot to lose,” you whispered, holding his gaze. “It’s everything to lose,” you added, blinking a few times as Taehyung looked down to the bed and began picking at the comforter. A few seconds of silence went by and you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you suddenly exhaled, feeling breathless and tired. “Dearest,” you addressed him softly.

“No, you’re right,” he said half-heartedly, keeping his eyes directed downward. “It is everything to lose,” he agreed with a small nod, looking up to you.

“Everything, Tae,” you emphasized, hoping he would recognize that he was everything to you.

“You really should talk to Jimin,” he changed the topic, his tone stronger as he seemed to easily move on from your unspoken confessions. Inhaling deeply, you nodded slowly, standing up straight before moving back to the groceries. Trying to shake yourself out of the conversation that just took place, you spotted the cookies sitting on the floor.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied before reaching for the package. “I’m not gonna save you any of these,” you teased, holding them up for him to see as his lips spread into a mildly amused grin.

“Well I didn’t save you any of the waffle so it’s only fair,” he played along, both of you pushing aside the tension between you both once more.

You would think about talking to Jimin, you meant that. But it would be hard to think of anything but Taehyung.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you sighed deeply as you tried to muster up some courage. Lowering your digit to the phone screen before you could change your mind, you nervously raised the device to your ear.

The rings were deafeningly loud as you awaited the answer, running your hand through your hair and chewing on your bottom lip; nervous gestures.

“Hey,” Jimin greeted suddenly, his voice appearing breathless as if he rushed to the phone.

“Why’d you do it?” You asked him, skipping greetings and pleasantries. A moment of silence encased the phone call before Jimin sighed.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore,” he said, a sob following the words as if he had been sitting on the edge of a break down for days; weeks. The confusion and heartbreak in his tone shattered your heart, filling you with guilt for evading his calls and texts for so long. “I don’t know if there was even a valid reason and I regret it so much.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” you admitted, thinking back upon their relationship and what they had revealed to you.

“Me either,” he barely spoke through his cracked voice. “I don’t know, it’s like, as secure as we made each other feel, it was like we could never fully rid ourselves of our own insecurities,” he explained through his cries. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” He asked as he held back tears.

“Oh Jimin,” you sighed, realizing what drove them apart. And suddenly, you had the urge to wrap them both up in hugs because in an instant, there was nowhere to place the blame you were previously placing on Jimin. It was both their faults, and also no one’s fault. Jimin had made the wrong move, your best friend didn’t make enough moves, and yet they were both just victims to their own intrusive perceptions of themselves.

“Our own shit just got in the way and-” he let out a harsh breath. “When I sent the text I immediately regretted it and I was just trying to convince myself that it was for the best,” he sniffled. “And I was about to take it all back and beg for forgiveness, fuck, I was thinking about leaving tour and coming back to her so we could fix whatever the fuck was causing all of this shit between us,” he paused as his cries took over.

“Why didn’t you take it all back?” You asked him.

You collected up the patience as you gave him time the time to think back on the breakup. “All of a sudden, she just stopped fighting,” he said sadly. “We were always fighting for each other, and she finally stopped. And I don’t know, I think it kind of cemented the idea that I did the right thing. It hurt, and it felt wrong, but she accepted the breakup and gave up.”

“Fuck, Jimin,” you held back your tears at the defeat in his voice. “She didn’t stop fighting for you, she just didn’t have enough fight left in her to take on your insecurities any longer,” you told him.

“What’s even the difference?” He asked. “Whether she stopped fighting willfully, or whether I took the fight out of her,” he scoffed, “I became too much for her.”

“I don’t think you could ever be too much for her,” you assured him. “Look, do you want me to speak to you compassionately or truthfully?” You asked, the question being met with a dry laugh.

“You’re always compassionate, but I want the truth,” he told you, you nodding though he couldn’t see it.

“You fucked up,” you told him, “but also I don’t think this is entirely your fault,” you quickly added. With a sigh, you thought out loud. “How do I word this?” you pondered. “You two are two of the most incredible people I’ve ever known and yet, you guys can’t fucking see it.”

Jimin scoffed, making you roll your eyes. “I said I was speaking truthfully, so just listen to me and try to actually hear what I’m saying for once,” you told him, the man agreeing to listen by giving you his silence. “You see how incredible she is and that makes you insecure because you don’t see yourself living up to what she deserves. And it’s the same for her, she doesn’t think she can be what you need and what you want, despite you assuring her constantly that she’s everything to you. And that holds you both back from being exactly what the other person wants,” you paused for a moment, letting the words permeate Jimin’s brain. “If you two could just be who you are and give each other that version of yourselves, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you explained to him. “She fell in love with you, she just wants you.”

“Fuck,” he sobbed, the pained understanding echoing in his single expression. “But I fucked it up, I hurt her and I don’t think we can fix it this time.”

“I truly do not understand how you can be so wrong about this all the fucking time,” you groaned. “She is in love with you,” you told him, enunciating the words carefully. “You hurt her, and you hurt her bad, but she hasn’t given up on you,” you told him. “Whether she admits it or not, she’s waiting for you to fix it,” you informed the man. “So fucking fix it. Stop holding yourself back and just be happy, Jimin.”

“I don’t know if-”

“Be happy,” you interrupted him. “Stop being so idiotic and just fight for your happiness. Fight for hers,” you begged him, frustration over both of your friends’ moronic actions getting the best of your patience. “You both deserve each other because you’re both the best,” you went on, trying to convey to the man how strongly you felt he and the girl you both adored belonged with each other.

“She still loves me?” He asked, being met with another one of your groans. “Sorry, I just, she does?”

“Do you still love her?” You asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to speak it out loud so maybe he could truly hear it.

“With all of me,” he admitted sadly, a sniffle following the words, allowing you to visualize the tears running down his cheeks in that moment.

“Do you really think that’s one sided?” You asked him.

“I really don’t know,” he admitted, a small sigh leaving your lips.

“It’s so simple but you guys make it so complicated,” you complained, the man giving you the slightest chuckle in the form of a single exhale. “You both lost the fight, but you didn’t lose the fight for each other, you lost it to yourselves. Does that make sense?” You asked.

“I think so?” He said, thought it came out as a question.

“You guys were defeated by your own insecurities. It’s not like you chose to give up on her, just like she didn’t choose to give up on you. You both just feel hopeless right now, that’s-”

“It’s not hopeless?” He asked, and despite the negative comment, there was a renewed optimism in his tone that lifted your lips into a faint smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s not hopeless.” You both sat in silence, nothing but your breaths sounding into the phone receivers. “I’ll talk to her,” you assured him. “If I get any sense that she doesn’t want you anymore, I’ll let you know and I’ll be full of apologies and you can hate me forever,” you told him.

“I could never hate you,” he scoffed.

“But if I’m right, which I know I am, Jimin, I know it,” you assured him, “then you need to find that hope and bring it back to her.”

With a sigh, Jimin agreed with a simple, “ok.”

“Ok,” you replied. “Fix it.”

“I hope I can,” he spoke softly, his voice still sad, but much less defeated than the start of the conversation.

“Hope is enough right now,” you told him.

“Thank you for finally talking to me,” he said, a hint of a smile evident in his voice.

“Thank Tae,” you corrected. “He talked me into it.”

“He really is the only one who can cut through your stubbornness, huh?” He asked teasingly, you chuckling lightly in response.

“I guess he is,” you agreed.

“Speaking of simple but making it complicated though,” Jimin noted, drawing upon your earlier words, and reflecting them back on you and your relationship with Taehyung.

“Tae and I aren’t complicated,” you negated Jimin’s observation, only to be met with a disbelieving laugh. “We aren’t,” you remained firm. “I know it seems complicated but, when it comes down to it, it’s the simplest thing ever.”

“Ok, break it down for me then,” Jimin asked for your elaboration. “How is it simple?”

“Because at the end of the day, we just love each other. So much so, that we’ll do anything to keep one another in each other’s lives,” you explained. “And that makes my relationship the simplest, easiest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Jimin hummed in return, thinking over your words. “That does sound simple, I guess,” he agreed. “But are you happy?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the question. Were you? Were you fulfilled with Tae’s role in your life as you went and dated other people, finishing each escapade craving for more, anxious for the night to be over so you could call Taehyung and hear his voice as he expressed whatever was on his mind? The truth was, no one was or ever would be Taehyung. No matter how great they were, no matter how smart, kind, funny, genuine they were, they would never be him. But Taehyung was in your life, and maybe that was enough. So, were you happy? Turns out that’s the most complicated question you could have been asked.

“This isn’t about me,” you told Jimin with a small smile.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy,” you said assuredly. That was true, for sure.

“But is that happy?” Jimin pressed, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“It’s happy enough,” you told him. “But one of us has to be happy, right?” You turned it back on him.

Jimin breathed out your name, but you dismissed him. “This is about you right now,” you told him. “If you fix things on your end, then we can entertain a discussion about my happiness, ok?” You asked him, though it wasn’t really a topic up for debate which he understood.

“Deal,” he agreed with a light chuckle.

Happiness, you thought. What was it? You were sure it was different for everyone. Just as you were sure it comes from many different sources. For you, though, your main source of happiness was seeing Taehyung smile. His happiness mattered most in terms of your relationship. And if he was happy being your friend and having you as his, then you were happy. Happy enough.

If he wasn’t happy… well, something would have to be done about that.

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dimigexwrites · 3 years

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Whumptober, Day 6 - SaiIno

Prompt: Touch and Go (bruises, touch starved, hunger) Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Sai/Ino Rating: T Words: 941 Notes: This wasn't a request, but I wanted to write these two. This is a background piece from Healing Hands (a YamaSaku story that's in progress)

Candlelight danced on the wall, throwing the room in shades of shadow and soft light. The highlights on Ino’s cheek bones were lovely, shifting as she continued to tell her story. Sai tried to focus on the words, but the sound of her voice was like a lullabye. She was talking about her day, and he only managed to make snippets of the conversation fit into his memory. There was something about Sakura, but that wasn’t unusual. The women had become friends in the past few weeks.

After a minute, Sai sat up straighter and forced his mind back to the task at hand. “Wait, what was that about Anbu?”

“Sakura said she’d referred a couple to T&I for counseling,” Ino continued, tipping her head to the side. She caught her crimson lip between perfect white teeth, then managed a weak laugh. “I was afraid that you were one of them since you hadn’t been around in a while.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Sai amended with a shake of his head. “I’ve been on a mission.”

Ino hummed and took a sip of the wine that she’d poured them hours ago. Sai’s remained untouched on the table beside him. “I know,’ Ino sighed, placing her glass next to his. “But, it could have been you.”

“Unlikely, Sakura didn’t say anything at my physical,” Sai reasoned. He shifted position and kept his face carefully impassive. “I’m sure she would have said something, if she was worried.”

Another soft hum left Ino’s throat, but the woman didn’t seem aware of it. Her head was tipped to the side, studying Sai through the fall of blond hair that covered one eye. “You’re right, but I was worried all the same.”

Something warm and foreign opened in Sai’s chest, a light feeling of giddiness that he’d never experienced. “I’m sor—” Sai lost his words in the soft brush of Ino’s lips against his. He sat stunned for half a second, then his mind caught up with his body. Oh. Ohhhh.

Sai let out a shallow breath, suddenly aware of Ino in a way that he’d never been cognizant before. Her hands splayed on each side of his hips, and her pale eyes inches from his, waiting for a response. He exhaled in a nervous chuckle and continued his earlier thought. “I’m sorry to worry you. It wasn’t me.”

“But, it could have been,” Ino countered without moving away.

The woman’s presence made it difficult to think of a response, but Sai wasn’t sure that Ino wanted one. The expression on her face was foreign and dizzying. He found himself wishing he’d drank the wine without knowing why. The second kiss lasted longer, trapping Sai’s breath in his lung to the point of pain. When they broke apart, he realized that Ino had moved closer. One hand rested against his chest when she blew out a soft breath. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Sai wanted to assure Ino that she wouldn’t lose him, that he was right there, but the words tasted false. He’d seen enough people die to know that tomorrow wasn’t promised, especially in his line of work. Ino knew that too; she’d lost more than most. Carefully, Sai raised one hand to brush across Ino’s cheek. “You won’t,” he answered, suddenly understanding why people lied.

Weight settled on Sai’s thighs and his arms closed around Ino’s back with a familiarity that left him reeling. If her mouth was warm against his, her body felt like an inferno. He lost track of time, of anything but the flutter light kisses that brushed over his jaw. It could have been seconds or hours when Ino shifted and pain exploded from Sai’s side. He grit his teeth and tried to smooth his features, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Ino pulled away, chest rising and falling distractingly as she caught her breath. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Sai answered, a heartbeat too fast to be honest.

Ino’s lips slid into a frown, brought her hand back to the position it had been moments before, and pressed. Sai hissed through clenched teeth. Frowning, Ino sat back and undid the first four buttons of his shirt. She pulled the fabric aside and his name left her mouth in a chiding gasp. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. It’ll heal in a few days.” Sai watched the horror dawning on Ino’s face with a sort of morbid fascination.

Ino traced across the bare skin with more tenderness than desire, following the angry red and black marks on Sai’s pale skin. The bruise covered almost the entire left side of his chest, a deep purple blotch that centered just below the pectoral muscle. Angry streaks sprayed across the skin in every direction, fading the further away from the point of impact. Ino traced one that wrapped around his back. “Have you been to the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” Sai repeated, catching Ino’s hand and guiding it away from the mark. “In a week or two, you won’t even know that it happened.”

The woman frowned and moved to sit beside Sai on the couch. The loss of her weight and warmth left him feeling disoriented. “You should still get it checked out.”

“I will,” he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

Ino brushed her hair behind one ear, then nodded toward the movie that they’d been planning to watch. “It’s getting late, we better get started.”

The woman spoke as if the past fifteen minutes hadn’t changed everything between them. Sai didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and tried to figure out what happened and why.

#Whumptober21 #No.6 #Bruises #Fandom: Naruto #Medium: Fanfiction #Sai/Ino #saiino #Inosai #Healing Hands drabble

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

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tis the damn season

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

a/n: this is the end and i’ll need therapy because dear god i hate it when any of my projects end. thank you so much for supporting it and reading. hope you enjoy xx

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me ...

There was a sea of people, suitcases rolling everywhere, people hugging their loved ones and there she was, straight out of the airplane holding her worn out, beat up suitcase with her name tag on it. It was a cold day, one of those that reminded her of being by the window with her mother doodling on the fogged glass as the snow laid on the green grass of her childhood home yet there was no snow, just cold. She knew to walk through the doors that led to the arrivals but she stood back, almost as if the cold froze her to her spot. Returning to her hometown meant looking at the road not taken before, the road she couldn’t have taken. Nevertheless, in the midst of chaos of people coming back home for the holidays, she ended up being almost dragged into the arrivals hall.

Immediately she spotted Wanda and Pietro dressed in thick winter coats and hats who were holding a sign with her name. She put on her best photographic smile, walking over to the twins who rushed over to hug her tightly, something she missed dearly when she was away.

- Finally! - the brown haired girl hugged her best friend tightly. - You can never leave me again for this long.

- It’s only for a few weeks, Wan.

- Let me savour it. - she loosened up the hug, handing Y/N’s bags to Pietro who just shrugged off and started walking to the car. - I have so much to tell you. Remember Elizabeth, the girl I copied off for Maths? Well, she got married but she had a baby like 5 months later which doesn’t adds up.

- Shotgun wedding. - Pietro added. - It was so tacky, absolutely awful. I fell asleep for at least five hours.

- Very good gift bags though. I took an extra one for you.

The three walked onto the cold town she thought she’d never have the change to return to. The moment she woke up from what she thought was certain death, her father and the chief of police were already telling her they had set up a witness protection program for her, all the way in Massachusetts. It was nice, she liked the weather, the warm fall colours during October but she didn’t felt at home. She had a new name, new story, in this one she didn’t even have her father not that in reality she ever did. She sat in the passenger seat of Wanda’s car, listening to all the news she seemed to have kept locked inside her mind for when she returned. Her mind as going haywire about what she wanted to know about, she wanted to know about Bucky.

She knew he couldn’t be happy if he had discovered it which she guessed by now he had. Several times her father had told her he’d employed several men to try and find her and had even told her to stay away until Christmas. Of course the only reason he wanted her around was so she could drive him from the bar after he drank his weight in beer but she couldn’t help but do it, she promised her mum she would take care of her dad no matter what happened. Yet, she still wanted to know about Bucky. She wanted to know if he hated her, if he had put a hit on her head. It kept her awake at night, every night, bugging her like a bad memory.

- Are you sure you wanna stay at your dad’s? You can stay with me and Vision.

- Of course she doesn’t want to stay with you. What kind of name is Vision anyway? - Pietro rolled his eyes.

- HIS PARENTS WERE HIPPIES. We’ve had this discussion. - Wanda playfully threw a empty water bottle at his brother. - Don’t you want to spend Christmas with someone who will actually be in the house during Christmas?

- I promised my mother, Wan.

- C’mon. If it’s because me and Vision will be there, there’s no problem. Remember Michael? He still wants to go out with you.

- I don’t want to go out with him.

- Yeah, Wanda. Y/N liked James Barnes. - Pietro muffled in a laugh, receiving a death glare from his sister. - What? It’s true.

- Y/N does not like someone who wants her dead. Don’t you remember when one of his friends was on campus and he had a gun?

- What? It’s just like Mr and Mrs Smith and for one, it’s something I’m interested in. Good for her.

- What about you, Pietro? Where’s your girlfriend? - Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as Wanda parked in front of Y/N’s childhood home.

- Which one?

- You’re a lost cause. - she opened the passenger’s door, going around to retrieve her suitcase.

- Call me if you’re alone during Christmas or Christmas Eve. Vision and I will come and set up a dinner with you.

- It won’t be necessary.

- Just call me, okay?

- Okay, Wan. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The red head smiled before driving away. Y/N stood on the cobblestones of her sidewalk waving goodbye before it was time to go meet her father. Her relationship with him was at best strained. When they didn’t find the shipment they wanted, he subconsciously blamed her along with constantly talking about how Edward could’ve died but he was luckily alive with a limp. She wished he had more than a limp but saying anything against his ward was absurd and completely forbidden. She was almost sure he’d spend more time at the hospital with him than her. Nevertheless, she was here and as she stepped into her porch, there were no Christmas lights, no garlands.

Flashbacks invaded her mind of sitting on the wooden stairs as her mother wrapped every surface she could in garland, wrapping the lights around the columns while her dad worked overtime. The two would then sit on the stairs with cups of hot cocoa, Y/N always preferring white chocolate hot cocoa with pink marshmallows and watched the lights go up for the first time. Every year she expected there to be lights after her mum was gone but they never showed. One year she tried to put them up but she soon came to realise the lights that held whatever sweet memories an object could hold were lost and gone. Everything was gone. She didn’t know why she expect it to be here.

Her keys jiggled as she opened the door to her childhood home. It was always messy, dusty, her mother’s yellow coat still hanging on the coat hanger the day she returned from the hospital. The house was a snapshot of that day, never changing, her father didn’t allow her. She knew why, she always knew why, she just refused to say it, she refused to say whom her father believed was the cause of her mother’s death. She refused to say it because she knew who it was and it wasn’t who her father thought it was.

- Dad? - she left her suitcase against the entry wall, walking further into her house and into the kitchen, liquor bottles on the floor near the chair were her father was sitting, still in his uniform, shirt tightened over his beer belly. - Hey dad, how are you?

- Y/N, darling, can you get some some of the liquor from the cabinet?

- Sure, dad. - she turned around, reaching into the cabinet, right at the end of it where she kept a bottle with water which tricked him all the time. - How’s the precinct?

- I think you know.

- You shouldn’t make catching him your target. Your target should be to protect innocent civilians.

- What would you know about it? You failed us.

- I’m sorry. - she looked down at her shoes. - You know ... I smell snow.

- You can’t smell snow, Y/N. There’s no such thing.

- C’mon... - she held his hands in hers. - We can make some hot cocoa, like mum used to do.

- Your mother would’ve been ashamed of you. - she shook his hands away from her, pointing his finger at her. - You caused another officer to get shot, you have no integrity. I shouldn’t have put you in the case.

- I didn’t. - she took a step back. - I told you I didn’t and you don’t believe me. Barnes didn’t try to shot me and Edward stepped in, you saw the report, the bullets don’t match up. He tried to shot at Barnes.

- He’s the most experienced shot I know, if he wanted to have gotten Barnes, he would’ve.

- He would’ve if I hadn’t stepped in front of it.

She turned around, tears watering her eyes and making her vision blurry as she walked further an further away. She kept walking, away from her house, away from her street until she was the furthest from it she could. The wind blasted her hair in different direction, freezing through her thin, useless jackets. She could smell it was going to snow, she could always smell it, the smell of freshly fallen and there she was, having forgotten her jacket. It was late into the night, no establishment was open and all she could wear were her boots against the slight frozen layer upon the cobblestones. She should feel hurt but she found herself in a numbness of state, the image of waking up in a hospital room all by herself much clear in her mind. She continued to walk until a purple light lit up her face.

She looked upwards, the title of the old establishment she used to work in blasted into purple light. Now, she was a rational being, a true believer of think before you act but she was cold and seemingly no longer held fear of her own death. Life is ephemeral and if she was meant to die, if fate was a thing then let it be. She went through the bodyguards entering the club that despite being almost Christmas Eve was filled with people.

Meanwhile James was leaning against one of his club’s walls, cigarette hanging from his lips. Filthy habit he knew, but he did it when he stressed. It soothed him, yet it seemed like all self destroying things soothed him. His eyes lingered against the empire he had built which now seemed so stupid. All material things and a few kills to remember him by when he died. He wondered if they would even remember or if when he breathe his last breathe, he’d be erased as quickly as he came to be. No one remembers what came in between and James did not create the business, he just perfected it. Nothing surprised this old dog anymore until tonight. He thought his brain was playing tricks on him as he saw her pass through the doors, hair covered in a knitted hat yet as quickly as he saw her enter, the quicker he saw her leave.

- Steve, follow her. - he immediately told the blonde who was happily chatting with his newly wedded bride. - Tell me where she stops. You better not lose her out sight or you won’t have any children.

Y/N was fast out, the moment she felt the warmth of the club. She no longer knew what she was doing, much too lost in whatever pain mixed with unresolved feelings she had. Nevertheless, she was out, and immediately calling Wanda. She was out on a date but offered to stay at her house and that was enough. She needed to sleep, consider what she was doing here and then return to Massachusetts. She could get used to being Elizabeth, the orphan girl who went to Harvard. She could be Betty, she could be someone on paper. She just didn’t know how to be Y/N anymore. She had to go back.

Wanda’s new place wasn’t thankfully too far and per usual she hide the key behind her petunia vase. Inside it looked exactly like what she believed her best friend’s dream home looked like but she deserved it. She deserved Vision, she deserved all this happiness and she wished she could stay behind and watch it.

She stripped out of her frosted clothes, walking into the bathroom to take a warm shower. “It’s no use dwelling on the past, sweetheart. It’s already gone.” her mother used to tell her and she guessed she was right, what use was it for her to wonder what if? There was no what if. She was a dead woman if he knew, but Y/N was already dead even if she didn’t. The last name ended with her, the genetic tree of her ancestors ended with her and she guessed it fit, destroyer of trees and blood.

She felt the warm water drip down her body and onto the porcelain floor of the shower, the foam making the air smell like wild daisies on a summer afternoon. It felt warm, it felt nice, thoughtless, to be only the essence of life without the obligation of thought. Just seeing, living, greatly dissolving into the fabric of nature. Stepping out of the shower, thought evaded. She was expecting to see him, to look at him one last time before she was gone. Yet again, what use was to look into someone who’d she betrayed? It was no use.

She involved herself in the white fluffy towel, walking into the kitchen to rummage through whatever Wanda and Vision had. Wanda was always a fun of tropical fruit so she knew she probably kept something yummy for her.

- You’ve always toyed with probability, petal. - she turned around once she head that voice, heart clenched yet beating faster at the same time. - It is very dangerous for you and for you friend. Easy lock, windows open.

- If you’re going to do it, please do it outside where we won’t stain my friend’s apartment.

- Oh petal ... - he took the gun from the holster which was always close to his legs. She had been shot before, she didn’t feel it, it didn’t hurt. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound but the only sound that came was his gun hitting the floor. She opened her sides, watching as he slide the gun over to her, it reaching her feet. - I thought we were done with you being afraid of me.

- James ...

- Bucky. - he corrected her, still standing on the opposite side of the room. She stood there motionless but he started walking up to her. - You think I want to kill you.

- The worse thing I have ever did was what I did to you. Besides, Wanda saw one of your friends on campus with a gun.

- We always carry guns, petal. The question is what have you done to me?

- I’ve betrayed you.

- Have you? Because I don’t remember my shipment being intercepted not that it would, I lied to you.

- You lied to me?

- I never doubted your ... your affections towards me but I did doubt your loyalty to your father. I was surprised.

- Were you?

- No, I lied. What I was surprised about what that you took a bullet meant for me. What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve died.

- I don’t know.

- You ran away from me. I wanted ... I ...

- What did you want, Bucky? - she cocked her head to the side, examining him and whatever his thoughts were doing to him.

- I wanted you. I wanted to have been by your side when you took a bullet for me, I wanted you in my bed, not in my bar I hate watching other men ogle you. I wanted you to marry me and carry my child. I wanted to give you everything I have and some more, all of what I have and all of what I don’t have. I wanted you, the captain’s daughter. I adored you.

- You don’t know me.

- I know you. You’re a terrible liar, can’t lie to save your life. Your heart ... - he stepped closer and closer to her. - Is on your sleeve. You might not know who you are or you might forget it but when you do remember I control everything but you control me.

- Bucky ...

- I just wanted to see you’re alive and well. I’ll leave and promise you’ll never see me again if you want.

- You didn’t ask me what I wanted.

- What do you want, petal?

- I want you to kiss me.

- I know where that ends, petal. - he smirked, hand searching for hers. - Very tempting of you to do those things to me.

5 YEARS LATER

It was cold, the sort of cold Bucky had began to hate, the sort of cold he felt whenever she left early in the morning to go to work but it was the sort of cold which mixed with sweet memories. Nevertheless, there he was, at another meeting, hearing whatever bullshit excuses Rumlow had to give him. Steve had been the one to suggest taking his territory rather than just off him yet taking care of a damaged business with an even more damaged partner was doing his head in. He stood against the new furnished couches of the bar, drinking his scotch as he heard Rumlow ramble and ramble about how he had good ideas. He had ideas, just not good ones. An hour late he was leaving the godless establishment to return home. He walked home as he always did during winter, watching the newly put up Christmas lights in the streets. His apartment wasn’t too far, having sold his previous one once Y/N moved back to Massachuts to buy one near her and then selling it once she graduated to buy another one. It was close to the bar and she liked it that way, constantly begging him not to go during Christmas and stay with her but business was business. Entering his home, the electrical fireplace was on and his heavily pregnant wife was barefoot, walking side to side and jumping into her dress.

- Stop jumping, you’ll fall and hurt yourself. - Bucky smirked, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her body. - And we all know you can’t get up when you fall.

- So funny. - she playfully slapped him on the chest. - It’s almost as if this wasn’t your fault.

- How’s our little boy?

- How do you know it’s not a girl? - she smirked. - Nice try, Bucky but you’ll only know when the baby is born.

- You’re killing me here.

- Come on, we have to go to the twin’s baby shower.

- Explain to me again why did your friend decided to do a baby shower after the babies were born?

- So that she would tell us what size clothes they are. - she gave him a soft kiss, leaning against him. - You won’t be your usual grumpy, scary self. You’ll be good to the other dads.

- What will I tell the other dads when they ask me what I do?

- You’re a business man. - she straightened his suit’s lapel. - Isn’t that somewhat true?

- You’re lucky I adore you.

- Come on.

Bucky found it hard mixing both of their lifestyles, but he did it for her. God, he had done so much for her and he only wanted to do more for her. If someone had told him he’d beg the police captain to go to his wedding just to make Y/N happy, he would’ve laughed, yet Y/N deserved it. His father had pretty much set her aside once it came to light she was hanging out with him and he couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. He didn’t have many friends and those he had had completely relationships to the friends Y/N had, nevertheless he tried. He wanted to be the best husband and the best father he could possibly be. Bucky would lay sleepless every single night wondering how he’d do it. How would he go to profession day and tell kids about his job? He couldn’t or he’d traumatise them. Nevertheless, he worried. Y/N was going to be a great mum, the best mum even but him? He wasn’t so sure.

They reached Wanda’s place which was decorated with all sorts of baby blue decorations. 2 boys in one go. If Bucky suddenly had two kids, he would’ve had a heart attack. He barely knew he could be a good dad for one, imagine two.

- Oh my god, you’re huge. - Wanda said as she opened the door. - How come it’s not out yet?

- The baby’s stubborn like his father.

- More like his mother. - Wanda added. - Come see the twins.

There were two bassinets on the living room where Vision was frantically rocking them side to side, Pietro sat in the couch on his phone while most of the guests were still to arrive. Y/N looked over the bassinets, the two babies laying there wide awake which probably explained why Vision looked so overwhelmed.

- Why are they so big? - Y/N whispered to Bucky. - I can’t push something that big out of me.

- Well, think positive, at least you’re only pushing one out of you and not two.

- So that’s Billy and that’s Tommy. I think. - Wanda cocked her head to the side. - Well, Billy replies to his name and Tommy doesn’t.

- Can I hold one?

- Sure. Bucky, do you wanna hold one? - Wanda asked and before he could reply, the redhead had already put a baby in his arms. James hadn’t held a baby, he didn’t know how to hold a baby yet there it was, a baby. - Aw, look at that Billy or Tommy likes you.

- We’re still working on what colour we should dress one another so we know which one is which. - Vision added. - Pietro is still upset we didn’t name one Pietro.

- Y/N you will name your baby Pietro if it’s a boy.

- Absolutely not. - she said as she cooed the baby in her arms. - They’re so beautiful. Congratulations.

- Yeah ... - Bucky handed back the baby to Wanda. - Do you think I can use your balcony?

- Sure.

Y/N furrowed her browns, putting the baby back in his crib before excusing herself. She gave Bucky some time before following him and there he was, leaned against the wall, cigarette hanging from the middle of his lips as his wild blue eyes observed the night sky.

- It’s a filthy habit. - she walked into the balcony. - What’s stressing you?

- Nothing’s stressing me, petal.

- You always smoke when you’re stressed so let it out. What’s wrong? Is it Rumlow?

- Rumlow wishes he could stress me.

- Bucky.

- You’re pregnant, petal. Like ... really, really pregnant.

- We’ve established that. - she looked at her own bump. - You thought it was a food baby?

- I don’t know, looking at Wanda’s kids ... we will have a baby in less than a month and I am going to be a father and I will screw it up. I’m not ready.

- You’re stressed about being a dad? - she wrapped her arms around his neck, soft kind eyes looking at him. - Buck, everyone’s stressed with their first baby. You’re going to be a great dad.

- I should get a new job.

- Not this again.

- Yes. I need to get a new job so the baby ...

- Bucky, you don’t need a new job. - she interrupted him. - Your job won’t put the baby in danger because I won’t let it happen. I don’t know if you remember but I’m very good at deflecting bullets.

- Deflecting? - he laughed. - You’re very good at catching them.

- Either way, you’re going to be a great dad. Steve’s a great dad and he went parachuting without a parachute like an idiot. You take a parachute, at least.

- I see your point.

- James Barnes, in exactly five months you’re gonna be as good as a father as you could be. - she leaned against him, taking her opportunity to take the cigarette away from his mouth and tossing it out the balcony. Her eyes followed up to his face, intently on something. - What?

- I smell snow.

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the-alice-of-hearts · 3 years

Text

Kids again Ch 1

AO3 Next>

Ch 1: She likes to drink her coffee black

Summary:

Soulmates come in twos; At least they usually did

98% of the world's population has a soulmate bond. Of those, 80% have platonic bonds. Only .2% of all soul bonds connected more than two people.

Having three soulmates is exactly the kind of cosmic joke the universe would play on a True Wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous. If it gives a boy who still had a lot of life to live a second chance, well that is still in Creation's domain, now isn't it?

Marinette loved the boy in her heart, and the other two links were twisted around each other in a way only romantic pairs could be. If only she could have loved him enough to save him /||\ Jason wanted, more than anything, to protect the girl who his heart belonged to; protect her from the harness of the world, and then from what he had become.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves here, let's start at the beginning.

Ch 1: She likes to drink her coffee black

The first time Jason looked into his Soulmate’s life she was happy. Whoever she was, she seemed happy. The first strong emotion that he got from her was pure bliss and a sense of major accomplishment. The first time he got to see through her eyes he was eight years old. She was rushing out the door waving goodbye to smiling parents, a thermos in one hand and a cute pink backpack in the other. He cherished this memory like no other. There were other strong emotions from the bond, most of them were similar. She was happy and seemed strong. After that, Jason tried not to let his emotions overwhelm him; he didn’t want the girl with the happy laugh and the pink backpack to see where he was.

He knew he didn’t do as good a job as he tried. The feeling of worry in his heart that he knew came from her told him so. He could feel when she worried about him not eating enough, so he tried not to go to bed hungry too often. He could feel when she would panic because she hadn’t felt anything from him for too long. He would go and listen to the musicians playing on the streets; trying desperately to feel as happy as he could for her.

When he had gotten stabbed defending another kid from a man with a knife, he wasn’t sure if his panic was his own or hers. He felt like he was watching someone die though, so he was pretty sure it was her panic feeding into his own pain. He made sure to take care of himself so that she didn’t think he had died.

This went on for a long time; him looking in and seeing small bits of her life and later try to send good things back as much as he could. He figured out she was from Paris when the Eiffel Tower was in so many of the small glimpses he saw. So, he stole an English to French dictionary. He then found a bookstore, he could steal from it pretty easily, that had a copy of a book filled with his favourite fairy tales in French. He learned French, then he took it as his language elective. Slowly, he started to understand what she was saying in his visions of her. She had a small number of friends, but they were pretty close. She still worried about him far too often, but he noticed that on days where she was worried she would go out of her way to be as happy as possible. It was like she was trying to make him warm from the inside. And on those days, when was cold and hungry and desperate for a safe place to sleep, he would hold on to her happiness and promise himself that he would be happy for her tomorrow.

When he became Robin he was worried about her finding out. What if Bruce made him stop being Robin? For this reason, he stayed quiet about his Soulmate. Most bonds were platonic anyways, so he just didn’t mention that his bond was romantic.

He hoped she would at least get to see happier emotions from him. He knew that she had to have seen some of where he grew up, but he wanted to believe that maybe she would now get to see these happier moments. Jason vowed to live every happy moment to its fullest.

He hoped she got to see Alfred teaching him to cook, and him learning how to bake all her favourite pastries. He hoped she saw Dick teaching him gymnastics, seeing all the times he fell but got back up. He wanted her to see him and Dick goofing off and the times they would go sneak off behind Bruce’s back when he told them not to skip patrol to do just that and get ice cream in the suits. He hoped she saw him and Bruce sitting in the library reading, the two of them watching movies together when he was too sick to patrol. He wanted her to see that he had a family that loved him now. He hoped that she wouldn’t worry about him so much anymore; that he wouldn’t be a burden on her anymore.

He thought he had hidden this from his new family, but somehow Alfred always knew everything. Jason almost panicked when Alfred broached the conversation while he was teaching Jason to make macarons

“Does your Soulmate have a favourite flavor, Master Jason?”

“I- uh,” he tried to come up with a way to deny it, but knew that he would never get something past Alfred. Still he tried, “What do you mean?”

Alfred smiled, not looking away from measuring the ingredients. “Growing up, my best friend had a Soulmate that grew up in a troubled home. He told me he knew when she was in a better place because she started pouring emotions into everything she did so that he could feel, as well as see, that she was safe.” Alfred turned back to the cabinet looking at their ingredients. “I just thought that you seemed to be doing something similar. I apologize if I misread the situation.”

Jason stood there thinking for a moment. He looked around and listened to make sure Bruce wasn’t about to walk into the kitchen. He moved closer to Alfred so he could whisper, ”Her name is Marinette. I heard one of her friends call her Netté, though.” When Alfred didn’t stop him from talking he kept going. “She likes matcha ones best, but she always tells her mom that she likes strawberry ones because they're less work.”

That was all that was said. They finished making the cookies and Alfred packaged them up for him to have in his room. Jason was pretty sure that Alfred knew he was hoarding food, but so long as no one stopped him and probably even if they did he would keep doing it. Living on the streets taught him that a next meal isn’t guaranteed, and even if it was unlikely he would ever go hungry under Alfred’s watchful eyes, he still wanted a back up plan if he needed to make a break for it.

The next time someone asked about her was about a year later on a stakeout in Blüdhaven with Dick. Bruce had gotten scared when Jason got hurt and wouldn’t let him patrol in Gotham until his injuries had completely healed. Jason got antsy and ran away to crash on Dick’s couch until Bruce let up on the restriction.

Dick had just sat down next to him on the building they were on. “Hey, Little Wing”

Jason turned to him. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever try to send your soulmate messages?”

Jason’s throat closed up in terror. Dick kept talking as though he hadn’t noticed Jason tensing up and planning an escape route. “It’s just, sometimes I see what he’s seeing and I don’t know how to tell him that I want to look out for him, ya know? And his dad is kinda distant, but his mom loves him a lot. I don’t know though, because sometimes I can feel dread coming from my soul link but without any glimpses into what he’s seeing. Alfred thought maybe I have a platonic soulmate that is experiencing dread. Lately I’ve only had happy and joyful feelings so I’m worried that if I do have a platonic soulmate that maybe something bad happened to them. I have no idea how I would be able to send a message to a platonic soulmate though, so I wondered if maybe you knew?”

Jason had slowly gotten more confused while listening to his brother. He hadn’t considered the possibility of having more than one soulmate. “Wait, you mean you can have more than one Soulmate? I thought Soulmates were pairs?”

Dick shrugged. “My parents explained it being more like pieces of the same picture. Most bonds are platonic and platonic bonds are more likely to be someone who you grew up near, so you would have similar experiences with similar emotional responses. That’s why people don’t always notice them, but when you have a romantic bond that you can actually see through each other's eyes, you notice, yeah?”

Jason nodded. “So you have a romantic Soulmate, but think you also have a platonic bond?”

Dick ran a hand through his hair staring out at the windows they were watching, “Yeah, I don’t know how to describe it though. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I have three soulmates. The third is a lot quieter though. My mom laughed once and told me maybe it wasn’t that I had three soulmates, but that my soulmates had another link to each other.”

“Does that happen?”

“I don’t think so, but the stories about that happening are more fairy tale than concrete evidence. I like to think I have three though. I hope that, whoever my platonic bond is, they have their own romantic bond they can lean on. I don’t know if there is anything I can do for them unless I figure out who they are.”

Jason scoffed and then went on the alert seeing movement in the room. “We’ve finally got company.”

Dick smiled and ran back a few steps. “Wanna see me do a flip into the window?”

“Ten bucks says you don’t break the glass and fall on the ground.”

He laughed at that. “Be ready to pay up, Little Wing. I’ll get the two gunmen, then you swing in and help me with the others.”

He took a running start and jumped off the roof they had been on, doing a flip to keep his momentum up. He crashed through the glass rolling into a handspring, kicking the guns out of the two goons' hands. Jason followed using his grappling hook to get across to the now-broken window.

A short fight later and they had the men all tied up. Dick called the police with the info and then they were grappling away from the scene.

“Hey, Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Earlier you said that you wanted to figure out who your platonic soulmate was.”

Dick landed on top of the building his apartment was in, then looked at him. “Yeah. I just want to know if I can help them.”

Jason followed him down the fire escape, “I thought that soulmates knew when they found each other; you make it seem like that’s not how it works?”

Dick walked into his room to grab clothes. “When you only have one soulmate, there is a glow when you touch each other the first time. It’s your soul telling you it’s complete, but if you have more than one you only get that if you find all the pieces of your soul.”

“Oh.” He caught the pants Dick threw at him. “Thanks for talking to me about this. I guess there was a lot I didn’t know.”

They crashed on the couch to play video games and eat leftovers. The conversation hung heavy in the air, though. Jason felt like, if he talked first, he would tell Dick everything, but, if Dick had had a romantic Soulmate this whole time, then Bruce had to know about it.

He looked up at his brother from where he was laying with his legs over the side of the couch. “Does Bruce know you have a romantic Soulmate?”

Dick looked down at him from where he was perched on the back of the couch. “Yeah? Why?”

Jason shot Dick's character while he wasn’t paying attention, trying to make him stop looking at him like that. He mulled over the question while avoiding the looks Dick was still giving him during his respawn times. In a small voice he finally answered, “He didn’t make you stop being Robin?”

That made Dick pause the game. He dropped down to sit on the cushion of the couch, leaning his head over Jason to look him in the eyes. “Jason, Alfred would never let Bruce use one of us having a Soulmate as a reason to kick us out of the suit.”

Jason pushed him back so he could sit up. Turning to look at him, he took a deep breath. “He kicked me out of the suit for being hurt. He fired you and sent you here. Why would having a Soulmate be any different?”

Dick reached out and hugged Jason. He felt Dick’s shirt becoming wet from tears he hadn’t realized he was crying. “Oh, baby bird, no, that’s not gonna happen, and if Bruce tries it, then you have a place here. You did really good back there, I would love to have your help anytime.”

Jason sniffled and wrapped his arms around Dick. “What if he tries to make you send me back?”

Dick was still rubbing circles on his back, talking soothingly. “Bruce can’t make me do anything. My bank account has Alfred as my responsible party, and Clark is the name on the lease. If you want to stay here you can, and no one gets to take my brother away from me okay?” Jason nodded, still sniffling but getting his tears under control. “Now enough sad talk. How about I kick your ass in this game and tomorrow I’ll take you to the gym I use and help you with your flips.”

Jason laughed wholeheartedly at that. Sitting up and discreetly wiping his tears, he grabbed his controller again. “Don’t know why you keep trying. You’re not gonna win at this any more than I’m gonna be able to do a backhandspring tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bruce either didn’t know about his romantic Soulmate, or he really didn’t care. Jason started keeping a journal of written notes about her. He wanted to be able to find her one day, so he needed to know everything he could.

An incomplete list of things I know about my soulmate

Her name is Marinette

Her friends also call her Netté or Mari

She drinks a lot of coffee, usually black. She grabs it on the way to class. Is that a french thing? I feel like I only ever see her with coffee? That can’t be right, maybe it’s from the all-nighters? Her friends have teased her about not sleeping before. Is that more often than I think?

She ignores her own needs to help her friends

She’s like a year younger than me I think.

Her nonna (grandmother?) calls her Marinetta or Little Fairy (could I call her Pixie?)

Lives in Paris

She has an Asian mother; Chinese?

She has an Asian name, but I don’t remember it. Her parents use it but not often enough for me to write it down

Her father is French-Italian

She is in gymnastics, but can be clumsy

Kim, Nino, and Alix are her friends.

Chloe used to be her friend. She doesn’t know what changed things

She likes to draw

She wants to be a clothing designer

She made me something? I couldn’t see what it was, but her mom was really proud of her accomplishment.

She is a really good baker

She likes matcha macarons best; but she never asks for them. She feels guilty about her parents making them just for her

She can lift a giant bag of sugar like it weighs nothing

She likes to help people

She likes pink

She is nice and good. At least I think so.

The list was in a small red notebook. It stayed with him all the time; that way whenever something happened, he could write down any details. He filled the other pages of the book with things he wanted to tell his Soulmate, small bits of his life that he wanted to share with her. He had a spot in his utility belt for it to be, and a pocket in his jacket that he kept it in. He had once shown Dick the list and the pages that he had written about him and Alfred. He smiled when Dick showed him his own similar notebook. Dick’s romantic Soulmate was also from Paris; they both wondered if their Soulmates knew each other.

Jason liked to think so

#maribat #jasonette #soulmates #kids again fic

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Musings of Thanatos

Characters: Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,640

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, in depth conversation surrounding death

Premise: In which the reader doesn’t want to grow old.

Author’s Note: I’m going to reiterate that this is a fic talking about death and a character that, regardless of capacity, actively wishes to die young. I hope that for some people this fic can bring catharsis but if you aren’t sure that you can handle this then please don’t read it. I know that it can be like “lol I can read it” when the back half of your brain is screaming at you not to. This time you should listen to that part of your brain. I am not going to pretend that this doesn’t have the potential to be incredibly triggering. Not only if you experience suicidal ideation but if you’re afraid of death. I think it might cause a very visceral reaction.

And if you feel similarly to the reader then let me tell you, I understand. I can understand the future being completely terrifying, I can understand not wanting to stick around. But though I understand I still urge you to give the future a chance. Happiness might only come in glimpses now, but I promise it will come again in the future. There are moments in life that are euphoric, and everything except death can be changed.

That being said, I hope whoever’s reading this can find something out of this fic. Please enjoy

Zhongli

“Zhongli, do you ever wish you were mortal?”

The day was a lazy one in Liyue, the calm after the storm. Glaze lilies waved gently in the breeze. Soon they would show their petals, gently gracing the evening with their presence before once again closing their buds to the sun. Then again, these were only the glaze lilies that had managed to survive. The others has disappeared slowly, becoming more and more rare. You had only seen one real glaze lily once. It was gone after a day.

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it my love. I cannot really imagine a mortal life. I suppose it would have some advantages. Yet I think everything has their place in the world. I would make a poor mortal as I am now.”

“If you say so.”

“Why do you ask?”

He was beautiful, your lover. Even now, having seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, not a strand of hair on his head was shot through with grey. Of course time had wrought change on him; even from standing far away there was an aura about him that was somewhat untouchable. If fate had deemed to keep him statuesque, then surely it had also put the distant darkness into his eyes, had molded his features into a mask through which one could see a deity tired of seeing so much life. Nevertheless you had to envy him. For surely he wielded a stronger hand than you had been dealt.

“I don’t know. I just, it’s been on my mind.”

“What has been on your mind?”

“What it means to grow up. I mean, you’ve never experienced it. Not really, not the way we do. Growing up, it’s terrifying. You look at all the people walking down the street, the old people I mean. They’re all… wrinkly!”

You had to laugh, a bitter, sharp sort of sound. Indeed how they did look strange. Bones and muscles twisted like branches of a tree, knobs visible in the guise of liver spots and still joints. Their faces, how terrifying their faces were. You always found it odd when someone called an old person beautiful. You weren’t sure you had ever seen one who fit the definition. Rather, it was like looking upon an utterly different sort of people, a transformation that you knew one day you would have to undergo. When you emerged, it would be like a butterfly shifting back into a caterpillar. There would be no going back.

“Perhaps they are, but it is a sign of old age. Of wisdom. Humans who grow old, they are survivors.”

There was a hint of displeasure in Zhongli’s voice. Not that you could blame him. It was quite heretical to insult the old, surely even more so to one who would never experience such a thing. Then again, perhaps that was why he could act that way. He would never know.

“Maybe; but all the wisdom in the world couldn’t prepare me for growing old. I mean, who wants to be around an old person? Who wants to be an old person? You can’t do anything for yourself anymore, you’re basically a baby again. Except this time there’s nothing to look forward to.”

“My love, surely there are many things to look forward to in old age. The knowledge that one has gained, the ability to look back on the past. Those who you have grown to love will gather around you. Above all, when one has grown old one finally has been granted the privilege to rest, to think, to do what one wishes.”

“Is that why you gave up your gnosis?”

The wind rustled your hair slightly as you gazed at your partner. There was no reply to your question, but then again you weren’t expecting one. There were just some things too painful to speak of, some things that you couldn’t understand. Just as there were things your partner couldn’t understand, the things you were trying to explain to him now.

“Anyways, I’m not sure if any of those things are worth growing old for. Worth becoming immobile and forgetful and ill for. Honestly, I’m not sure if I ever would like to grow old.”

“Well you will one day, my love. Such is the nature of time.”

“Well I wish time would stop, or better yet that something would come and put me out of commission before then.”

Silence again. You had made an error, or perhaps you were simply seeing the natural reaction to your declaration. You loved Zhongli’s eyes, the way they glowed and shifted and reflected the light. They were almost dragon-like, not that you had ever seen a dragon before. Now, however, they seemed muddied, bogged down. It was as if you’d thrown muddy water on them, and now you were seeing the natural consequence.

“Do not speak that way.”

“Why not? It’s what I think.”

“Then I hope that you soon change your mind. Even if you cannot see the merit in growing older now, to react so… violently. It is alarming.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ll ever experience this, this fear. You’ll never wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing. You’ll never have to hear your mind scream in fear of ageing. You’ll never have to think about the years stretching in front of you, each a painful sentence of pain. You’ll never have to think about losing your mind to age.”

A pause. There was a frown slashed across your lover’s face. It looked entirely out of place.

“What would you want then, my love, if you could have it?”

“I would like to be young forever, like you.”

“Would you really? Would you want to see person after person die, while you can only watch? Would you like to exist isolated from those you love? My darling, even love is dangerous when you are destined to eternity. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of, of when the inevitable will happen. When I will once more wait for the end of eternity.”

“If I were like you, then you wouldn’t have to think of that.”

“If you were like me then you simply wouldn’t be as you are. Why is it that mortals are so much more prone to action, so much more emotional and bright and determined? It is their very mortality. Death is what creates authors and artists and the great heroes upon which we rely. A life without them, it would be a very drab world indeed.”

“So you want others to suffer for your own good?”

“Do you think that the way out is to ask for death my love? Truly? The death of a human is the death of a universe. Would you throw that universe away to be remember as young, whatever that may mean? Would you give up the ability to see, to feel, to think, to exist? My darling, if you truly think it is worth it then let me convince you otherwise.”

It was warm, the world. The world was burning up and you were stuck, staring into the eyes of the person you most loved.

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t say these things, even in jest. I, I cannot understand it. It frightens me a great deal.”

“Why? I’m just, I don’t know. It shouldn’t bug you that much, I mean, I’m not about to go jumping into the sea or anything.”

“Today perhaps, and tomorrow too? If you truly were only saying these things in jest, would you be so firm in your questions and in your arguments?”

Too many questions, he was asking too many questions. They made your head swirl and throb as you tried to wrap your brain around them.

“I don’t know. I just, it, it scares me.”

“More than death? More than the annihilation of your senses and your thoughts? I realize that you are experiencing a fear that I myself will never carry. My burden and yours are opposites, they will never intersect, except perhaps to think about what the other will do when time eventually shows itself. Yet, my love, I cannot help but feel that, when that comes to pass, it will be better to have experienced age, to have experienced every phase of life, every moment that you possible can, than to be stuck in someone’s memory. We glorify the young dead, we do not remember them.”

It felt odd to crumple to his arguments, perhaps it was only momentary. He hadn’t explained anything particularly well, hadn’t been able to cross the divide between the two of you. Perhaps it was how awfully old he looked in that moment, how he seemed to age a thousand years, so much you could almost imagine him hunched over and grey and wrinkled. Maybe he did know more about age then you thought he did.

Besides, you couldn’t leave him, or Liyue. Not truly. And if that was only your survival instinct kicking in then it was doing a damn good job of it.

Slowly the roaring of the cicadas was replaced with a chorus of crickets. The glaze lilies turned their pale faces towards the light of the moon. Laying your head down in Zhongli’s lap you studied your lover’s face, trying to piece together the strange conversation that had soaked up all other conversation. As if reading your thoughts Zhongli’s eyes met you. Though a smile still refused to breach his expression, he leaned in to bring his hand to your cheek. You relished the warm of shared connection.

Maybe none of this would last the night, maybe tomorrow you would think the same thing you had before. But right now you very much wanted to stay. And right now was all that mattered.

#genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli #genshin impact fanfiction #oneshot #my writing

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 8

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW for discussion of abuse and description of PTSD related flashback

Helping Gideon Lightwood visit old memories from his childhood was much harder than Alastair could have anticipated. Gideon did not know exactly where they would find the information they needed, so they had been visiting several memories where he thought he might have overheard something to do with his father’s dealings in the occult. There were several instances where Gideon had seen or heard something he hadn’t understood back then but did now. References to supernatural woman he was interested in mostly, it seemed like Benedict Lightwood had had an interest in sex with supernatural women.

So far nothing that might relate to what was happening to Thomas, though. There was an instant where Benedict Lightwood said something about a rival in business falling ill with an unsettling smile, where Gideon now realized that had been his doing, but they hadn’t yet figured out what creatures Benedict had made deals with beyond the women he’d bargained with for sexual favors. Alastair suspected the creature that might claim Thomas’ life had bargained for much more than sex. He couldn’t imagine giving up someone’s life for sex, whereas Alastair could picture a cold and heartless person such as Benedict Lightwood offering up someone’s life in exchange for money and power.

Part of the problem was that there were only so many of these memories Alastair could take and he was surprised Gideon was doing so well. It was a long time ago, of course, but Alastair couldn’t imagine ever being able to show someone else memories of his father. Not even those where he wasn’t drunk. He could talk about it, perhaps, but he could never show, he never wanted anyone to see just how defenseless he’d been.

Even seeing the memories of someone else’s neglectful father was difficult for him and the occasional racist comment brought back memories from school. Gideon surely didn’t agree with any of that, did he? Still, Alastair pushed through. This was important. This was for Thomas. He didn’t know if Thomas was right, if he was in danger, but Alastair knew he wasn’t going to let him die.

Gideon noticed after a while, it was getting difficult for him. ‘We can continue tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can tell it’s not easy for you.’

‘I’m not used to visiting other people’s memory,’ Alastair said as an excuse. ‘That’s why I’m getting tired.’

He didn’t want Gideon Lightwood to think he was weak and he couldn’t take this. Entering other people’s memories being exhausting was at least believable.

Over the next week, he easily fell into this new routine. Mornings he would go with Thomas and take a walk. They explored the different trails in the forest, and talked about books, music, history, art. Alastair felt like he was getting to know Thomas better, and the more he did, the more he fell in love. Thomas had grown up handsome, tall and muscular, yes, but he was also kind, empathetic, and conversation with him was so easy. He had many interests, and could easily talk about them for a long time. Alastair had never liked small talk much, but neither did Thomas, so instead they soon found topics they were both interested in to discuss.

He would eat lunch with Thomas and his parents, and then continue with Gideon’s memory, always careful not to take it too far. It had to be difficult for Gideon as well, to go over memories of his father, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just very good at concealing his struggle for his son’s sake. Alastair could respect that.

‘Alastair, maybe we should take a break,’ Gideon said after visiting a particularly difficult memory of Benedict yelling at Gideon and his younger brother when they’d interrupted him in some occult ritual. They’d been going over memories for a week now, but so far they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for. Hints, yes, and this ritual could point them into the right direction but right now neither knew what exactly Benedict had been summoning.

They copied everything they remembered about the ritual and wrote it down, and Alastair suspected Benedict Lightwood had been summoning some creature. It was very uncommon for humans to be able to do magic, the ability Alastair had was a rare exception. He imagined Lucie’s ability was a similar exception, whereas Thomas’ sight was a little more common, but still rare. But humans could make deals with benefactors for power, something that rarely ended well. So far, it seemed Benedict Lightwood had made deals with multiple beings, some less consequential and mainly about sex, whereas others had given him the power to make opponents fall sick which must have cost. He suspected there were multiple benefactors involved, something Alastair didn’t think was common. For some people, enough was never enough.

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked. ‘Those memories must be difficult for you.’

Alastair was still doing the best he could to conceal how distressed it was. It wasn’t his father, it wasn’t his memory, but he’d been looking through the eyes of Gideon Lightwood with his father yelling at him, experiencing it as if he was Gideon himself. He tried his best to push back his feelings, to breathe. He narrated to himself, describing the room and its contents in a desperate attempt to not lose control. That was something his therapist had taught him, a method to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was safe.

‘I’m fine,’ Gideon said with a small smile. ‘But I can tell using your ability is difficult for you, and I don’t think it’s just because using the ability is tiring. I noticed you tensed up a bit more with every memory we visited. And the last one… I did not realize how bad that one really was before reliving it and I’m sorry for exposing you to that.’

Alastair guessed he now knew why Thomas was so annoyingly observant. It ran in the family.

The memory didn’t really take him by surprise. Nowadays, Alastair could often tell when it was coming even if he hadn’t learnt how to control it. He was thirteen years old and had come home after a particularly bad day at school and all he’d wanted was some time alone to cry and listen to some very loud music. He’d been badly bullied at the time, but he hadn’t dared tell his parents about that. Cordelia hadn’t been at home, fortunately, playing with a friend, Lucie perhaps. But his father had, and he’d noticed Alastair shaking, the tears in the corners of his eyes he’d tried to conceal. His father had been drunk, as he was always drunk, but he’d still noticed how upset Alastair was. He’d started yelling at him, calling him weak and pathetic. At the time, Alastair had still hoped he would carry cortana someday and fight monsters with it, before the sword had chosen Cordelia and Alastair had realized he’d never really wanted it anyway. His father had yelled at him that he would never be worthy of cortana, that he was weak and would run away crying at the first sight of danger, that he’d never be anything but worthless.

‘Alastair!’

Deep down, Alastair realized it wasn’t real, it was a memory and his father wasn’t here. It felt real though. He could hear Gideon Lightwood’s voice, even if all he saw was his father, stumbling drunk.

‘Alastair, I need you to breathe, alright?’

Alastair tried to take a deep breathe, in and out, like he’d practiced many times before. He always struggled with this, purposely breathing tended to make him light in the head. Still, it was better than not breathing at all.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Gideon Lightwood said.

‘I see my father, bottle in his hand,’ Alastair said with a trembling voice. ‘But that’s not real. It’s a memory. I am in the cottage, and my father isn’t here. You are here, and you’re talking to me.’

Slowly, the cottage’s living room returned and he was sitting on the couch next to Gideon Lightwood again, carefully breathing in and out in an attempt to maintain a sense of control.

‘I took it too far,’ Gideon said. ‘I am terribly sorry, Alastair. I truly didn’t realize how bad the last memory was.’

He felt his cheeks warm, ashamed to let Gideon see him like this. Most of the time, he’d been alone when such a flashback happened, or he’d had enough time to run to his bedroom or a bathroom or anywhere he would be alone. He knew rationally there was a good chance Gideon Lightwood wouldn’t think lesser of him, but a voice inside screamed at him that now everyone knew how weak he really was.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Alastair nodded, still focused on his breathing. ‘Not the English kind,’ he added.

He focused on his surroundings, told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was far away from his father and nothing bad would happen here.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Gideon returned with two cups of hot water and a selection of tea bags. It wasn’t his mother’s tea, but it would do.

‘This is not your fault,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s mine, and I’m sorry. I don’t think we should continue looking through my memories.’

‘But Thomas’ life might depend on it. And not all of them are as bad as that one.’

‘I do not remember enough to be sure a memory is safe for you and I cannot in good conscious expose you to more memories like that. We’ll find another way. Thomas wouldn’t want you to trigger your symptoms for his sake,’ Gideon said. ‘We got some information I still need to work out. I take it you haven’t often visited other people’s memories?’

‘I’ve known for some time I can enter other people’s memories as well as my own, but apart from with my family I’ve never done it,’ Alastair said. ‘It is very invasive. I can’t imagine how you could show your memories of you father to someone else.’

Sometimes he and Cordelia would watch movies in Cordelia’s memory, but beyond that he rarely visited other people’s memories.

‘It was a long time ago, and I can tell it hurt you much more than it hurt me,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s not easy, but for Thomas I can do this. I won’t ask more of you.’

‘I’m the only one I know of with this ability though,’ Alastair.

‘That’s not your fault, is it? Did you always have this ability? It was not given to you by something?’ Gideon asked.

‘As far as I know I’ve always had. I think I was seven, maybe even eight when I realized other people couldn’t revisit their own memories the way I do.’

The ability had always come natural to him even as a child, and he’d freely talked about it with classmates in primary school, leading to some very confused reactions. One time when he was five or six he’d tried to teach Cordelia how to do it, which had ended with her throwing a toy tea kettle at his head because she couldn’t do it and they were both getting frustrated. Back then his father had been very interested in his ability when he wasn’t drunk, and when he was eight he and his father had visited a memory of his father killing something monstrous in a forest in the United States, a horrifying deer like creature that had eaten a hiker. He still remembered the way it had gotten up on its hind legs, limbs all bending and twisting in the wrong way. How it had howled, the most horrifying sound Alastair had heard in his life. Alastair had had nightmares for weeks and his mother had been very angry with his father for showing him something like that when she found out.

In the years to come, his mother would yell at his father more often, but that never made him change, and she didn’t leave until Alastair was diagnosed with PTSD. She’d yell at him, beg him to go to a clinic. But his father had always refused, denied the problem, and Alastair had done the best he could to protect both his sister and his mother from him when he was drunk. He suspected even his mother had not truly seen how awful he could become when he was drunk, Alastair had made sure of that.. His diagnosis had been a wake up call for her. But at least she was safe now.

‘We need to know what being my father dealt with.’ Gideon sighed. ‘This would be much easier with his journals, but so far Tatiana ignored my calls.’

‘Perhaps if we look again,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes it helps to go over the same memory again, see if there’s something we missed. The details can make all the difference.’

‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘You just had a panic attack from my memories . It’s because of my father’s abuse, isn’t it? He brings up your bad memories of your own father. I won’t take you back into my memories, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I… I know what it is like to grow up in a broken home. So if you want to talk, I’m here and I promise I’ll keep your secrets.’

Alastair was tempted to retreat in his shell, to refuse to talk about it as he always did, but he felt oddly comfortable around Thomas’ father. He was kind and empathetic, like his son, and he’d helped him through a flashback. He suspected Gideon Lightwood understood that being told his father was a hero and being a hero came at a price wasn’t kind, even if it wasn’t the same for him. It was very clear that Benedict Lightwood was not and had never been a good person, whereas even Alastair acknowledged his father had done good things once.

‘It seems unfair,’ Alastair said after a silence. ‘To complain about my father to you. From what I’ve seen, yours was worse.’

‘It is not a competition of who has it worse, Alastair,’ Gideon said. ‘My brother and I have both found our way to move on from everything that happened. We had each other, we had friends, a support system that could help us through it. I think that until recently, you have been very alone, and that makes it much harder.’

‘Thomas has been kind to me,’ Alastair said. ‘During our morning walks the past week, but he was also kind when we went to school together. I appreciate that.’

He hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever had friends beyond Thomas. In his childhood they’d moved around often and he’d gone to so many different primary schools that he’d never been able to make friends, and when he’d gone to secondary school he’d first been bullied badly, then turned to bullying others in a desperate and hopeless attempt to protect himself. The other bullies at that school might have considered him a friend, but Alastair did not. He knew these boys would have picked him as a target if he hadn’t shown how vicious he could be with his words. And at his last school, he’d simply stopped caring and kept to himself, just cruel enough to make sure the bullies knew better than to bother him.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with my son,’ Gideon said. ‘Do you have any other friends?’

‘My sister, Lucie occasionally although we’re not close,’ Alastair said. ‘That is all. I never knew how to make friends, and it didn’t help that other children always thought I was weird.’

Alastair had always been one of the smartest children in his class, and other children could be jealous. Some thought it was impossible that a brown boy was doing better than them. Others simply didn’t understand the things he was interested in. Then there had always been children who made fun of the weird food his mother had made for lunch until he’d resigned to eat school lunches even if those were usually terrible.

Alastair considered for a moment, but then continued. ‘I did have one other friend, from when I was fourteen until recently. We mostly wrote emails to each other, texted after a while. He was about six years older than me, and at the time he was the one person I thought I could trust. But I was wrong about trusting him.’

He wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal his relationship with Charles, but at least this would give enough context on why he’d been so unwilling to trust anyone. Charles had done the best he could to isolate him, positioning himself as the one person he could trust. Charles had discouraged him from coming out to aunt Risa, which he’d considered at the time, citing that Iran was very homophobic as a reason. But just because the laws in Iran were homophobic, didn’t mean all Iranian people were and both his mother and aunt Risa had been open to learn more. And because Charles had seemed so trustworthy, so caring, Alastair no longer knew how to be sure he could trust someone. Even now he was wary, there was a voice inside screaming to run, to get away before this ended badly. It also felt nice though, talking to someone who had grown up in an abusive household and had survived. If Gideon had, maybe he could too.

‘What happened?’ Gideon asked gently.

‘I’m not sure…’ Alastair began.

‘You don’t have to tell,’ Gideon said. ‘I know it can be hard to trust someone after having your trust broken so many times.’

Alastair took a deep breath. He wanted to trust Gideon, he really did. It must be so nice to have father like him. ‘He wasn’t just a friend, we were in a relationship. I thought it was everything I could want, and for a time the illusion of being loved was enough to push away the pain. I thought that just what love was like. I left him some time ago when I finally realized what he did wasn’t alright.’

‘You said he was six years older than you?’ Gideon asked.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘I was sixteen when I entered a relationship with him. I didn’t realize at the time that it was creepy that such an older man was interested in me. I thought it meant I was mature and was so flattered by his attention.’

‘It can’t have been easy to leave him,’ Gideon said.

Alastair stared for a moment. He didn’t expect people to understand that. Cordelia was sweet and caring but he didn’t think she really understood why it had taken him so long to leave. She had a point, why keep going back when every dismissal was like being struck with a dagger? Why keep falling for his praise when Charles would mock him only moments later? Alastair didn’t understand it himself either, only that he’d genuinely loved and worshipped Charles.

‘I had help,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia spent some time trying to convince me to leave. But even when I started recognizing just how bad he was treating me, I think part of me still longed for his praise.’

‘I think you are very strong, Alastair, that you could choose what was right for you and leave him.’

They were interrupted by Thomas, who entered the room carrying a bag of groceries. Alastair was once again struck by how beautiful he was. In school, Thomas had still been small and skinny and Alastair simply hadn’t noticed him that way. But he’d grown up tall and muscular. Yet his features were still refined and handsome for someone so tall. And he was so different from Charles. Kind, empathetic, a little insecure. Thomas didn’t think emotions were a weakness that needed to be concealed, Thomas would not mock him for feeling. Back at school he’d thought Thomas must have it so easy, to be so kind, but perhaps he was kind because that was what his parents had taught him. Alastair had learnt later that sometimes, the worst people were the ones who had it easy, the ones who had everything yet wanted more. People like Charles, or like Benedict Lightwood.

He wondered sometimes if Thomas liked men as well. So far Thomas hadn’t mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned any past or current relationships with girls either. He wondered if he could have a chance with him, with someone who genuinely seemed to care about him in a way Charles never had. To Charles he had simply been convenient, broken and isolated and very much willing to do whatever it took to keep his lover happy and satisfied, scared he might be abandoned if he did not. He imagined it would be different with Thomas, who was closer to his age. A relationship with him would probably feel more equal, exploring both their desires and needs, and not just his partner’s. Thomas was interested in what he had to say, in his opinions, his interests. Thomas could make him laugh, something he’d rarely done the past years.

‘Did something happen, Tom?’ Gideon asked.

Alastair had to agree Thomas looked a little distressed.

‘Yes, but perhaps it’s better if I show you,’ Thomas said. ‘Alastair, would you be able to help? If you’re not too tired, that is. I know it can be exhausting.’

Alastair had used his ability much more than he was used to, but suspected he could do this. However, he preferred to know what he was getting into. He didn’t want to see something that would trigger another flashback and definitely not in front of Thomas.

‘I can do it, but since I’m tired it would be easier if you told me what you saw before diving in.’

He wasn’t sure why he kept pretending it was just his ability. It was easier somehow, a more acceptable excuse. He doubted it was believable though.

Thomas nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I saw someone, and I thought I recognized aunt Tatiana. But now I’m not complete sure, and since dad will be much more likely to recognize her I think it’s best to show. And there was someone with her I don’t know. It’s not the first time either, I think I saw her a week ago but she turned away too quickly then and I didn’t realize… It’s probably best if I show the rest.’

Alastair nodded, and he concentrated to bring both himself and Gideon into Thomas’ memory. He saw the town’s grocery store through Thomas’ eyes, and he tried to slow down the memory.

When Thomas exited the grocery store, he saw a woman enter, a girl behind her. He didn’t think either of them noticed Thomas, whose gaze was fixated on the pair. The first woman was around forty, he guessed, long brown hair and light eyes. Alastair didn’t recognize her, but had to admit she resembled Gideon. The girl behind her didn’t look anything like the Lightwoods. She was unearthly pretty with long silver blonde hair and she wore a long white summer dress that left her shoulders bare. She had to be in her late teens, a daughter? So far Gideon had mentioned Tatiana had had a son, Jesse, who died, but he’d never mentioned her having any other children, nor had Thomas mentioned anyone else. And he’d just said he didn’t know who the girl was.

‘I’m not sure it was really Tatiana, I thought maybe I was just jumpy from everything,’ Thomas said. ‘And I have no idea who that girl could be.’

Thomas turned around and took the car back to the cottage and Alastair reversed the memory, focusing on the part where Thomas had looked at the pair. Gideon has turned pale.

‘That’s her. That’s Tatiana.’

‘But who is that girl with her?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Gideon said. ‘As far as I know she had no children beside Jesse.’

Alastair took a good look at the girl, but couldn’t see anything unusual about her. Very pale blonde hair, a rosy pale skin, light eyes. She looked around sixteen, but had a perfect clear skin most girls that age didn’t have.

‘She looks kind of helpless,’ Alastair said. ‘The girl, I mean.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think she’s human?’

‘I’m not sure a supernatural creature could look so helpless next to a regular human woman,’ Alastair said. ‘If she was scared of something far more powerful than her, she’d probably look for another powerful being to protect her, not Tatiana. At the same time, there is something unearthly about how she looks.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of her, but tried to take in as many details as he could. She was dressed in a white summer dress, wearing spotless white ballerina shoes and it occurred to Alastair that if she walked around on these shoes often, they shouldn’t be so white. Alastair was glad he wore mostly black as it didn’t stain as easily.

‘I’m not so sure she’s human,’ Gideon said. ‘I’ve seen a succubus visit my father, she reminds me of her. She’s younger though, but maybe succubae and the likes were children once too.’

They left the memory, returning to the living room of the cottage the Lightwoods had rented. Gideon added some things to his notes, describing the girl.

‘At least we are sure now it was Tatiana,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think we should go talk to her, now that she’s here?’

‘If I can find out where she’s staying, yes,’ Gideon said. ‘But I think it would be best if I go see her alone, see if I can reason with her.’

Gideon left for the town to see if he could find his sister, promising he’d be back in time for dinner. Alastair hoped he would be safe, he didn’t trust Tatiana in the slightest. He understood why Gideon might want to give her a chance, he’d do the same if Cordelia turned against him. Not that he could picture that happening. She could be annoying, frustrated with him, but she’d never betray him.

Alastair decided to stay a little longer. Thomas wasn’t motivated to play chess anymore after a week of losing every game they’d played. Alastair guessed he made it too difficult, and instead opted for a game of ludo which led to much frustration on Alastair’s part. The dice seemed to favor Thomas.

‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re cheating,’ Alastair insisted.

Thomas threw his hands up. ‘How am I supposed to cheat. We both use the same die.’

Thomas threw the die and rolled another six. Unbelievable.

‘I’m done with this game,’ Alastair announced when Thomas had won.

‘You won at chess lots of times the past week,’ Thomas said. ‘I only won at this once.’

‘This game is stupid. You’re either cheating, or it’s just luck.’

Thomas smiled, and Alastair was very annoyed that his smile was so attractive. His lips looked soft, and Alastair very much wanted to know if they felt as soft.

‘I think you’re just a sore loser,’ Thomas said.

‘No I’m not,’ Alastair said indignantly. ‘I just don’t like it when games are solely luck based like this one.’

‘You didn’t dislike it before you lost,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You really have to rub it in, do you?’

‘My sister Eugenia is worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Do not ever play monopoly with Eugenia, it will end in murder if she doesn’t win and she usually doesn’t.’

‘I never liked monopoly,’ Alastair said. ‘You know, the original monopoly was supposed to criticize capitalism. The modern version still does a pretty good job of showing why capitalism is terrible. Unfortunately, it goes over most people’s heads.’

‘In what sense?’ Thomas asked, and Alastair fell into a lecture on why capitalism was terrible.

Charles had been one of those people who insisted that capitalism wasn’t perfect, but it was the best system out there and modern society was only possible because of capitalism, which Alastair thought was stupid. Why assume any modern inventions were only possible because of capitalism and colonialism? When they were still together, Alastair had been very insecure in his own ideas and thoughts. Charles was so much older and wiser, he had to know better. After the break up, Alastair had realized that Charles’ ideas were stupid and mostly convenient to rich white men. He’d grown more confident in his own ideas since then, even if people tended to think he was radical.

‘You’re really passionate about this,’ Thomas said. ‘I like the way you light up when you talk.’

‘I hope you listened to what I said as well as how I said it,’ Alastair said.

‘I did, and you make some very good points,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I always thought we have to work within the system for change, but I admit I’m not expert.’

‘I’ve always been fascinated by political theory,’ Alastair said.

‘But you quit studying politics, right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Most other students didn’t take my ideas seriously,’ Alastair said. ‘Including my ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a student though, he’d already graduated by the time I started. And I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be a politician myself, having to deal with white right wingers all day is exhausting. I don’t know how to explain to them that you should care about other people.

But I spoke to some other students in the university’s multicultural association, and figured sociology might be a better fit for me, and I think doing research, figuring out new solutions and writing about them might be nicer. I’m not great at getting people to like me, let the people with better charm try to convince others I’m right.’

Alastair hadn’t socialized much, but he’d attended a couple of events hosted by the multicultural student association. Since many of the members of that association were Muslim, Alastair could be fairly certain there would be no alcohol there.

‘If it’s any consolation, I like you,’ Thomas said with another sweet smile that definitely made Alastair want to kiss him.

Charles had said the same thing at some point. With his habit of looking through memories, he tended to remember what people said word for word. But Thomas was so genuine in what he said, so open and honest, it wasn’t the same at all.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re clever and passionate and you never make me feel weird or stupid for my interests. And I’m glad you decided to come here this summer, even if the circumstances aren’t as great as we’d hoped. If I’m going to die, I’m glad I had the chance to know you.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Gideon Lightwood #Thomastair #Lucelia #fic #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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