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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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Suicidal Misunderstanding XVIII

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XV - - - - Part XVI - - - - Part XVII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

All Conversation stopped when Obi-Wan opened the door.

The air crackled with energy as the assembled Jedi Masters (and Anakin) paused their obviously fierce debate. After a beat, their was the utterly distinct sensation of several Masters releasing their mixed emotions to the force in an overheated wave, leaving behind only serenity (mostly). Obi-Wan’s heart keened. Of course, at the time, the tendency of council meetings to devolve into petty squabbles had been a constant source of frustration but after three years where his only source of debate was haggling over stolen goods...well.

Obi-Wan smiled, aching softly at the sight of the friends and colleagues, miraculously alive and whole.

The Nautolan Healer- the person in the room with whom he was least familiar- cleared their throat and began speaking. “Master Kenobi, welcome. I want to start off by saying you are under no obligation to-”

Yoda cut them off, “A Jedi, Master Kenobi is, Obligated he is-”

“My patient, he is, Grandmaster,” they bit back. “I know soul healing might have been looked down on when you were in training, but I would have thought-”

Master Koth interrupted, disapproval permeating the room, “And we would have thought you would have more respect when addressing your senior Jedi.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Master Mundi blustered.

Chattering rang out as everyone in the room began talking at once.

“Master, are you alright?” Anakin asked urgently.

The conversation shut down again as the group turned to look at the man in question. Who was biting down on this fist and shaking slightly.

“I told you-” Adi Galia began. Argument erupted once more and Obi-Wan doubled over with laughter.

“Something funny, you found?” Yoda asked as Obi-Wan tried to stop laughing. “Share, you can.”

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, wiping at the corner of his eyes and forcibly pulling himself out of his explosively giddiness, “My apologies grandmaster, i’m afraid it’s not actually that funny- I simply missed the unique tones of a high council meeting.”

“All council meetings are like this?“ Bant asked, sounding unimpressed.

“Some more than others,” Master Koon acknowledged, rubbing a hand to his forehead.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, “Master Aerdo, I appreciate your support and while I am now doubt in need of the services of a Soul Healer- it is for rather different reasons than...outward appearances have let you to believe. Now shall we all have a seat?”

Koth frowned “All of us? I thought this was a council matter, not a personal one.” Bant and Anakin stiffened.

“It’s both.” Obi-Wan responded calmly. “But beyond that, I assure you, we will be needing the skills of everyone in this room. Master Nu, Master Che- I don’t wish to impose if you need to return to running your own domains, but I would very much appreciate your presence if your willing. I think you will find it worth your time.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving even if you asked, so I’m pleased to accept your invitation.” Master Nu replied, cheerfully taking a seat. The rest followed and Obi-Wan joined them at the head of the holo table, eyes lingering over the assembled group. He took a breath.

“The first thing you need to know is that I have detailed knowledge of one potential future. A future I intend to prevent. A future I lived through...”

- - - - -

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a rather remarkable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next two and half hours were the most shocking they had ever experienced. It is more than likely it was the most shocking meeting any had attended.

“We would have seen if the Sith had risen to such power!”

“Oh? Just as we would have seen if the Sith had survived at all? I remember having a similar conversation to this one 10 years ago-”

“We would have noticed- for force sake he’s visited the temple, we’ve all shaken his hand-

“Arrogant, the council has become. Seen this I have. Arrogant, I have become.”

“Skywalker may have a point about mind control, tactically-”

- - - - -

“If what you’re saying is true, though I still think perhaps some more time with Masters Aerdo and Che wouldn’t be unwarranted-”

“Oh, enough all ready Ki. We’re not going to get anywhere if you keep this up.”

“Wait- I actually have something that might help convince you that I do have overly detailed knowledge of the future- we- actually can I get some flimsi? Thank you, Anakin- a few months from now Master Mundi and I ended up trapped behind enemy lines for an extended period of time. It’s hard not to learn a few things about one another when that happens. Here you are-”

". . .”

“I told you that?”

“You, uh, didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Oh gods.”

“Now, do you believe me?”

“Well...I suppose- I can’t really imagine how else you could possibly know considering you can’t possibly have spoken to-”

“Of course not! Honestly, how would I have been able, even if I wanted to?”

“I have never wanted to steal a message this badly in my life”

“Same”

“Yes, read the flimsi, we all want to. Welcome to, clearly we are NOT.”

Master Koth who had begun to lean suspiciously far back in his chair, fell forward with a clatter, rapidly releasing guilt into the force.

“Yes, well...hm...The force has obviously given you...an unusually wide window of insight. It would be...remiss of us to ignore it.”

“Kriff, we’re never going to know what that note said, are we?”

“No.”

- - - - -

“That’s utterly impossible- I’m sorry Obi-Wan but you’ve obviously been tricked.”

“I’m sorry Plo. Believe me, I know. I- I don’t think they were themselves.”

“If it happened suddenly enough...when we were all in the field, isolated-”

“Being surrounded by our troops is not the same thing as being isolated!”

“Agreed. Explain what you mean by ‘not themselves’”

“Well, I had just defeated General Grievous.”

“Oh, hey! Nice!”

“Thank you, Anakin. I was rejoining the troops after defeating the General- My Commander handed me back my lightsaber, which I don’t think he would have done if he was planning on- well. I began- .”

“Hold on a moment. Do you mean to say you defeated Grievous without your lightsaber.”

“I’d rather not get into the distasteful specifics-”

“Ha! That means he used a blaster.”

“Keep a better grip on your saber, you should.”

“Enough interruptions- please allow him to get to the point.”

“...Master Koon, perhaps you should take a moment to release your emotions.”

“I will do so in a moment, continue Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, Cody seemed completely normal when I spoke to him. I began riding Boga up the cliff face to meet up with a rendezvous when the force started getting...dark. Darker than it had been. I heard- distant screaming. Death. It-”

“Wait, Boga? Whoargh”

“MASTER KOON CALM DOWN”

- - - - -

“...My apologies Knight Skywalker. I have had an...abnormally mentally taxing morning. My control is somewhat damaged...”

“No worries, happens to everyone, right?”

“...Let’s return to the room and discuss this later.”

- - - - -

“To breach the temple, need a force user familiar with our protections, they would...My padawan...dead at this time, he was, yes?

“Yes, Master, Yoda. It- Anakin had technically defeated him four days prior.”

“Technically?

“You- I’m sure you did defeat him- I was unconscious at the time but I’m certain of that much at least- but it was a trap. We were on a rescue mission and- I think Sidious wanted him eliminated at that point, so he could assume full control over both sides.”

“...He really has arranged things to win no matter, hasn’t he?”

"Obi-Wan, the temple purge- how-”

“I- I wasn’t on the planet at the time...”

“Well, do you have any idea what he might have done to control the clones?”

“Yes, I do have one theory actually- I didn’t witness any of these events first hand, but several months before the purge, one of the troopers killed Master Tiplar in a fit of madness- claimed not to clearly remember doing so and was sent to Kamino to be examined. Later, another clone- Fives- attempted to assassinate the Chancellor, accused him of working with the separatists as part of a conspiracy. The Chancellor’s medics claimed he had a tumor from a parasite on Ringo Vinda but in light of what happened after...well.

“...Why would we not investigate that.”

“Shaak Ti did, but her report was...vague. I only saw her two more times in person between now and the end. Her force presence was- shadowed. Not fallen, but...tired.”

“And you didn’t follow-up? None of us did?”

“...I can not even begin to express how much was happening at the time.”

“Nevertheless, Master Kenobi-”

“To be absolutely blunt I didn’t even remember the report until I was several months into hiding, with little else to do but meditate on the past. It just- fell into the cracks. Like a lot of things.”

“Force. We’re not assigning blame, we’re just attempting to understand. The knowledge of Palpatine...well it helps us understand a bit better how we got to where we are now. But how we got from here to there...”

“Yes, of course.”

“. . .”

“Obi-Wan?”

“Sorry- just...marshaling my memories. As I said before, the last year of the war was increasingly straining, with unrelenting pressure on the Order coming from all directions. None of us were at our best, but it in hindsight I was...still reeling...in particular. From- force I still can’t believe all that happened in six months- fuck. Sorry. Pardon my language.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about us- just keep going,”

“Krell betrayed us horrifically- I don’t think 501st or the 212th ever got over it. Immediately after that was that absolute clusterfuck of a mission- I spent a month in a Zygrian Slave Camp- I don’t even know what we were thinking dressing Ashoka like that- ”

“Wow, wow, WAIT-”

“We were trying to go undercover to rescue the Kiros colonists but obviously it blew up in our faces immediately. I was still healing from the, well, torture, when I had to go undercover as the assassin who killed myself in a Republic Jail to protect the Chancellor. I’d rather not talk about it but needless to say I was still physically and mentally not at my best when Maul returned from the dead-”

“I- Maul?”

“He wanted revenge on me for bisecting him on Naboo- turns out both sith and zabraks are very hard to kill, so that was a pleasant surprise. Didn’t really have time to meditate on that failure before we were training guerilla fighters on Onderara-”

“Wait, Naboo? You mean-'

“Yes. Anakin and Ashoka were still mad about faking my death during the ‘undercover thing’ so that made things- tense. Then Ashoka was sent to Illum for what was supposed to be a safe mission-”

“Oh gods-”

“She got kidnapped along with a number of initiates. Somehow befriended Hondo...so...that worked out fine. I guess. Then Maul and his brother. They. Well they got revenge. Satine died. They wanted to get back at me. I was still censured by the council for my actions from that incident at the time of the temple bombing-”

“You! Obi-Wan-”

“Which meant that when Ashoka was sentenced to death I could barely even speak a word in her defense, which is maybe just as well considering the blind faith we had in the senate-”

“WHAT!”

“Calm down, of course it wasn’t her, but after the sith hells she was put through she, understandably, had lost trust in the order and decided to strike out on her own. I was still trying to clean up that political mess, track her down, not to mention run multiple armies with even less help than before when I got the reports about the rogue clones. Obviously I should have done something with the information, but. Well, I didn’t.”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, rubbing his face with both hands. When he looked up to face the room, he was faced with various shades of shock and pity. There were several long moments of silence before Master Windu reluctantly spoke.

“... Let’s start with Krell.”

“Right. Right. Well, like I said the last year of the war was...hard. A number of people fell. Krell was the first, I think. His reasons were one of the less...hard to rationalize, even intellectually.”

“Pong Krell I suppose he always was-”

“Still I thought he had gotten over such things...”

“Oh, Kriff.”

“Relax Anakin, they haven’t taken off yet.”

“Oh, remember that one time when he was an initiate- that poor little Nautolan boy, what was his name?”

“Wait, taken off? Mace... who’s leading the my troops right now?”

“Master, before you freak out, they’re still on Coruscant.”

“Master Gallia, I don’t think that’s entirely fair- you can’t judge a Master by what they did as an initiate-”

“Ok, ok. I suppose take off must have been delayed due to my- well. When are they schedule to leave?”

“We can’t judge a Jedi by if they might fall, we could only judge them by their current actions.”

“Sundown? That- force. I had the start of a plan but- that’s enough time- but if you replace him...Sith Hells. I need things to proceed normally but kriff, there’s just not enough time. I- I don’t know if I can save everyone-”

“We’ll figure it out, Obi-Wan.”

“I- we’re coming back to this Windu- That was very well said Master Koon and I’d like you to hold onto that thought. We, we can’t judge our fellow Jedi for what they might do... good people can fall into darkness, when they’re pushed hard enough.”

“Then Krell...”

“Oh kark no, Krell’s irredeemable. Uh. That is to say. I’m reasonably certain he’s already been deliberately killing his men.

“Kriff.”

“Yes, quite.”

“...Can we go back to the brain parasite?”

- - - - -

“Alright, enough.”

“Agreed. We’re going in circles about the clone’s loyalty- once we finish this meeting we’ll start brain scans at once but for now- Obi-Wan the fallen. The purge.”

“I was on Utapau- I didn’t- I wasn’t there.”

“Master Kenobi, are you stalling?”

“Of course not, I- ok the next Jedi I remember falling was Depa Bilbaba.”

“. . .”

“That’s absurd.”

“Fall, anyone’s padawan can.

“Yes, but Depa-”

“It was a mission to Harun Kul- should I go into the details?”

“Damnit, Kenobi-

“She actually returned to the light, eventually.”

“Impossible!”

- - - - -

“Vos? I suppose he is a shadow...”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, boy-”

- - - - -

“I’m somewhat confused.”

“I wouldn’t say she fully joined the light but...she didn’t want to be dark anymore.”

“You don’t think it was just circumstances?”

“Well, two years after the fall of the republic I ran into her at a bar-”

“Of course you did”

“Oh shut up, like you wouldn’t drink after all that”

“Fair enough.”

“Anyway, she could have turned me in. The bounty on my head was obscenely high, but after all our history... she bought me a drink.”

“He’s definitely stalling.”

“Yes I know...”

- - - - -

“Luminara’s apprentice? She can barely stand violence, even in the hypothetical.”

“Yes...I think that was rather the point. She- she couldn’t accept the Jedi’s role in the war and she thought she didn’t have a way out...”

“Force have mercy on us all.”

- - - - -

“...Yoda...you have to understand, the darkness in the force was overwhelming at that point...you could hardly breath.”

“Master Kenobi, if you are trying to tell us that Yoda fell- I am- not going to have a mild reaction.”

“. . .”

“Obi-Wan?!”

“No, Yoda didn’t fall.”

“FUCK’S SAKE KENOBI DON’T DO THAT”

“Can fall, any of us.”

“DON’T YOU START”

“Deep breaths Master Koth, Deep Breaths.”

“I apologize for the confusion- I was just trying to explain that the last time I saw him, neither of us were in particularly sound state of minds-”

“KENOBI YOU ARE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE AND WE ALL KNOW IT JUST GET TO THE PART WHERE SKYWALKER FALLS INSTEAD OF DRAGGING IT OUT”

"KOTH!”

- - - - -

“...Things were fine. Things were- hopeful. Dooku was gone. We got word on Grevious’s location. I was assigned to go after him. Anakin wanted to come with me, to watch my back. He didn’t want to stay on Coruscant. The council- the council ordered him to spy on the Chancellor. He protested, was uncomfortable with the idea. But he agreed. We made some jokes as we were saying goodbyes. I left Coruscant. Got to Utatpau. Killed Grevious. Thought the war was over. The force got dark. I was shot off a cliff. All the Jedi were dying. My bond with Anakin got dark. My troops felt- like strangers. When I got back Yoda told me he- he was lost to the darkside. Was the new apprentice. Palpatine claimed the Jedi tried to assassinate him. I don’t- actually understood what happened, it was all just a few days... but I have to assume Palpatine...or the person who was controlling Palpatine! Please adi’ka, you know I-

“I know, Master. It’s...Kriff- I don’t- I’m sorry.”

“We shouldn’t have split up. I shouldn’t have left you.

“Obi-Wan...you can’t actually blame yourself for what I did, what I- haven’t done, technically"

“I...”

“Well. That explains-”

“Explains, what Master Gallia? Explains why we shouldn’t have allowed an elderly politician unrestrained access to a child?”

“Master! Don’t say it like that-”

“That explains your stalling Master Kenobi, be at peace. We’re not going to judge Knight Skywalker for unknown actions he has yet to take.”

“Mace! are you all right?”

“Headache. Talk about it later.”

“Tell us who may fall, you did. Judge them prematurely, we shall not. Watch them carefully, we will.”

“...With all do respect I’m not sure the council is capable of meaningfully distinguishing between the two.’

“Master Kenobi! Perhaps we should revisit the ‘attachment’ discussion we had previously agreed to forestall?”

“Oh that is such-”

“Anakin, please allow me. Mundi- shut up or let us read the note.”

“Master Koon!”

“For all the distress being vented, I feel there is a notable lack of compassion in this room and quite frankly I find it unacceptable.”

- - - - -

“So...you didn’t watch the security holograms?”

“Yoda said not to. I think that’s everything- we should start brain scans now.”

“Kenobi...”

“Yes?”

“When Yoda was fighting Palpatine...”

“Master Gallia- not right now”

“Yes, Master Windu.”

“. . .”

“Force Be With Us.”

“Indeed.”

“Quite.”

“Hm.”

“Council Members- if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to get back to the archives. I have a few things I’d like to dig into.”

“Of course. We trust your discretion.”

“Take care of yourself, Obi-Wan”

“You as well, Master Nu. I am forever in your debt for what you brought me.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“...Now what?”

“It’s going to break our ‘contract’ with the Kamonian’s but...we’re going to have to get a clone into the healing halls for a neurological examination.”

“I...might be able to help with that. Without going very far at all actually.”

“What do you mean by that, Master Eerin?”

“Sorry, terribly sorry, I just remembered I have to take care of something-”

“What?”

“This...is rather the part we were hoping for your assistance Vokara-”

“Stay, Master Che. Given everything- I think we’re past the point of needing plausible deniability.”

“You’re... most likely right. Apologies, force of habit.”

“Would either of you care to explain?”

“Well...technically the temple isn’t allowed to care for wounded clones. Doing so would violate their ‘warranty’. However...”

Part XIX

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #time travel #star wars au #star wars fanfiction

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purpleandgreen13 · 3 years

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Stardew Valley Inktober 2021

Inspired by @buttonso 's SDV Inktober list, I'm writing a one shot every day for October. I have done 4 already (the fifth will be later today) but thought I would post them here too.

October 1st Junimo

Inspired by the Star Trek original series 'The Trouble with Tribbles'

Dammit Lewis, I’m a doctor not a vet.” Grumbled Doctor Harvey at his clinic where he, Marnie and Mayor Lewis are stood looking the five tiny figures laying in a large cardboard box on the examination table. They are covered in scratches and making distressed cooing noises.

“Please Dr Harvey?” Pleads Marnie, her eyes filling with tears, “I found them in the barn, the cows didn’t mean to rough them up, they were just curious.”

“What are you doing with these creatures anyway Marnie? Junimo’s import to Ferngill is strictly controlled.” Doctor Harvey peers over his glasses.

Marnie looks shifty all of a sudden and Mayor Lewis shuffles uncomfortably, “Lewis got me a special license!” Marnie protests a little too loudly, “We’re breeding them as pets. Look how cute they are! People are going to love them!”

“You are aware of their other reputation?” Harvey asks, “They’re prodigious breeders. They can have up to seven litters a week and they’re banned in some places. In the wild they have plenty of predators but in domestic situations you can easily get overrun."

“Please Doc. We can make it worth your while.” Lewis wheedles.

“Lewis. I don’t want your money, except for the medical bills. I don’t like seeing any creature in pain. Leave them with me, I’ll make sure they’re well looked after and I’ll patch up their wounds, give them a course of antibiotics and they should be right as rain in about four days.”

“Thank you so very, very much, Doctor Harvey.” Marnie gushes with relief as she clutches Harvey’s hand. Harvey frowns. This is very much against his better judgement, but the animals need care and he WAS the closest thing this town had to a vet, he supposed.

Once Marnie and Lewis left, Harvey lifted the blanket covering the box.

“Oh Yoba.” He muttered quickly lowering the blanket again. Already the junimos, which he had to grudgingly admit were cute, were In flagrante delicto, busy at work in the cardboard box creating the next generation of apple-like creatures.

Harvey mused that the small animals were getting more action than most people in the valley, including him.

He fetched his medical equipment and carefully lifted each Junimo out of the box, whenever one was free from its activities. Each one squeaked in protest as Harvey checked it over, applied antiseptics to cuts and grazes, then administered antibiotic in a small pipette to each of the five Junimos. They’d need a few days care, but they were mostly badly shaken up. They would all be fine, he was confident.

He supposed he should separate them into males and females, but honestly, Harvey had absolutely no way of telling them apart, so he left the blanket on the box after giving them some guinea pig food provided by Abigail and a bowl of water, and retired for the night.

Maru was first in the clinic the next morning and when Harvey entered the reception area, still a little bleary-eyed from sleep, she looked furious.

“What- what’s up Maru?” Harvey asked nervously.

“Why are you keeping so many animals in such a tiny space Doc? It’s downright cruel!”

“What are you talking about?”

There are almost 50 Junimos squished into a cardboard box in the hospital section! I can’t believe you left them like that? You do know it’s illegal to keep them without a license?” “Fif-FIFTY? Harvey suddenly felt a bit faint. “There were only 5 yesterday!”

Well, there’s about 50 of them now. We’ll need to find them better housing.”

After searching through the clinic for boxes big enough to house 50 Junimos, Maru makes a decision, that Harvey mutely agrees with.

They let the Junimos loose in the hospital wing of the clinic, leaving them food and water. At the end of the day locking the door behind him, Harvey couldn’t help but feel he’d made a terrible mistake.

‘Junimos reach sexual maturity within 24 hours of birth’, he read in one of his encyclopaedias, ‘as beings who derive their bright coat colouring from magic in the air around them, they live relatively short lives and breed as much as they can to ensure survival of the species. The magic that sustains them, makes them attractive to female junimos also kills them. Their twin purposes in life are to procreate and eat.’

In the morning there were more than 500 Junimos on the hospital wing. Maru could barely open the door and then could not close it. There were junimos everywhere, in the pharmacy cupboards, under every chair in the waiting room. Maru found two in the drawer of the till.

Harvey was going spare. His beautiful clean, sterile clinic had turned into a zoo. He coped as well as he could, but that evening, he called Lewis in a panic. His first attempt to pick up his phone he picked up a Junimo instead, he swept 7 of them off his chair in his office. Several of them piled on his warm lap once he sat down. There were several of them sleeping on the examination table. The noise of Junimo mating was cacophonous.

“Hello!” He bellowed into the phone when Mayor Lewis picked up. “LEWIS! It’s Harvey here! You’re going to have to do something about these Junimos! There’s hundreds of them!” “Sorry Doc! I can’t hear you! Are you having a party? I will come and pick up those Junimos from you on Friday! You said 4 days for the antibiotics to work didn’t you? I’ll see you then!” and with that the line goes dead.

Harvey has had enough. He wades through the Junimos lining the stairs to his apartment, grabs his jacket from the hook behind the door, empties the pockets of Junimos that have settled there, and makes his way gingerly out of the clinic and to the saloon. He stays far later than he should and he dreams in junimos the entire night.

Wednesday is hell. Exponential Junimo growth means that every surface is covered with squeaking, breeding and pooping animals with no regard for Harvey’s cleaning routines. He opens his kitchen cupboard for his coffee mug and is rewarded by e seemingly never-ending shower of small apple like creatures bouncing off his head and scurrying away. He tries to count them but here are far too many. That night he goes hungry because there is not a crumb of food in the house. When he climbs into his bed, he is surrounded by the creatures, cocooned in a kind of living Junimo blanket. The sleeping creatures start snoring. By itself a junimo snoring is a sweet sound, like sighing, but by the thousand, the noise is deafening.

When Maru arrives on Thursday morning, Doctor Harvey is a broken man. She pushes the door of the clinic open with some difficulty, the sheer weight of the creatures holding back the door.

Harvey is seated behind the counter, asleep, head in arms, dishevelled and unshaven. Junimos on his lap, his shoulders, in every one of his pockets. The squeaking and chirruping is so loud that Maru has to cover her ears as she approaches the sleeping man covered in the apple creatures.

“Doc!” She shouts above the row. “Doc!”

Harvey jolts awake. The junimos on his lap fall off, but are replaced with many more, jostling for a place on the doctor’s warm knees.

“I’ve brought someone who might help!”

Through the mounds of apple shaped bodies Harvey can just about make out a large cowboy hat and a purple beard. He scoffed to himself, the crazy guy from the tower? What was he going do here? Set traps? Give them all contraceptives. (Harvey had already considered it, but he calculated that the cost would be more than he made in a year).

With some difficulty the self-proclaimed wizard moved to the wall of the waiting room and in chalk drew a large circle with undecipherable symbols within its parameters. He yelled one word “Quiet!” Which made Harvey and Maru both jump. Surprisingly, the Junimos still and there is peace in the clinic for the first time in days.

He grinned at the medical staff, “Couldn’t hear myself think in here.”

Harvey has to keep himself from rolling his eyes when the wizard gets out a wand. Seriously? He’s muttering something that Harvey can’t quite catch and is sure is gibberish. He almost wants to laugh when the man turns around and makes an extravagant gesture with his arm. Harvey takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, feeling overwhelmingly tired. When he opens his eyes again, the Junimos are gone.

He blinks. Not a single Junimo remains.

The place is a mess however. Chairs are overturned, the plants have all been eaten. Magazines shredded. Harvey dared not look at the damage in his neat pharmacy and sterile hospital room.

“Where did they go?” He stammers, his entire belief system shaken.

The Wizard smiles enigmatically, “Somewhere I think they should be.” With a dramatic swirl of his cape, he exits, leaving Harvey and Maru to clean up the mess. Harvey thinks he can smell sulphur, but blames his overtired fevered brain.

**~~**~~**

In the Mayoral Manor, Lewis is doing his weekly book work for the town finances. A little bit off the top here and a little added to his own bank account. No-one ever asks to check the books. The amounts would not be missed.

There is a flash and suddenly Lewis is surrounded by small apple shaped creatures. They’re everywhere. A heaving mass of Junimos covers the floor and already some of the creatures are getting into his food cupboards, locust-like they start to methodically eat everything they come across.

Over in the clinic, broom in hand, Harvey swears he can hear screaming coming from Lewis’s house.

#stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardew valley harvey #sdv harvey #sdvharvey #harvey sdv #harvey stardew valley #sdv #inktober2021 #inktober #SDV Inktober #Stardew Valley fanfic

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anchanted-one · 4 years

Note

A, C, F, I, L, O, S, U for fanfic asks 😄

A: How did you come up with the title to Eternal War? >Arro, sadly, thinks that the Sith have a point. Peace is a lie in that it doesn’t last. In the early days he wrestled with this realization, even considering quitting several times during his career. But shortly after the Shadow of Revan incident—and especially Ziost—he decided to pursue a different solution; to try and foster in a peace that would last at least a generation, one which would allow the galaxy to recover and know some regrowth before the next round of Star Wars got started. Eternal War starts with the Eternal Throne conflict, but is supposed to go a lot further. The Alliance, in particular. This is from an IRL reason: I thought that the question of what happens to the Alliance after KOTET deserved some thinking about. Do they just... go back to the Republic or Empire? Have they all gotten hopeful about a real, lasting peace with the other side now that they’ve worked together? I want to make them a peacekeeping force—peacekeeping in a different sense, they serve as an example of a workable unity. So they don’t necessarily seek out and extinguish the fires of war wherever they spring up; they lay the groundwork for trade and commerce and cooperation between Republic, Empire, and Zakuul. I also have an idea of how long this peace lasts—till Arro and Lana’s Apprentice’s Apprentice, and even how it ends. But I don’t have any plans on writing those stories yet.

C: What member do you identify with most? >Hmmm the answer was Arro in the initial stages... but he became too god-tier. This is also why I don’t write as often from his perspective as the chapters go on. The one I identify with most right now is Koth; in that he has started questioning his worth, and is trying to find his part in the big world again. He’s a good man and loves his home. He is capable of great loyalty to his comrades so long as they aren’t psychopaths. He loves a woman he knows he can’t be with, but after some initial downward spin he starts moving forward again. He’s reckless, but an everyman hero. As I write him more and more I start to see why an unromanced Lana might possibly end up falling in love with him.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. >I think it’s the entirety of Chapters 20: Fog and 21: the Mirror from Book II: Mission Scorpion. They show Lana’s guile and skill; she’s sitting right in front of one of the galaxy’s deadliest Sith, impersonating someone he worked with for longer than she has been alive, and he doesn’t even realize it. She gets him to spill his guts. Fog also had my own headcanon of Agent blowing Hunter out of the water in her own game and in his own home territory. I enjoyed writing that scene where Hunter is utterly dumbfounded by how badly the Cabal have been beaten, and I was deeply satisfied with Nine’s final blow: “Keyword: Checkmate!” In 21: the Mirror I wanted Lana to confront her inner self, which has been a little shaken after she spent a little time resurrecting her old and buried life. This chapter was one I planned out to my complete satisfaction. It has a special place in my heart.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? > Powerful heroes whose conflicts aren’t the enemy in front of them, but their own inner demons. I’m starting to like the idea of heroes who won’t have much character growth in their stories—or at least relatively less growth—because they’re already war vets and know themselves quite well. Now their struggle is how they see and deal with current events with these established characters as their lenses. Not to worry though, they won’t all be ridiculously OP monsters. And I’m also looking at adding in Arro’s missteps and failures through flashbacks and short stories because I’m doing him too much of a disservice ignoring his true growth chapters.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? > Usually review them twice or thrice at best.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? > Hmmm this is a tough one but I think characters take precedence. As I said, I’m writing a troupe of war veterans and survivors who have been through the works. They won’t be changing *that* much as I write the story, so it’s important I know them well beforehand.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? >running gags mostly. “Three minutes,” or crashed shuttles. Damn I really wanted to go with the broke Jedi too but can’t believably fit it in since that one mention in Early Book I. White Knights are the class I enjoy best; moral paragons who protect entire civilizations in their shadows, but backed up by comrades and loved ones they trust their souls and dreams with. Writing tropes: I always add descriptors or verbs in twos and threes (like “ And so Baras sweated and paced”, “ He attempted violently to free himself from the heavy shackles on his wrists, shrieking and roaring like a mad beast.” “ his enemy’s body language hummed a different tune; it was warming up. Toying with him. And relishing in the skewed mismatch.”). A bit embarrassing but I think this little piggy’s here to stay.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. >This is really tough coz there’s so many! I’m going to have to add six instead of three because I cannot decide between these. In no specific order: @kunstpause and @elveny who function as one single writer sometimes but do just as well solo. Their flagship fic—The Precipice of Change—is about their twin Hawkes, Adrienne and Cassia, and the humans behind the title “Champions of Kirkwall”. They deal with themes like addiction, depression, oppressive regimes, and communication failure between two people who love each other to bits (the twins that is) and their effects on both women. @captainderyn, whose characters are so dear to me. She has written them very compellingly. @nusaran whose Skyrim fic has a very fantastic character arc, and whose ‘Marr the Outlander’ fic is equally brilliant. @inyri. She basically inspired me to write, and was kind enough to help my first, shaky steps. Her current story—and the one I read as soon as I see a new update— is about Nine. And finally but not least, @chubbyooo, whose Zandar legacy is full of the most lovable kids I have ever read. Their fic is full of action, laughs, and a very real, strong story-driven plot.

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robbyrobinson · 4 years

Text

HSL: Rebirth of Sugar (Pt. II)

It was a moment of weakness, really. But whatever the case, Shio had snatched up the girl she saw on the street and taken her home. It was relatively easy to acquire the young girl by first drying her tears and offering her a place to stay until she felt better. The girl apparently saw nothing amiss about it and agreed to follow her. The pink-haired girl sat down at a table wordlessly. Shio’s mind was overflowing with thoughts. She could not believe it: after all these years, she finally had her beloved Satou reunited with her in some capacity. Thinking back on it, Satou did promise her that she would always be by her side, even if it meant that she was reborn.

Shio felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest. Her stomach fluttered. She must not immediately confront the girl to ask her if she were in fact her deceased “lover,” out of fear that would creep her out. Shio took a deep breath to settle her breathing and walked into the kitchen to procure a teapot. She then took out two cups and poured the hot liquid into both. Returning to the girl, Shio gave the girl one of the cups which she accepted. Shio sat down and partakes in drinking the tea.

“What is your name?” Shio asked.

The girl did not immediately speak at first. Previously she had been shaken by whatever happened earlier that day. Shio could tell by the look in her red eyes. While she wanted to know, Shio respected the girl’s decision of not disclosing the information if it unsettled her greatly.

“My…my name is Mio,” the girl replied. Her response came out in a hollowed tone that was pained.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mio, my name is Shio,” she said. Good, she thought. She was able to say something to the girl, a small, rather mundane question naturally, but it was good that she was now starting to break the ice with her.

The two drank some of a tea oftentimes passing glances at each other if expecting for the other person to say something next. “So, I take it that you came out of school earlier?”

Mio nodded. “Yes, lady.”

“Why were you walking all alone?” Shio asked. “Do you have any friends?”

Mio shook her head without having to say anything. Shio tilted her cup. She could understand completely; aside from Sakura, she did not have anyone who she would qualify as a “friend.” It was always her and Satou after all. She did not have the need to have anyone else or to make relationships with others. Satou was all that she needed. Not her family. Not her brother. Even Sakura she mostly kept around because she did give her some amusement.

“Does anyone bully you?” Shio asked again. It was rather invasive of her to ask her such questions, she would be likely to admit.

“They call me weird and an alien,” Mio answered in a depressed tone.

“Oh, do they?” Shio replied in a rhetorical manner. “What about at home?”

“My Mom is dead.”

“I…I’m sorry to hear that,” Shio said.

A mother. Shio’s mother was very much still alive, but she was incarcerated in prison due to her murder of her husband. Shio still felt a tinge of contempt for her mother. Even if she had very good reason to give her away, it still brought her waves of pain. How could she throw her out like disposable trash? Asahi always made it his business to visit their mother in prison, but she never considered doing so. It was too many memories. Too much for her to bear. But if anything, the only positive thing that Shio could accredit to her is that had she not abandoned her, she never would have met Satou. Even then, that was mostly just insignificant to genuinely consider.

“My Dad hates me.” Mio answered.

“Hates you?” Shio inquired. “Who can possibly hate someone like you?”

“He…beats me. He drinks some weird juice and whenever that happens, he becomes someone different. A monster!”

Another abusive patriarch. That was also something that Shio knew very well. That was part of the reason as to why she blocked that part of her life out of her mind. It was something in the past that warranted no remembering or reliving. Shio’s grip tightened on her cup.

“I see. I am so sorry to hear you living with someone that cruel.”

The two got finished drinking their cups and Shio collected the two cups and placed them in the kitchen sink. She then grabbed a bottle of dish soap and squirted the liquid into the sink. She filled it with water and began to wash the cups as well as any other dishes inside of it. Mio got up from her chair and started wondering around the room looking at pictures on the wall.

“You should really be going now, Mio,” Shio responded. Not that she wanted her to leave, but it would elicit Mio into striking up a conversation with her again. Though she sensed from Mio’s aimless walking that she had no intentions of heading home.

“Can I stay here for the night?” Mio asked. “I cannot face my Dad like this. He’d beat me again!”

Shio decided to play along already thinking about the majority of the conversation in her mind and letting it marinate. “Mio, you know that I cannot allow for that; what will your father think if his precious girl did not return home?”

Tears started to run down Mio’s eyes again. “Please, Shio, I want to stay here!”

Shio crossed her arms and closed her eyes to concentrate. Mio was like a fish shimmering its way through the murky waters to snag the bait on the end of a fishing hook. Shio herself was the skillful fisherman padding her along until she had her right where she wanted her. A little more probing, and she’d have her within her grasp.

“Well, I am thinking about it, but I’m sure that there are at least some good things about your father? He had you after all, so at least that is something worth thinking about.”

Mio vehemently shook her head. “My Dad always turns into a monster when he drinks that odd juice. What if he hurts me? Badly?”

Shio could not help but shiver at that implication. She nodded her head concluding that it was enough probing her with questions. She smiled warmly in reassurance. But at the same time, she tried to deny that her smile was stretching across his face from ear to ear. She decided to act like she could care less about it.

“Well, I guess you can stay with me,” Shio said, “but just for tonight.”

Mio smiled and dashed towards Shio to hug her in gratitude. Shio admitted ever so slightly as it crossed her mind that she enjoyed the hug. Not in a way that was lustful, but more so because it had been a long time that she had been embraced by someone who was not her beloved Satou. Holding tight to Mio invoked the same sensations she felt all those years ago. Give it time, and Shio would further indulge in Mio’s sugar for as long as she desired.

But it also crossed her that her older brother Asahi would be coming home soon from working his dead-end job. When he came home, he would surely lose composure from and snap at her for doing what Satou had done and snatching this child when no one was looking. While she may have not felt love for her brother, she did allow him to play a small part in her life, but she feared that he would come in the way of her happy sugar life. With Mio not noticing Shio’s smile disappear and her eyes becoming paler, Shio contemplated her course of action.

She had to get rid of Asahi. It was the only way.

#happysugarlife #happy sugar life #hsl #satou #satou matsuzaka #sato matsuzaka #asahi #asahi kobe #fanfic #fanfiction #anime

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quinnofcastleport · 4 years

Text

fallout | thanksgiving, 2k19.

who: quinn fabray, an underpaid secretary, randall fabray, carole hudson, mention of others.

what: sometimes, you think you’ve prepared for the worst, and then what you’ve prepared for is actually the best, and there’s a whole world of hurt headed your way.

where: quinn’s house, the gazette, a church, the hudson home

when: thanksgiving week (Monday - Thursday), 2k19

warnings: brief description of stylized blood/injury, really unfortunate parental interaction, spiraling thoughts, religion

wc: 4.8kish

It had been a very long, and mostly very bad week.

Her one accomplishment - James Evans, safely tucked away to dry out for the first time in a decade - had been drowned out by the ripples that came from it.

Sam had been bad enough. She’d been trying to comfort herself about it, that at least she knew where they stood, at least he’d been honest about how he felt and what he thought of her, finally, a response and reaction she’d never known she needed to question.

So she’d been wrong.

It didn’t happen often, but it did happen.

(Would it ever stop being so devastating?)

So she’d been wrong about her relationship with Sam. So she’d been playing his words over, and over, and over in her head for nearly twenty-four hours now, reconciling him with the old, old memories that had become shaken loose after her trip with James. Lunchtime snacks and after-hours holiday visits…

(She never had gotten that recipe from Mrs. Evans, and no one else’s chocolate cake quite came close. She’d spent a long time trying to find one that did, before concluding that it didn’t matter how expensive the restaurant or how well-trained the chef, better than Maggie’s just didn’t exist.)

She tried to make herself feel better about it. About Sam, believing the worst of what she thought of herself on the worst of her days; the worst of what was whispered about her, the worst of what nipped at her heels and caught her up in a whirlpool that only dragged down, down, down.

To some people, she’d always be the one who dumped trash on Rachel Berry.

Apparently ‘some people’ included Sam Evans, the kid that used to practice his funny voices and impressions on her and not be satisfied until she laughed. Sam Evans, the guy who’d just - let her work at his dead mother’s bar because Quinn badly needed somewhere to work. Sam Evans, who--

Whose relationship she’d ruined and whose father she manipulated into the right choice. Sam Evans who, apparently, genuinely believed she didn’t and hadn’t ever cared about him. Sam Evans who hadn’t even been wrong when he’d accused her of only reappearing in their life because her life was a mess. Everything he’d said was etched permanently into her brain, irrefutable and damning. Sam, Sam, Sam, and the safest she’d felt in a long time, down the damn drain.

She tried to make herself feel better about it. This was, of course, a lost cause, so when that didn’t work, she banned herself from devoting any more time or energy to thinking about it. There were bigger fish to fry, or at least more threatening men to defend herself against.

She had been ready for Sam’s righteous fury, for his dropping of her like so many hot rocks. She thought she’d been ready for the rest of it, too.

She was, again, wrong.

She really didn’t care for it, being wrong.

Quinn ignored the calls. Four calls, two voicemails, and a handwritten note tucked into the crevice of her front door. The message was clear on all of them: there was no avoiding the train that was bearing down to her, and there was nowhere to go that it wouldn’t hit her, at full speed.

Still. She managed to postpone it for one full day; one full day of grace. Tuesday. She didn’t speak to anyone except patrons at the bar; Sam didn’t come into work. She got to retreat into herself, be nothing more than a girl with pink hair who served strangers drink. She got a full day to recover from the battle the day before. One day to lick her wounds and try to find a new stable ground to plant her feet on.

On Wednesday morning, when Quinn opened the door to take Shelley out, she was met with--

“Margaret?” Quinn said, eyebrows raising briefly in surprise. She recovered herself quickly and straightened, acting like she wasn’t in her pajamas, like her dog wasn’t currently begging for love from her father’s secretary.

“Good morning Miss Fabray,” Margaret said, attempting in vain to dissuade Shelley from her determined pursuit of pets. “Mr. Fabray would like a word.”

Quinn made a quiet noise of understanding, then let Shelley pull her around Margaret. “I’m engaged today. I’m unable to meet with him.”

“He, uh, ah, well, he said that if you said that…”

Quinn waited, then rolled her eyes. “Margaret, just say it.”

“He said you would meet with him, whether you liked it or not, and it would be very unpleasant if you make him wait.”

Quinn shook her head. “You’re the one he sent?”

“Miss?”

“If he wanted to threaten me or drag me in by my hair he could have sent Thomas, or Uri, or Edward. Why did he send you?”

“He--he said…”

“Yes?”

“He said that I would be best suited, since you wouldn’t be able to…”

Quinn arched an eyebrow. “Yes? What am I unable to do?”

“Fight me?”

Quinn blinked. It became immediately apparent that Margaret thought Quinn was going to challenge her to fisticuffs.

Which, okay, she had pink hair, a big dog, and a face that said ‘don’t fuck with me’, sure, but--she wasn’t violent. Why was her father telling people she was violent?

Quinn chose to be amused.

“I see,” Quinn said, letting Shelley drag her back toward the door. “Well. You’ll just have to tell my father you were unable to collect me.”

“Miss Fabray,” Margaret said, her voice coming out considerably weaker than she wanted it to, “he told me that I wasn’t allowed to return unless it was with you.”

Quinn stared at her, deadpanned. “Are you going to stage a sit-in on my porch, Margaret?”

Margaret gave a shaky nod. “I was told to do whatever was necessary, as your presence is required in Mr. Fabray’s office.”

“I see,” Quinn repeated, looking for amusement and only finding deep, overwhelming irritation. “Well, I hope you stay warm out here.”

Quinn went back inside.

Pathetic.

She fed her dog.

She ate breakfast.

She had to go to the gym.

She had to go to work.

She had to get out of her damn house, and there was a captor waiting for her just outside the door.

Why didn’t this house have a goddamn back door?

Quinn growled to herself and stalked back into her bedroom. She could climb out a window…

Instead, she found clothes.

She didn’t try very hard. When she ‘found clothes’, she truly found them - a pair of jeans she didn’t remember buying, or ruining, with holes in the knees and what looked like paint stains on them. Were they even hers? Quinn had no idea, but she put them on and they fit, so she decided it was acceptable. She grabbed a t-shirt from her ‘probably needs washed’ pile, one of her new ones that she’d cut the neck off jaggedly to emphasize the artwork, which was for some metal band Quinn had barely heard of, but she’d enjoyed the aesthetic enough at the time.

(Several things had been hilarious in New York that didn’t seem to translate to Castleport.)

She put it on, grabbed her leather jacket, slid her rings onto her fingers, affixed her black choker, and opened her front door. Margaret still stood there, like an obedient, anxious lapdog, all eyes and ears and hope/fear. Her eyes got wider as she took in Quinn’s look, which made Quinn almost want to smile.

“Let’s get it over with.”

Margaret had driven, and the only reason Quinn didn’t insist on taking her own vehicle was because she was running out of gas, and it wasn’t as though her father’s office was so removed from everything that she needed a car to be safe on her escape route. The ride was silent - Margaret didn’t even turn the radio on, which made Quinn want to find the loudest and most obnoxious station she could find.

Before she could, though, they arrived, and Quinn glared up at the building.

Once upon a time, it had been her favorite place in the world.

And now?

Quinn got out of the car and slammed the door behind her, stalked up the steps. Margaret hurried after her, trying to explain something or stop her or something, Quinn didn’t care what she was saying. Quinn ignored her all the way to her father’s office and let herself in, shutting the door behind her.

Her father sat behind his desk, and was having a conversation with a man standing next to him. The man wore a deep blue suit, had thick glasses, and had attended each and every one of Quinn’s birthday parties.

“Pat?” Quinn said, momentarily drawn up short.

What on earth was the family lawyer doing here?

To his credit, he seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Her father, if he had a reaction to her look, it only presented itself in a beat-too-long’s worth of silence.

“Sit down,” Russell said. It was not an invitation so much as it was an order.

“No thank you,” Quinn said, pursing her lips. “I won’t be staying long enough to sit. Well done on the acquisition, by the way. Really top notch sending that poor girl to stalk your daughter.”

Russell ignored her, continuing like she hadn’t even spoken. “I assume you know why you’re here.”

Yes. “I don’t have a clue why I’m here.” (He’d taught her to be obstinate and to lie when necessary when he let her curl up in his office chair and eavesdrop on his business deals and arrangement. The amount that could be gained from withholding information was mindboggling, he’d told her once, and he’d proven to be right about that, a thousand times over.)

“Pat?” Russell said, lifting two fingers as an instruction. “Show her, please.”

Pat spared Russell a glance - Quinn couldn’t read it, but something like doubt crossed his face. “Miss Fabray,” Pat said, holding out a file for her. He could have walked around the desk and handed it to her, like a normal person, but it wouldn’t have surprised Quinn to learn that her father had chained him to the desk.

Quinn stepped forward and took the file, though she didn’t open it. “What is this?”

“A notice of legal action being brought against you, on behalf of Mr. Russell Fabray.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Legal action,” Quinn repeated. “Is it a crime to--”

“Make unauthorized purchases on someone else’s credit card? Yes, it is. I have few friends from the Sheriff’s department standing by, just to make sure.” Russell said. “Pat,” he continued, leaning back in his seat. He looked like a lion that had just dragged back the biggest wildebeest and was looking forward to getting the king’s share of the meat.

What an asshole.

Pat nodded to the folder and Quinn opened it, reluctantly. “Do you recognize this purchase?” Pat asked, and Quinn scanned the document at the top of the pile.

A list of transactions from her father’s credit card.

One was highlighted in yellow.

It read the name of the facility she’d enrolled James Fabray into, along with the amount charged to the card.

Fuck.

Quinn, though, had been raised by two newspeople with strong opinions on other people’s idiocy, and so she knew not to admit anything without her own lawyer in the room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn said, flipping the file shut, “and I don’t know why I’m here.”

Russell sighed. “Thank you, Pat.”

This was Pat’s cue, apparently, because he nodded and hurried out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“You’re suing me?” Quinn finally asked. “You’re taking me to court? That’s a very classy move, Daddy.”

“Do not,” Russell said, his voice having lost every ounce of the bored professionalism it had contained when Pat was in the room, replaced with the worst sort of blackness, the kind that made Quinn’s worst sound like a kitten who’d gotten hold of a helium tank, “dare to lecture me on classy, Lucy, when you show up dressed like--like--”

“Like?” Quinn prompted, pretending that the use of her old name, her first name, wasn’t the fastest way to get under her skin. She wasn’t that girl, hadn’t been for a very long time. “Please, Daddy, tell me.” Quinn crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Like that.” He spat the word and Quinn tried to find it in her to be disappointed that ‘that’ was all he could come up with, instead of hurt, like ‘that’ was the worst thing he could have come up with.

“I fail to see how what I wear is any of your bus--”

“I don’t think you understand the situation,” Russell said, leaning forward. He folded his hands together and Quinn knew that look in his eye - victorious and cruel. “If I wanted to, I could destroy you with two phone calls.”

“...And?” Quinn finally said, though it didn’t come out as blase as she wanted. “What--”

“Here is what is going to happen,” Russell continued. “You are going to work to pay off that debt.” Russell nodded toward the folder. “Or I will take you to court and win, handily, and I don’t think all the god-awful makeovers in the world would prepare you for prison.”

“Pris--”

“You are going to work off the debt. You will be reporting to the Gazette’s Editor-in-Chief, Michael, first thing Monday morning. You will spend the intervening time…” Russell looked her over, “making yourself presentable.”

Quinn’s head was spinning. “I have a job. I’m not working for the Gaz--”

“You do not have a job,” Russell said, “not anymore. Your ‘job’ is not one that is acceptable for someone who, for the moment, carries my last name. It is time, well past time that you remember that you are a Fabray, and that you must comport yourself appropriately. Monday, 8 AM. Your paycheck will be garnished up until the point that I see fit, or until this debt is paid.”

So she wasn’t going to be drawing a paycheck, Quinn realized numbly.

Wait. Wait a minute. No. No.

“I am an adult,” Quinn began quietly, “and that means that I am free to dress how I want, work where I want, and do what I want.”

“An adult,” Russell echoed, followed by a derisive snort. “An adult takes responsibility for her actions, and you...have never done that, not once in your life. No. You are clearly a child. A disappointing child at that - when you actually were the age you’re acting, you had so much…” Russell sighed. “Promise.”

“I’m an adult,” Quinn repeated, her volume rising, “and you can’t make me--”

“That can,” Russell said, nodding to the folder in her hand. “Tell me. Who was this for? One of your streetrat friends from school? An ex-boyfriend? Or that profe--”

“It’s none of your business,” Quinn snapped, straightening her spine.

“It was my money you used, Lucy. That makes it my business. It would become my business would I named that...that...facility in my suit, on the grounds of accepting an unauthorized payment. I would make it my business when I bury the corporation that runs that disgusting program. It would be my business when I own them just so I can have the distinct pleasure of shutting them down.”

“...You can’t do that,” Quinn said, voice coming out very soft. No, no, no, no, it wasn’t just James in that building, there were other people, other people who needed that place--

“I could,” Russell corrected, something like a laugh escaping him that sent chills all the way down Quinn’s back. “I may choose to be gracious and allow this theft, as you will be paying it back. With interest. Beginning Monday morning, 8 A.M. You will be dressed appropriately, you will have that thing out of your nose, and you will not violate the dresscode by sporting any…” Russell dragged it out, “unnatural hair color. You will come prepared with three pitches for Michael, and if you are lucky, one may be considered.”

Every word he spoke was a nail in her coffin. She could feel it, feel the walls of her old life thudding shut around her. Prison, she thought, couldn’t have been far off from how she felt.

Goodbye freedom, goodbye life, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

“...If my paycheck is going to…” Quinn wagged the folder, “how, exactly, am I supposed to pay my rent.” Quinn swallowed, crossed her arms. “Feed myself.”

“You should have thought of that before you made this decision,” Russell said. He’d already picked up his glasses and was looking through paperwork on his desk. Quinn waited. When he flicked his gaze back up to her, he let out a noise that somehow said I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-answer-this-question without saying a single word. “I have contacted your landlord. You will be moving out this weekend.”

“What?”

“And, as you will be moving into my home--”

“What?”

“--you will not need to concern yourself with…” Russell waved a hand, “groceries and the like. Your meals will be tended to by the household. You will go to work with me every day and return home with me for dinner every evening, and you will not be permitted to socialize with anyone who has been…” Russell sniffed, “influencing you like this. Your mother and I agree--”

“Mother? You agreed on something?”

“--that this childish fit you’ve been throwing has gone on long enough. It is well past time for you to return to your life.”

Her life.

“...I want to stay with Mother.”

(It was an echo from a decade and a half ago, when they first told her they were separating. It had been as true then as it was now.)

“Your mother does not wish either of us to be in her home at this time,” Russell said, sounding bored. “Your mother and I have agreed that it will be better for you to stay with me until further notice.”

Her life, in his house, eating his food, working at his paper, writing what he wanted her to write and seeing the people he wanted her to see.

“...I...I’m an adult,” Quinn repeated, because it was all she had. She was gobsmacked. “I’m not a teenager anymore, Daddy, and I make my own decisions--”

“Then you deal with the fallout.” Russell nodded to the folder once more. “It’s your choice, Lucy. Either be here, Monday at 8 AM, or see me at the courthouse Monday, 8:30 AM. I’m sure there’s a public defender that would be awake at that hour, assuming they aren’t exhausted from defending the town drunks against public indecency charges. Which, speaking of indecency, how is your friend’s father? The one who owns that moneysink of an establishment? Mr. Evans?”

Quinn bristled and she bit down against the whip-sharp retort. He was trying to needle her, and he was succeeding.

“Is there anything else.”

“I’ll see you Monday.”

Quinn stalked out of the office, and the building, and the property, and kept walking.

And that had been Wednesday.

By the time Thursday rolled around, her unbridled fury and fear had given way into numb acceptance. All the time she’d spent carving herself out of the expectations placed on her shoulders. All the time she’d spent looking for what she actually wanted. All the time she’d spent trying to convince the people in her life that she wasn’t like that, that she was getting better, that she was a good person. All the time she’d spent to overcome the tragedy of her birth, and for what?

For nothing. For less than nothing. It not only hadn’t mattered, but it had insured that her future, for the rest of her life, was even worse than what it would have been if she’d shut up and fallen in line when she’d had the chance. She was going to be her father’s prisoner, and for what?

Quinn was doing laundry when she remembered why. A little piece of paper fell out of the back pocket of her jeans, and when she bent down to pick it up, tears welled in her eyes.

For what? For this.

Quinn crumpled the paper and finished throwing her clothes in the washer. Her clothes for her new look needed to be clean before she put them into vacuum-sealed bags and stored them in big storage totes for the rest of forever. Because she was apparently moving this weekend.

Thursday, though, was Thanksgiving. She’d been planning to do what she could to prepare for her own personal hell, then drinking a lot and watching the dog show before she fell asleep on her own dog and had to stumble to her room hours later to sleep it off.

That wasn’t in the cards.

(Why did she think she’d get anything she wanted, at this point? Really?)

Her phone rang.

For a moment, she thought it would be fucking Margaret, calling to yank yet another rug out from under her, some other thing Quinn loved that she’d have to give up in just over 72 hours.

She nearly ignored the call.

But her mind drifted to Santana, and she wondered what trouble she was getting into today, so she turned her phone over and--

“Shit,” Quinn hissed, hurrying to answer the call before it went to voicemail. “Carole! Hi!”

“Quinn!” Craole’s voice was as chipper and sunny as a day in June on the other end of the line, and Quinn literally felt some tension ease out of her shoulders with just that one word. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Quinn replied rotely, because that was what you say to people who wish you Happy Thanksgiving, especially people who had no idea that your list of things to be thankful for was getting shorter by the minute. “I hope you’ve been resting?”

“Please,” Carole tsked, “it’s not like Finn would prepare dinner. He’d go out for Kentucky Fried Chicken and call it set.” She laughed, and so did Quinn, because - well, Finn hadn’t ever really exactly excelled in the cookery department.

“Is everything alright?” Quinn asked, as their laughter died down. “Is Finn okay?”

“Oh, yes, he’s fine, or he will be, if he’s let off in time for dinner. Otherwise he may stage a riot right there in the office, which will be nothing compared to the fit I will throw if they try to keep my son from coming home at a reasonable hour on a holiday--”

Quinn refrained from reminding Carole gently that crime and criminals didn’t take the day off, because at this point she was well-familiar with Carole’s feelings regarding her son’s occupation and how frequently it cut into their family time.

It still caught her off guard, hearing a mother genuinely care about her child.

“Anyway,” Carole said, cutting herself off with a huff, “what time will you be here?”

Quinn blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“What time will you be here?” Carole asked, which didn’t make any more sense the second time around. “I’m planning for everything to be done by five. Do you think you could make it by then?”

Quinn opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Thanksgiving was a day for family, but her family had conspired to shackle her to their plans and she had a Fabray-shaped knife dangling over her head, and she had never been less happy to be a Fabray, and Carole--

Tears welled in Quinn’s eyes and she quickly cleared her throat. “Yes,” Quinn answered as quickly as she could, “yes. I’d love to come. Thank you.” Thank you, thank you, thank you. “Should I bring anything?”

“Nothing but your smiling face! Oop, I need to stir. See you later! Happy Thanksgiving!”

The line went dead and Quinn set her phone down dumbly.

There went her plan. She wasn’t going to be getting very drunk and falling asleep anywhere while the Macy’s parade ran on repeat in the background.

She was going to Thanksgiving. To a family Thanksgiving. Hosted by the woman who had become more of a mother to her than her biological mother could even try to be.

She was going to Thanksgiving.

(Maybe she had a little bit to be thankful for after all.)

Quinn hadn’t been planning on making any stops on her way to Carole’s. She’d been planning on a bee-line, so she could be there for as long as possible and soak up every bit of comfort she could from the cozy Hudson house, but she found herself at a standstill - literally.

She stood in front of the church - her church.

She’d found her old silver cross necklace when she was digging through her room. She’d gotten it as a Confirmation gift from her great-grandmother, and she hadn’t worn it regularly since high school. She hadn’t worn it at all since college.

But now it hung around her neck, tucked beneath the hem of her shirt, resting against the hammering of her heart.

She needed it, now, more than ever.

Quinn walked up the steps and went inside.

It was more or less deserted, which Quinn was relieved about - she didn’t have the strength to explain herself to anyone with questions about her presence there, or her hair, or anything at all, so she hurried down the aisle before someone could appear to irritate her, and--

And what?

Quinn stopped, staring up at the figure of Jesus Christ on the cross. He was sickly thin, with blood painted as oozing from His hands, His side. The crown of thorns sat sharply on His head.

It must have been so awful, being up there like that, Quinn thought, not for the first time. It was grotesque, the image in front of her, one repeated in different styles and designs all over the country, the world - but there was a reason it persevered as one of the most recognizable symbols of the religion.

There was something compelling about sacrifice.

Quinn knelt in front of the statue, her pink hair falling forward as she bowed her head. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned…

She didn’t know how long she knelt there, just that her knees were sore and achy by the time she stood back up. She was about to leave, really, she was, but she saw--

Quinn made her way over, rummaging her purse as she walked. By the time she arrived, she’d come up with a dollar, which she slid into the donation box in exchange for a long matchstick. She lit it off one of the many candles burning on the altar, and carefully caught another candle’s wick, watching as the fire jumped from match to candle. She blew the matchstick out once she was sure the little flame had caught, then set the matchstick in the trash bucket beneath the altar.

Please, Quinn thought, as strongly as she could, as loudly as she could, please, God, or Mary, or Jesus, or someone, Quinn’s hand found the silver cross and wrapped around it, tightly, please, God, help us. Help me. Please.

She watched her little candle catch and dance in the air currents, then forced herself to look away. She tucked her necklace back beneath her shirt and hurried back out of the church, suddenly more anxious than ever to get where she’d been going.

(Was it too late to look into the local convent? Quinn bookmarked that thought for later.)

Arriving at the Hudson house was sort of - not strange, exactly, because she’d been there dozens of times, especially while Finn was enlisted. She’d visited every time she came home; sometimes she’d come home just to visit with her. She knew Carole was lonely, and consumed with worry for her baby boy, so Quinn would find excuses to bake something and bring it over, and let them both be distracted for hours with a bottle of wine and shared memories. They caught up more than two people who emailed all the time needed to, but Quinn was not complaining - she loved Carole.

And Carole loved her.

(It seemed the list of people who loved her was also getting shorter by the day.)

The only strange part was going to be having Finn there this time, but--Quinn wasn’t really nervous about that, not really. Finn was like a Great Dane, or a Mastiff; big, intimidating, and more comforting than the most expensive security system money could buy. The way Finn took up a room, the easy way he smiled, how he acted when he was around his mother…

Quinn smoothed her still-very-pink hair down and let out a breath, then knocked on the door.

Maybe, just maybe, there really was something to be thankful for this year.

#para: all #para: 009 #para: self #cporttask #cporttask11

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wooolfies · 5 years

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Whumptober No.1 - Shaky Hands

Verse: Dust and Ashes (Alternative Universe, Universe A)

Pairing: Jurnex

Prompt: Shaky Hands

Warnings: Major Character Death, Death of a Child, Death of a loved one

Characters/Parties: Natasha Jurow, John Kennex, Lo Kennex

Word Count: 2609

Requested by: @ladyspirkis4life97

-1st October 2051-

It was early in the morning, Lo was playing between the trees. The man on guard was reading a book. After a few hours, he had fallen asleep.

There was movement in the bushes, Lo went there, maybe it was the cat from earlier that week. When she saw it her eyes when huge. It was a bear and it looked incredibly fluffy.

“Hi, Teddy!” she called out and came closer, she was curious since the bear seemed to be huge.

The bear eyed her, unsure what to think of the tiny human. Lo went to hug it, oh man, it was fluffy.

The bear didn't like that, it felt threatened by the sudden movement it let out a roar and tossed the kid off of it. Lo flew a few meters.

The guard had heard the bear and jumped up, ringing the alarm. John had heard it too and ran over, his gun out already. As soon as he saw the beast he fired, it took a few times to take it down. Then he noticed Lo laying there and he panicked. He ran over and scooped her up, not thinking.

“Eloise?!” He called out and ran, he had to get her inside. He could feel that there were so many broken bones and there was a huge wound on the girl's back that was bleeding heavily.

“Natasha!” He called out as he rushed up the wooden stairs. The horror was audible in his voice.

Natasha ran to see what was going on, as soon as she saw the saggy body in John's arms and the blood on his shirt, she froze. A chill ran down her spine but she somehow managed to pull it together. She had to go into battle mode, she had to help Lo. She ran straight to the infirmary to prepare what she needed. She knew chances were bad, this was a basket case. It was nightmare material. Vera her younger daughter was laying in their bedroom, she had been sleeping and the sound of the alarm had woken her up. She was crying, but Natasha couldn't comfort her now. Lo first.

Leslie, who had heard the commotion rushed into the infirmary just as John put down Eloise on the bed.

“We gotta stop the bleeding,” Natasha said to Leslie, still not able to control her fear. “John, ventilate her. She still got a pulse.” Natasha meanwhile Was trying to stop the bleeding on Lo's back by pressing down at least a bit it needed to be fixed surgically, she knew that.

“Leslie, take her under, John you need to keep ventilating her.” Meanwhile, she was trying to clamp all major arteries that had been ruptured. Natasha’s hands had never shaken like his before.

The hustle went on, Natasha was struggling with everything she had to save her. She just had to.

But a few hours later, Lo's little heart had stopped beating, even though everyone involved had done everything possible, there had been too much haemorrhage, even with blood transfusions from John it had not been enough. Too much stress for a little body like hers.

Natasha was dead inside. She could not believe it, it had to be one of her crazy dreams. It just had to.

“Natasha?” It was John's voice, it seemed to echo from the walls around them. He had been sent out as things had gotten too intense and Sandra had tried to help him calm down.

Natasha felt how he wrapped his arms around her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, trying not to look at the body of her daughter that was covered in the once sterile, now bloodstained, cloth.

“It’s gotta be a dream…,” Natasha whispered.

“Unfortunately it is not.” John felt like his insides were tied to a knot. He was still panicking.

Leslie came and shoved the two out of the room. Nobody said anything. Except for Vera, who was crying down the hallway, probably while being with Kate, the mansion was silent.

John had curled up in bed, the shirt he had worn earlier was laying on the floor. He had just told Leo. “Lo got hurt badly. She's now gone to a better place,” he had said.

Natasha was laying on her back next to him, only in an undershirt and shorts, staring at the ceiling and clinging onto her husband's hand. Her face was expressionless but there were tears running down the sides of her face.

This couldn't be true. I had to be a dream.

She jumped a little as John moved a bit closer towards her to cover him with their blanket.

He was not sure how exactly he could deal with this. Why had he not been faster? Why had he not been there watching her? His damn plants, he had been with his damn plants, but they were not worth her. They were not even remotely comparable to what was worth his daughter's life.

Natasha, on the other hand, knew that she had fucked up again. Like back then with Dima. Now it was Lo, who had no fault in what had happened to her. Natasha had not tried hard enough. Her emotional involvement had ruined her work this time. She felt the urge to bang her head against something hard or maybe to punch a wall. She was tense and the picture of her lifeless daughter was coming up over and over again. What kind of parent even was she?

John felt how she was and what her breathing pattern was doing. He took a deep breath to try and say something. “Thank you for doing your best work,” he said softly. “Thank you, for trying to help her. You did all you could. I was the parent in charge when it happened, my bad not yours.”

Natasha turned her head to look him into the eye. “I could have done more. I— My hands were shaking.”

John looked right back at her. “You did what you could. You did your best.”

“No. I saved people far worse than her.”

“Not under these conditions. You are amazing. I love you.”

“No…. Just…. No. It is my bad. I should stop practising medicine.”

John grabbed bother her hands and pulled himself closer to her. “Natasha Alexejevna, do you trust me?”

Natasha looked back at him, she did trust him her life. But she also knew what he was going for. She had to be truthful. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust me when I say that you did your best.”

Natasha took a shaky breath and he could feel how she relaxed a bit. She turned on her side to face him fully and hugged onto him. “I'm scared.”

“What are you scared off?”

“This is real and could happen again.”

“Tasha. The scary part is over. Everyone else is okay. The bear maybe not but nobody cares about him. Besides I was down there with her, I should have kept a closer eye on her.”

“John that's not true. It is not your bad.” Natasha looked at him. Her face looked less like stone now. It seemed sad and tired, if not completely exhausted.

***

Leslie had prepped the body for burial. She wanted to do what Natasha and John wanted but not to put it on them. They were struggling enough.

Vera was staying with Kate at least for the next couple of days, Kate was. After the first night which was the worst for Natasha, she seemed much more stable. She knew she had to keep going for John, Leo and Lo, for her dad and Kate and everyone else. She had responsibility. She had a vital task in the group, she was now even more aware of that.

John, on the other hand, was sleighing down the hole. He had seemed calm on the day it happened but he was completely destroyed. He refused to eat and didn't get up from bed. It settled in and he was in deep emotional shock. He didn't say a word. He was trapped in his own thoughts and how guilty he felt about what had happened.

Natasha was up and running. She was feeding Vera and cleaning up the remaining mess she had made the previous day. But she sat with John for the most part of the morning, holding his hand, attempting to comfort him. Well she was still fully there yet but she knew no matter what she had to make this world a better place for everyone alive. Leo was constantly around and walking through the hallways, he was unsure how to deal with it. He wanted to talk to Natasha but she had told him that John needed rest so he was waiting impatiently to come to see him.

Leo too needed comforting. He was scared he could lose even more of his family. Understandably.

Natasha told him that she had no intention of going away. She made him pancakes since she knew that would cheer him up. Vera was mostly sleeping in the kangaroo wrap and going wherever Natasha was going. Though she didn't move much. She wanted to stay near John and Leo.

Kate was constantly around Natasha she really didn't know how to deal with the situation, but she felt like she had to help Natasha if she would ask for it like she had kept an eye on Vera. She knew she would never have her own kids and Natasha was family to her so she could support her.

Sandra was talking the guard all day since a part of the responsibly was his. The guard was terribly sorry. He did never think about how important his job actually was. But it was the end of the world and kicking him out of the group would most certainly kill him sooner or later.

Leo went to play with her since it was a great distraction and she was an interesting person.

When Natasha came back to their room she found the bed empty. John was gone, as were his boots and gun.

Natasha bit back a curse and went to tell Sandra. She had to find him. She was worried. Sandra personally offered to come with her to look for him, so did Valerie. Kate took Vera again and the three women headed out. Dorian also came with them, since he was worried and he could be an enormous help with finding him.

The guard on duty told them that John had left through the main gate. John had never learnt how to deal with grief properly. Back when his parents had died he had found distraction in working extra hours. Now there was nothing. The World they lived in was a world of death, war and danger. Only ten percent of Americans were still alive, the same for all Canadians in the denser populated areas. Until now he had been lucky, none of his close friends had died. He was desperate, there were pain and guilt. There was no way out.

“I've got him!” Dorian called out.

Natasha looked at the DRN.

“I'll lead you all there.” Dorian started to walk a lot faster, but slowly enough that the other could keep up with the pace.

They found John sitting on a rock, his head hung low.

Natasha carefully approached him and sat down next to him but with some space in between them.

“John. Talk to me.” She said softly and looked at him.

He didn't react.

“John….” she tried again and carefully reached out for his shoulder this time.

John jumped at the touch and glared at her with eyes of anger, hate and sadness.

“Go home,” he said.

“If you come with me.”

“I won't. But you really should go be with the kids and your dad.”

“They need you too.”

“They don't. I only get them killed. I'm a horrible dad.”

“You are not. They need you, now more than ever. I need you too. You saved my life countless times, let me save yours. John, I want to get old with you. I know what you are thinking. Trust me I know.”

John was only looking at her, he didn't say anything more.

“I'm not saying I don't feel anything. I feel a lot. I just don't know how to put it into words and I know life has to go on. So many awful things happen. I miss her, John. I love her. But my children, my husband and everyone else in our group needs me. I have a responsibility. We need each other, John.”

“How, Natasha? How can this happen?”

“I do not know.” She reached for his hand. But he pulled away.

“John, I love you.” She paused. “I'm sorry I'm saying this but not everything sucks. Life goes on. It has to. You are this group's leader, are you even aware of that?”

John kept looking at his wife. “Come with me?”

“No. Running away is not the solution. Besides, it is not actually saying that. John, please come back with me.” Natasha moved closer and hugged him tightly.

His first instinct was to push her away but he could not hurt her, she was hurting already because of him.

After a while, he slowly got up to walk back with her.

Natasha wrapped an arm around her husband. She knew that he needed her now more than ever, she just could not let him go off the edge, both literally and figuratively. She would not let go. “I love you, John,” she said softly.

“I love you too. I really do. It’s just…” John’s voice broke and fell silent.

“What do you need?”

“I need her back. I need a second chance.”

Natasha started rubbing his back, not saying anything. This was not something she could make happen.

The rest of the group followed them, none of them said anything, mostly because they were scared to say something wrong. Sandra was trying to keep the group together, especially since John (as the group’s leader) was barely up for the job.

Dorian was constantly scanning, everyone and their surroundings. John was his friend, so was Natasha and he could not imagine how they must have felt like. Suddenly he froze. “We should hurry. There are planes approaching this area!”

Natasha felt how John froze, how he tensed up a lot more.

“It’s fine. If you hurry we will make it back in time. I got gear on me, so do the others, we shared one set before,” she gave him a bit of a shaky smile. She knew that sharing a set would suck.

“Not a chance, you are still breastfeeding Vera,” John answered firmly.

“I know you are caring for me. You always are, but you are also not yourself, let’s just run, okay?” Natasha turned around to the others. “Let’s hurry guys.”

Dorian nodded. He would not be hurt by the rain but he was worried for his human companions. “We got ten minutes, tops.”

Natasha reached for John’s hand and dragged him with her. She felt how he was not able to keep up with her. He had lost his will to fight.

“Come on!” she called out. She would not leave him behind.

They made it back to the mansion, just in time before the planes arrived. Dorian made sure the garden was covered and the building secure.

Natasha went upstairs with John, Vera was babbling, Leslie was taking care of her. Leo had been with Valerie. He seemed to not understand it yet. Even to Natasha, it felt surreal.

#whumptober2019 #no.1 #tw:death #tw:character death #tw:death of a child #dust and ashes #jurnex #natasha Jurow #John Kennex

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pink1031 · 6 years

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You’ve Woken Up The Demon In Me- Part 4

Characters: Demon!Dean x Reader, Crowley, Castiel, Cole

Warnings: Violence, non-con, dub-con, language, rough sex, oral (male and female receiving),angst, smut, choking, general abuse, Fluffiness is abundant in this last part.

A/n: So we have made it to the end of this one, finally. Sorry it took me so long to finish this one and hopefully it was worth the wait. This one continues to follow the story line of the show as far as Cole’s character is concerned. I did not follow everything exactly, but much of the dialogue is there and the same premise. Sorry if this is pure trash. Gifs are not mine.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@build-a-pyre

@wildefire

You sat in the library in silence, a bottle of Jack Daniels in your hand as Sam took Dean’s food to his room. You poured yourself your third glass and brought it to your lips. Sam’s soft footsteps filled the room as you sat the glass back down on the table. You slid the bottle over to him as he pulled out the chair next to yours.

“How you holding up?” Sam looked at you with furrowed brows.

“Cas healed everything up so, I’m good.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Sam pursed his lips as he poured himself a drink.

You sighed and stared down at the honey colored liquid in your glass. “I don’t know Sammy.”

Sam brought his own glass to his lips and took a long drink. “You want to talk about it?”

“I really don’t know what to say about it.” You glanced up meeting his eyes for only a minute before looking back down at the table.

“I can’t imagine how you are feeling Y/n.” Sam sighed softly, he reached out and gently gripped your hand holding it in his own large one. “I just want you to know I am here for you and I will listen if you do decide you want to talk.” You returned his sad smile and held his hand. “I just don’t know what good talking about it is going to do. I mean, my best friend, the man I love almost killed me. He uh, he…” Your voice trailed off. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the words.

“He raped you Y/n.” Sam looked at you then. “You can say it.”

You quickly jerked your hand away from Sam and shifted in your chair. “It wasn’t like that.” You huffed. “I mean it was but it wasn’t.” You let out a growl of frustration. “I wanted Dean. I’ve wanted Dean for a long time.” You paused and looked down at your hands. “Just, just not like that.” You looked up at the younger brother with tears in your eyes. “Fuck Sammy, I am just so confused about it all.”

Sam just looked at you with a frown on his face. His large hand reached out for yours again but you jerked away and stood up. “What am I supposed to do Sam?” you almost yelled in your frustration. “I mean, part of me wants to run in there and hold him because I know the shit that is going through his head and part of me is scared shitless to even be within five hundred feet of him.” You began pacing the floor as the anger, sadness, and frustration all coursed through your veins.

Sam’s brows furrowed deeper. “I honestly don’t know, Y/n.” He huffed softly, his lips forming a thin line.

“You know I love him Sammy.” You turned to face the younger Winchester. “That’s why I stayed with him out there.” You flung your arm out in gesture pointing past the walls of the bunker.

“What?” Sam asked, the confusion showing on his face.

“C’mon Sammy.” You rolled your eyes as you started pacing again. “You and I both know I am better than fucking Houdini at slipping a pair of cuffs. I could have been out of there that first night.” You stopped to see the surprise expression on Sam’s face. “But I couldn’t leave him out there all alone with Crowley. I had to know he was all right. I had to stay with him.”

Sam rose from his chair in one fluid movement at your confession. In two long strides, he was at your side wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against his chest. He held you close, tears filling his eyes at the realization that all the pain and abuse you suffered was the price you were willing to pay to make sure his brother was not alone. You sacrificed yourself to make sure Dean was safe, or as safe as he could be under the circumstances.

“Y/n?” Dean’s voice cracked as he spoke. The one word, your name, holding so much raw emotion.

Your heart raced and fear immediately coursed through you as you saw Dean standing in the library doorway. You quickly pushed Sam away from you and took two steps back not wanting to face the consequences of being caught hugging his brother.

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” Dean held his hands out to his sides as he took a few steps forward. The fear on your face breaking his heart. “It’s okay. It’s okay.,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You stammered. “He hugged me. I didn’t…” Your voice trembled.

“Y/n, baby,” Dean stopped moving as he watched your body shake with fear. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Never again. Never.” Tears streaked down Dean’s cheeks as he spoke.

You took a shaky breath. Tears already forming in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks. You nodded your head softly, Dean took another step forward, and it made you instinctively take a step backwards. Dean stared at you for a long moment. He wanted so badly to rush to you and wrap you up in his arms. He wanted to hold you and kiss away every tear that fell from your eyes and let you know everything was going to be okay. However, with every step that Dean made towards you, you took a step away from him.

“Listen, brat, I uh..” Dean paused as he saw you visibly cringed at his use of his nickname for you and he swore to himself right then that he would never call you brat again.

Dean’s shoulder slumped in defeat. He had no idea how to make this right between the two of you. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to fix what he had broken inside of you. His lips parted to speak but there were no words that could ever make what had happened all right so he closed his mouth and turned to leave the room.

“Dean, wait.” You called out softly. Your voice still a little shaken. Dean slowly turned to look at you. “I know…” you paused struggling to find your own words. “I know it wasn’t you and, and I don’t blame you. I just need some time to process. Ya know?”

A small soft smile that didn’t reach Dean’s eyes formed on his pink lips. “Of course sweetheart. I just,” Dean paused as he felt his own tears prickling at his eyes once more. “I uh, heard what you said to Sammy and I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for not leaving me alone and thank you for not giving up on me. I know saying I’m sorry will never make up for what happened but I truly am sorry.” Dean didn’t wait for your response before turning and heading out of the room.

One month later:

It had been a month now since Dean was back to being Dean. The three of you had heeded Casteil’s advice and taken some time off for yourselves. The time off hadn’t lasted long before you and Dean both were ready to jump back into work. Wanting desperately to get back to some sort of normalcy. Sam had been leery of going back to work but with the both of you hounding him, he didn’t have much of a choice.

By the close of that first month you were finally able to be in the same room with Dean without feeling like you were on edge and without your fight or flight instinct kicking in. In fact, you had made enough progress that Sam was able to leave you and Dean alone in a room together for small periods of time without you immediately bolting for the door. Sam was very happy to point out that fact when he had actually gotten to go take a shower without you locking yourself in your room while he had been busy.

Things by no means were back to normal between you and Dean. You didn’t talk to each other much and neither of you could really look each other in the eye. You certainly were not ready for any kind of physical contact with Dean yet. Even the friendly hugs and playful contact that you so often shared before Dean became a demon was very much off limits. You were both trying very hard but like you both kept telling each other and yourselves, it was just going to take time.

3 months later:

By the time three months had passed since Dean had been cured things were going a little smoother. You and Dean were talking more even joking around some. Your nightmares had greatly decreased and the three of you were back to full time work.

You were now able to stay in a room alone with Dean and were mostly at ease. You still had no physical contact which was beginning to take its toll on Dean. There were so many times when he had automatically reached out to hug you or put his arm around you, which to him seemed so natural, only to have you flinch and pull away when he tried.

Dean was beginning to think he would never gain your trust back and he had almost lost all hope that you would ever love him again the way you had before. Things changed the night Cole came back into your lives. You found yourself standing in a dark alley with your gun drawn pointing it at Cole as he pointed his gun right back at you.

“Put it down. Y/n, put it down!” Dean barked at you from the opposite end of the alley.

You looked at Dean and then back at Cole as you slowly lowered your weapon just as Sam came around the corner.

“Cole, hey, right here. We're talking, okay?” Dean spoke calmly as he drew Cole’s attention away from you and Sam. Your eyes darted between Dean and the man standing between the two of you with his gun trained on Dean.

“How can I believe you, huh?” Cole asked, his voice was quivering. “How can I believe you?” he yelled the question this time. “My whole life, I’ve been…”

“I get it.“ Dean interrupted him. “That was your story. Look, man, I got one of those, too. Okay, but those stories that we tell to keep us going? Man, sometimes they blind us. They take us to dark places,“ Dean paused for a minute, “the kind of place where I might beat the crap out of a good man just for the fun of it.“ Dean’s eyes met yours over Cole’s shoulder as he spoke. “The people who love me, they pulled me back from that edge.”

You took a shuddered breath as you watched the situation unfold and Dean continued to speak. “Cole, once you touch that darkness... It never goes away. Now, the truth is... I'm past saving. I know how my story ends. It's at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun. So, the question is, is that gonna be today? That gonna be that gun?”

Your lips parted. You wanted to scream a resounding “no” to answer Dean’s question for Cole. The thought of Dean being gone made your heart ache and your stomach tighten and you knew in that moment that you still loved the man with everything in you.

Before you could speak Sam’s voice cut through the silence. “You've got a family, Cole.” the sound of Sam’s voice made Cole turn to look at him. “I heard you on the phone that night. I'm guessing they need you to come back, and they need you to come back whole.”

Cole stared between the brothers for a moment before slowly lowering his gun and handing it back over to Dean. He simply nodded his head and walked away. Once Cole had climbed back into his vehicle you breathed a sigh of relief and did the only thing you could think of, you ran to Dean. Dean’s body stiffened in surprise as you ran towards him and flung your arms around him.

“What if he had shot you Dean?” You hugged the man as tight as you could. “You were just going to stand there and let him shoot you.” Tears filled your eyes and your voice began to tremble. “I can’t loose you Dean. Not again.”

“Shh,” Dean finally allowed his arms to gently wrap around you and he held you softly against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Dean closed his eyes as he rested his head on top of yours. He breathed in deeply inhaling the scent of your hair, drinking it in as if he might never get to smell it again. He had missed your touch and your smell so much he wanted to stay in this moment forever, just holding you and just feeling you against him. Your sobs began to rock your body, it was like once the flood gates had opened they wouldn’t close and you and Dean both realized this was what you had needed. He held you and rocked you gently in his arms as all your emotions that you had been bottling up over the last three months came flooding out in the form of tears. Dean gently stroked your hair and ran a gentle hand up and down your back.

“That’s it darlin’, just let it all out.” He soothed as he held you tight. “I got you.” It was at that moment, as you clung to Dean like your life depended on it, you couldn‘t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. “I love you Dean.” You whispered softly against his chest as your sobs slowly subsided. Dean gently cupped your chin in his rough calloused hand and tilted your head up so he could look down into your eyes. His thumb gently stroked over your cheek as his jade eyes locked on yours. “I love you too sweetheart.” He smiled softly.

Dean dipped his head to press his full soft lips to yours but your body instantly tensed and you pulled back. “I’m sorry.” You whispered softly as you stared up at Dean a deep frown on his face as he let his hands slips away from your body. “Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.” Dean reached out to you and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. His smile returned when you didn’t flinch away from him. “It’s going to take time remember? And I’m willing to wait, no matter how long it takes.”

“Thank you.” You returned his smiled. Your moment was interrupted by a cough from behind you drawing yours and Dean’s attention to Sam. “Guys, I hate to interrupt but we need to find Rowena.” Sam brought you both back to the case at hand. You both nodded and headed towards the Impala.

6 months later:

Another three months had passed since your breakdown with Dean in the alleyway. Things were continuing to get better but still not back to pre-demon-Dean days. You didn’t think you would ever go back to being the same person you had been, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Dean was being true to his word and keeping a comfortable distance from you which now included being able to occasionally put his arm around you and the two of you had shared a few more hugs. The hugs started a little awkward but had gradually gotten easier and even comforting at times. You continued, however, to get your own motel room anytime the three of you were on the road. You just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in the same room with Dean all night, even with Sam there.

One thing for sure that had not changed was you all still hated dealing with witches. Rowena was turning out to be a pain in the ass and add that to the stress of trying to find a way to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean left the three of you running ragged.

The three of you were driving back towards the bunker when Dean had pulled into a motel parking lot in the middle of some little one-horse town that you didn’t know the name of.

“I’m beat.” He grumbled as he rubbed his hand down his face. “Let’s just crash here for the night and we can head home in the morning.”

You and Sam grunted in agreement, both of you just as tired as Dean. Sam peeled himself out of the passenger seat and headed to the motel office to get your rooms while you and Dean waited in the car. A few minutes later Sam returned.

“Bad news.” Sam huffed as he slid back into the car. “They only have one room available.”

“Shit.” Dean mumbled. “Guess we’ll have to push on to the next town and”.

“Ugh,” you cut Dean off. “Let’s just stay here. I’m too tired.”

Dean turned around in the front seat so he could look at you. “Are you sure sweetheart? We can drive a little further.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You waved him off. “You’re tired, I’m tired, Sam’s tired. Let’s just go get some sleep.” You opened the back door and slid out before either brother could say anything else.

Sam went back to the office and paid for the room before heading back to the car where the three of you grabbed your duffels and headed into the motel room.

You exited the bathroom to find both of the boys had changed into their sweats for the night and had each taken up residence on one of the queen size beds. You suddenly were unsure about this arrangement. You had always slept in the same bed with Dean when the three of you were on the road but now that didn’t feel like the best option and you weren’t sure what to do. Sam and Dean both looked up at you as you stood staring between the two beds. Dean looked at you with almost hopeful eyes and Sam’s eyes just seemed sad as he gave you a small smile.

“You can sleep in my bed.” Sam offered, nodding to the empty space at his side.

You immediately turned and looked at Dean to see his reaction. He smiled softly and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you are comfortable with darlin’.”

“Thanks.” You smiled at him before making your way to the empty side of Sam’s bed and crawling in under the covers. You could hear the audible sigh that spilled from Dean’s lips as you made your choice but you knew despite his disappointment he would let you be.

Two hours had passed. Two hours of tossing and turning. Two hours of staring up at the ceiling. Two hours of listening to both men snore and you were still not asleep. You were so exhausted but you could not fall asleep. It didn’t help anything that you were sleeping with the giant Winchester. Sam was all arms and legs and he was definitely used to sleeping in a bed by himself by the way he sprawled out. You found yourself inching closer and closer to your edge of the bed as he tossed and turned as well. You were on the very edge of the bed the next time he rolled over and with a thud his arm landed across your shoulder. You sighed and grumbled as you rolled out from under the large arm and stood up. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you looked at Sam on his stomach almost spread eagle across the bed.

You were so tired you contemplated sleeping on the floor when your eyes moved over to Dean in the opposite bed. Dean was quietly lying on one side of his bed leaving the opposite side completely empty. You stared for several long minutes at the empty portion of the bed. You bit at your bottom lip and shifted nervously on your feet.

“Screw it.” You mumbled under your breath before letting your bare feet carry you silently across the room. You eased yourself into Dean’s bed as slowly and quietly as you could so as not to wake him up. Within minutes you finally drifted off to sleep.

‘Why was it so hot?’ you thought to yourself as awoke the next morning. Your eyelids were still too heavy to open but you were practically sweating. Did you fall asleep next to a furnace? You squirmed as you tried to move to fling the blankets off your body but you found you couldn’t move. Something very heavy was draped over your shoulders, waist and legs. Your eyes slowly blinked open and you realized the heaviness holding you in place were Dean. One of his large muscled arms was under your head and wrapped around your shoulders while his other arm had a tight grip around your waist holding you close to his chest. Both of your legs were tangled with his effectively trapping you flush against his very warm, very hard body. You couldn’t see his face as your own was buried in the crook of his neck with his chin resting on top of your head. You could tell he was still sleeping by the even soft breaths that blew lightly against your hair. You tried very slowly and very gently to dislodge your body from being entwined with his but you couldn’t budge an inch. You tried for several minutes before Dean’s very gravelly sleep laden voice cut through the silence of the room.

“You really need to stop with the squirming sweetheart.”

“Dean.” You whined softly into his neck as you wiggled to once more try to free yourself.

“I’m serious darlin’, you keep that up and I am not going to be responsible for my actions.” He chuckled softly into your hair.

You giggled in response. “Dean, I’m sweating here. It’s too hot. At least let me move a little.”

Dean grumbled but loosened his grip allowing you pull back until there was space between your two bodies and you could finally tilt your head up to look into those jade green eyes.

“Good morning.” You smiled as your bright eyes met his.

His smile was warm and genuine. “Good morning sweetheart.” The arm that been around your waist moved to allow Dean to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before he gently stroked your cheek. “I had almost forgotten how good it felt to wake up next to you.”

You couldn’t help but to nuzzle softly into his hand on your soft porcelain cheek, your eyes closing briefly as you savored the touch. “Yeah, same here.”

“You know,” Dean raked his teeth over his bottom lip as his eyes studied your face, “we could do this, every morning. If you want to.” He chortled softly. “I always did have the best sleep ever with you by my side.”

You returned his smile but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. It made you feel sad that you couldn’t give Dean what he wanted, what he needed. “You know none of this has been because I don’t want to be with you Dean. I do want this every morning. I do want us to be together. I just don’t know if I can.”

Dean nodded softly, his hand still gently brushing against your cheek. “I understand sweetheart, I really do.” His thumb gently caressed against your bottom lip and your lips parted instinctively. Dean grinned. “You know, um, it’s been a while since we uh, you know, tested your boundaries.” He cleared his throat. “Um, you know, just to see where we are at now. I mean you didn’t freak out when you woke up with me this morning.”

“True. I didn‘t did I?” You said with an easy smile and this time your eyes sparkled a little with the happiness in that realization. Dean’s thumb gently trailed over your bottom lip once more as he stared down at your mouth. Your lips pursed softly as you kissed the pad his thumb. You watched as Dean’s eyes closed and he mumbled something incoherent under his breath. “Dean?” You whispered softly, suddenly feeling nervous. His eyes opened slowly at the sound of his name. “Kiss me?” You asked almost shyly.

Dean continued to cup your cheek with his rough calloused hand as he dipped his head towards yours. He was almost hesitant as he lips brushed against your own. The touch was soft, almost feather-light. Your hand moved to curl your small fingers around the wrist of the hand that held your face. You held onto him gently as his lips simply stayed against yours. He was letting you guide this, letting you control what and how much of him you wanted. You pressed your lips to his more firmly and he returned with the same amount of pressure. He kissed you tenderly, carefully. You sighed contentedly as your lips parted and you gently suckled at his bottom lip bringing a soft moan to his throat. The warm softness of your tongue found his plump bottom lip and you tasted him as your hand left his wrist to stroke along his forearm and over his broad shoulder until your fingers played down along the hard muscles of his back.

Dean’s heart was racing in his chest at the feel of your fingers dancing along his skin and the taste of you on his lips. His tongue moved with your own, finally dipping between your soft full lips into the sweetness of your mouth. You moaned against his lips softly and deepened the kiss until you were both breathless when you finally pulled apart. “Y/n.” Dean moaned your name softly as his hand slid down your cheek and over the curve of your shoulder to settle against your waist. The heat pooled between your legs at the sound of your name falling from his lips. You pressed your thighs together needing friction as the desire that you hadn’t felt in so long made you quiver.

Your eyes locked on his glassy green orbs that held so much need and emotion in that one moment. “More Dean.” The plea came out soft and raspy. Dean trembled with the effort to hold himself back as the plea fell from your lips. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes off and feel your body under him as he finally made you his again but he knew he couldn’t do that. Not yet. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

You nodded your head in reply not sure if you could form words. You leaned in to press your lips to Dean’s once more but to your surprise Dean pulled back. “I need to hear you say it, Y/n.” Dean’s eyes searched your face. “You know I want you, darlin’ but I need to know you are okay.”

You nodded once more before you found your voice. “I’m okay Dean. I’m sure.” Dean‘s lips met yours once more, the kiss passion filled but easy. His tongue danced with yours and you moaned against him as he rolled you both so you were on your back under him. The kiss was needy and desperate but not hard, not demanding. Your hands were at his waist pulling him closer to your body as you melted into the kiss. Your body was writhing gently under him and all he had done was kiss you. With soft but precise movements Dean slowly began to undress you, taking his time with each piece of clothing making sure to give you time to protest or stop him but you nodded each time he paused until you were fully naked underneath him.

He stared down at your naked flesh. His eyes drinking in every inch. “So beautiful.” He whispered softly. He was hesitant as his fingertips reached out to gently stroke your flesh. His touch was so soft, so careful, and so tender, as if he thought you were fine porcelain under him and he was afraid you could break at any moment. His fingers traced softly and slowly over your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts before letting his warm touch gently trace around each hard nipple making your back arch and a soft whine fall from your lips. He grinned down at you as he watched your breasts rise and fall. Your nipples grew to taut peaks as the pads of his fingers grazed the pebbles in the lightest of touches. You reached out for him, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel his warm skin against you.

“Let me make you feel good sweetheart.” Dean’s voice was low and thick as he gently caught your outstretched hands in his own. He wasn’t rough but instead gentle as he guided your arms back down to your sides and placed them softly against the mattress. You nodded softly, biting at your bottom lip as he resumed the exploration of your body like this was the first time.

His hands moved to the spot they had left off, gently teasing fingertips against your hard nipples before letting his hands slide down across your abdomen and sides. Dean’s strong hands played over your flesh. Rough palms skimming along your hips and down your thighs, touching you everywhere but where you wanted him the most.

“Dean.” You whined as your hips rose at his touch.

Dean just smiled down at you before lowering his head and kissing you tenderly. His lips began to follow the same path his hands had. His mouth moved to leave warm wet kisses over your jaw and down your neck. His tongue lapped softly along your heated skin as he reached your collarbone. A light graze of teeth made you shiver as he made his way to your right breast. He lavished the hard bud with his tongue before gently sucking it into his mouth making you gasp with the pleasure. His mouth moved languidly, showering your breast with affection before kissing and licking his way to your left breast and repeating the process. You squirmed under his expert ministrations. Your body was alight with desire, every nerve tingling in a way it never had before. Your hands tunneled through the short scruff of Dean’s hair as he kissed his way lower down your body. His tongue teasing a wet trail over your skin until his warm breath washed against the apex of your thighs.

“Please Dean.” You whimpered.

“Patience, sweetheart.” Dean looked up at you as he settled himself between your creamy thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise.”

Dean was definitely a man of his word and you knew that. His lips gently kissed the soft flesh of you inner thighs, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin as he inched his way painfully slow to where you needed him the most. His warm breath washed across your slick folds before his tongue licked a soft line from your tight entrance to your throbbing clit. The sensation made your hips rise from the bed and deep moan to fill your throat. Dean smiled as you slowly began to rock against his mouth as his tongue delved into your tight heat. He moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, a sweetness he never thought would grace his lips again. His took his time bringing you to the edge again and again as he alternated between driving his tongue in and out of your heat to flicking and sucking at your pulsing clit.

Your head was rolled back against the bed as your hands fisted in the short hair atop his head as you moaned and cried out for him. “Please Dean please. Please make me cum.”

Dean groaned as your pleas echoed in the room. His lips latched onto your clit as he gently slid two fingers into your dripping pussy. His fingers worked hard back and forth as they stroked your slick walls. The digits curled inside of you until you were bucking against him.

“That’s it baby. Cum for me sweetheart.” Dean moaned against your soaked petals as he felt your walls flutter around his thrusting fingers.

The fire between your legs spread out until it felt like it engulfed your entire body. Your head snapped back as you cried out your release and your body quaked with the force of your orgasm. You called out Dean’s name over and over again as you rode out your climax until your body fell limp against the bed.

Slowly Dean eased his fingers from your slippery core. He placed a tender kiss to your now sensitive clit before sliding up your body. Your chest rose and fell against his as you tried to calm your rapid breathing. Dean grinned down at you as he peppered your face with soft kisses until you were giggling under him.

“You are so beautiful baby.” He gently stroked your flushed cheek as his lips pressed lovingly to your own. “I love seeing you smile again.”

Your own hands moved to cup his scruffy cheeks as you brought his lips back to your own. “I love you Dean.” You whispered softly against his lips before you kissed him hard. Dean moaned into your mouth as your tongue pushed past his lips and into his mouth. You took control then, your hands leaving his face to push at his shoulders as your hips rose over him and you coaxed him onto his back.

“I love you too.” Came Dean’s gruff breathy reply as your lips finally left his. You grinned down into his smiling eyes, watching as they crinkled at the corners as he looked up at you.

You bit at your bottom lip as your hands slid down the broad expanse of his muscled chest. Your fingers played along his skin, tracing each ripple of muscle and every hard line until your hands reached the waist of his sweatpants. You gave him a mischievous grin as you hooked your fingers into the waistband and gave a hard tug. Dean quirked an eyebrow up at you and chuckled softly as he raised his hips allowing you to tug both his pants and boxer briefs down at one time.

“You sure about this sweetheart? We don’t have to.” Dean’s smile turned to a frown as he looked up at you, the worry evident on his face. ’You know I want to but we don’t have to do this now.”

“I want you Dean.” You smiled at him reassuringly as you leaned back over and kissed him again. His moan vibrated against your lips as your soft hand found his hard length and your fingers curled around him. You slowly and softly stroked along his cock. You took your time as your hand twisted around his cock, moving up and down until his hips were rising off the bed and he was almost whimpering with need.

“Shit Y/n. Please baby. I need you.” He moaned as your hand continued it’s teasingly languid pace.

You smirked as you looked down at him, seeing his brows furrowed, the way he bit his bottom lip, and the absolute need in his eyes. You shifted your body so you could straddle his thick thighs with your shapely legs. Your eyes locked on his as you guided the thick swollen head of his cock to your tight slick entrance and slowly began to lower yourself. Your hands braced yourself against his chest as you took him inch by inch into your clutching cunt. Your moan of pleasure mixed with Dean’s soft groan as your firm ass finally rested against his thighs. Your walls fluttered as they stretched around his hardness and you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you. Dean’s hands reached out for your own and he laced his fingers with yours as you both just took the time to relish your bodies being locked together.

Dean used his grip on your hands to pull your body forward, bending you at the waist until your chest was pressed against his own. His arms wrapped tightly around you as his lips found yours. Slowly he began to thrust under you, short soft thrusts that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through the both of you until your hips began to match his rhythm. Your mouth molded against his, you clung to his chest as his arms held you tight, and your hips ground against one another. The two of you moved in perfect steady rhythm. It was slow, gentle, and full of emotion, this was more than sex, this was love.

In one graceful movement, Dean rolled you both so you were under him. He kept his arms laced around your back, strong hands sliding up to curl around your shoulders and hold you close to him.

Dean’s eyes closed and a moan rumbled deep in his chest as he slowly began to grind his hips against your own. You tightened your thighs around his waist, your heels digging into the flesh of his ass as your hips rolled to match his. Time seemed to slow to a stop, every move was slow, easy, languid, and perfect. His body fit perfect into yours and the two of you melded together as one. Hands caressed flesh, lips kissed, and your bodies bucked together.

Dean’s low gruff voice was soft as he whispered and moaned against the curve of your neck. “You are so perfect baby.” He ground his hips harder to yours as you moaned beneath him. “So beautiful. You feel so good.” His words whispered against your lips this time as he kissed you. “I’ll never hurt you again. I love you Y/N.”

“Dean.” You gasped against his lips as you body began to quake under him. The constant drag of his cock back and forth between your slick clutching walls pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. “I love you.” You panted. Your hands clutched at his back, nails raking lightly along his skin as your back arched under his, thrusting your breasts to press to his chest.

Dean felt your body tensing under him. The sweet velvet walls of your pussy tightening around his throbbing cock pulling a deep groan from his throat. His hips began to falter as your cry of release echoed in the room. Your body bucked to his as you came undone around him. He held you tight to his body as his own release shook him to his core and he came with a roar of your name. You clung to each other as you both rode out wave after wave of pleasure as one until it felt like you were both floating.

You stayed locked together, your bodies entwined as you came down from your high. Dean returned to kissing over every inch of your face from your forehead down to your lips and chin as he confessed his love for you as well as his promises to always keep you safe. You giggled under him as you returned the kisses and sweet sentiments.

With a whimper of protest from you, Dean dislodged his body from yours to lie at your side. He was quick to pull you against him and cradle you to his body. “That is how your first time should have been darlin’.” Dean’s green eyes met yours and you saw the shine of tears welling in the jade orbs.

“Dean.” Your hand cupped his scruffy cheek. You weren’t sure what to say. You knew Dean would never forgive himself and no words you could say would make it better for him.

“I mean it baby. I’ll never hurt you again and I’ll never let anyone else hurt you.” He smiled as he looked into your beautiful eyes.

“I know Dean.” You returned his smile as your lips sought his out once again. He kissed you lovingly as his hand stroked lightly over your soft skin. As the kiss ended, you buried your face into the curve of his neck and snuggled close to his warm body.

You both hummed a sigh of contentment as you snuggled together. The morning was beautiful and everything you had imagined being with Dean would be before the demon had come into the picture.

Dean’s phone chirped to life bringing you both out of your post coital haze and Dean groaned as he rolled over to grab it from the nightstand. He chuckled as he read the text from Sam.

Is it safe for me to come back now? I’ll bring breakfast.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Well since he is bringing food.”

Dean laughed and messaged his brother back, giving him the all clear. You and Dean reluctantly climbed out of bed. By the time Sam came back you were both showered and dressed. Sam grinned as he walked into the room and his eyes landed on you and Dean caught up in a tight embrace and sharing a loving kiss.

Things were finally right in his family again, or as right as they could be for a Winchester, and it gave him hope.

#demon!dean x reader #dean winchester #demon!dean #spn #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #Supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean x you #you've woken up the demon in me

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redditnosleep · 6 years

Text

The Little Melting Girl

by CynicHappy

When I was eight years old, I was badly burnt in a car fire. My single mother had been driving me to school when she lost control of her Toyota Camry on the icy January road and went crashing into a ditch. The car caught fire, and Mum managed to drag me out, but the damage had already been done. I had sustained second to third-degree burns on fifty percent of my body; my limbs had gotten the worst of it. Mum herself was unharmed, save for bruising on her ribs and a cut across her nose.

I spent the next four months in the burn unit at British Columbia Children's Hospital, and the place quickly became a second home. Doctors worked tirelessly to save me. I underwent a total of fifty operations, including skin grafts and the amputation of all five fingers on each hand. I had an endless stream of visitors, but rarely was my mother among them.

One morning, about a week into my hospital stay, my dad stopped by with a bouquet of colourful tulips and a blue balloon. His girlfriend, Jenny, came with him. Dad had been divorced from Mum for two years, but it had been an amicable split, and he was still very much involved in my life.

"Daddy, why doesn't Mummy come see me?" I asked. My words were garbled, given I could barely move my burned lips, but Dad seemed to understand.

"Oh, honey." He sighed, ruffling what was left of my charred hair. "Mummy loves you, more than anyone else in the world. That's why she doesn't come by very often; it hurts her to see you hurt."

"But I miss her."

"She misses you too, honey. But Mummy... well, Mummy has some problems. It's difficult for a girl your age to understand."

"Is she sick?"

"No, no, honey," Jenny piped up. She bent down and kissed my bandaged cheek. "Just... well, like your daddy said, it's hard to explain."

I knew, even back then, that Mum wasn't quite right in the head. I believe that's why Dad left her, but he still cared about her a great deal; not once since the divorce had I heard him say a single negative word about her.

"Will Mummy get better?" I asked.

"She might never be quite 'normal', Julia. But she'll get better. She will always be your mummy."

I never resented my mother for her absence. I guess I was a lot more understanding than most kids my age. Besides, Mum more than made up for it, sending me care packages and letters saying how much she loved me. She promised to throw me a party when I came home, complete with cake and dancing.

I believe it was Mum's love that got me through the pain.

After four long months, I was finally allowed to go home. My burns were still healing, leaving me with tight, warped skin that itched and throbbed every minute of the day. My hands had been reduced to bulbous stumps at the end of each arm, I was stuck in a wheelchair, and had to wear compression garments to reduce scarring. Still, I was home, and that made it all worth it.

As promised, Mum threw me a party. Family, friends, and neighbours all came to celebrate my recovery. I couldn't dance, but I had a great time anyway. Mum kept kissing me and telling me how much she loved me. "Julia, you are a fighter. I am so proud of you."

She smiled, her blue eyes glittering, but I had noticed the blue half-moons beneath them, as well as her hollowed-out cheekbones and threads of silver woven into her shiny auburn hair. She was still so beautiful, but looked older than her thirty-five years.

That night, I woke up in pain, my skin itching as if I had fire ants crawling all over me, a deep phantom ache in my amputated fingers. I opened my mouth to call out for Mum, but the compression mask on my face and the taught skin beneath made moving my lips painful. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. A whimper escaped me, and salty tears rolled down my cheeks.

Then I sensed a presence, something watching me from a dark corner. It didn't feel malevolent, but it made my spine tingle. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I was shocked to see a dark figure standing in a corner, motionless save for the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they breathed.

Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I reached over and switched on my bedside lamp. A weak yellow glow broke through the shadows, and there was a sharp intake of breath as the figure shrank back at the light.

It was a little girl, no older than myself. She wore a yellow T-shirt and flowery pink shorts. She was grotesquely deformed. Her flesh appeared to be melting off her body, hanging in heavy folds and bags. It was blackened in areas, pink and raw in others. She was completely bald, and not only that, but her scalp had been charred away, revealing a pearl-white skull beneath. Her eyes were impossibly large, lacking eyelids, and had such heavy cataracts her pupil were invisible. Her arms were shrivelled and curled up grotesquely at her sides. But the worst part was her mouth. Her lower jaw hung down at an impossible angle, and seemed to have fused to her chest, leaving her face in a permanent scream.

I nearly screamed myself. I had never seen anything so horrible, and it scared me shitless. But before I could make a sound, the girl raised a shrivelled hand and brought it to her gaping mouth, as if trying to shush me. I shrunk back against the headboard, shaking, as this mysterious apparition approached me. It appeared she was trying to speak, but her frozen jaw made that physically impossible. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and when I forced myself to look into her eyes, I saw compassion. I saw love.

"Who are you?" I whimpered.

She gently pushed me back into a reclining position, tucked the covers around my scarred, wounded body, and smoothed back my hair. Then she turned and walked silently out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

I was shaken. But the pain was gone, replaced by the pleasant sensation of being bathed in warm water. Somehow, despite my fear, I fell asleep.

I never told Mum what I'd seen. She was already so shaken up over my accident, and I didn't want to give her more to worry about. But I couldn't stop thinking about the little melting girl, and part of me wanted to see her again.

Days later, I returned to school. My friends were all delighted to have me back, but many kids avoided me, and some were downright mean. I was still learning how to perform everyday tasks without fingers, which only added a new layer of challenges to the adjustment. During this time, Mum seemed somewhat out of touch with reality. I often caught her staring into space or humming to herself. Sometimes, she would look at me and cry. Dad and Jenny came over a lot to help, and Dad tried talking Mum into seeing a therapist, but she always refused.

Three years passed, and I made remarkable progress. I began walking again, and my burns healed better than my doctors expected. Mum met a wonderful man named David, and they got married when I was eleven. I now had a stepfather and stepsister, and adored them both. By then, I had mostly forgotten about the little melting girl.

Around that time, I was entering puberty, which can cripple the self-esteem of even the most beautiful girls. As well as my injuries had healed, I still had a lot of scarring, and was missing my left breast. My appearance made me a prime target for bullying. One day, when I was walking home from school, a group of older girls followed me home and threw rocks at me. I ran into the house, crying, and shut myself in my room.

I sobbed for over an hour, feeling like a total freak, hideous and unlovable. As I lay on my bed, face buried in a pillow, I felt a hand smooth back my hair.

Mum and David were still at work, and my sister Ava was at band practice. Alarmed, I rolled over and met her cloudy gaze.

The melting girl. She still wore the same outfit, and hadn't aged a bit. Her appearance wasn't nearly as shocking the second time around, but I couldn't stifle a frightened squeal.

"It's you," I gasped.

She nodded, before reaching into the pocket of her shorts and removing a tissue. I sniffled and blew my nose. "What are you doing here?"

The melting girl walked over to my desk and scribbled something on a sheet of notebook paper. She held it up so that I could read: Kids can be cruel, it said.

"I'm so ugly," I whimpered. "I'm a monster."

She shook her head, then jotted down a second note: A few scars mean nothing. You've got beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous, shiny golden hair, and the perfect bone structure. You are amazing.

I suddenly felt pretty shitty for sobbing over my own deformities to this girl who barely looked human anymore. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

She shook her head, then placed her hand over her heart. I didn't know what that meant, but I guessed it must be a sign of her sincerity.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Are you a ghost?"

Once again, she left my room without a word. I tried chasing after her, but she was gone.

After searching the house top to bottom, I figured she must be a ghost, and that she had died in the fire that warped her appearance. But who was she? What had happened? Why did only I see her?

This time, I told Mum. I left out most details, but stated I believed a little ghost girl was haunting our house. She went whiter than the moon, and her eyes grew shimmery with tears, but she forced a laugh and said, "Oh, Julia. Such an imagination."

She seemed so upset that I didn't dare press the matter. But the following day, after school, I made a surprise visit to Dad and Jenny's place.

"Julia, hi!" Jenny greeted me at the door, her two-year-old baby girl on her hip. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Is my dad home?"

"Yes, he's in his office. I'll go get him." Dad worked from home as a graphic designer, and often became so engrossed in his work he forgot to eat. But I knew he would want to see me.

After catching up over iced tea, I told Dad I wanted to ask him a question about Mum. I reminded him that I was almost twelve years old and had a right to know, and that he had to be honest with me.

"Okay, Julia. I'll do my best. What is it?"

"What happened in Mum's past?" I asked him. "Why is she so... strange sometimes?"

Dad hesitated, biting his lip, and I lost my temper.

"Tell me, dammit!" I snapped.

"Julia! Calm down." Jenny put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Dad flushed and rubbed his temples. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said. "I'll tell you everything I know, okay?"

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Dad poured himself more iced tea and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even I don't know a whole lot about it. When I met your mother, she was an orphan at twenty-one, and claimed not to have anyone except her grandmother. It wasn't until a whole year into our relationship that she finally confessed there had been a terrible accident in her childhood. She refused to elaborate."

I sank back against the couch cushion, defeated. "So you don't know either?"

"No. I'm sorry, honey."

"Would she tell me if I asked her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Julia," said Dad. Jenny, sitting next to me on the couch, nodded.

I left their house in a frustrated daze, feeling even more confused than before. The mystery of Mum and the little melting girl was like a constant itch that couldn't be scratched, and the idea that I might never get any answers infuriated me.

This time, five years passed before I saw her again. At sixteen, I my confidence had improved. I had friends, good grades, and a serious boyfriend who accepted me as I was, scars and all. That said, I still had to deal with bullies on a regular basis. But now, I could stand up for myself.

One day, at lunch, my friends and I were discussing the upcoming school dance and what we would wear. Rachel Newton, one of the resident mean girls, sneered at me as she and her friends walked by. "You better not wear anything too short, Crispy. Nobody wants to look at your ugly legs."

"Leave her alone, Rachel." My friend Clara stood up, hands on her hips.

"What? Don't pretend it isn't true."

"You're such a bitch, Rachel," I snapped. "Ever considered seeking professional help?"

She scowled. "Ever considered plastic surgery? It would make looking at you so much easier."

I punched her in the nose. She began screaming as if I'd just gutted her with a butcher knife, alerting a teacher. She sent me to the principal's office, and while Mrs. Radcliffe was sympathetic, she wouldn't let me off the hook.

"Striking another student is against the rules, Julia. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to punish you."

She then told me I would have to clean up the football field every day after school for a week. I understood that I'd been in the wrong to hit Rachel, but I was still pissed. That afternoon, the sky filled with dark grey clouds, matching my mood. As I toiled away, picking up garbage and stuffing it into a large plastic bag, Rachel and her little posse approached me.

"Julia, you bitch!" Rachel's nose was purple and swollen, dried blood crusting her nostrils. "Look what you did to me!"

"Aw, you upset over losing your precious modelling career?" I taunted. Rachel's eyes flashed dangerously, and she lunged at me, knocking me to the soggy grass.

"Rachel!" one of her friends yelled. "Back off!"

I rolled onto my belly and tried to push myself into a kneeling position, but Rachel kicked me in the ribs, knocking me down again.

"I don't think picking up garbage is punishment enough, Crispy." Rachel brought her foot down on my back, pinning me in place. "What do you think, girls?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Get her, Rachel!"

"Stop it! She's had enough."

I began thrashing beneath Rachel's foot, trying to throw off her balance. Dirt filled my mouth. My spine felt seconds away from snapping. I sensed Rachel's fury, her intent on hurting me.

She stooped down and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back, and raised her fist, ready to land a punch. I was alone, at this girl's mercy, and I couldn't fight back.

"Help," I whispered.

Rachel's grip suddenly fell away. She staggered back, her eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth hanging open. Her friends looked equally stunned.

"Oh, my God. What is that?"

I followed her appalled gaze to a melted, deformed figure standing twenty feet away. The little melting girl's cloudy eyes were blazing with anger, and her blackened fists kept clenching and unclenching. I was so overjoyed I wanted to cry.

"What the fuck?" Rachel shrieked again. "Who is that?"

The girl let out an enraged scream and charged like a raging bull.

My tormenters took off into the mist, shrieking like banshees. The girl walked over and helped me to my feet.

"Thank you," I breathed.

In her eyes, I saw her words: Let's go home.

She held my hand until we were a block away from the house. Then she hugged me and walked away.

This time, I told Mum everything. When I described the girl's appearance, she burst into tears.

"Oh, God... oh, my God... Julia..." she sobbed.

"Mum! What is it?"

She pulled me into a crushing hug, her chest heaving as she fought for air. "That girl... she's my sister."

I was frozen. "What?"

Mum wiped her eyes. "Oh, honey... I guess I can't hold back any longer."

Finally, after sixteen years, I got to know my mother.

She grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, with her twin sister, Sarah, and their parents. They lived a happy life until an arsonist set the barn on fire. The girls were inside at the time. In a frantic attempt to escape, Sarah fell and broke her leg. Mum ran to get help, but by then, it was too late. The fire had spread out of control, and Sarah couldn't be saved.

The fire completely broke Mum. She didn't speak for almost a year, and four years later, her parents were killed in a car accident. Mum never recovered emotionally. To this day, I can only imagine what she went through.

"When you got hurt... it brought back so many terrible memories. I couldn't face it. I was a coward, Julia. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." I kissed her cheek. "You're the best mother, and I love you."

She wiped her nose. "I've seen Sarah a few times since she died, but I convinced myself I was dreaming. But it seems she's been watching over you too."

"Like a guardian angel?"

"She is a guardian angel."

That night, I prayed for the first time in years and thanked God for sending down Sarah.

Twenty-one years have passed since that day. I have a successful career; I'm married; I have children. I still see Sarah every now and then, but I don't need her protection so much anymore. I've grown strong and confident. I've come a long way.

I can't explain Sarah's presence in my life, and I guess I don't need to. I'm just so thankful to have her around. She's been there for me during my darkest hours, protected me from a cruel world when I was at my most vulnerable.

My only regret is that Sarah, unlike me, never got a second chance at life.

#creepy #horror story #wholesome nosleep #car wreck #ghosts #author: CynicHappy

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midnightghostwriter · 7 years

Text

me you

↬ summary: a bad breakup sends you reeling - both into despair and the arms of your best friend

↬ genre: fluff / friends to lovers

↬ pairing: jay park x reader

↬ word count: 9.7k

a/n: this was a request sent to me by the darling @kxxkiemonsterx ! i had such a good time writing this that it, uh, turned out pretty long i’m sorry haha. but thank you for the request dear & i hope it’s everything you wanted ;D

the title comes from san e’s song “me you” which you should totally listen to if you somehow haven’t yet~

For most people, 9:30 on a Friday night meant being out partying, most likely in the company of friends, or using the opportunity to look for a different kind company. It meant being out at some club and slamming drinks until the flashing lights and thrumming bass made your head spin faster than the disco ball over head. For others still, it was date night.

Unless your name was Jay Park.

If that was the case, most Friday nights (that weren’t spent at various events and parties attended in a mostly professional capacity) were spent in one of a myriad of studios mixing, recording, or reviewing new tracks and remixes. When you were the CEO of two different music companies with at least ten people each, your docket for Fridays tended to fill up fairly quickly.

This particular Friday, Jay was holed up in a studio at AOMG, most of the others having cleared out some time ago in the name of sleep or drinks to make up for a long, grueling week of work. Chase had insisted that he tag along, take a much needed break from the tracks they’d been working on for the better part of the last five plus days, but Jay insisted right back that the sooner this was done the sooner they could spend more than just one night celebrating. There hadn’t really been an argument for that, so Chase had left him to it, and taken Loco and the others along for good measure, since the younger guys had a tendency to goof off. Sometimes their enthusiasm made Jay remember what it was like to be their age (not that he was old enough to really be thinking like that), but tonight he’d allow for no distractions.

A mantra like that should’ve meant headphones on, phone on silent, doors locked until he decided everything was perfect. Or that when his phone rang the first time he sent it to voicemail and then put it on do not disturb like he should’ve the first time. And that when it rang for a third time, per the “emergency call” settings he’d put in place, he only spent a few seconds at best on the call to determine whether or not it really was a life threatening situation. But Jay had always had a soft spot where you were concerned, and the moment he heard your voice over the line – rough, tired, and distressed, all things not typical of you – he knew he’d be saving his work and dropping it for the rest of the night.

“Hey Jay. Sorry I’m sure you’re busy, but – “

“Don’t sweat it, I always have time for you.” He didn’t let himself think about how stupid that sounded, instead swiveling away from the computer screen with a frown. “What’s up? You sound awful.”

“Jay I’m sorry, I-I,” you hiccupped and it was then he realized you weren’t sick or anything, but that your voice was scraped raw and tight from crying, “I didn’t know what else to-to do, I’m sorry…”

“Stop apologizing and tell me what’s going on,” he prodded. Silence and he wondered for a second if the line had gone dead, but then, in a voice so small he almost didn’t hear you, you answered,

“It’s… It’s Euntaek. He broke up with me.”

“Wait, what? Didn’t you guys like just celebrate your thousand day anniversary last week? He bought you that fancy Swarovski piece and everything.” You hummed your assent but there was no heart behind it, which only drove home to him how shitty you must be feeling, though you were clearly trying not to show it.

“We did but… I don’t wanna talk about it all right now. But he was supposed to take me home, and now he’s gone, so I’m stranded in Hongdae, and I… really need your help.” You paused again. “If you’re busy I can ask one of the other guys, though. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your work time. I just panicked after he left and called you first and…”

“Don’t bother, they’re probably all smashed. Stay somewhere safe and I’ll come get you,” Jay ordered, beginning to move around the studio to grab his stuff. Keys, keys, where were his keys…?

“Are you sure?” He finally found them hiding in a jacket that wasn’t the one he’d put on, and shoved the door open.

“Already on my way.”

Before you could offer any more objections, Jay had hung up. Well, it seemed you’d be getting your rescue after all. Now that your moment of panic had settled somewhat, the reality of the situation descended on you. It was all you could do to wrap your jacket tighter around yourself and lean against the wall outside the club instead of collapsing to the ground like your legs wanted so badly to do.

You had always prided yourself on being fairly strong, emotionally and physically. Things that had your friends worked up or in tears didn’t usually affect you the same way – you had always been a reliable rock in that regard, able to control yourself and not let things get to you so you could keep your cool. But this… this was far outside your usual realm of expertise. Never had you expected to have to deal with a situation like this one, and you were shaken, to say the least.

Eyes squeezing shut, your fingers wrapped tighter around the phone in your hand as you shook your head. No, no, you wouldn’t think about all that right now. It was too much too fast, and you feared that if you dwelled on it too long your head and heart might be so overwhelmed they’d shut down altogether. You just had to wait a bit and Jay would be here and everything would be okay.

It was almost stupid, you thought, that you should get so much comfort from that thought alone. Sure you and Jay had been friends for a while now, and he had always been your source of stability when things went to shit, but… it was a feeling you’d never really had with Euntaek. He’d made you happy once upon a time, made you smile, but nothing about it felt the same as the easy, free-flowing camaraderie you had with Jay. You’d always chalked it up to his own ability to befriend almost anyone, and not given it much contemplation, but now…

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car door at the end of the small side street, and after squinting a bit in the dark you realized it was Jay himself. There was a strange look on his face, like he was trying to decide between being angry and being worried, but it had more or less settled into the latter by the time he reached you. The sight of him made all your earlier anxiety and sadness wash over you again, and within seconds you were struggling to keep your tears from ruining even more of your makeup than they already had. Before your breakdown could draw the attention of the few club patrons gathered outside, he’d looped an arm around your shoulders and was guiding you back down the street.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

He continued muttering assurances as you clung to him, trying not to trip in your heels with your blurred vision. God, you probably looked like such a mess, but you were too tired and distraught to be embarrassed about it with him of all people. Once he was certain you were safely buckled into the passenger seat, he closed the door and moved into the driver’s side. Slumping into the warmth of the seat, you kicked off your shoes so you could hug your knees to your chest. You felt more than saw when Jay reached over and put his hand on your shoulder, and you glanced blearily at him. Though you were wrapped up in your own tumult of emotions, your heart still squeezed a little at the genuine concern written on his face. What did you do to deserve a best friend like him? It was silent for a moment, like he was deciding what to say, but instead he only shifted slightly and brushed some hair out of your face that had been in danger of sticking to your ruined makeup, and tucked it behind your ear.

Why did that simple act make your heart feel so warm and fuzzy all of a sudden? You marked it up as some weird, misplaced idea that the touch was filling some void for affection that Euntaek’s departure had left in you, and didn’t say anything about it. A second later Jay pulled back, taking the car out of park and maneuvering back onto the main road.

“Let’s get you home,” he muttered, and you hummed gratefully.

You were cognizant enough to get yourself out of the car, and for that Jay was grateful. But apparently not enough so to remember you’d removed your shoes when you got in in the first place, a fact he was very abruptly reminded of when you attempted to stand and a strangled sound escaped you when your feet touched the rain-soaked pavement. He tried not to laugh at the pout on your face as you huddled by the door.

“Why don’t you put your shoes back on, princess? We’re almost there.” You gaze slid to the stilettos on the floor by your seat and you grimaced, which he shouldn’t have found adorable, but did.

“But my feet hurt,” you grumbled, and he marveled at your ability to switch gears from panicked mess to pouty child during the short drive. “I don’t wanna wear them up all those stairs.”

“It’s two flights - two very very short flights - and then you can take them off forever if you want to,” he insisted and you huffed, making it clear just what you thought of the idea. After contemplating for a moment or two if it was worth fighting you on, he decided against it – you’d already been through enough tonight he could tell, even without the full story. He sighed.

“Fine. Pick them up for me at least, okay? Otherwise we’ll both forget about them, and you won’t remember they’re in here until next week.” When you’d hooked the straps around your fingers and adjusted your jacket against the chill, he locked the car. “Alright, gimme your keys.” You gave him a questioning stare. “C’mon, hurry up. It’s cold.” You acquiesced, and then squealed in surprise as he lifted you off the ground.

“J-Jay! What are you- “ He gave you a withering look.

“Be quiet or you’ll wake up everyone, alright? I’m not letting you walk up to your apartment barefoot.” Apparently there was no more to say about it, as he’d already started across the small parking lot to your building, leaving you to wrap your arms around his neck and tuck yourself closer to him so you didn’t go tumbling to the ground. Not that Jay would’ve let that happen, you knew, but you didn’t trust your own luck enough to risk it.

When the two of you reached the door, he shifted slightly so he could unlock it without dropping you on your ass, and stepped quickly inside. Warm air wrapped around you both, chasing away the chill from the night and drawing a happy sigh from you. After securing the lock behind him, Jay helped lower you so your feet could touch the floor, but your exhaustion had already seeped into your bones and gotten the better of you, and you ended up leaning on him more than standing upright on your own. An apology poised itself to exit in a mumble past your lips but he only put an arm around your waist to better support you once he had put his own shoes by the door. There was a question dredged up by the action, one that would ask what exactly his intentions were, but you couldn’t be bothered stringing the words together to voice it, and remained content instead to let him lead you down the hall toward the bathroom.

Cold tile met your feet before your eyes could actually pierce the darkness and see it, and you did your best to ignore the discomforting chill that ran up your body from the sensation. It only lasted a few seconds anyway, chased away by the firm squeeze of your eyes shutting against sudden fluorescence when Jay hit the switch. He mumbled an apology as your tired gaze did its best to adjust, nudging you in the direction of the stretch of counter by the sink.

“Sit here. Where do you keep your makeup stuff?” The question finally opened your mind to the vague notion of guilt that had been pressing itself upon you, and instead of answering your lips twisted in a frown at his back as he looked over the bottles and pots of various beauty products on your shelves.

“Jay, it’s okay. I only asked for a ride, you’ve done your due diligence or whatever. I’ll be okay.” The look he gave you was almost comically skeptical, and not unlike others you had seen from him before. A childish urge to reach out and poke at the crease between his brows reared its head but you squashed it in favor of raising yours right back.

“Will you though? Somehow I think that’s a load of bullshit bravado.” His expression eased, made gentler by a wave of concern that washed over it. You were beginning to feel something like remorse for the amount of times the emotion had appeared on his face tonight because of you. But there was no chance to voice it or argue before he continued. “Just let me help you, aight? Your night has been total shit, and you asked for my help. So just chill. Now, you’ve got makeup wipes right? Where are they? Your face is a total mess.”

The light, teasing edge to the words erased some of your own negative emotions enough to provoke a small smile as you directed him to the shelf in question where a packet of wipes hid behind your normal bottles of remover and face wash. You mostly used them at times when you were far too not-sober to be bothered with a full routine, but you were going to make an exception in favor of not letting him even attempt anything else. Boy might be grace and technique on stage, but he was one of the clumsiest idiots you’d met anywhere else, and you wanted to keep your vision.

You followed directions well enough, closing your eyes when he told you to, doing your best not to fidget as he slowly and carefully cleared away the signs of your meltdown not so long ago. When he had to venture near your eyes, he placed a hand on your hips to keep you steady, and you did your best to ignore the heat of his skin against yours through your dress, or the way your stomach flip-flopped at his closeness whenever your eyes were open. God, just how desperate were you right now? Clearly the alcohol hadn’t fully run its course yet. Or so you’d think, except you hadn’t had a single drink all night.

Breathing was done shallowly and sparsely until he backed away and nodded approvingly, depositing the filthy wipe into your small rubbish bin. He hovered for a second as you made to hop off the counter and you rolled your eyes, waving him away. You were much more lucid now, having somehow regained some of your calm and composure while sitting there, and fully capable of getting down by yourself. At least that was what you told him, and not that you weren’t sure you wanted to find out how your mostly-rational brain would react to that physical contact.

“I’ll just go change really quick,” you told him, and hurried out of the room. Jay watched you go until he heard the bedroom door shut, and figured you’d made it without collapsing into a messy pile in the hall. He believed you, mostly, that you were fine now, but he couldn’t help worrying all the same. He’d never really seen you as shaken up as you had been tonight, and something told him that you weren’t as “okay” as you wanted him to believe, that things weren’t quite settled just yet.

There was no sense in him standing around here while you futzed about your bedroom though, so he wandered his way toward your kitchen, reacquainting himself with the place as he went. It had been a while since the two of you had hung out somewhere that wasn’t a club he was already at, the studio he was holed up in, or in a corner booth some place between the two of you. Life kept you both too busy for things like movie nights or take-out hangouts that normal people did with their friends. Even so, it struck Jay just how lived-in your place looked - decorated with all kinds of touches that just screamed your taste, your likes, your interests. Various papers with notes to yourself, your laptop with a stack of documents that must be from work resting on the dining table, an unfolded blanket thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch to look at least kind of cleaned up. Even your kitchen had a few dishes (already rinsed, he noticed) in the sink, and containers of varying ingredients or miscellaneous items in varying stages of emptiness lined up on the counters and top of the fridge.

It looked like a home, more than just a place to sleep that had your legal name on it like his own. Sure yours lacked the animal inhabitants that made his slightly less spartan (you frequently argued that you couldn’t really spare the time or money for pet maintenance right now), but he could almost see how much time you spent in the place. Somehow, it made him wish he had more time than just an unknown number of minutes to spend here.

Wow, what an incredibly and grossly domestic thought to have.

He shook it off in favor of raiding your cabinets, humming appreciatively when he found a half-bottle of Jack in one and shot glasses in another. He could apologize or buy you more later, he reasoned, as he filled the glasses, downing one on his own and leaving the other waiting patiently on the counter. Feeling restless now, and less like he could also lay siege to your fridge without repercussions, he had the sudden realization that it was taking you an awful long time to change. Even he had his ego enough in check to know it wasn’t because you were agonizing over what might impress him (the two of you had seen each other in sloppy loungewear on multiple occasions by now), so the idea that you had taken more than ten minutes to do anything set off an alarm in the back of his mind that had him assuming the worst and praying for the best.

Shot glass forgotten, he wandered back toward the hallway that led to your still closed bedroom door. Fingers crossed you’d forgive him for being kind of a creep, he took a few steps until he could make out any sort of noise from beyond the faux wood, and what he heard sent his mild concern into anxious overdrive. The sounds you were making resembled something close to choked hiccups mixed with subdued caterwauling, and it set him on edge. Notions about decency and invasion of privacy went out the window as he put his fist to the door in a hurried series of knocks. The sounds cut off with a hiccupping breath and then dissolved into faint sniffling.

“Hey… everything okay in there?” He called when you offered no other reaction to his intrusion. Another bout of sniffles, then your wobbling voice responded,

“Y-yeah, just fine. S-sorry, I’ll be out in a m-minute, okay?”

“You don’t sound fine,” he pointed out rather obviously and a strangled sound - an attempted laugh perhaps? - was your response.

“Seriously, it’s fine. J-just give me a sec…” You trailed off and Jay resolved himself that he would make this up to you tenfold later as he put his hand to the door handle and shoved it open despite your request. He was only mildly surprised when you didn’t react in outrage or irritation, and instead veritably ignored his entrance entirely.

He had been right to guess you hadn’t bothered with more than simple loungewear that should’ve taken you all of three minutes to throw on, and that something else had kept you in here making sounds like a dying cat. You were huddled on your bed, hair in a messy bun and oversized sweatshirt nearly covering up your sleep shorts, surrounded by a mess of other clothes that were distinctly not yours. Or at least he assumed not, given they all looked to be articles meant for someone more of Sunghwa or Kiseok’s build than yours. His grim assumptions were confirmed when he found that you were staring at a photo frame, and though he could only see the pins on the back, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be hard to guess what it held behind the glass front.

The features he’d so delicately helped clear of makeup earlier were stained again, this time with tear tracks and blotchy red, eyes puffy not from rubbing off your eyeliner but from the saltwater that still lingered on their rims and threatened to spill over at any given second. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but the damning evidence made it pretty easy to piece together. When you didn’t attempt to throw him out, he crossed the room and sat down next to you.

His guess as to what currently held your attention had been correct: clutched between your bone-white fingers and splashed with your tears was a picture of you and the boy - Jay refused to use the word “man” with someone like him - who had caused this whole mess tonight. You were glued to his side, smiling wide like the cameraperson had just told a hilarious joke, clearly having the time of your life. He vaguely recalled seeing a photo like this on your feeds not that long ago, when you had gone sauntering off on a much-needed vacation while Jay was busy with stuff for the new label. He remembered it crossing his sight after a few drinks one night and being irrationally jealous that you looked so damn happy without him - and had immediately downed more drinks to forget the feeling because who the fuck did he think he was to be having thoughts like that?

“I can’t believe how naive I was,” you whispered after a few moments of silence. “I was so busy being starry-eyed at him I didn’t even see the signs. Or maybe I did and I didn’t want to believe it.” The picture hit the duvet with a dull thwumpf and you wrapped your arms this time around your knees, curling in on yourself as you stared without seeing at the floral patterns beneath the two of you.

“Do you…” The words stumbled haltingly out of Jay’s mouth, hesitant to push you but he could see just how painful holding everything in was becoming. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?” A shaky breath rattled your frame next to him, but you nodded after a moment’s consideration. It was better to get it out, wasn’t it? And he deserved to know just why you were freaking out over this so much more than any of the other breakups you’d gone through.

“Apparently,” you started, voice small, “apparently Euntaek has had another girlfriend. For about three months now.” You studied your feet to avoid seeing the flurry of emotions that twisted Jay’s features, or the way his eyes widened and his hands clenched the blanket to avoid breaking any of your valuables.

“That long?” He finally asked when all other words had failed to come to mind or be anything but expletives. There was a pause after you nodded, and another shaky breath, while he waited for you to continue.

“Tonight was supposed to be his friend’s birthday, and they wanted to go to this club. I had to work a little later so I said I’d meet him there and he said okay. But when… when I showed up…” Your bottom lip slid between your teeth, a desperate attempt to hold it together, to prevent more tears from falling and drowning out your words. “When I got there, he was with this girl I’d seen a few times, but he’d always insisted she was just a friend from work, and she was never around me long enough for me to question it. And she was all over him, with her tongue down his fucking throat…” You were shaking now, a nauseating mixture of rage and sorrow swirling through your insides. It took a few seconds for your tumult to subside enough to register that Jay had started a comforting path across your back with the hand that wasn’t holding for dear life to your blankets.

“I couldn’t even say anything at first, I was too shocked. It wasn’t until he saw me that… We started screaming at each other, right there in the club like some kind of animals - it was mortifying, but I couldn’t think past how upset I was. He tried to say something like he’d meant to break up with me before our anniversary… Then she stepped in and said some shit about how I was being a child and I should leave, but he said no, they’d leave instead. And then he just… told me not to talk to him ever again and left.” Before you could say anything else, something to lighten the mood, to make such a monumental disaster seem a little less destructive, the fresh tears your story had brought to your eyes were falling, and any further words were lost as you broke down again. You didn’t have the presence of mind to object when Jay pulled you from the ball you’d curled into and pressed your face into his shoulder, holding you there as you shook and sobbed, accompanied by the occasional murmur of his voice in your ear.

You couldn’t say how long it took for your newest outburst to dissolve into sniffles and gasps for air, just that when it was over you felt drained, scraped raw. Jay was still tracing circles on your back and shoulders, not saying anything as you finally started to get yourself together. You didn’t realize you’d been clinging to him for dear life until you tried to move your hands and realized the joints were stiff from clutching his shirt. A forced chuckle rasped out of your mouth, followed by a sweep of heat across your face signaling your utter disgust with yourself at the situation.

“I guess I owe you a new shirt,” you tried to joke, but it felt flat even to your ears.

“It’s fine,” he assured, not making any move to push you away as your breathing finally began to even out. “Feel better?” You nodded mutely, taking another shaky deep breath.

“Y-yeah. Thanks. Sorry.” It was all you could manage in the moment to encompass the things you felt about the patience and caring he’d demonstrated ever since you called him a few hours ago. Jeez, had you really been a pathetic mess that long? You sighed and pushed a few stray hairs out of your face. “You, uh… You can let go of me now. I think I’m okay.” Like you’d pressed some sort of release switch, Jay’s hands jerked away from you, his entire being springing away from you at once, leaving you to nearly tumble to the bed in their absence. You stared at him in surprise as his own face tinged the faintest shade of red.

“Sorry!” His eyes were wide, a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar or browsing a site they shouldn’t be, though you couldn’t fathom why. You’d only meant for him to let you go so you could stretch out your stiff limbs with a walk to the kitchen - you were severely dehydrated and in need of something to help ease your tender heart. You didn’t bother with saying so out loud, instead offering a shake of your head before you were padding out of the room, trying to hide the hint of a smile lingering around your lips.

It hadn’t taken you long to find the shot of whiskey Jay had left on the counter before he’d found you, and even less time for you to throw it back, refill it, and down another. You weren’t all that eager to get drunk by any means, but you had decided you needed something a little stronger than tea or hot cocoa to take the edge off the prickling emotions in you.

But shots of Jack had turned into three sips of tea and then breaking open a bottle of some red you’d been saving for… something else but decided fuck it, this was more important. In the fashion of a true gentleman, Jay had catered to your request to talk about literally anything please God I need a distraction splendidly until your second glass of wine had you wound down enough to actually join in.

After your fourth, you had reverted to simply listening, humming at the right times and offering infrequent comments, as he told you about the things you’d missed the last few months - the trips between the States and Korea, the overcomplicated insanity of helping manage so many schedules, the long sessions spent in studios making the magic he hoped would help his people succeed. Head against his shoulder and warmth buzzing through your dulled nerves, you found yourself finally approaching a state that might have been peace and comfort.

If Jay was ever bothered by your shift in attention, he said nothing about it. Truth was it didn’t bother him at all. Sure it would’ve been nice to hear about your shitty coworkers (was that one guy still cranky, had your boss said anything about the raise you’d asked for, was the workload still bordering on too much?) or if you were still marathoning your way through seventy plus episodes of that ridiculous Taiwanese drama you’d told him about a while back, but he was content with doing the talking if that was what you wanted. People had told him often enough that he was good at not shutting up.

He’d just finished some story about the A6OVE pop-up store promotion that you had missed when he finally took notice of your slowed breathing and the way your lashes had met your cheeks. He wasn’t sure if you were actually asleep, but you were certainly on your way out if the dangerous tip of your glass toward the floor told him anything. Knowing you would be less than thrilled by a new scarlet stain on your carpet, he removed the glass from between your fingers and set it on the table with a quiet sigh.

The whole time the two of you had been sitting here, he had been doing his best to ignore a crazy stupid notion that he could really get used to this. If he was being honest with himself, he’d imagined doing simple shit like this with you more often than he cared to admit. Even when he was home by himself, he’d thought about sharing his scarce meals with you or the way you’d probably read or something equally mundane while he watched some sporting event you didn’t care about but watched with him anyway. It was something he tried not to think about, tried to push away in an effort to not ruin the friendship you already had, but it had haunted him for most of your relationship.

But then you had started dating Euntaek. And though he could see how happy you were (at first), and boy did he want that for you more than just about anything, he couldn’t help the ugly seeds of jealousy that planted themselves in his heart. Maybe he had been seeing what he wanted, but he hadn’t been all that surprised to hear that Euntaek was cheating on you with some harlot, had thought that just maybe he had seen the signs, but had the awareness to know that saying it without evidence would only hurt you, and that was unacceptable. Even so, he’d had a feeling, one that grew stronger as your one hundred day anniversary turned into your one year and then more, this guy wasn’t good enough for you. You deserved someone who paid attention when you spoke, who didn’t take you places just to distract you from problems between the two of you but because he wanted to share that exotic world with you, someone who actively cared about you, someone just… better.

You deserved him.

The second the thought crossed his mind, he shook it off and drained the rest of his own cup before setting it next to yours, a weary sigh gusting out of him. Here he was, sitting on your couch at past two in the morning, with you asleep or nearly so on his shoulder, and letting a nasty little part of his heart be happy that you had finally ditched Euntaek. It was sick, twisted, and made guilt turn his contentment sour. The irrational fear that you might know what he was thinking ran through him when you shifted, but you settled a moment later when you had situated yourself more comfortably against him. God, what a mess the pair of you were tonight.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, even though there was no way you would offer a reply or any words to assuage his guilt. “You’re hurting and I should just be sorry for that. But I’m sorry for not telling you what an asshole I thought he was. And I’m sorry you had to waste time crying when he’s probably off fucking that hoe - I hope they both get the clap or some shit by the way. But mostly…” He hesitated, reaching out to push some of your hair out of your face. What the fuck was he doing? “Mostly, I’m sorry that I’m so grossly into you that I’m happy you’ve finally left him so I might have a chance to make you happier.” Another sigh and he let his head hit the back of the couch and the hand that had been resting on your head move to the safely friendly zone of your arm. He was maybe a little drunk and definitely rambling a lot, but the words kept coming, like some sort of dam for all the things he wouldn’t normally say had broken.

“You’re gonna wake up in the morning with a pounding headache, and piss out all this alcohol that won’t have helped a damn thing except you’ll maybe be a little less sad for a few weeks. And you won’t even know I said any of this, so what the fuck is the point after all, but I’m sorry and I love you, I guess.”

Silence met his words and Jay groaned, this time launching the back of his skull into the couch with enough force to make himself wince. He really needed to stop letting Hyukwoo convince him to watch sappy dramas - clearly that shit was getting to him. When he couldn’t sit still anymore (and his arm had started to go numb from you leaning against it) he stood as carefully as he could, picked you up for the second time that night, and decided it was time to put some distance between you until the morning, so his heart could catch a damn break.

The morning dawned bleak and gray but with enough dull sunlight to pierce through your blinds and rouse you about as willingly as a rock. Your mouth was cotton thick with the dehydration of too much alcohol consumed the night before, and a dull, pulsing ache behind your eyes reminded you of the same. Sluggish thoughts struggled to place why, exactly, you’d even been drinking when you had left the club before touching a single sip of anything. But recalling the club brought up the exact events that had transpired, the panicked call you’d made, and everything that had happened after. Right, you had Jay to blame for the drinking, then.

Wait. Jay.

Considering your last memories were the two of you on the couch (and a second, more fuzzy memory you were refusing to acknowledge of something he may or may not have said) you were more than a little surprised to realize you were in fact sitting in your bed and not on the aforementioned couch. That had to mean he’d carried you to bed when you’d fallen asleep… But where was he? Not like you’d expected to find him laying next to you or something that would be weird, definitely weird and not something you were the least bit disappointed about for any reason whatsoever. No, it was simply disconcerting to fall asleep next to him and then to find him absent now.

Gathering your fractured consciousness, you slid out of bed and pulled your sweatshirt back on (you could only assume Jay had probably helped you out of it so you wouldn’t overheat while you slept), and shoved your feet into slippers to guard against any morning chill lingering in the house. The place was dead quiet, no signs of any life except yourself present to provide any hints as to where your friend would be. So you went with your last memory, and wandered down the hall toward the lounge.

Sure enough, aside from two glasses holding dark red reminders of your attempts to cope sitting comfortably on the coffee table, you found Jay sprawled somewhat awkwardly on your couch (even for someone whose height wasn’t far off from your own it was barely long enough to fit him), a blanket drawn haphazardly across himself. Though it had to be far from comfortable, the relative peace settled across his features made you loathe to wake him. You couldn’t imagine the poor guy had gotten much sleep lately, especially not with the way you’d taken up his time the night before. So instead of shaking him awake, you rearranged the blanket more securely around his person, patted his cheek, and gathered the glasses to take with you to the kitchen.

You hadn’t had much time to go grocery shopping lately, so your breakfast options were limited, but there was plenty of coffee and its peripherals to get a steaming pot going while you scrounged up some eggs, toast, and fruit. A minimal meal to be sure, but still delicious - you hoped. It was hard to mess up such simple dishes, after all, but when it came to guessing at seasonings and all that you weren’t the best judge and could only hope that it would taste decent.

Doing your best to be quiet while you shuffled about, you hummed to yourself, some song by Jay’s friend-ployee Hoody that you’d heard on the radio the other day. The coffee maker ceased its bubbling chatter to simply keeping the pot warm while you let the eggs finish cooking, and buttered the bread when it popped out of the toaster. You were so preoccupied with your tasks you missed the shuffling sounds from the direction of the couch, or the footsteps preceding the arrival of your houseguest before he was rummaging in your cupboards and startling you bad enough you nearly dropped the knife you’d been using to chop a myriad of fruits onto your feet. He cast a raised eyebrow in your direction but the effect was lost with the way sleep still claimed his features in the form of bleary eyes and unkempt hair. Your heart did that odd twisting thing again, entirely unrelated to the fact he had just scared the daylights out of you.

“Sorry, I just - I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you yammered and he shrugged before extracting two mugs from the cupboard and moving carefully around you to the waiting coffee.

“I think it was less your clattering around in here and more an internal clock thing, but it’s chill.” With practiced hands he divided the coffee between your mugs, then stopped to look at you again. “Cream or sugar?”

“Uh, creamer’s in the fridge, but I’m good on sugar, thanks.” He nodded and went back to fixing up the cups of coffee, while you tried desperately to get your head and heart back on track. You couldn’t say why it was that the incredibly mundane sight of him making coffee for the two of you sent your heart into a sickly sweet overdrive, but it was freaking you out. Maybe it was just weird because you’d never really been in this situation with him before? But that was a weak excuse and you knew it - there was hardly a thing the two of you could do together that would be awkward.

Maybe it was because you were finally… properly paying attention to him? Without the lens of i’m happily not single? It wasn’t like you’d never noticed things about him before - you knew he was attractive but it hadn’t fazed you; you’d seen firsthand that he was thoughtful, caring about other people almost to a fault; his goofiness and sense of humor had rarely failed to make you and your friends smile or laugh outright. You’d seen all those things before when he was just “your best friend Jay Park,” but now…

Now you noticed other things. Like the exact way all the ink he’d filled his skin with - pictures and words he’d insisted held sentimental or powerful meaning to him - followed the lines of his body. Or how careful he was in mixing the creamer into your coffee, like it was the most important thing he’d ever done. You watched as some of his hair, mussed from sleep and lack of a shower, fell into his face and the way he pushed it out of his vision in a move that had been so normal before but now made your cheeks warm. And you had to pretend extra hard not to notice when he turned and caught you staring and, instead of calling you out, smiled at you like this whole situation was the most normal thing.

I’m sorry and I love you, I guess.

Your heart thumped uncomfortably in your chest at the echoed words of what may or may not have been a drunken dream, and suddenly the room seemed way too warm and way too small.

Oh fucking fuckity fuck fuck - were you attracted your best friend?

“You just about done there?” You followed his gaze to the pan of eggs and plate of toast, jumping at the chance to move and do something rather than stand there and stare at him like an idiot.

“Y-yup! Wanna grab plates while I take this to the table?” Without waiting for an actual answer, you grabbed the dishes and darted off, wishing you’d bothered brushing out your hair instead of just fixing your bun so you could hide your burning cheeks.

When you’d left the kitchen, Jay let out a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. He had been expecting that things might be weird this morning, but had assumed it would be because of him. The foggy memory of his delirious confession the night before sat on the edge of his consciousness, but he attempted to squash it before he died of embarrassment on the spot. That would be even more suspect than his over-the-top attempts at helping you in the kitchen. Speaking of… he’d probably been spending way too much time panicking over how he should be acting around you. Grateful for the distraction, he rifled in one of your other cupboards to grab plates, piling silverware on top and then carefully grasping the handles of both mugs in his free hand.

At the table, you were very studiously staring at your phone and chewing on one of your sweatshirt strings, the perfect picture of a lazy Saturday morning. The only recognition he got for his appearance at the table was you peeking around your screen at the sound of the china being placed on the table in front of you. When your eyes met, red swept through your features again, and you went back to pretending to be busy. Though he assumed it was nothing personal, Jay couldn’t help being a little bit hurt at your persistent attempts to pretend he wasn’t there.

But clearly you weren’t in the mood to talk about whatever was bothering you, so he let it go for now. Eggs and toast made their way onto his plate, assorted fruit adding a disjointedly cheerful splash of color, and he was content to alternate between bites of food and sips of coffee as he flipped between social media and emails and other inane shit that normally wouldn’t get more than a cursory glance. He’d never been good at handling silence, and several times he considered breaking it with some sort of innocuous, safe topic, but nothing felt right, so he kept his mouth shut.

He was going through his mentions on Twitter when he heard your silverware hit your plate, and an awkward clearing of your throat sounded. Well, the silence was clearly broken now. A glance up from his own screen revealed you had set yours down, but still studied your hands where they rested on the edge of the table rather than looking at him. Rather than push you to speak, he waited as patiently as he could (which wasn’t very) for you to do it yourself, and after a few agonizing moments he was rewarded.

“So,” you began lamely and grimaced, “we need to talk about last night.” If this were a football game, Jay imagined, your words might as well have just tackled him to the ground like a full-sprint defensive lineman with all the force with which air left his lungs. But he could not, absolutely could not, let on that anything was amiss so he cleared his own throat and did his best to look nonchalant. He had no idea if you would be fooled but it was the best he could do on the spot.

“Do we? I already told you I didn’t mind helping you out. Didn’t think we had anything else to talk about.” Instead of reassuring or discouraging you like he’d intended, it seemed you grew even more awkward at his words, beginning to fidget in a way he recognized as a tic for when you couldn’t figure out how to say what was on your mind. He also knew it rarely ended up some kind of easy, breezy conversation.

“It’s… not that. Um- “ Your lip slipped between your teeth again, and if the situation weren’t so tense Jay might have made an offhand, teasing remark about how cute you looked. As it was, he reined himself in long enough to give you a questioning look you barely glanced at.

“Then what is it?” He prodded when silence had threatened to overtake you two again. You sighed heavily.

“When I woke up this morning… I had this memory, only I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if it actually happened, and it’s been really bothering me so I just, I really really need to know if…” A quiet deep breath, and it was like he could literally see you steeling your nerves against whatever was about to come. “Did… did you…” Oh no. “Did you say you were in love with me?”

I’m sorry and I love you, I guess.

The dead silence that followed was so complete you could hear the slick sound of Jay swallowing nervously, and you focused on the rise and fall of his adam’s apple rather than on his face because you weren’t sure you could take what you would see there.

If you were wrong, and it really had been just a dream, he’d most likely give you that “you’re crazy” look and then everything would become irrevocably more awkward than before. And then what would it say about you, that you had dreamed up something like that? You weren’t sure you could face the possibility that lay at the end of that path either.

If you were right… Well, no, you still didn’t have a solution for that. Would you say something to affirm his feelings? Would you kick him firmly into the friend zone and risk losing him that way? The latter would be the kind thing to do, right, when you weren’t even sure how you yourself felt? After all, you’d just gotten out of a two plus year relationship you’d been fairly certain about until it crumbled beneath your fingers. Could you risk heading down the same path with Jay? But that all begged another, bigger question that made your insides curl in on themselves and your heart knot up in confusion:

Were you properly in love with Jay, or did you just care about him because you needed him as a friend?

It felt like eons before anything happened after your question settled in the air over the remains of breakfast. Eggs and toast alike had gone cold, fruit soggy, coffee all but untouched as you waited for him to say something, anything, that would put this whole thing to bed. Any answer would be better than none, you reasoned, because at least then you’d have some closure and you could think of a plan. You moved your gaze from his neck to his hands, tense and clenched into fists against the dark wood. You’d seen him do it before, when he was nervous or unsure about something, and the sight only made your own anxiety worsen. Then, at long last, he coughed and you almost missed the quiet words that slid from his mouth.

“What?” You inquired with all the intelligence of a goldfish, and he groaned. Curious eyes followed his hands as they moved up to his face, dragging across his features in a gesture of frustration.

“I said,” he muttered into them, “that you’re right. What you think you heard… is what I said.” The seconds your brain needed to process his words, really let them sink in, gave him time to slowly tilt his head back down and lower his hands until they were pressed together in front of him, rather than obscuring his face. When he spoke again, his words were as sure and determined as the look in his eyes that made a swarm of butterflies erupt in your stomach, disturbing your breakfast. “I told you I love you, and I thought you wouldn’t hear it, but that don’t make it any less true.”

“Jay,” you started, then stopped as words struggled to form sentences in your head that would properly convey what you wanted to say, “I… I don’t…” Unfortunately, though he was your best friend he was not a mind reader, and there was really only one way for him to interpret your stuttering. Just like that, the fire in his eyes dimmed out, all the life leaving his features in a heavy sigh. You watched the weight of his resignation at your apparent rejection press into his shoulders, and again as it reached with toxic fingers to pull his lips into a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t worry. It was just a slip because I was a little drunk, okay? Not worth getting torn up over. Probably just came out weird.” You wanted to believe him, to think it was that easy - that you two could just forget he’d ever said anything at all of any consequence and pretend things were normal again. Yet you knew you couldn’t. Not when his attempt at writing the whole thing off made you so irrationally upset. Or when that led to the question of why the fuck were you even against the idea in the first place, which in turn had you slamming headfirst into the realization that wow, okay, you really were actually, properly and entirely in love with Park Jaebeom. Or, at least, you thought you could be. And you certainly weren’t about to let him pretend like he had never said he might feel that way about you. So you smacked your hands onto the table to get his attention, glad when the action made him twitch and brought his wide eyes to yours.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Nuh uh, you are not just gonna try and sweep this under the rug so we can go on with life like we’re just two best buds again,” you snapped, and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline at the venom in your tone and the way you flopped back into your seat, arms crossed tight about your body.

“What are you saying, then?” He demanded, throwing his hands up in frustration. “That you love me too or that you just don’t think we can be friends because I fucked up a little?” You faltered.

“I- I don’t know! Not about that last part, I’m not shallow enough to ditch you just because of something you said that may or may not alter our friendship as we know it. But I’m… not sure how I feel right now. You’re my best friend, Jay, and you don’t get to just walk away from me whenever you feel like it.” He almost smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s the thing. Accepting that I said that means accepting that I don’t just want to be your friend. I don’t want to stand by and watch you fall in and out of love with ten other guys who treat you like shit, or to be your crash pad every time they let you down. It means knowing I want a chance at you just like them, and that if I get it I’ll take it and run. Are you really okay with that?” Silence stretched between you two for a few beats, and then you sighed and put your cheek on your hand to stare at him for almost the first time all morning - really, actually stare at him. You took a few moments to consider him, everything you knew about him, as objectively as possible, without your “friendship goggles” on so to speak. Knowing what you did, and the way your mind and body reacted to him, could you keep being just friends with him? Is that what you wanted? Or could you allow yourself to feel more strongly, to even attempt to let him in the same way you had Euntaek?

You almost shouldn’t have been surprised the answer was every form of fuck yes you could think of.

“I am. Okay with all that, I mean. In fact…” You hesitated, then reached over to lay your hand on top of his. He seemed surprised but didn’t pull away. “I’d like to offer you that chance, if you want to take it. Because the truth is… I love you, I guess.” He didn’t respond right away to the way you’d echoed his words, instead flipping his hand over under yours so he could run his thumb across your knuckles. The sensation sent a pleasant shiver up your arm and throughout your nerves, and you thought that if that was what touching him would always feel like, you could get used to it.

“You’re not trying to fuck with me, or say some shit to be nice and avoid saying something hard, are you?” The genuine emotion in his voice (and dare you say fear?) made your heart squeeze, and you manifested it in doing the same to where his fingers held yours. He was just as worried as you, you realized, that you might reject him, or, even worse, lead him on. Before you could think too much about it, you shook your head vigorously.

“No fuckery. I… I’m pretty sure I mean it.” The dubious look he gave you made you quick to elaborate. “I just broke up with a guy I’d practically sold my heart to for over two years. Everything is kind of a mess right now, me especially, but… But if you’re willing to wait a bit and stick around, I think it might work out in your favor.” Heart in your throat, you watched him turn over your words. Then with a quickness that surprised you not because he possessed it but because he used it for this purpose, he grasped your other hand and squeezed, leaning toward you over the table.

“Fo’real?” You nodded, pink beginning to trickle into your face at what you had said and the implications of this entire situation, and especially at the way his expression radiated a kind of hope that warmed your heart to melting.

“Fo’real,” you echoed. And then he was grinning like the happiest kid on Earth, and swooping down to press a sweet kiss to the back of both your hands, making your heart flutter in a way that was entirely alien to you.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” he insisted, like he had to make the idea of being with him some kind of sales pitch. You giggled, the sound born out of amusement and adoration for his enthusiasm as opposed to any sort of mirth at his expense. He didn’t need to sell you on anything - you were already fairly certain that it would be one of the best choices of your life to entrust your fragile heart to Jay Park. All you really needed was the time to begin to pick up your broken pieces and start fitting them to his.

And if the way your heart felt a little more full as he pulled you from your chair to press you as close to him as possible was any indicator, you were already off to a great start.

#aomg scenario #aomg fluff #jay park scenario #jay park fluff #khh scenario #khh fluff #friends to lovers #fluff #not rated #hallyuwritersnet

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