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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look.

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit.

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself.

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned.

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her.

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith.

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out.

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t.

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward.

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut.

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed.

Dean didn’t know what was happening.

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror.

“What did Ruby say this was for?”

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him.

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light.

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat.

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror.

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out.

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal.

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway.

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown.

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted.

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him.

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife.

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster.

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him.

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep.

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat.

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed.

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months.

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months.

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.”

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could.

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him.

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room.

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years.

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head.

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest.

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her.

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable.

She could be scary.

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?”

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back.

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed.

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you.

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some.

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean.

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean.

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway.

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity.

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more.

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be.

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down.

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave.

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression.

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in.

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second.

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more.

Because this thing was powerful.

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains.

He’s branded into you.

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this.

And he still won’t really look at you.

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom.

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing.

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink.

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning.

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to.

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him.

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought.

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him.

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store.

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation.

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt.

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly.

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules.

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target.

But now you’re putting Dean in danger.

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap.

You’re going to break.

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air.

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready.

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that-

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang.

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down.

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived.

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank.

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest.

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade.

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his.

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave.

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find.

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have.

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep.

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep.

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed.

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.”

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers.

You hadn’t even felt it.

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo.

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched.

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him.

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him.

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together.

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone.

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now.

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face.

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats.

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours.

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful.

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight.

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up.

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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folkwhoreberry · 2 days ago

Text

Amongst Demigods

Fighting For Attention

f1 x reader

or... the one where there’s too many boys, not enough sense

word count : 979

warning : reader is oblivious, english is not my first language!!!

check masterlist for more parts of the series!!

🏛️🏎️

it started off slowly. small things, like lando offering to carry your training gear, charles finding excuses to sit next to you at meals, or oscar insisting on walking you back to the hermes cabin. at first, it was subtle enough that you didn’t notice. you just thought they were being extra nice, and who were you to complain?

but things started to get weird when they were all around each other.

“hey, y/n, I saved you a seat!” lando grinned, patting the bench next to him during lunch.

before you could sit, charles, who’d just arrived with his tray, slid into the spot. “oh, sorry, lando, I didn’t see you. mind if Isit here?” his smirk was unmistakable, though he kept his eyes on you.

lando glared at him, but before either could say anything, oscar appeared, casually placing his hand on your shoulder. “actually, y/n promised to go over some battle strategies with me after lunch, so…”

“I said what now?” you asked, confused, but oscar just gave you a look.

“yeah, she did,” oscar said with a confident nod. “let’s go sit somewhere quiet, yeah?”

lando leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’m sure y/n would rather sit with friends and, you know, not discuss boring battle plans.”

charles raised an eyebrow. “boring? says the guy who spends all his time by the lake splashing around like a child.”

you blinked, watching the three of them start to bicker as if you weren’t even there. you didn’t know what was going on, but you did know that it was weird.

“uh, I’m just gonna… go sit with yuki and alex,” you mumbled, grabbing your tray.

all three boys froze, turning to glare at yuki and alex, who were sitting a few tables away, minding their own business.

“don’t even think about it,” lando growled under his breath. oscar’s hand tightened on your shoulder, and charles’ smirk faded.

but it was too late. you walked over to yuki and alex, completely oblivious to the tension brewing behind you.

“please save me from whatever that was,” you sighed as you sat down.

yuki looked up from his food, confused. “what was what?”

“I… honestly don’t know,” you admitted, glancing over at the boys, who were now whispering furiously at each other. “but something weird is going on.”

alex chuckled. “oh, I think I know what’s going on.”

you looked at him, eyebrows raised. “what?”

before alex could answer, lando, charles, and oscar had caught up to you, followed by daniel, who appeared out of nowhere, and franco, who was trailing behind, looking suspiciously smug.

“hey, y/n, fancy going for a walk later?” daniel asked, his grin wide as always. “I figured we could - ”

“actually, I had plans with her,” franco interrupted, sliding into the seat beside you and throwing his arm casually over the back of your chair. “didn’t I, y/n?”

“uhh, I don’t think so?” you said, feeling more confused by the second.

“well, you do now,” franco said with a wink, completely ignoring the death stares from daniel and the others.

it was at this moment that george walked by, raising an eyebrow at the scene. “this is… going well,” he muttered under his breath before turning to charles, who gave him a pleading look.

“george, help me out here,” charles whispered, though you could hear every word.

“mate, you’re on your own,” george replied with a shake of his head.

lando, meanwhile, had enlisted carlos in his cause. carlos sidled up to him, whispering something in his ear while glaring at the others. oscar caught the exchange and quickly turned to lance, who was nearby, trying to stay out of the mess but failing miserably.

“lance, come on, you owe me,” oscar said in a low voice, trying not to draw attention.

lance sighed, but nodded, clearly not wanting to get involved. “fine, but if this backfires…”

max, of course, had teamed up with daniel. “you know what to do, max,” daniel whispered as they stood behind you, plotting.

you, meanwhile, were completely unaware of all the silent scheming going on behind your back. you were more focused on the fact that yuki and alex looked like they were trying not to laugh.

“what’s so funny?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

alex cleared his throat. “nothing, just… you’ve got quite the fan club.”

“fan club?” you repeated, confused.

“yeah,” yuki added, “and none of them are subtle about it.”

you blinked, turning to look at the boys, who were now all gathered around you in some sort of silent standoff. “wait, what? no, that’s not - ”

“oh, trust me, it is,” alex said, barely containing his laughter.

“they all want you,” yuki said bluntly, his expression serious. “and they’re not happy about the competition.”

you blinked again, trying to process what he was saying. “but… we’re just friends?”

alex snorted. “sure, keep telling yourself that.”

before you could respond, kimi walked over, completely oblivious to the brewing tension. “hey, y/n, want to go over those chariot racing strategies later?” he asked, plopping down next to you.

immediately, every single boy tensed, glaring at kimi.

“what? she’s like a sister to me,” kimi said, frowning at the looks he was getting.

the boys seemed to relax, but only slightly. you, on the other hand, were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that apparently, everyone had feelings for you. except kimi, of course, who was the only one acting completely normal.

“I think I need a nap,” you muttered, standing up and leaving the table, completely oblivious to the way all five boys scrambled to follow you, each one determined to outdo the others.

you had no idea what was going on, but one thing was for sure - things at camp half-blood were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

————————————————————————————

@briefkittenearthquake @colpenter

a/n : write this while listening to my weird playlist aka the music went from the pussycat dolls to one direction

#folkwhoreberry #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #kimi antonelli x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #ollie bearman x reader #franco colapinto x reader #lance stroll x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #alex albon x reader #x reader #f1/pjo!au⭐️

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sxdisteez · 16 hours ago

Text

☸ Dorm Series: Part- Eight | 최종호

| series masterlist | previous |

✦ summary: you and jongho decide to spend your day together playing your favorite video games. fun banter is a part of the fun until you take it too far. ✦ pairings: idol! boyfriend jongho x fem! reader ✦ genre: smut!, idol boyfriend au ✦ word count: 1.6 k ✦ warnings: smut!, dom jongho, reader doesn't like to lose, oral sex (m receive), punishment, rough jongho, face fucking, sloppy head, gagging, hand job, reader loves to be praised, face painting (with cum), slight hair pulling, praise kink, cussing from Jongho ✦ a/n: the end of ateez dorm series is here😭. this was my very first series it feels a bit bittersweet that it's over but I truly enjoyed writing and reading this. I hope you all enjoy it just as much as I did!💗

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned.

nsfw content below. 18+ - mdni

After weeks of planning with many failed attempts to see each other, you and Jongho finally found the right day to spend some quality time together. Since you were busy with your studies and he was in the middle of preparing for a new comeback it was harder for you both to see each other lately. So here you were sitting crossed legged in his bed, clutching the game controller tightly in your hand on the brink of winning in Mario Kart.

“Ha! I win again!” You squeal happily, playfully sticking your tongue out at Jongho who’d only rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah yeah. I was going easy on you.” He replies.

“It’s okay to admit you lost fair in square. Three times in the row might I add.” You smile cheekily at him.

Rolling his eyes again, Jongho just shakes his head at your response refusing to feed into your delusion.

“How about for the next round whoever loses has to do what the winner wants.” A mischievous grin takes over Jongho’s face.

“That’s fine I’m gonna win anyways. You’ll be calling me queen y/n for the rest of the month.” You respond with a smug look taking over your features.

“We’ll see about that.” Jongho mumbles to himself, his mind already set on playing the game properly to put you back in your place.

⬦⬥⬦

“What was all that you were saying?” Jongho laughs at the stunned look plastered on your face. He’d beat you in less than 5 minutes, giving you no room to even catch up with him.

“You cheated!” You whined not believing the results.

“How could I cheat babe? You saw me, I did nothing different.”

“Whatever cheater. You only won one game so you’re still a loser.” You bite back, rolling your eyes refusing to accept defeat.

Jongho cocks his eyebrow at your words not liking the attitude you were giving him. He stands walking over to your sitting figure, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Since I won it’s only right, you do what I want.” His hands grip your legs gently unraveling them, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. You peer up at him not knowing what crazy ideas were running through his head.

“You know babe, that mouth of yours always gets you in trouble. Do you know what happens to bratty girls who run their mouths? ” He tsks. You immediately cower at his words, remembering what Jongho had done the last time you did something that he’d deemed as bratty.

“I- I.” You stutter out completely lost for words feeling his heated gaze bore into your face.

“Shhhh. The only sound I want to hear is you choking on my dick.” He growls lowly, pulling you off the bed.

“B-but the members. T-they’re in the other room.” You stammer out stunned at his request.

“What they hear is all up to you sweetheart. Now kneel down.”

Without another word you position yourself comfortably on your knees between Jongho’s legs coming face to face with his already large bulge. Hooking your fingers in the waistband of his briefs you pull them down bit by bit until they fall to his feet. His thick length springs forward, tip already slightly red showing his arousal. You couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of his cock, doing your best to prepare for whatever Jongho might do. Taking your time, you grip the base of his dick giving it a few tugs watching as small beads of precum spill from the slit. You quickly lick the essence before it could fall, a small moan sounding off at the taste.

Jongho releases a breathy gasp at your actions waiting eagerly for your next movement. He watches carefully as your mouth fully engulfs around the head of his cock, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh. His knees buckle at the sight of your saliva trickling down his shaft, spreading with each stroke of your hand. Feeling impatient with your deliberately slow actions Jongho takes matters into his own hands.

“Move your hands.” he growls lowly. You remove your hand, eyes widen, feeling Jongho’s hands grip your head keeping you in place.

He forcefully thrusts into your mouth, his thick length gagging you in the process filling your mouth completely. Jongho stills his hips, relishing in how wet and warm it felt around him before pulling out fully. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s plunging his cock back into your mouth forcing it even deeper before.

Your eyes close at the force, tears brimming your eyes, feeling his tip graze the back of your throat harshly. Jongho’s grip on your head tightens as he begins to fuck into your mouth. His strokes are rough and precise as he mercilessly uses your mouth for his own pleasure.

“Shit. You feel so fucking good.” He mutters, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sensation.

You can’t help the muffled moan that spills from your mouth at his words, finally relaxing in his grasp with each thrust. Wanting to please him even more you hollow your cheeks, suctioning his cock perfectly. Jongho moans loudly from the sudden action, his hips bucking even more at how well you sucked his dick.

“Keep doing that and you're gonna make me cum quick.” He groans, pulling out of your mouth. He watched as thick saliva spilled messily down your mouth, covering your shirt and his floor.

“You look so sexy like this. Taking my dick like a good girl.” He whispers softly, stroking the sides of your head.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him, basking in the praise he was giving you. Jongho knew how much you enjoyed being praised by him especially in your most intimate moments.

“You still have to be taught a lesson for being naughty.” He sighs mockingly.

“Open up.” He says. You open your mouth once again sticking your tongue out, feeling a slight ache start to form in your jaw from his previous assault.

Jongho grabs his cock giving it a few small strokes before tapping his tip on your tongue.

“After today you’ll think twice before you speak.” He says pushing his cock back into your waiting mouth.

You close around his length taking him down inch by inch until your nose is pressed completely against his pelvis. Fingers tangling in your hair, he holds your head down rutting his hips forward in small circles, a feral growl emitting from his chest as your moans vibrate through his cock.

“Fuck you’re so good.” He moans, the hold on your hair relaxing a bit.

You eagerly begin to bob your head, desperately wanting more praise from Jongho. Your hands find their way back to his length, working the rest of him with both your hands.

“Look at me.” He commands

Your eyes flit up to meet his eyes, a fiery glint shone behind them. Jongho felt his orgasm slowly creeping up on him with each movement. Seeing how eager you were to please him, the cock drunk look that glazed over your eyes, how messy you were around his cock. He felt weak in the knees at the sight of you like this wanting nothing more than to paint your pretty face with his cum.

“Fuck keep going. I’m so close.” He groans, head falling back as you pick up your pace. His grip tightens in your hair, hips thrust matching your rhythm perfectly. With each thrust you feel Jongho’s cock twitch in your mouth, the taste of his precum coating your tongue spreading through your mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna cum!” Jongho moans quickly pulling out of your mouth. He begins to jerk his cock swiftly, desperately chasing his orgasm. You watch as his face scrunches up tightly, mouth falling agape, pleasure wrecking through his body as he hits his peak. With a loud moan, his cum squirts out wildly, splashing all over your face. You moan at the warm sensation, feeling his release trickle down your face.

He pulled back pulling you up from the floor, Jongho’s lips encompassing yours. His tongue exploring your mouth greedily moaning at the taste.

“Good girl. You look so pretty with my cum all over you.” He coos, coaxing a wide smile to grace your face.

“Anything to please you.”

“I hope you remember this next time you think about getting smart with me.” Jongho gazes pointedly at you. You only nod in response, refusing to show how much you enjoyed his way of “punishing” you.

Jongho’s hands find their way to the hem of your skirt, pushing the fabric out of the way before carelessly ripping your panties off. A surprised gasp leaves your mouth from his abrupt actions.

“Now for your reward.” He guides you to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

Jongho eyes your pussy wanting to cum again just from the sight of your glistening pussy, longing to be touched.

A knock sounds at the door interrupting Jongho’s thoughts.

“Uhh s-sorry to interrupt, but how much longer are you gonna be. I’m trying to sleep.” Yunho’s low voice rings out from the other side of the door.

“Sorry hyung, I'll keep it down.” Jongho a smirk playing on his lips. Without another word Yunho walks away back to his room.

You look back to Jongho who removed his clothing in the process picking up your ruined panties.

“Open.” He says, bringing your panties to your lips.

You open your mouth feeling the soaked lace fill your mouth.

“If you want to cum you better keep it down.” He teases making his way down to your pussy, finally giving you what you longed for.

—taglist: @spicxbnny @dawn-iscozy @st4ytiny @nopension @ateezswonderland @jiminssluttyminx @sunnysidesins

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it like, reblog with tags, comment, and follow!

#ateez #ateez smut #choi jongho #jongho smut #jongho x reader #atz dorm series #©sxdisteez #jongho #ateez jongho #ateez series #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #kpop smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader

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hellvst · 2 days ago

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OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning.

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold.

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals.

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again.

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching.

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good.

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving.

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good.

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself.

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed.

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate.

Which led me to another question for Grace.

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight.

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up.

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.”

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players.

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence.

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines.

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.”

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes.

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.”

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect.

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway.

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth.

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing.

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?”

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?”

I wish I knew.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #qh43

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inseobts · 15 hours ago

Text

TRAITOR pt.2

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 ⤳ PART 3 (coming soon)

words count: 2.6k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

It’s easy to forget you’re lying when they make it feel real.

The Heart Pirates aren’t just a crew, they’re a family. They bicker like siblings, tease each other relentlessly, and somehow, without meaning to, you’ve been pulled into it.

You should’ve kept your distance.

But how could you, when—

“Y/N! HELP!”

You barely have time to register the shout before something massive collides with you, nearly knocking you over.

“Bepo—” you gasp, struggling under the weight of the massive mink currently clinging to you “You cannot use me as a shield... what the hell is going on?”

Shachi and Penguin sprint around the corner, looking absolutely murderous. Ikkaku follows close behind, arms crossed, her glare laser-focused on Bepo.

“There you are, you traitor!” Penguin points an accusing finger at the trembling mink still latched onto you.

You blink “Okay, wow. Let’s pause. Why is Bepo a traitor?”

Shachi glares “Because someone ratted us out to the Captain.”

You sigh, already piecing it together “Did you guys try to smuggle alcohol into the infirmary again?”

“… No.”

“You so did.”

Bepo’s ears flatten, guilt all over his face “I had to tell him! He was going to find out anyway!”

“You snitch!” Shachi wails.

“You idiots,” you correct, prying Bepo off you before he suffocates you with his fluff “Why do you always try to hide stuff from Law? You know he’s just gonna find out and punish you worse.”

“It’s about the principle of it,” Penguin grumbles.

You sigh, rubbing your temples “What was the punishment?”

Shachi pouts “No dessert for a week.”

You stare “That’s it?”

“That’s everything, Y/N.”

Bepo nods solemnly “They’re suffering.”

You shake your head, barely suppressing a laugh “You guys are so dramatic.”

Ikkaku crosses her arms “You’re laughing now, but if Law ever finds out about that thing you did, you’re not getting out of it so easily.”

Your breath catches.

Just for a second.

And then you force an easy grin “Which thing? I do a lot of things.”

Ikkaku narrows her eyes playfully “The one with the—”

“Shh!” You slap a hand over her mouth “Don’t tell them, it’s supposed to be a secret!”

The others immediately light up with interest.

“Oh, now you have to tell us,” Shachi says eagerly.

“I am so telling the Captain,” Penguin teases.

Bepo nods sagely “This is karma.”

You groan, regretting everything.

Despite moments like these, you don’t forget why you’re here.

Deep beneath the Polar Tang, hidden in one of the ship’s most secure rooms, is one of the reasons you really joined this crew.

The copies of the Poneglyphs.

You don’t know how Law got his hands on them, but you do know that your real crew, the one you actually belong to, wants them.

And you’re the one who has to steal them.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Because despite everything, despite the mission, despite knowing you’re a liar.

You don’t hate being here.

You don’t hate them.

You should’ve. It would’ve made this easier.

But you don’t.

Some weeks later you meet the Straw Hats, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.

Not because they’re enemies, or because they’re a threat.

But because of Zoro. You've met him years ago, and even if your real crew was always subtle that no one actually know them, he knows you're a well known pirate between the bounty hunters, even without a specific crew name on it.

You see it in his face the second his eye land on you. That flicker of recognition... subtle, but unmistakable.

You know that look.

It’s the look of someone who remembers you.

He just doesn’t know from where.

And that’s a problem.

“You look familiar,” he says bluntly, eyes narrowing slightly “Do I know you?”

Your mind races. A dozen different excuses flash through your head, but none of them are good enough.

So you go for the simplest, most believable one.

“You probably saw my bounty poster,” you say smoothly, forcing a grin “I’ve got a pretty face, after all.”

Shachi and Penguin snicker behind you.

Zoro eyes you for a second longer, clearly unconvinced, but Luffy claps a hand on his shoulder before he can question you further.

“Zoro, stop being weird,” Luffy says, grinning at you “She’s cool, right, Law?”

Law, who has been watching the exchange carefully, nods once. “She’s one of us.”

The words shouldn’t make your chest tighten the way they do.

But they do.

And that’s dangerous.

The Kid Pirates are even worse.

Because Kid is loud, brash, and aggressive—but he’s also smart.

And he watches you.

Not like Zoro, who’s trying to place your face. Not like Law, who looks at you like you matter.

Kid watches you like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

Like he knows something’s off about you, but he just hasn’t figured out what yet.

“You don’t fit,” he says one night, after too many drinks.

You tilt your head, keeping your expression neutral “Excuse me?”

Kid leans forward, propping his elbows on the table “You’re a little too smooth, a little too good at blending in.” He smirks. “Like you practiced.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“I’ve always been good at adapting,” you say, keeping your voice casual “That’s what a good pirate does, right?”

Kid hums, unconvinced.

And you realize, with a slow sinking feeling—

He’s not going to stop watching you.

The deeper you fall into this act, the more tangled it gets.

Zoro recognizes you but doesn’t know from where.

Kid doesn’t trust you but doesn’t have proof.

Law believes in you, and that’s the worst part of it all.

Because when the truth finally comes out...

This new alliance between the three is a sign for you, a sign that it's time to make a move and get away before someone finds out who you are.

You knew the time was coming. You knew.

But now that it’s here, a sick feeling settles in your chest.

Because you don’t want to do it.

It’s not supposed to be this hard.

You’ve done this before. You’ve infiltrated crews, stolen information, betrayed captains who thought you were theirs. It’s always been simple.

Get in. Get what you need. Get out.

But this time—

This time, it’s different.

Because you’re attached.

Because when Law smirks at you in that rare, teasing way, it makes your chest tighten.

Because when the crew laughs and drags you into their stupid antics, you enjoy it.

Because when Bepo whines about missing Zou, when Shachi and Penguin bicker like children, when Ikkaku rolls her eyes at all of them...

It feels like home.

And now you have to rip it apart.

You tell yourself you’ll make it quick.

One night. One chance.

Slip into Law’s office. Get informations and the Poneglyph copies. Get out.

The submarine has weak points, small openings where the sea meets steel, barely noticeable unless you know where to look. And you do.

A quiet escape. No blood. No confrontation.

That’s the plan. Fast and easy, right?

So why does it feel like a mistake before you even start?

You wait until late, when most of the crew is asleep, their laughter from dinner still lingering in the halls.

Law is in his office, like always.

You hesitate outside the door. Just for a second. Just long enough to remind yourself—

This isn’t real. They were never yours.

You push the door open.

Law doesn’t look up immediately, focused on some report in front of him “You should be asleep.”

You smile, stepping closer “So should you.”

He exhales through his nose, amused but tired “What do you want?”

You want him to make this easy.

You want him to be cruel, to be distant, to remind you why you don’t belong here.

But he doesn’t.

He just leans back in his chair, looking at you like you matter. Like you’re his.

Your chest tightens “Just… wanted to check on you.”

A lie. A stupid, obvious lie. But Law doesn’t question it. Instead, he rubs his temple, sighing “You’re always worrying about me.”

“Someone has to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You swallow “Why not?”

“Because…” He hesitates, fingers tapping against the desk “Because if you care too much, it’ll be harder to leave.”

Your heart stops.

For a second, you think—does he know?

But then he looks away, staring at some distant point, jaw tight.

And you realize—

He’s not talking about you, he's talking about himself.

Not you...

Himself.

Law is the one who doesn’t want you to leave.

And that’s when it hits you... He trusts you. Completely.

Even now, when you’re standing in his office, pretending to care while planning to betray him—

He still trusts you.

Something in your chest aches.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t...

But when he finally looks back at you, exhaustion clear in his golden eyes, and says “Stay a little longer”

And you do.

You sit with him. You don’t steal anything. You don’t run. You just stay.

And for the first time, you think... Maybe you don’t want to leave at all.

You keep telling yourself this is the last night.

You don’t want it to be, but you’ve known it for days now.

Law trusts you. The crew… they think you belong.

And that’s exactly why you have to leave.

Because once you’ve broken through their walls, once you’ve made them care about you, there’s no going back.

No matter how much they make you laugh. No matter how much you start to care about them.

You’re not one of them. You’re just a pirate with an agenda. A thief. A liar. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose everything.

The night now feels different.

You slip through the ship’s corridors, the quiet hum of the Polar Tang weirdly comforting as you move.

You can hear Shachi and Penguin arguing somewhere above deck, their voices muffled through the metal walls, and it almost makes you smile. Almost.

Law is in his office again. Alone. The perfect time.

You reach for the door, your hand already knowing the cold steel of the handle. But just as you touch it, your pulse quickens—an unease settling in your gut.

Something feels… off.

You hesitate, fingers still resting against the handle. It’s nothing. You’re just overthinking.

But before you can turn the handle, you hear it—the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Quiet but sure.

Law.

You freeze for a moment and then you start casually walking towards him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You look up at him, trying to mask the panic in your eyes “Just passing by.”

Law eyes you, a soft, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips “You know, if you keep trying to lie to me, it won’t work. I can tell when you’re lying.”

You swallow, forced to keep your face neutral, even though the tension in your chest is nearly suffocating “You don’t know me that well...”

He steps closer, not threateningly, but with a quiet sort of presence that makes your heartbeat rise “I think I know you better than you think.”

The distance between you two is closing quickly, and you feel a small, dangerous thought flutter in your mind—What if I never leave?

But you shake it off. This has to happen.

You step back, hand sliding into your coat pocket “I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head.”

Law studies you for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing “You’re not very good at hiding things, you know that?”

You don’t know how to answer that. You don’t know how to lie when it’s getting harder and harder to look at him “I’m going to get some fresh air now”.

You’re standing at the edge of the Polar Tang, staring into the horizon. The sun is setting, painting the sky in oranges and purples.

Tonight, the mission becomes more urgent. The Straw Hats, Kid, and Law’s crew are all moving forward, and you’re running out of time. You know you have to finish what you started.

But how can you betray them?

How can you betray him?

You can’t keep pretending anymore. The lines are blurring. You’re starting to get too close, and you’re terrified of what will happen if you don’t leave soon.

The weight of it is heavy on your shoulders.

But there’s another reason you’re hesitating.

You’ve been hiding your power from them.

Law’s crew doesn’t know what you can do. And you’ve been careful to keep it that way. Because if they knew—if they saw what you could really do—things would change.

And they would fear you... they would all fear you. It happened before. When you’ve used your abilities to their full extent, it’s left a trail of broken minds and empty memories. You can make someone forget an entire conversation, erase their last few hours, manipulate their desires, twist their thoughts—it’s all within your grasp.

And once you start, you can’t stop.

You don’t want to be the monster they think you are. You don’t want them to see you as a tool for their own ends.

So you keep it hidden. You’ve been careful. But now…

Now, you’re feeling the pressure, and it’s getting harder to hide.

You’re walking back to your room, lost in thought, when you hear footsteps behind you.

It’s Law again.

He’s been following you for a while now, and you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t turn around immediately. Instead, you continue walking, your heart pounding.

“You’ve been distant lately.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s trying to read you.

You stop, then turn to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral “I’m just tired. There’s a lot going on.”

Law’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t buy it “You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back to the island. What’s going on, y/n?”

For a moment, the weight of the situation crashes down on you. He’s too perceptive. He’s too close to figuring it out.

You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from him, both physically and emotionally “It’s nothing. I just—”

“I’m not asking you to explain everything,” Law interrupts “But if something’s wrong, you can talk to me. We’re... crewmates. I trust you.” He hesitated at that word, as if he wanted to say something else—something much deeper—that scared not only you but himself as well.

You two always had some sort of relationship that started as casual and continued that way, without really talking about your real feelings, as if it were a given.

Anyway his words hit you like a punch. You can’t breathe for a moment.

He trusts you, he likes you.

And you’ve been lying to him this whole time. You’ve been using him. Using his trust to get what you need.

But what if he’s right? What if you do need to tell him?

No. You can’t.

You can’t risk it.

You force a smile “I’m fine, really. Just… need some time to think. I’ll be okay.”

Law doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, though the worry in his eyes lingers “If you say so”

You watch him leave, feeling the weight of his words on your shoulders.

And then—just when you think you might break—you hear the voice in your mind.

It’s your old crew.

The ones who know you better than anyone else, or at least that's what you think.

It’s time. You don’t have much choice now, you have to do it NOW.

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bytemee · 1 day ago

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chapter eight. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — angst, mentions of drinking (bro kinda has drinking problems), cringey if ur not locked in frfr, and let me know if there's more.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 3.2k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— another filler chap...imsorry. i also recommend reading the extra content for this chap!

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd @minaripenguu

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

"have you eaten?"

"have you been sleeping well?"

"are you keeping hydrated?"

"have you had your vitamins?"

"is the food okay?"

"do you need anything?"

you look up from your lunch, raising an eyebrow. your mom's been fussing over you since the moment you stepped into the house, and she hasn't stopped since. you've only been here for an hour, but it feels like she's on a mission to make sure you're taking care of yourself. you hadn't been home in a while—too wrapped up in recording the album and writing, so when the opportunity arose, you jumped on it.

you missed your family, but your mom's been driving you crazy with her questions.

"mom, i'm fine. you don't have to worry," you reassure her. "i'm taking care of myself."

she doesn't look convinced. "are you sure?"

your dad snorts, earning a glare from her. he raises his hands in defense.

"what?" he asks, chuckling.

"don't you have a garden to tend to?" she huffs before turning her attention back to you.

he rolls his eyes, clearly used to her relentless questioning. before he can escape the conversation, your mom narrows her eyes at him. "that's right. speaking of the garden—"

your dad cuts her off with a grin, leaning back in his chair as if he's ready for whatever's about to come. "your daughter has a girlfriend!"

your eyes widen in surprise, and your mom freezes, her face turning slightly red. you glance between them, wondering how the hell your dad knows, especially since you haven't told them anything. you're caught between feeling embarrassed and laughing at your dad's teasing.

"wait," you start, "how did—"

"grandma may have mentioned it," your dad explains, giving you a wink.

"traitor," you mutter under your breath, earning a chuckle from him.

"excuse me?" she asks, blinking as if she didn't hear him correctly.

"you're excused," he says, shooting her a teasing smile.

your mom rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed, but she turns her attention back to you. "you've been hiding a girlfriend from me?"

"not intentionally," you protest. "i was going to tell you."

"well, i want to meet her," she insists.

you feel your cheeks heat up at the mention of karina. you hadn't exactly planned on bringing up your relationship with her just yet, let alone telling your mom—who's always been a little extra when it comes to knowing about your love life. but here you are, caught between your dad's teasing and your mom's hopeful gaze.

"i mean…" you glance down at your food, trying to find the right words. "we've just been… spending time together."

your mom raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your attempt to downplay it. "spending time together? that doesn't sound like a casual thing to me."

"i'm just not sure we're there just yet," you explain, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. "we're still figuring things out, you know?"

your dad smiles, giving you a reassuring nod. "that's good. it's been a while since i've seen you like this."

you bite your lip, your mind racing with a million different things you want to say. but instead, you just take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax. you know your parents aren't trying to embarrass you, and they are happy for you. and honestly, hearing your dad's words makes you feel better, calmer, knowing that they're here, supporting you.

"i think we've had enough of the interrogation, don't you?" your dad finally says, earning a small chuckle from you.

your mom huffs, but there's no malice in her tone. "fine, fine. but you better introduce me to her soon," she says, pointing a finger at you.

"i will," you assure her. "i promise."

that being whenever you get a hold of jimin yourself. after the two amazing nights the two of you shared, it's been difficult for the two of you to get ahold of each other, let alone spend some time together. the group is busy preparing for their comeback, and it's all hands on deck, meaning the members don't have much time for anything else.

it's been an entire week without the fleeting messages she'd send you and the few seconds on facetime. a week… your heart aches every single day. and even though you know it's a lot for her, a lot for the group, there's a part of you that can't help but wonder if you're a priority for her. it's not the first time the two of you have gone days, even weeks, without seeing each other, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, this is normal, settles in your stomach like a stone.

"so," your dad starts, breaking you out of your thoughts. "someone's birthdays coming up!"

"oh god," you groan, already knowing where this is going.

"what are your plans?" he asks, his eyes twinkling.

you give him a shrug. "i don't know. probably go see grandma. i have to be in milan around that time, but afterwards i'll be going to korea."

"that's it? that's your plan?" he asks, clearly disappointed. you can sense the disappointment in his voice, knowing that he was hoping for a more exciting answer. "well, i might plan something with friends when i get back," you offer, trying to appease him. "i just haven't had the time to think about it yet."

"but what about a party? you're turning 23! you need to celebrate."

"a party?"

he nods, and you shake your head, knowing full well he won't let it go until he gets his way. he's always been a sucker for parties, and he loves throwing them even more. he's a social butterfly, and he has a knack for planning events. if you ever do end up having a party, you know he'll be all over it.

your mom raises an eyebrow at your dad's enthusiasm, crossing her arms as she interjects, "let her decide, will you? not everyone wants a big party."

"but it's a milestone!" your dad argues, leaning forward with an excited grin. "she's 23—it's worth celebrating. besides, it doesn't have to be a huge thing, just close family and friends."

you were pretty content on having a very low-key birthday. just you, your grandma, and her amazing cooking. you've never been one for the attention, especially since most of the time, it comes at the expense of privacy. and you don't know when you'd be in america again to celebrate, so you'd rather not make a fuss about it.

"maybe," you concede, taking a bite of your food. "but i'll probably be too busy with work, anyway."

your mom frowns, shaking her head. "you can't let work control your life, y/n. it's your birthday."

"i know," you sigh. "but it's not like i can just ignore everything and pretend it doesn't exist."

she gives you a sympathetic smile. "well, at least think about it," she says, patting your hand. "we want you to be happy, honey."

"thanks, mom," you say, returning the smile.

the rest of the afternoon is spent with your mom catching you up on all the local news and gossip. she talks about how she ran into her old friend, who happens to be the new mayor, at the grocery store, and the two of them ended up chatting for nearly half an hour. you listen, half-interested, and make mental notes of which people to avoid.

as the day wears on, you find yourself relaxing. you've missed this: the quietness, the comfort, the familiarity. your home has always been a place where you feel safe, and now, even more so.

eventually, the sun begins to set, and your dad suggests watching a movie together, which turns into a debate between him and your mom about what movie to watch. your mom wants to watch a romantic comedy, but your dad wants to watch an action film. in the end, you settle on watching an animated movie, which you're glad for because the two of them start bickering over the choice, and you don't want to deal with that tonight.

after the movie ends, your parents retreat to their room, your dad grumbling good-naturedly about losing the remote war, and your mom teasing him about being a sore loser. you watch them go, a small smile tugging at your lips. their banter never changes, and it's something that always makes you smile, no matter how many times you've heard it.

the house falls quiet, but your thoughts don't. sitting alone in the living room, you scroll aimlessly through your phone. the silence around you feels suffocating, a sharp contrast to the noise inside your head. you tap on karina's contact, staring at her name. the urge to text her is strong, but you stop yourself, unsure of what you'd even say.

instead, you decide to head to the studio. it's late, but working on music has always been your way of processing everything, and you need it more than ever. grabbing your keys and notebook, you slip out of the house as quietly as possible, leaving a note for your parents just in case they wake up.

the drive to the studio is short, the streets almost deserted at this hour. there's a peacefulness about the city, a quiet that's only interrupted by the occasional car driving past, its lights cutting through the darkness. it doesn't take long to get settled in. you settle into the chair, setting up your laptop and plugging in your headphones. the glow of the screen bathes the small space as you dive into a project you've been meaning to finish. hours slip by unnoticed as you tweak melodies, adjust vocals, and layer harmonies.

the clock on your laptop reads 1:34 a.m., and your body feels heavy with exhaustion. you sigh, shutting your laptop with more force than intended before grabbing the bottle of liquor you'd stashed in the corner.

a few swigs later, the last of the burning liquid is gone, and your head is swimming. you lean back, letting the chair support your weight,as your fingers hover over your phone, hesitating. eventually, you force yourself to stand, grabbing your things and stumbling slightly as the room tilts for a moment. you know you need to go home.

the drive home is quiet, the streets even emptier than before. you roll down the window, letting the cold night air hit your face in an attempt to sober up. when you finally pull into the driveway, the house is dark, save for the porch light your mom always leaves on for you.

you make your way inside, careful not to make too much noise. setting your bag down by the door, you head to the kitchen for a glass of water. your mouth is dry, and your head is starting to hurt. you down the glass quickly, the cold liquid soothing the scratchiness in your throat.

"y/n?"

you turn, startled by the sudden voice. your mom is standing in the hallway, looking tired and disheveled.

"hey, mom," you say sheepishly, setting the glass down.

she frowns, taking in the sight of you. "why are you up so late?"

"i couldn't sleep," you explain. "so i went to the studio."

she doesn't seem convinced. "you haven't been sleeping well lately, have you?"

you shrug. "i'm fine, mom."

she shakes her head, crossing her arms. "you don't have to pretend. i can tell something's bothering you."

"it's nothing," you insist.

she gives you a pointed look, her brows furrowing. "y/n, you can talk to me, okay? whatever's going on, i'm here."

you glance down at your hands, tracing the edge of the counter with your fingers, avoiding her gaze.

"i know," you say quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "i just… i don't even know how to talk about it."

she steps closer, her voice gentle. "start with what's been keeping you up at night."

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "it's jimin. things have been… complicated."

her face softens, and she pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, gesturing for you to sit. you follow her lead, sinking into the seat as she sits across from you, her eyes full of patience.

"i know she's busy. i know what i signed up for when we started this, but…" you pause, the words catching in your throat. "i feel like i'm barely a part of her life right now. it's like i'm waiting around for scraps of her time, and i hate feeling this way."

your mom nods slowly, letting you continue without interruption.

"i keep telling myself it's just temporary, that things will get better after her comeback," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "but what if it doesn't? what if this is just how it is? what if i'm asking for too much?"

"sweetheart," she starts, reaching out to take your hand in hers. "loving someone doesn't mean you have to shrink yourself or your needs. it's okay to want more. relationships are about balance—about giving and receiving in equal measure. if you're feeling like this, it means something's off. you can't just ignore it. you have to talk to her. communication is key."

you bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "i know. it's just… hard."

"i know it is," she says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "but it's worth fighting for."

"yeah," you murmur, a wave of exhaustion washing over you.

"get some rest, honey," she says, standing up and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

jimin doesn't know how things got so complicated between the two of you. she tries to piece it together in the quiet moments between rehearsals and meetings, but everything feels like a blur. at first, it was just two days—two days where she'd been too swamped with her comeback preparations to even check her phone properly. every hour seemed to bring another schedule: choreography practice, vocal sessions, press interviews, and endless meetings about promotions. she'd told herself she'd call you later, but by the time she got back to her dorm each night, it was so late she was too tired to even think straight.

those two days stretched into a week, then two. each passing day made it harder for her to reach out, guilt twisting her stomach in knots. she'd open your message thread, staring at your last texts. your words had started cheerfully—encouraging her, asking how her day was, telling her you missed her. but as the days passed without a response, your texts grew shorter, more strained, and the distance between the two of you felt impossible to overcome.

jimin didn't mean to ignore you. she never wanted to make you feel forgotten, but there was so much on her plate. her members had been working tirelessly, and the stress had been taking a toll on all of them. she'd barely slept, her mind always racing with everything that needed to be done.

she thought about calling you late at night, but something always stopped her—the fear of waking you up, or worse, the fear of hearing frustration in your voice.

how did it come to this?

you'd always been her safe haven, the person she turned to when the world was falling apart. but now, she couldn't bring herself to reach out, scared that her absence would only make things worse.

and as the weeks dragged on, she tried to bury her guilt under her hectic schedule. but every time she caught sight of her phone, a sharp pang would shoot through her heart, and she'd find herself thinking about you. she missed you more than she could express, but she didn't know how to fix things.

jimin scrolls through her packed schedule for the next month, her eyes landing on the tour dates highlighted in bold. it's supposed to be an exciting time—her first time performing the song you two made together on stage.

but instead, she feels a bit uneasy. that song was yours as much as it was hers, and it was only fitting that you'd be there to share the moment with her. it's the perfect excuse—the perfect reason to text you, to reach out after the silence she's let grow between you.

before she can talk herself out of it, she sends you a message, her fingers shaking as she types.

"hey, i've got tour dates coming up, and i'll be performing our song. :) i'd really love for you to be there. can we talk?"

she presses send, her heart pounding as she waits for a response. a minute passes, then two. nothing. she stares at her phone, willing a reply from you.

the read receipt comes, and her stomach twists.

and her phone begins to vibrate.

jimin lets out a sigh of relief as she sees your name pop up on the screen. she accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear.

"hey."

there's a beat of silence, and the tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

"so, um," she starts, her voice soft. "i wanted to talk about the tour."

"okay."

"i was wondering if you'd be able to make it."

another beat of silence.

"i'm not sure," you say, your voice laced with uncertainty.

"oh."

"things are busy," you explain. "i have the vmas and…"

"right."

the word comes out flat, and she can't hide the disappointment in her tone. she hears you take a deep breath, and she imagines you sitting on the other end, struggling with how to respond.

"i'll try my best," you offer, but it doesn't ease the weight in her chest.

"okay."

silence.

"is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"no, i guess not," she says, feeling dejected.

you're silent again.

"are we okay?" she asks hesitantly.

you let out a small sigh. "we're okay."

"are you sure?"

"yes."

she bites her lip, not believing you. she feels like she's walking on eggshells, and it scares her. the two of you have never had problems talking to each other, and now, she's not even sure what to say.

"do you miss me?"

it's a selfish question, but she needs to know.

"of course," you say, your voice wavering. "but sometimes, it feels like you're not here at all."

she feels her throat tighten. she knows she deserves that, but hearing it still hurts.

"jimin."

"yes?"

"do you remember what yesterday was?"

"yesterday?"

jimin frowns, the question catching her off guard. she tries to think back, but everything from the past few days has blurred into one hectic rush.

"uh… no, not really. why?"

you don't answer. instead, she can hear you let out a shaky breath.

"y/n, what's wrong?"

"nevermind."

"y/n—"

"just forget it," you say, your voice thick with emotion.

"please talk to me."

"it was my birthday, jimin."

her breath hitches, and her heart drops. she feels her throat tighten as realization hits her like a ton of bricks. the panic starts to claw at her chest.

"i… i—"

you don't let her finish, your voice quiet but tinged with the disappointment she knows she deserves.

"you missed it."

jimin's chest tightens even more. she feels the sting of guilt deep within her. how could she forget? how could she have been so consumed by everything else that she missed something so important to you?

"i'm so sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "i didn't… i didn't mean to. i swear."

you let out a slow exhale, and for a moment, the silence feels like it stretches on forever.

"i get it, jimin," you say, your voice softer now, though there's still an edge of hurt in it. "you're busy, and i'm not going to pretend i understand what you're going through. but i can't help but wonder—am i not important enough to be a part of your life? am i just a distraction, a side thing to you? because if i am, please, just tell me now."

"y/n, no, i—"

"i don't know, maybe i'm being unreasonable, or maybe it's my fault, but it feels like i'm the only one trying here. and i know i can't expect you to give me everything. i'm not asking for that. but i feel like the more i give, the less i get in return."

"i'm sorry," she chokes out, her chest tightening as the words sink in.

"i'm sorry too," you say, and there's a finality to it. "i need to go."

"y/n, please," she begs, her voice trembling. "don't go. please."

"i'll talk to you later, okay?"

"y/n."

"goodbye, jimin."

the line goes dead.

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content.

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interact-if · 1 day ago

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Our fifth edition of the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, features Mila (@milaswriting)!

(Mila’s game Golden is one of the games I fell in love with when I first got into Interactive Fiction, and it feels like such a dream to be able to interview her now! It’s so interesting to interview someone who’s been in the IF community for a while now, and see how stories—and their authors—change and evolve as time goes by too.)

Author: Mila

Hello! I’m Mila, a twenty-three year old woman from the UK. Something readers may not know (or probably do considering how much I complain about university), I crave academic validation. I got 90% on an essay I did this year and I was so proud of myself that I’m considering doing a PhD. We’ll see if Dr Mila ever becomes a thing, haha.

Games: Golden (Fantasy, romance, mystery, supernatural)

Short blurb: You work for The Everbrook. A multi-agency organisation in the city of Lehsa that bridges the gap between the human and supernatural world. You’ve been working there for three years now, and you’re suddenly forced to work with a group of allies to solve mysteries that have landed right in the palm of your hand.

Quote from the interview

I wish I could say I’ve had amazing encounters with vampires, magical beings and werewolves to inspire Golden—but that isn’t exactly the case. I’ll let you know if that ever happens though! I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm, more so as a young adult than when I was much younger, but usually the portrayal of poc characters in media wasn’t always shown in a positive light. Or poc characters, when it came to romance, weren’t given the lead roles where a swoon-worthy romance story was played out. To, sort of right those wrongs, and have other black readers like myself, be able to see themselves in the characters of stories—I created a diverse cast of ROs.

Read on for the full interview!

Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

I’m currently working on a fantasy supernatural interactive fiction, Golden. Officially, Golden is five years old now. I released it in December 2020 and was regularly writing and working on it for a couple of years. And then I noticed that as I grew from an eighteen/nineteen year old teenager, the ideas I had for my story were different, thus I wanted to make a few changes. A few changes turned into a lot of changes. And now I’m in the process of a whole rewrite, alongside moving to Twine.

Covid was in 2020, and that’s ultimately the year I got into reading interactive fiction too. I first read fanfics of an interactive fiction game, then read the original story itself, and got really into the process of the reader being able to make meaningful choices that impact their reading experience. That was a supernatural story too, and that’s how I ended up creating my own.

When it comes to the changes I’ve made to Golden, the inspiration came from a lot of things. One being my love for mystery, crime and psychology—I wanted that incorporated into the story I’m writing. I love the element of lore and world building, so that’s how I knew the fantasy/supernatural element would be in there. Additionally, my love for found family and complex characters also inspired me to write this story, but to also make the changes I have. Lastly, I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, I adore the stuff! So reading and writing good romance is everything to me.

How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?

B Holden was the first one I created. I already knew they were going to be a werewolf, and I wanted them as a character to be the complete opposite of how a werewolf is usually described and portrayed. Aggressive, animalistic, dangerous—yet, I’d like to think that B is, and comes off as, someone who is the sunshine that lights up a room, someone who’d make you feel good on a bad day, a kind of person you’ll always want around. From my own personal experiences, I’m a nursing student and I’ll be graduating this year and going into a working environment. I think the changes to Golden emulate that, instead of being a student, the MC is navigating the supernatural world themselves and they’re very immersed into it.

What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?

Oh! So, the background is that I love The Naturals series and The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Lynn Barnes, and I got to meet her at a book event in my hometown. And during her talk, she said that she writes with a ‘Writer’s Hit List’. On that list, the writer jots down all of their favourite things that they love about characters, or elements they want their story to have. It’s a bit like a word dump, for example, ‘loves characters that enjoys baked goods’ or ‘loves when character speaks multiple languages’.

Then you end up with a super long list of traits you’d like to give your characters or factors you want your world to have. And you can get your inspiration from literally anything, so that’s something fun to have. You can add to it when you’re not thinking about writing, and then when you have writer’s block, or just want some inspiration, you can open your notes app and see what you wrote down.

Currently, whilst juggling uni and personal life, on my days off/working from home, when I get a burst of inspiration I usually open up my laptop and write in my bedroom or the living room. And whilst writing, I put on ROs’ playlists that I’ve made on Spotify. My new RO, Ireland Monroe, their playlist has been extremely helpful in motivating me to write.

What’re you excited to tackle/implement/work on next? Or anything you’re looking forward to in the year ahead?

I’m excited about getting this rewrite out! I’ve felt really guilty about keeping readers waiting so long for content from me, or just disappointed in myself that I haven’t been able to produce content as quickly as other authors. I know it’s a terrible thing to compare yourself to others, but sometimes it’s one of those things you can’t help. We’re into February now and I genuinely think that I’m getting better at telling myself to just work as best as I possibly can.

But, yeah, I’m excited for people to read and see how Golden’s developed with me as an individual. It’s interesting considering the story has grown up with me, and it’s sort of taken its own shape and whispered to me, “I know you want to change me, don’t be afraid to do so”, and now my nerves about that are near enough gone.

I just want it to be a good writing year overall! So, I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed that the story ideas that play in my head everyday are able to be transferred to screen so others can enjoy them.

If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be? OR If you could change one thing about the interactive fiction community, what would it be?

My advice to readers would be that as writers, we definitely write our stories as an escape and whilst it’s important to write for ourselves, we write with the hopes that you enjoy it too. If there’s a particular scene or character or story that you love, definitely tell that author. It’ll make their day, their week, even. It’s such a wonderful feeling to hear from you guys. And also, just continue to consume the content that’s put out. And just a personal thank you to the readers I have for being patient with me.

For authors, I’d say to have fun writing. If, in your gut, there are changes you’d love to make to your story, then do so. Remember that, no matter what, there’s always going to be at least one person that loves what you write. Always. So, if it’s motivation you want to continue putting words onto paper (or a screen), then that’s it. I also think it’s fun adding a little bit of yourself into your story.

Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

I read The Naturals by Jennifer Lynn Barnes and it’s absolutely changed my brain chemistry for the better. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes mystery with a romantic side plot. I love YA murder mystery books, so A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder series, books by Karen McManus. I also love Taylor Jenkins Reid. And, as its black history month, Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé is my favourite black author and she writes queer mystery/thriller books. My favourite of hers is Where Sleeping Girls.

Music: I adore Billie Eilish (Hit Me Hard and Soft should’ve won a Grammy, I will die on this hill!) Noah Kahan and Sam Barber are artists I’ve really been loving at the moment. Gigi Perez as well, Sailor Song and Fable are songs I can never skip.

This-or-that segment: (red = Mila's pick)

Coffee or tea?

Early mornings or late nights?

City or countryside?

Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)

Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?

Summer or Winter?

First drafts or editing?

Introvert or extrovert? (Gosh, I’m SUCH an introvert)

Plotter or pantser?

Characters or plot first?

Write your own “either-or” pairing: vampires or werewolves? (don’t tell B or K I even asked… I can’t pick between my faves, so I’ll let you guys choose :D)

#interactive fiction #twine game #romance #golden if #interactive game #author feature #interview spotlight #black author month #poc game developer

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lokisprettygirl · 3 days ago

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Come As You Are (Eric Draven! Bill Skarsgard's Version x Female Reader) (18+) (Slight Au)

Read Chapter 10 here //Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

Summary : Melody's arrival brings a realisation.

Warning: 18+, smut, dirty sexual thoughts,, Description of self harm, dry humping, drug use, Eric is a past drug addict with suicidal tendencies, self harm, use of cuss words, description of claustrophobia, reader is in her early thirties, mention of sexual assault, death and murder, Consumption of alcohol and weed, periods

Eric returned late that night, he didn't have any of the answers that he was looking for. Kronos just left him to his own devices and told him that this was his fight, that he couldn't really change his fate by warning him about every danger out there that awaited him, he chided him that he'd never find his soul if he knew everything that was going to happen to him or the people around him..

Kronos also reminded him that reunion with his soul would be a journey, it will come in pieces when he will be loved truly by another soul.

Bullshit..all of that was bullshit. Besides he had given up on finding his soul again.

Now he had his ex girlfriend living in his current girlfriend’s apartment and he had no idea who the fuck this Roeg lookalike was or where exactly to find him.

He opened the door of your apartment as discreetly as he could as it was late and you must have been asleep. As he entered he saw Melody sleeping on the couch, that couch wasn't comfortable, he needed to do something about that but right now he needed to see you.

Your bedroom was unlocked so he entered quietly.

Melody opened her eyes and watched the bedroom door closing, a sense of irritation creeped into her nerves. He didn't even check on her? Didn't even come to her to ask if she was feeling okay? That bothered her alot.

You were sleeping in your usual attire and that made him smile. God you looked perfect like this. He still couldn't believe how easily you had accepted his reality. No screaming, no overreaction, no calling him crazy, you just owned it and you were still willing to be by his side, not just that but you accommodated Melody even though he knew you didn't like her much. He'd have despised it so greatly if it was one of your exes just lounging in his apartment right now.

He took off his hoodie and the shirt before he climbed into the bed to submerge in your warmth. He didn't want to ruin your sleep but you made it difficult at times, he turned you on your back gently and looked at your face for a moment before he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingered on your skin longer than he intended to.

And as you felt his touch you opened your eyes,

“You're back or it's a dream?” You asked him in your groggy sleepy voice so he chuckled.

“Told you I'd be back soon”

“Come here” one of your arms curled around his back while the other caressed down his back as you pulled him closer, he couldn't resist anymore so he placed his lips on yours, wanting to have a taste of you, you were safe and in his arms but he was afraid he had put you in such grave danger.

His fingers mindlessly slipped under your tank top making you gasp in his mouth as his thumb brushed over your now erect nipples. It wasn't your fault you found yourself always turned on when he was so close to you, touching you like this, kissing you as if he couldn't live without it.

“Did you meet him? The Kronos guy?” You asked him so he nodded but didn't respond “Mmmm okay ummm-”

“Shhhhh not now” he shushed you.

Okay Daddy. Whatever you say.

“I just need to know..if you're feeling okay” you asked softly so he smiled.

“I'm good baby ..as long as you are safe”

Next morning when you woke up, for once he was still in the bed with you so you admired his sleepy form and gave him a bunch of kisses before getting out of the bed to go to the living room.

You wanted to see what Melody was upto. As you stepped out of the room you saw her pacing back and forth, arguing with someone on the phone.. perhaps that actor who put the ring on her. Bill something..now that you thought about it he kind of resembled Eric with his tall frame and big eyes.

Maybe she had a type or Maybe she was trying to fill a void Eric had left behind.

“Uhhh do you mind?” She said as she looked at you so you scurried into the bedroom again.

Wait a second, this was your apartment. How dare she?

As you closed the door Eric turned around in his sleep, trying to pat with his hands in an attempt to find you next to him, when he didn't he opened his eyes immediately so you crawled into the bed and got on top of him.

“Where did you go?” He asked you so you shook your head.

“Nowhere”

He could barely keep his eyes open due to the sleep and you found him really adorable like that, especially when the kohl around his eyes were all smudged. That's what he used, a kohl pencil. Made his eyes pop he said, he also said that it made him look really dangerous but you weren't really sold on that reasoning.

“Eric..i have a question about your immortality” you said to him so he chuckled, considering how nosy you were he was surprised you hadn't bombarded him with questions since he had revealed his truth.

“Since you're not technically mortal…would I get pregnant if you cum inside me?” His eyes were wide open now as you asked him so nonchalantly.

“Y/n..baby it's 9 in the morning” he said as he cupped your cheeks and made you lay down on his chest as he chuckled “I don't know we will have to test that theory someday” he said, making your face flush in response.

“Hey?” He said, ”Can you not go to work today?”

“They'll fire me baby..I just took the week off”

“I just don't want you out of my sight..”

“I do need to earn though..I hate my job but I need money” you sighed. You would have loved to stay here with him all day but you had bills to pay.

“I'll get you money..I'll get you all the money..i have plenty of it baby” You smiled as he said that so softly.

“Yeah? Going to be my sugar daddy?”

“Yeah..I'll take care of you sweetheart, just give me some time of yours ..I just need time to make sure it's safe out there for you okay?”

“Mmm so I'll just play house with your ex while you're out all day?”

“I know it's not ideal..I just can't risk your safety. I'm sorry I brought you into my messed up life” he mumbled, his voice tinged with a sense of vulnerability so you pressed your head up to peck his lips.

“I clearly remember forcing my way into your life..besides i don't care as long as I have you..I'm here for you baby”

After you both showered, separately, much to your disappointment, he didn't think he would have kept his hands off you if he saw you soaking wet and completely naked from head to toe and doing something sexual while his ex-girlfriend was in the next room made him feel a certain way.

“I will get breakfast..don't cook” he said to you as he kissed your forehead so you nodded.

He didn't even look at Melody as he stepped out and you couldn't tell if it was indifference or she just reminded him of their past and the realisation that she wasn't his anymore. You deluded yourself into believing that it was indifference.

After making the sick call at the diner, you were in the kitchen making a cup of tea when Melody walked in.

“I need some water” she said to you so you pointed towards the fridge.

She just gave you the snotty rich girl vibe that you didn't like, you had googled her thoroughly, her mother was apparently a famous model or something before she committed suicide so she was always rich.

“Still writing notes huh?” Melody spoke as she looked at one of the notes Eric had left behind on the refrigerator door for you. You often kept them in a box but due to your cousin's wedding you had been pretty distracted for the last two weeks.

“Yeah..” you said to her, not knowing what else to say.

So he used to write notes for her too? Okay so what? That was part of his personality..it's just something he did.

“So how did you two meet?” she asked you as she leaned against the refrigerator.

“Well he moved in front door..”

You answered. She let out a snicker so you looked at her,

“Sorry i just thought you'd tell me a grandeur love story”

Bitch!!!!!

At Least you didn't meet him in a rehab, made him escape with you, threw him back into drugs again and then got him killed by a devil worshipper.

“Well that's just how we met..I'm just glad he was in a better place when we did..not doing drugs and all anymore” you said to her and you could see her face falling apart at the comment. That was a cheap shot you took but she was asking for it.

You had yet to hear a small thank you from that you were allowing her to be in your apartment

Half an hour later Eric returned and placed her breakfast on the coffee table.

He brought waffles for Melody.

“You still remember,” Melody said to him as she smiled. “Waffles with no cream”

Ahh so that's why he didn't like it either.

“I just have a good memory,” he said to her before he walked into the kitchen so she rolled her eyes. She hated how dismissive he was to her even though he knew her life was in danger now.

“Hey baby..i got you waffles.. lots of cream and fruits” he said softly as he kissed your cheek so you smiled.

“What did you get for yourself?” You asked him so he shrugged

“I ate at the breakfast place..don't worry” he zoned out for a bit so you stood in front of him and cupped his cheeks to make him look at you.

“What is it?”

“Nothing baby ..I just ..are you sure you don't want to get yourself out of this mess?” he asked you, his voice trembling with fear as if you'd just up and leave.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.. of course not. Don't even think that I'd ever want that”

“Then you have your answer ..i told you I don't abandon people, especially not those i love..and i have never loved anyone as much as I love you” he placed his hand around your waist and pulled you closer as you said that. A part of you feared he asked that question because he was having second thoughts about you now that Melody was here. You wished your insecurities weren't so deeply rooted in you but you had been abandoned so many times that someone like him choosing you felt too good to be true.

“I love you” he murmured.

And those thoughts did die down for a moment when he said those words so earnestly.

You and Eric spent your day in the bedroom while Melody was in the living room all alone, in the evening your doorbell rang and it startled you because nobody visited you. Like ever. Never. The only person who ever came on your door was usually Eric and he was right next to you right now.

“Stay here okay?” He said to you but you followed him into the living room, you saw Melody looking at the door nervously as well, a part of you felt bad for her in that moment.

As Eric looked through the peephole he turned around to look at you, confusion written on his face.

“It's your friend Dina?” he mumbled almost under his breath so you ran towards the door to see yourself.

“What the hell?” you exclaimed as you didn't know why she was there.

“Ummmm you both should go to the bedroom..hide” you said to him so he nodded before he looked at Melody and she followed after him, a bit too excitedly for your liking.

“Heyyyyyyy” you mumbled an exaggerated greeting as you opened the door.

“Thank God..I need to rant and you didn't come to work.. Laura said you had hepatitis or whatever..you look fine to me..anyways -” she said it all in one breath.

“Nooooo.. I do have hepatitis. Okay? I caught something during the family visit..don't think I can work for like a week now ..it's so bad”

You coughed to sell your act even though you didn't really need to cough. Should have googled hepatitis symptoms. Why did you even pick hepatitis? Does hepatitis even-

“Anyway get well soon girl..is your neighbour home?” She winked at you so you shrugged nervously. He was definitely home.

“No..not home…definitely not my Home .. imagine that..him being here” you chuckled nervously so Dina agreed.

“Such an asshole that man-” she rolled her eyes as she strutted inside and sat down on the couch.

“Big ass .. big and firm” you retorted.

“But so hottt though..god I had a dream about him last night” she said.

Eric was standing at your bedroom door with his ears pressed up against the frame but he couldn't hear much more than you trying to do something out there that you were exceptionally bad at. Lying.

As he turned around Melody was right behind him so he bumped into her.

“Why are you sneaking up on me like that Jesus” he whispered to not make his voice loud.

“Sorry-” she said as she looked up at him. “You haven't changed at all ..still look the same as the day I saw you last” she said to him so he walked past her to sit down on the bed.

“Perks of immortality” he mumbled, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Do you still go to that lake we used to visit?” She asked as she sat next to him so he groaned.

“We don't need to do this okay?”

“What?” she feigned the look of confusion.

“This.. catching up like we are long lost friends” he snapped.

“I always wanted to stay in touch with you...it was you that-”

“Stay in touch after you no longer wanted me as your lover? Are you fucking kidding with me?” He grumbled under his breath, it was getting harder to not raise his voice.

He was happy with you, he had moved on, he is happy with you, why did she have to come back like this and fuck with his head?

*******

“So then I told him that obviously you asked me out on a date then you are going to pay, i don't see how I am wrong here..anyways then he went on and on and on about how he didn't like girls who weren't independent and I'm like bitch I'm a waitress..I'm independent but willing to be dependent if the right offer comes along-”

Dina did what she did best..she blabbered.

Somewhere along the line you had zoned out completely and not even listening to her, your mind was distracted by the fact that Eric and Melody were in your bedroom together. You didn't trust her for some reason, the way she had been looking at him since she had come made you feel utterly insecure. She had it all but apparently that wasn't enough for her.

Maybe she indeed loved him and he just became too much for her, however you didn't understand her decision to leave him, you couldn't wrap your head around it, that man lost his soul for her and she just left? You could just imagine his sad little face, the look of dejection when she finally told him that she was done, just thinking about it made you want to hold him.

*******

“You left and never looked back Melody, you could have found me if you wanted to, like you did now, but you moved on, got yourself a shiny husband-to- be so don't you dare give me those looks now okay?” He said to her firmly but he felt like a jerk as her eyes welled up and she placed her head into her palms.

Great. Now what was he supposed to do?

He just stood there and allowed her to cry and luckily ten minutes later Dina was gone so you opened the door and saved him from the awkwardness of it all.

He stepped so fast out of there and into the living room, didn't even look at you, as you looked at Melody and her sullen face you realised that they must have had a serious conversation.

She glared at you before she got up and followed Eric into the living room.

“Give me the keys to your apartment, I don't want to stay here” Eric sighed as she said that to him, he contemplated for a moment before he shoved the key in her palm..she'll be next door, he can keep an eye on her from here. She didn't need to be in the same house. He was capable of protecting her now.

As she left you walked towards him.

“Are you -” you began but before you could finish he interrupted you.

“I'm fine y/n..don't hover over me okay?” He said as he took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it up, his voice was snappy and it did hurt you but you didn't respond, instead you turned around and went to the bedroom.

If he needed space he just had to ask for it, but not like this, especially not now when you felt so afraid of losing him, it made you feel so pathetic and so unwanted.

He sighed deeply and sat down on the couch to calm his nerves before he got up and walked into his apartment. Melody was sitting on the couch.

“Let's not argue..i don't want that, you still matter to me” he said to her honestly so she nodded.

“Sit down..” she said as she patted the spot next to her so he thought about it for a moment before he sat down. “I know what will make us feel better,” she said as she took out a packet from her bag. He recognised those yellow pills really well..

“I thought you quit,” he said to her as he grabbed the packet from her hands to inspect it.

“I did, it's just the stress because of Roeg or whoever he is-”

He chuckled as she said that, she told him that he hadn't changed but then she hadn't changed much either. Still the same Melody that loved to indulge in her own self destruction. One would think she'd value her life more after dying once.

“I can't do this anymore” he said as he gave it back to her so she looked at him perplexed as if he had said something so absurd.

“You're immortal now, it's not going to matter”

“It does matter.. i have been clean for years, can't fall back to the old ways..and I can't do this to her, she believes so much in me even though I have never deserved it from her” her jaw clenched as he was clearly referring to you. Just listening to him talking about you like this irritated her.

“Ofcourse” she gave him a fake smile. He knew he needed to apologise to you for his behaviour just now so he got up.

“Call if you need anything..lock the door” he said to her before he made his way straight to your bedroom.

As he entered he found you all bundled up on the bed, sniffling, and his heart clenched.

“Baby-” his voice was dripping with tenderness now as he crawled into the bed.

“Are you going to leave?” You asked him between the tears and his heart just about broke.

“Where would I even go?” He asked as he turned you on your back and wiped your tears with the pad of his thumbs.

“I know she's important to you and you perhaps still love her..I don't want to come in between if you do.. I'll go..i just want you to be happy” his eyes welled up as he heard your broken voice.

“Stupid baby..so stupid..so selfless and so stupid” he mumbled as he cupped your cheeks to kiss you as deeply, and as passionately as he could. Words wouldn't be enough so he just wanted his touch to remind you what you meant to him, how special you were to him, he'd never leave you, he'd never put you through the pain he had been through once, not even for the woman he sold his soul for.

Your arms curled around his neck as you pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you..” he whispered between his gentle kisses so you nodded. “You're so adorable baby..I love you so much, you're stuck with me I promise. I'm so sorry i didn't mean to hurt you”

He kissed down slowly until he had settled nicely between your legs, his mouth working until he had you crying again but from pleasure this time, he felt it all so deeply for you, love, lust, affection, all in such equal amounts.

How could you possibly think he'd just let you go? Break you so cruelly, he was no longer capable of it.

Next morning he was helping you in the kitchen since he was the one who kept you stuck at home all day, while chopping the vegetables he had cut his fingers with the knife. He wasn't a pro afterall, chopping up bad people was somehow much easier.

As you noticed the blood you grabbed his hand immediately and dragged him to the sink to run the cut under the cold water, all while glaring at him for being so careless.

“It's going to heal baby..your sauce will burn to crisp..go” he chuckled as he leaned down to kiss you so you groaned before you went back to the stove.

He turned off the tap, that's when he noticed that his blood had turned red before his wound closed up slowly.

And then came the epiphany.

His soul was in remission and he knew it was because of you. Only you.

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

Taglist: @m-riaa @erebus-et-eigengrau @peachychyy @enchantresss97 @fandomxo @mariaenchanted @mariaenchanted

#eric draven x female reader #eric draven x reader smut #eric draven x reader fluff #eric draven x reader angst #the crow 2024 #bill skarsgard version #slight au

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lozeyart · 2 days ago

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What am I doing in the year of our lord 2025 drawing Junjou Romantica fanart

Goodness me, I got into JJR back in 2008 when the anime aired and then I got into the manga that same year. At the time, I wasn't really drawing people, I was drawing animals, but I was OBSESSED with this yaoi with my whole heart and wanted so badly to draw fanart for it. So now here it is! 17 years in the making! Btw, trying to interpret anime hair logic with my style is easier said than done, but I did my best lol. All just colored sketches and then some scribbles for funsies.

But I definitely have some complicated feelings about this manga/anime. More below the cut (its A LOT, I'm so sorry).

JJR was one of the first yaois I ever got into, and back in 2008 when I didn't realize being gay was an option, this silly little manga/anime felt like an escape for me. Well, it's now 17 years later and upon rereading this manga (I still have volume 1-12, I could never get rid of them, they mean to much to me) I realize that it has aged POORLY.

This yaoi is definitely a product of its time (2002/2003) and it SHOWS. I find myself disappointed in the dynamic between Usagi-san and Misaki and wish that Misaki would show Usagi-san SOME sort of affection outside of the bare minimum (cooking and cleaning for Usagi) and Usagi definitely has some... Issues of his own. Now, I'm an adult, and I can see that consensual non-consent (CNC) can be fun and exciting for a couple (you know, if agreed upon beforehand), and it can be fun for your partner to initiate things out of the blue, but Usagi definitely toes the line of what that is. Now, I know that this was the early 2000s and yaoi relationships tended to have that dynamic (One being the seme who didn't listen to "no" and the uke who said "no" constantly but actually secretly liked what was happening), like I said, this series is definitely a product of its time. But I don't know man, its not fun (for me) reading sex scenes where one of them is constantly telling the other one to stop over and over again. (I also think it'd be cute as fuck if Usagi-san asked Misaki if he could kiss him and Misaki shyly said yes instead of yelling at him like he always does).

I even went online to read up to volume 27, but all I can express is that same disappointment. Misaki rarely even likes to acknowledge that he's in love with Usagi-san, or is dating the man, or even likes him (it seems to be only under duress that he admits these things STILL. IN 2022 when that volume was released!)

I wish there had been more character development in the years since I stopped reading the manga, I wish we could see Misaki and Usagi-san acting like they actually like each other outside of when they have sex (yes there are small moments between the two, and a bickering couple can be a fun dynamic, but dear lord lets shake things up A LITTLE. I'M BEGGING).

Lets not even get started on the sketchyness that is (at the start of the manga) a 28 year old falling in love with an 18 year old (And we're not even going to TALK about Miyagi and Shinobu) -don't bring up the age of consent in Japan, I do NOT wanna hear it-.

Listen, I'm 29, and I would NEVER even DREAM about dating an 18 year old (or 19 year old) at my age. (Fuck, the youngest I'll date is MAYBE 23 but even THATS pushing it for me).

All of that to say is that I still can't help but have an extreme soft spot for this series, and there are still moments that I love from this (Volume 9, the Christmas chapter, am I right? Gets me EVERY time), and fuck, Shungiku Nakamura is probably still making bank with this series so who the fuck am I to say anything lol. I'm just a rando online with an opinion, you don't have to agree, and you can think that whatever Misaki and Usagi have is fuckin' AWESOME. I'm just an old fart

But, I dunno, I think it'd be interesting to explore Misaki's internalized homophobia, and Misaki slowly but surely growing more and more comfortable with not only accepting Usagi-san's affections and even reciprocating and initiating on his own, but also accepting HIMSELF and being happy with who he is instead of the constant self shame he puts himself through for being with a man. Let's be so real, he is gay, he can't stop looking at other attractive men and FAWNING over how hot they are (Nowaki, Todo, Injuin Sensei, the list goes on).

But who am I to complain, I went and drew fanart of these two anyway. Rock, meet glass house.

Unrelated, I love the art style in volume 3-6 a lot because its very "late 90s early 2000s" art and I think the art peaked in volume 9. And now its unpeaking. Bring back Usagi-san's yaoi chin so help me god.

I do have yaoi I prefer over this one a lot more, and involve older couples (which I find that I prefer), and have fun, cute stories. If anyone has read this far and wants those recs, lemme know (dear god I'm so sorry, this has gone on so long.)

Anyway I do want to redraw some of the sex scenes and post it to my bluesky.

#art #fanart #junjo romantica #junjou romantica #misaki takahashi #usagi-san #akihiko usami #junjou romantica fanart #jjr #jjr fanart #Misaki #usagi san

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letmedixonyou · 3 days ago

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i'm not yours - part 12

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He used to date Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but after awhile, you returned to being friends... right?

Daryl come around after avoiding you all day to let your know about last night's situation. Yet another tragedy struck.

words: 2.5k

warnings: death

A/N: First of all, thank you so much for over 100 followers! WHAT?! Insane! I'm forever grateful! I've been struggling a bit with inspiration to finish these series. I've decided that instead of 15 parts, I will make only 14! I definitely will be continuing it with a sequel, but I'm not sure when! For now, enjoy, muffins! 🖤

The knock on the doors resounded loudly in an almost empty house. You were brought back from the book you were reading to reality in lighting speed. Your head bopped up quickly, and you took a deep breath in, steadying your raising emotions.

You haven't seen Daryl for the whole day. He was avoiding you, that much was clear. Whenever he saw you outside, he made sure to go a different way or just turned around to never cross paths with you. He even changed the shifts of supply run so he wasn't anywhere near you. It made you feel awkward, but you also knew he needed some time.

Your mind was a hundred percent sure he went to see Leah last night. He figured it out at Aaron's birthday party and decided to take care of it as soon as possible. Whatever he saw up there, it was clear that he knew and want going to let what happened to you slide.

When you got home after Aaron's party, you made your way to your bedroom and changed into pyjamas, but couldn't sleep. Your thoughts were pressing you to do something and every time you closed your eyes, you could see another scenario of how Daryl was taking care of the situation. The thought of following him popped into your head, but you chose to stay in the blissful unknown. You thought it would've been easier that way, but you were incredibly wrong. Scenarios you made in your head exceeded any normality by three in the morning. Did he kill her? No, not possible. Not Daryl. Right?

You remember the anger and confusion in his eyes, looking up at that stair landing, trying to make sense out of what he saw, and your doubt dissipates slightly. You wanted to believe he wouldn't kill her, but you also knew Daryl was capable of murder. Not only that, but you saw him do it a few times.

Your feet finally make their way to the doors and you turn the knob.

"Hey," Daryl says, seeing you. His eyes were scanning you carefully. "We need to talk."

"Okay," you mutter and nod, letting him inside, smelling the usual scent of pine and sweat when he passes by you.

Once the doors are closed, both of you head to the living room and sit down on the couch. Your heart is beating fast, and you fiddle with your fingers, waiting for him to speak up. All this time, he was avoiding your eyes and, frankly, you were quite grateful for that. You had no idea what you'd do if he was looking straight at you right about now.

A few more minutes pass until he finally speaks. "I know who did all those things to you," he says lowly.

"Oh?" You pretend not to know anything about it, trying to force the words out of him.

"Leah," he spits out. "It was Leah."

Another painfully long few minutes pass by, and you gulp when, battling your thoughts.

Should I tell him? How is he going to react?

You sigh deeply and you nod. "I know."

His head swings up, and he looks at you, his eyebrow raised in question. His palms land on his knees, and he pulls himself up to stand, starting to pace around the living room.

"You knew?" His words sounded annoyed, almost angry.

"Yeah."

"And didn't tell me why?"

"Because she was your girlfriend once," you begin to explain. "Wouldn't look weird if I started blaming the one person that I always disliked?"

"No, it-"

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

There's a long pause, and he stops pacing, stopping right in front of you. He sits down on the coffee table and takes your hands into his, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and you try your best to ignore it. He looks into your eyes, trying to figure something out.

"Yes. I would," he speaks up. "After the way she treated me, I think I'd believe anything I hear about her."

"But you understand why I didn't want to risk it, right?"

He accepts it with a silent nod and brushes his lips against your knuckles, which makes you panic internally, but you manage a smile. You sit there for a moment more before he makes a comment about your hair being too greasy and needing to hose you down to clean you. You retorted a short "says you" and suddenly everything was a bit lighter.

But you knew you weren't going to be able to fully relax until you knew what he's done.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to Leah?"

He sucks in a breath and you brace yourself to hear the worst case scenario. Your mind is screaming at you. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. You scold yourself internally, and you gaze towards Daryl that was now sitting on the couch next to you. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes, like he knew what you were thinking.

"She's fine," he says slowly. "I just gave her a piece of my mind, that's all."

"I guess she didn't take it well."

"She begged me to take her back."

"What?"

"She's cuckoo. I have no idea how I haven't seen it before."

"I guess love makes us do stupid things," you chuckled.

"I'm not even sure if I ever loved her," he huffs.

Your eyes dart to him, and he's clearly avoiding your gaze. You look away quickly. All these months ago, when you had that argument, he was so convinced that he loved Leah. He said it pretty clearly back then. Was adamant even. Now, he's saying that he doesn't know if he actually had any feelings for her? If there were no feelings, was the entire argument pointless?

No, don't go there. You argued because of your feelings. Not his.

Looking back at him, you realise that he's been lost in thought too. He stared at the wall, his hand loosely on his lap, and the other one was propping his head on the armrest. You poke his side, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask quietly.

He looks hesitant to share. "I'm thinking that I have no idea how real love feels like."

You wanted to say something, but you were at a loss for words. Your mouth opened and closed many times, but not a single thing came out. Your mind was in overload, thinking about all the ways you could show him what a real love looks like. From gentle kisses to talking about the darkest things possible, you could show him what it feels like to be loved this second if it wasn't for a fact that you swore you wouldn't go there any more. He's your best friend, and you weren't going to risk your friendship ever again.

You take a deep breath, finally finding your voice when a roar of a truck is heard by the both of you. There is a harsh slam of the doors and you can hear Deanna screaming for help. Daryl stands up immediately and you follow. Running to the gates, your heart was beating really hard. It felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. Those type of screams, the blood curdling, toes curling screams, never meant anything good, so you prepared yourself for the worst.

And the worst it was. Spencer hanging off of Deanna's shoulder, bloody and drenched in sweat. His shirt half open, ripped in many places. His boots undone and dusty. His hair disheveled, the usual curls gone and replaced by straight strings clinging to his sweaty forehead. His eyes barely opened like he was about to pass out. A huge, bleeding gash on his shoulder.

Bitten.

"We were gathering garden supplies," Deanna tries to explain, her voice urgent and slightly high pitched. "A group of them attacked us. Spencer told me to stay back… oh, God!"

Your arm snakes around Spencer immediately and Daryl does the same on the other side, taking over from Deanna. You carry him inside Deanna's house and plop him on he couch. You can see he blood staining the cream fabric of it, creating an uneven circle bit by bit. Spencer's mother kneeled next to him, holding his hand, crying quietly and whispering that everything will be okay.

Taking a step back, you lean against the wall, watching the scene. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen next. Sure, Spencer wasn't the best person and had a mentality of a selfish and unreliable person, but it was still somebody's son, brother, life partner. And witnessing Pete slitting Reg's throat and then Rick executing him, you only could imagine what Deanna was feeling right now. Losing your entire family in such short time has to sting a bit, but that is then world you live in now.

You never know what lurks around the corner.

After a few hours, Spencer finally takes his last breath and Deanna insists on piercing his head on her own. Reluctantly, you give her your knife and put a hand on her shoulder to offer support. Spencer's body already started to decompose and it was a matter of time until he wakes up and becomes an undead corpse. You hated this part of the process. As if a person dying isn't enough…

"Goodbye, baby," you hear Deanna say a bit breaks your heart.

She slid the knife into Spencer's head carefully and then left it there. Placing a kiss on her son's forehead, she stood up and looked at Daryl and you. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her lips were pressed into a thin line to stop it from quivering. Her arms straight at her sides, body taut like a string of a bow. She was clearly trying to compose herself.

"You know what to do."

You look over to Daryl and he nods understandingly. He pushes closer to Spencer's body and removes your knife from his head. He gives it back to you, and then slings Spencer over his shoulder and mutters about following him. You do so without question and so does Deanna.

Alexandria has fallen quiet when you came out of the house, the only sound you could hear was sniffling and your footsteps. People came out of their own houses and places of work to spectate and some even joined you. Making your way to the cemetery, the only thing you could think of was your own family and how hard it was to lose them over years.

Once you arrive at the cemetery, Daryl gently put down Spencer's body and grabbed a shovel. Some residents offered help and they all started to dig. Your role in all this was offering comfort, company and support to Deanna. You stood by her, your arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently as she cried and mumbled some unintelligible things.

You stand there for awhile, Deanna was now praying with her head down and eyes closed. She mumbled to her deceased husband, to God, to heavens, trying to guarantee a place of Spencer in there. She was aware he wasn't a perfect person, but he deserved peace after death.

Finally we hear Daryl's voice. "It's ready."

With the help of some people, he lowers Spencer's body into the freshly dug grave and grabs the shovel. He offers it to Deanna to give her a chance to say the final goodbye. She takes it and gets some dirt onto it, throwing it onto Spencer's body. She muttered weak and sniffly goodbye and then gave the shovel back to Daryl.

"I'll help," you say, picking up the shovel.

"No," Daryl protests in a serious tone. "She needs you more."

You look over to Deanna and release that it may be the truth. She looked broken. She stopped crying now and her eyes were empty. Her body seated on the bench was frail and all while she tried to hug herself to protect herself from the pain.

You make your way to Deanna and sit next to her. When she speaks, her voice is weak and quiet.

"Our family was always together. We used to spend every Christmas and Thanksgiving as a family. Spencer and Pete drove all the way to us every single time."

"That sounds nice," you say and smile gently.

"It was horrible. Spencer always found something to argue about and Pete was always drinking way too much," she huffed a quiet laugh. "Every time we ended the holidays on a wrong note, but still they always came back. Because family is important, even if you don't get along."

You nod at her words, agreeing. Your family wasn't perfect either but it was family. It was difficult at times, with everybody having different perspectives on everything. But thinking about it, you wouldn't want it any other way.

Deanna asked you to stay until the grave was done and you did, silently offering support and a shoulder to cry on. She talked a lot more about her family, sharing more anecdotes and stories. You could tell that it was helping her cope so you listened.

After the grave is a gentle heap, Daryl announces to Deanna that it's all finished and she just gently nods. Standing up, she walks over to the grave and kneels at the bottom of it. Her head hangs low.

"I'd like to be alone with my son now," she says.

You nod and gently push the crowd of people away, leaving Deanna alone. Looking back one more time, you see her taking a rosary out of her pocket and starting to pray. Even in the times where the world is filled with undead walking, she still believes there's something, someone out there. Leaving the cemetery, you heard someone saying Spencer was a dickhead anyway.

You look at the male that said it. He was in his twenties.

"Have some respect," you spew out. "Maybe Spencer wasn't the best person, but he was still a human. And a part of this community. So spare the comments like these and maybe think about how would you feel if someone said that about you at your funeral."

The man looks at you and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He opens his mouth to say something else but the words never come out so you leave. At that moment you felt a little bit triumphant. Your eyes scan the street, trying to find Daryl, but he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he probably went home, you choose to go back home. You try to process everything what happened, hands stuffed deep into your pockets.

When you reach your house, Daryl is sat on your porch with a bottle of liquor.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fic #daryl fanfic #daryl dixon fic

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minxmut-cafe · 2 days ago

Text

BEAR WITH ME ??

Pairing : Bear hybrid Namjoon x Ferret hybrid reader

Word count : 10k words.

Authors note : HAHDBDHD HELLO YOU GUYS!! I'm really excited to post this because I had ALOT of fun writing this. I love love LOVED the whole dynamic as well and tbf it's minor self insert because..I too can be a menace. Like I'm not THAT much of a menace but I've had enough complaints to know I am one lololol. I think I'm gonna post more stuff about these two. I've already planned a few more things and some other scenarios and stuff. Like I said I REALLY enjoyed the whole dynamic and i think you guys would as well. ALSO I've had to make 2 parts of this because I keep hitting the word count on the damn post. BE SURE TO LIKE BOTH PARTS And if you have any requests or query my requests and asks are always open. <3

Warning : Smut, Vaginal sex, oral sex (M & F receiving), hybrid sex, mentions of death, mention of heat, feral Namjoon, size kink, spanking, mating press, mentions of various sex positions, reader being a menace, Namjoons a gentle giant, rough sex, cunnilingus, idiots in love, reader is immature, Namjoon is suffering, HUGE size difference (Imagine gyomei and shinobu). Masturbation, Namjoons a boob guy. Titty analysis :)

Synopsis :

"Namjoon spots a Tiny ferret hybrid getting pushed around by a bunch of hyena hybrids and decides to intervene. Little did he know that would lead to a series of interesting, traumatising and hilarious memories, some of which he's convinced were attempted murder attempts."

The quad was bustling. Students milled about, chatting, heading to class, or loitering in the late afternoon sun. It was a typical day—except for the growing commotion near the campus fountain.

A group of hyena hybrids had circled someone.

Laughter, sharp and jeering, cut through the air.

And in the middle of it all stood her—half their size, shoulders squared, and pissed.

“Come on, sweetheart,” one of the hyenas drawled, tail flicking behind him. “We’re just playing.”

Another snickered. “Yeah, don’t be so...uptight.”

She scowled, baring her small, but very sharp teeth. “Say that again.”

“Ooooh.” They mocked her. “She’s got bite.”

A growl rumbled in her throat, but before she could launch herself at them—

A shadow loomed.

Everything stopped.

The hyenas stiffened, their ears flattening as a new presence entered the circle.

He was massive.

Towering over them like a walking monolith, broad shoulders casting a dark silhouette against the sun. His round glasses reflected the light, but his expression was unreadable.

A grizzly bear hybrid.

And not just any bear—one that could easily break them in half if he wanted.

The air shifted.

The hyenas hesitated—then, in a blur of nervous laughter, backed off. “Relax, man. No need to get involved.”

And just like that, they scurried away.

Silence.

Then—

She turned, glaring up at her so-called savior.

“What, you wanna fight too?!”

Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“EH?—NO—WAIT—” He lifted his hands, panicked. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

She squinted. Suspicious. “Then what do you want?”

“I just—” He struggled, fumbling for words. “I saw you getting pushed around and thought—”

“I had it handled,” she snapped.

Namjoon blinked.

Then, despite himself, a tiny smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah… I think you did.”

And that was how you met Kim Namjoon.

If anyone on campus had to describe their relationship, they wouldn’t know what to say.

It started with the hyena incident—which, in your opinion, wasn’t even that big of a deal. You had them handled. But then Namjoon had to come in like some big, overgrown hero, and suddenly, y'all were seeing each other everywhere.

Same lecture hall.

Same group projects.

Same spot at the café.

And for some stupid reason, you both always ended up together.

Namjoon, to his credit, was a bean. A giant, shy, soft-spoken bean who somehow made people nervous just by existing. He was taller than most— 7'3 to be exact, broader than all, and had the gentlest voice she’d ever heard. He was polite to everyone, rarely raised his voice, and for some reason, people still thought he was scary.

You , however?

You were half his size, twice the chaos, and nice to exactly one person.

Which meant one thing—

Once you were close enough, you never left him alone.

“Namjoon,” you huffed one afternoon, climbing onto him like a tree.

He blinked, startled, as you hoisted herself onto his back. “Uh—what—?”

“The quad’s packed. Carry me.”

He hesitated. “You have legs?”

“And you have muscles,” you shot back, wrapping her arms around his broad-ass shoulders. “I don’t see the problem.”

Namjoon sighed but adjusted his grip and carried you anyway.

Your classmates barely reacted. At this point, this was normal.

The first time you saw him shirtless, it was completely by accident.

You’d been raiding his fridge, sitting on his counter, happily munching away on his leftover dumplings when he walked in—

Fresh out of the shower.

Shirtless.

With his glasses still on.

Water dripped from his messy curls, his golden skin still damp from the steam. And, most importantly—

His chest.

His pecs.

You froze mid-bite.

Namjoon stopped in his tracks.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh,” you said casually, chewing. “Need help holding those up?”

Namjoon choked.

His entire face turned red. “W-What?!”

You grinned. “Y’know.” you gestured lazily. “Those badonks or if you want the more sophisticated name boobies.”

Namjoon spluttered, immediately grabbing the nearest hoodie and shoving it over his head. “I—THAT’S NOT—”

Too late.

You had already decided.

He was your new favorite toy.

You also had a bad habit of picking arguments you couldn’t win. It was in your nature as a ferret hybrid—small, scrappy, and absolutely lacking in self-preservation.

Namjoon, unfortunately, had a bad habit of ending those arguments in the most unfair way possible.

Lifting you.

It didn’t matter if you were mid-rant, arms flailing dramatically—he’d simply sigh, scoop you up with one arm, and hold you at arm’s length like a misbehaving kitten.

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU TREE!”

“Not until you calm down,” he’d say, voice as gentle as ever.

“I’LL BITE YOU.”

“You always say that, but you never do.”

You bared your teeth. “This time I mean it.”

He just sighed and adjusted his grip, holding you higher like you were some kind of unruly toddler.

It didn’t help that you also had a habit of climbing him in crowded spaces.

“Personal space,” Namjoon warned as you latched onto him like a koala in the cafeteria.

“No.”

“People are staring.”

“Let them. I’m comfy.”

“You’re on my back.”

“Again, comfy.” you huff.

He eventually just gave up and started carrying you without complaint.

Winter was the worst. You hated the cold.

Namjoon, however, was a walking furnace.

You quickly realized that hugging him was like curling up next to a heated blanket, and you took full advantage.

It started subtly—leaning against him during study sessions, pressing up to his side when you were sitting together. Then it escalated to full-on bear hugs at every opportunity.

At first, Namjoon tried to act like he wasn’t affected.

But then came the day you simply plopped onto his lap in the library.

He tensed, ears turning red. “What are you doing?”

“Getting warm,” you said, making yourself comfortable.

“I—you—you can’t just—”

“You’re literally a bear. This is your purpose.”

He spluttered but ultimately let you be. And from that day on, your lap privileges were unofficially granted.

You were a menace. He had accepted that. Truly. But there were moments that made him re-think everything.

Namjoon is trying to have a serious conversation with a professor.

You're behind the professor, making the most outrageous hand gestures.

At first, it’s subtle. A suggestive eyebrow wiggle. A tiny lip bite.

Namjoon notices. Regrets noticing immediately.

Then you gets bolder. You start doing obscene gestures.

Namjoon chokes mid-sentence.

Professor, slightly confused "Are you... alright, Namjoon?"

Namjoon, stiff as a board "Yes. Absolutely. Fine."

He tries to ignore you , but you keep going.

Pretending to sensually lick your fingers. Mimicking very inappropriate things.

Namjoon, mentally thought "Kill me. Just kill me now."

He knows if he calls you out, he will be the one looking guilty.

The second the professor leaves, he just picks you up and carries you away.

Namjoon, exasperated: "What is WRONG with you??"

You on the other hand? wheezing from laughter

"You should’ve seen your face—"

Namjoon, mutters under his breath "I swear I’m gonna kiss you just to shut you up."

And that makes you go quiet. (For once.)

At first, you didn’t notice anything was off.

Study sessions at Namjoon’s place had always been your favorite��his apartment was warm, cozy, and filled with books. He made the best tea, had the fluffiest blankets, and, most importantly, he didn’t mind when you sprawled out on his couch like you owned the place.

But then something changed.

Namjoon got sleepy. Not just normal sleepy—bear hybrid in hibernation mode sleepy.

At first, it was small things. He’d yawn more, stretch like a cat mid-sentence, blink at you drowsily while you ranted about your latest shenanigans. Then it escalated—he’d start dozing off while sitting up, nodding off mid-study session, even mumbling nonsense in his sleep.

And it was driving you insane.

“Namjoon,” you poked his cheek. “Focus.”

He blinked at you slowly. “I am.”

“You’re literally drooling on your book.”

He made a vague grumbling noise and turned his head, pressing his face into the couch cushion.

“Hey!” You shook him. “No sleeping, bear boy.”

“M’not sleeping,” he slurred. “M’listening.”

“You’re hibernating. You cannot just hibernate in the middle of exam season.”

He groaned, dragging a blanket over his head. “Just a little nap.”

You huffed. This wasn’t fair. You were used to a grumpy, flustered Namjoon, a Namjoon who sighed heavily whenever you did something unhinged. But now? Now he was too sleepy to react to your nonsense.

Boring.

So, naturally, you decided to fix it.

You waited until one particularly bad day when Namjoon was practically melting into his couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. His glasses were slipping down his nose, his book long forgotten as he blinked sleepily at the wall.

That’s when you struck.

You climbed onto the couch, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him.

“Wake up, you oversized teddy bear!”

Big mistake.

Before you could react, Namjoon made a low, grumbly noise and grabbed you.

“What the—”

You barely had time to squeak before you were yanked into his arms and smushed against his chest.

Panic set in.

“Namjoon.” You wiggled. His grip tightened.

Oh. Oh no.

You were trapped.

The weight of a freaking bear hybrid pressed down on you, limbs wrapped securely around your body. You struggled, but it was like being stuck under a weighted blanket from hell. Warm, cozy, and completely inescapable.

You tried logic. “Namjoon, you can’t just—”

A deep rumble cut you off. Not quite a growl. More like… a purr.

A sleepy, contented bear purr.

Your brain short-circuited. “Did you just purr at me?”

No response. Just another deep, satisfied hum as he nuzzled into your hair.

Oh. You were doomed.

For hours, you were trapped, helpless as Namjoon slept soundly, using you as his personal body pillow. Every attempt to escape was met with an unconscious squeeze, like a giant, affectionate bear reminding you no, you stay here now.

By the time he finally woke up, stretching with a yawn and blinking at you like he was surprised to find you in his arms, you were fuming.

“You absolute menace,” you growled. “I’ve been stuck here for hours.”

Namjoon tilted his head, still half-asleep. Then, with the softest, sleepiest smile, showing off his stupid dimples, he mumbled, “You’re warm.”

Your brain broke.

You didn’t know whether to slap him or melt into a puddle.

So, naturally, you did the only thing that made sense.

You bit him.

He didn’t even react. Too sleepy.

It was official. Namjoon’s hibernation phase was ruining your life.

He had gotten even lazier—falling asleep at random, mumbling nonsense, refusing to wake up no matter how much you poked, prodded, or even bit him. At this point, you were desperate.

So, one fateful morning, you took drastic measures.

You climbed onto his bed, glaring down at the oversized bear hybrid sprawled out like a crime scene. He was dead asleep, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and deep. You poked his cheek. No response.

Fine.

You swung one leg over him and straddled his waist, hands bracing against his broad chest. Then, with all your ferret hybrid determination, you bounced.

“WAKE UP, YOU LAZY—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Because in his drowsy, half-asleep state, Namjoon groaned—deep, low, and utterly sinful.

Then—his hands grabbed your hips.

You froze.

Before you could process it, his fingers tightened, large and warm as he guided you down against him.

Your breath hitched.

Something… hard pressed up between your legs. Not fully hard, but enough.

Then Namjoon—still completely asleep—let out a soft, breathy moan and rolled his hips up into yours.

Your soul left your body.

For a solid three seconds, you sat there, straddling a very large, very strong, very hard bear hybrid who was grinding against you in his sleep.

Then you did the only thing that made sense.

You screamed.

“YOU PERVERTED BEAR!”

With a panicked shriek, you slapped his chest so hard his pec jiggled.

Namjoon’s eyes snapped open.

He blinked at you, still groggy. Then he frowned.

Then he looked down.

The moment realization hit, his entire face exploded into red.

And then—he scrambled.

With an alarmed gasp, Namjoon flung himself back so violently that he nearly fell off the bed. He yanked the blanket up to his chest like a scandalized Victorian lady, clutching it as if it could protect his virtue.

“I—YOU—THIS—” He was stammering, eyes wide, scandalized beyond belief.

You, still red as hell, pointed a shaking finger at him. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” He practically wailed.

“You grabbed me!”

“I WAS ASLEEP!”

“You moaned!”

Namjoon made a horrified noise and buried his face in his hands.

“I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY,” he mumbled, voice muffled with shame. “RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW.”

You were still flustered as hell, but seeing this six-foot-plus grizzly bear hybrid cowering behind a blanket like you had violated his innocence was too much.

Slowly, a grin curled onto your lips.

“Ohhh,” you drawled. “I see how it is.”

Namjoon peeked up at you, suspicious. “Don’t.”

“You were enjoying it, huh?”

His ears turned red. “STOP.”

“Does sleepy Namjoon have naughty dreams?”

“PLEASE.”

You smirked, leaning in. “Wanna finish what you started, perverted bear?”

Namjoon squeaked.

A full-grown grizzly bear hybrid. A literal terrifying predator.

And you made him squeak.

You were never letting him live this down.

Namjoon knew he was in for a bad day the moment you sat down across from him at lunch.

You were grinning.

Not just any grin—your shit-eating, up-to-no-good, gremlin grin.

Immediately, he sighed. “No.”

You blinked innocently. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I can feel the trouble radiating off of you.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “So, speaking of yesterday—”

Namjoon groaned. “No.”

“But I was just curious—”

“No.”

You leaned in, propping your chin on your hands. “Okay, but seriously. How big is your dick?”

Namjoon choked on his food.

“What the fuck?!” he coughed.

“Pure curiosity.” You smiled sweetly. “Scientific curiosity, if you will.”

He glared at you, ears burning. “I will snap you in half, you lanky menace.”

“Oh?” You cocked your head. “Because from what I felt yesterday—”

Namjoon dropped his head onto the table with a thud.

“I hate you,” he muttered into his arms.

You giggled, delighted, poking his bicep. “C’mon, you must have a guess. Seven? Eight? Should I be worried for my pelvic bone?”

He let out the most miserable sigh, running a hand down his face. “You do realize I’m a bear hybrid, right?”

“Exactly why I’m asking.” You smirked. “I am a scholar, you know.”

Namjoon groaned again, exhausted, leaning back in his chair. “If you mention my dick one more time—”

You blinked expectantly.

He stared at you, looking so done.

Then, in a moment of pure exasperation, he sighed and muttered, “I’ll bend you over and show you exactly how big it is.”

Silence.

Namjoon froze.

You froze.

He blinked. Then groaned. Loudly.

“I cannot believe I just said that,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

You were still in shock. Then, slowly, the widest, most devious grin spread across your face.

“Oh?”

“Don’t.”

“Ohhhh?”

Namjoon buried his face in his hands. “I need to leave. I need to walk into the ocean.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, Joon. I promise I won’t tease you anymore.”

Namjoon peeked at you warily. “Do you actually promise?”

You smiled sweetly. “Absolutely not.”

He groaned, glaring at his food like it had personally betrayed him.

You had never had this much fun in your life.

Namjoon had accepted his fate.

You were tiny. You were chaotic. You were a menace to society.

And, apparently, you were also his personal weighted blanket.

Because somewhere along the way, you had decided his lap was your permanent seat.

It wasn’t even something you seemed to think about anymore—you’d just waltz over, plop down onto his thighs, and continue on with your life as if you weren’t making his brain short-circuit every damn time.

And the worst part? Namjoon let you.

Like an idiot.

Right now, you were curled up against him, legs folded, tablet in hand as you scribbled notes. Namjoon was trying to focus on his computer, but it was hard when you kept fidgeting—shifting, adjusting, wiggling against him like you were trying to test the limits of his self-control.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Absolutely none.

It didn’t help that you looked unfairly adorable—pouting slightly as you concentrated, lips pursed, occasionally kicking your feet.

Fuck.

His bear instincts were so confused. Because on one hand, he knew you were just being your usual ferret-self, but on the other, something in him kept whispering, Mate?

It didn’t help that sometimes—like right now—you’d look up at him suddenly, big eyes blinking, only to reach up and poke his cheek.

“Joonbug.”

Namjoon swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”

You grinned, leaning in slightly. “Your face is funny when you concentrate.”

He rolled his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his screen. “Thanks, I guess.”

But when he turned back, he realized—your face was so close. If he just—if he leaned in—

Namjoon immediately tensed and looked away.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

And the worst part?

You fell asleep there.

Like a goddamn purring cat.

One second you were awake, the next you were snuggled into his chest, soft little breaths tickling his pecs. Namjoon froze, entire body stiff.

He could feel your warmth.

The soft rise and fall of your chest.

The way your body just—just fit against his.

And then—the final straw.

You shifted slightly, and his gaze accidentally dropped to your shirt.

Or, more specifically, down your ridiculous little Henley.

Namjoon stared.

Not on purpose. Not really. It was just—he was a man. A man with eyes. And you were—

Oh.

He hadn’t really… evaluated before.

Nice.

Good shape.

One slightly bigger. Completely normal

And… a bit bigger than he anticipated.

Hm.

Namjoon blinked, mind blank for a moment. Then—

Wait.

WAIT.

His face exploded into red, eyes snapping forward like he had just witnessed a war crime.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

He threw himself back into his work, typing aggressively, but it was too late.

Because now, against his will, his brain had a new intrusive thought:

I wonder how they’d feel in my hands?

Namjoon malfunctioned.

He needed to leave. He needed to die.

But mostly?

He needed to get you off his lap.

Before he lost his goddamn mind.

Namjoon refused to acknowledge what had just happened.

Refused.

You were asleep on his lap, blissfully unaware of his horrible, terrible, no-good intrusive thoughts. And yet, despite his best efforts to suppress the chaos in his brain, his traitorous bear instincts decided to betray him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His tail, the absolute bastard, started tapping against the floor.

It wasn’t his fault! His tail did that when he was content, or comfortable, or—fuck—when he was embarrassed.

Which meant that right now?

It was practically broadcasting to the entire world that Namjoon was a mess.

And, of course, because the universe hated him, you began to stir.

He immediately froze.

No.

No, no, no—

You let out a sleepy little hum, eyes barely cracking open as you blinked up at him, dazed and soft.

Then, in a tiny, adorable voice—

“You good, Joonie?”

Namjoon short-circuited.

Every cell in his body screamed NO, I AM NOT GOOD, I AM HAVING A CRISIS OVER YOUR TITS.

But externally?

He just choked out, “Yeah.”

You blinked again, staring at him for a moment. Then, much to his horror, your gaze drifted past his shoulder

To his still-thumping tail.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your face.

“Oh?”

Namjoon’s soul left his body.

“N-no,” he stammered, ears burning.

But you—being the absolute menace that you were—tilted your head.

“Ohhh?”

He panicked. “I—shut up.”

You giggled, snuggling back into his chest. “Your tail’s cute, y’know.”

Namjoon let out the longest sigh of his life.

This was actual suffering.

And you?

You were enjoying every second of it.

And Namjoon?

Namjoon was suffering.

He was suffering, and it was your fault.

Ever since the tail betrayal, he had been on edge, constantly catching himself thinking things he absolutely should not be thinking.

And it only got worse.

Because you kept sitting on his lap.

You kept looking up at him with those wide eyes.

You kept giggling, doing your little gremlin antics, completely oblivious to the war inside his head.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

Namjoon liked having you on his lap.

He liked the way you poked his cheek, teasing him.

He liked when you fidgeted, shifting against his thighs, completely unaware of how much damage you were doing.

So, tonight?

Tonight, as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted, his brain finally snapped.

“Dammit. Fuck.”

But then—

Fuck her.

Fuck… her.

Oh.

Fuck… how would it feel to fuck… her?

Namjoon froze.

His entire body locked up as his brain betrayed him, conjuring up images—images of you under him, gasping, giggling, teasing him even as he—

NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.

He let out a strangled groan, flinging an arm over his face in denial.

Then, hesitantly—dread pooling in his stomach—he glanced down.

…Yep.

He was hard.

Namjoon let out the longest, most miserable sigh of his life.

This was actual hell.

And you?

You had no idea.

Namjoon lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling like it personally wronged him.

This was your fault.

Absolutely, entirely your fault.

Because if you weren’t such a tiny, chaotic, adorable menace, then maybe—maybe—he wouldn’t be in this situation.

But, no.

No, you had to go and sit in his lap all the time.

You had to poke his cheeks, tease him, giggle like a damn gremlin.

You had to look at him with those big, innocent eyes, completely unaware of the monster you were creating.

And now?

Now, here he was—rock hard, frustrated, and miserable.

Namjoon sighed deeply.

Then, resigned, he reached for the tissues and lotion.

It wasn’t like this was new.

He was a man. He had needs. And if he was going to be suffering anyway, he might as well… deal with it.

So, with a groan, he stripped, settled in, and started his very familiar routine.

…He was not thinking about you.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

But when his eyes fluttered shut, when his hand started moving—

A vision of you flashed through his mind.

Your lips, parted slightly.

Your thighs, spread beneath him.

Your voice, giggling—What’s wrong, Joonie? Cat got your tongue?

Namjoon whined.

This was a problem.

A very big problem.

This was supposed to be quick.

A means to an end.

Just get it over with, clear his head, move on.

But the second his hand wrapped around his cock—his traitorous brain ran wild.

At first, it was just flashes.

Your tits.

Your ass.

The memory of you sitting in his lap, shifting just right–

But then, his mind dove deeper.

The "perverted bear" incident surfaced.

The weight of your body bouncing on top of him, your tiny hands pressing against his chest, your soft little gasp when you felt him—

Namjoon bit his lip, groaning softly.

He should stop.

He should not be thinking about this.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Because then he imagined more.

You, beneath him.

Your legs spread wide.

Your body so tiny compared to his—so soft, so helpless against his weight.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

Fuck.

A mating press.

The size difference.

The way you’d squirm, overwhelmed, panting, looking up at him with those big, adorable eyes—

"Fuck," he gasped, hips jerking into his hand.

This was so bad.

So, so bad.

But it felt so fucking good.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to stop.

Not when his mind was already drowning in the thought of you, spread out, filled to the brim—

His.

Completely his.

CONTINUATION OF CHAPTER

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