#(gotta admit hits hard that the older brother can do nothing but scream as his brother is taken away)

[snurtsnurt]

AJSHDBFJSNAJAKSKHDAKAK THAT ENDING???? THAT ENDING Is vile. VILE! HOW DARE??

Can you tell I’m really into this game?

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur has never had wings. He has long since resigned himself to that fact. However much of his father's blood runs through his veins, it is not enough to grant him that gift.

Wilbur comes back to life, and his back begins to ache.

(word count: 6,141)

---------------------

It’s stupid, but when his back first begins to ache, he assumes it’s old age.

The thing is that he doesn’t have any real frame of reference for what constitutes as old and what does not. His father is old, but his father has lived for literally thousands of years. Technoblade is not quite so old as that, but Technoblade never dies is more than just a catchphrase. Tommy is young, he’s sure of that much, but Tommy has days where he wakes up and his head and ribs won’t stop aching, remnants of that third death that have never quite left him, so Tommy is perhaps not the best gauge of what pains are and are not normal for a young person.

Wilbur doesn’t think that he’s particularly old. He’s still not yet thirty, unless he counts the void years. Then, he’s older than thirty. Then, he’s older than his own bones. He tries not to dwell on the void years, because dwelling on the void years gives him urges that he’s still learning how to ignore. Urges like informing everyone gaily and at length when the inevitable heat death of the universe will be, or giving everyone a graphic description of what happens at a microscopic level in the human body when it picks up a stomach bug.

The point is, he’s not very old. But he feels it, a lot of the time, so when he wakes up one morning and his back is killing him, he shrugs it off and goes about his day. It hurts, sure. It hurts kind of a lot. But he’s had worse. The void took him apart molecule by molecule and put him back together again so many times that he learned to love it, and compared to that, this is nothing at all.

Life in the Arctic has been—nice. It’s been nice, reconnecting with Phil, cautiously rebuilding his relationship with Technoblade. Tommy comes to visit a lot, and it’s odd, trying to juggle the kid he thinks of as a brother with his father and his father’s best friend, especially when there’s so much bad blood between the lot of them, but they make it work. And Ranboo is around a lot, and he’s a nice kid, and Niki stops by every so often, and it’s good to see her. No one else is very interested in coming to visit him, which is understandable, but she always smiles at him, and he knows that they’re still friends. Which is good.

He’s fairly sure that the four of them, Phil and Techno and Niki and Ranboo, have some sort of secret club thing going on. They always give him different answers when he asks about it; Niki blinks and tells him it’s a book club, and Ranboo does not blink because he does not have eyelids, but Ranboo claims that it’s a pet grooming society. So they’re lying to him for sure, and he thinks he could know the truth if he wanted to, if he tapped in just a bit more to those bits of void that have nestled in his heart. The temptation is strong, sometimes, but he resists.

He doesn’t want to mess with a good thing, is all. He’s found a peace here in the snow that he didn’t think he would be able to find outside of the grave. He is hesitant to call himself healing, but most days, when his head cries out for blood and fire and burning the world and himself along with it, he can push the idea away and carry on without trying to act on it. That is healing, perhaps.

Captain Puffy tells him it is, anyway, and he’s found that Captain Puffy tends to know what she’s talking about.

But so. His back hurts. And he expects it to stop after a while, because even old person aches surely can’t last forever. Except, it doesn’t, and in fact seems to only get worse over the next few days, to the point that he starts to worry that it’s going to begin interfering with his functionality. Which he doesn’t want. He needs freedom, freedom to go where he wants, even if where he wants to go usually isn’t very far. It’s the principle of the thing. He does not do well with confinement, with spaces that are too enclosed, and if this pain ends up laying him out in his room, he’s going to go insane.

Poor choice of words, that. But the point still stands, so he makes a decision. The decision is this: he’s simply not going to allow that to happen.

So he slaps a smile on his face and carries on with his business, and does his best to ignore the way his spine starts to feel like it’s cracking open and stabbing into the surrounding muscle. And he is a very good actor, if he does say so himself, so for the most part, no one seems to notice that anything is wrong. Phil asks him if he’s feeling alright, but he’s able to deflect by claiming fatigue, and Phil accepts the explanation easily. And the pain only increases, does not let up at all, but it’s a gradual sort of increase, so before too long, he figures out how to adjust to it. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

And then Tommy stops by for a visit, and they’re chatting outside for a moment, and Tommy says something stupid and ridiculous, so he smacks him gently upside the head, which Tommy takes objection to. And then they’re wrestling, which makes the pain flare a bit, but it’s manageable, especially since he gets Tommy pinned in about four seconds flat, which. Is concerning, a bit, because he is not particularly strong, physically, so if he can pin Tommy, there are a lot of other people who could also definitely pin Tommy.

But he’s probably not thinking about it the right way. This was a play fight, not a real one, and it’s difficult, sometimes, to remember that the server is currently at peace.

He pins Tommy, both of them panting and grinning in the snow, and he doesn’t let up until Tommy admits defeat. And then he gets to his feet, and here is where he makes the error: he turns his back.

The snowball impacts him right between his shoulder blades. He stumbles forward with the force of it, and his knees hit the snow.

Tommy is already cackling, is calling him a bitch. Wilbur barely has time to think oh, shit before something spasms, and it’s like something has taken a knife to him from the inside out. He hears a strangled little scream, choked and agonized, and barely recognizes the fact that it’s coming from him, because black spots are dancing across his vision and his lungs aren’t inflating properly and he can hardly think.

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, a wide smile still in his voice. “Don’t be such a pussy. I didn’t even pack any ice in.”

He can’t reply. The agony is centered where the snowball hit, but it’s radiating outward, and the whole of his back feels like it’s burning and freezing all at once, and he shudders violently, breaths coming in short, quick gasps. He clenches his fists, braces them against his thighs, pressing down hard enough to leave bruises.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, more uncertain. And then, Tommy is there, kneeling down in front of him, and his face goes all wide and panicky. “Wilbur? Holy shit, are you dying? Are you having a heart attack? A stroke? Are you freezing to death? Have I just killed you with a snowball? You’ve got three lives again, right? Where are you hurt, Wil, come one, you’ve got to tell me, you’ve gotta tell me so I can fix it, are you—”

“My back,” he manages, “my back’s been—my back’s been hurting, it wasn’t your fault, it’s just—” He cuts off with another gasp as all the muscles in his back convulse, tensing and untensing and tensing again and sending a wave of stabbing pain through his nerves.

“Oh, Prime,” Tommy says, “oh, Prime, alright, you’re gonna be fine, big man, let’s just get you inside, alright? Can you walk? Nevermind, just—” Tommy hooks his hands underneath his arms and hauls him to his feet, slinging one of his arms across his shoulders as soon as he can get them in the right position. He lets out a little whimper, and hates himself for doing so, just a little bit, but fuck, that hurts.

The stairs are a trial. His feet drag, and he would trip and fall flat on his face if it weren’t for Tommy. But then, they’re inside Phil’s house, and Tommy sits him down on Phil’s ratty little couch, and he immediately curls in on himself, hands gripping his forearms as if the pain will go away if he hugs himself hard enough.

“Okay, shirt off, Wil, let me see,” Tommy says, and he blinks dumbly for a moment.

“What?” he asks, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

“No, just—you’ve got to let me see what’s wrong, yeah?”

“‘S old man aches,” he mumbles, but doesn’t try to fight it when Tommy begins manhandling his arms, pushing at his coat sleeves.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy demands. “You’re not that old. Who do you think you are, Philza fucking Minecraft? Come on, just let me see—” He finally manages to get the coat off, and then the shirt, and his skin erupts in gooseflesh as it’s exposed to the air. Tommy freezes.

“What?” he asks. “What is it, what’s—”

“I don’t,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t, Wilbur, I don’t know what this is, I don’t—holy shit, that’s actually kind of scary. Um! No, nevermind, don’t pay attention to me, just keep um, breathing! Breathing is good! Breathing exercises!” He breathes in and out, loud and exaggerated. “See, just like that. I’m just gonna—”

And he puts a hand out, and before Wilbur can stop him, he rests it on his back. Light and cautious, but still too much, and Wilbur stuffs a fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the same motion, he flinches away, violently, but the damage has already been done. Because the contact hurts, a lot, but what’s worse is the horror, because in the split second that Tommy’s hand touched his skin, he could feel the way that it is wrong, that his back is wrong, that there is something terribly wrong. Because there are ridges protruding from his back, long and thick and raised, and it’s wrong and it hurts and Tommy’s right, actually, this is scary, he’s fucking scared.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tommy is saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I won’t do that again, I’m so sorry, Wilbur, are you okay? Please be okay, please—”

He nods, though it’s more like he lets his head fall and then painstakingly brings it back up a little.

“Okay, I think we need—” Tommy says. “I think that I don’t know what to do, so I think we need—” He takes a deep breath. “Phil! Phil!” Loud, panicked, earsplitting. Wilbur winces. “Phil! He is home, isn’t he? Phil!”

A second passes, and then, drifting up from the basement, a distant, “Tommy? Everything good?”

“Phil, get up here right fucking now!”

There is a beat of silence, and then there are footsteps, quiet at first but growing closer, and they are quick, hurried. Phil must have detected the genuine fear in Tommy’s voice, because Tommy and Phil generally stand on very shaky ground with each other, so while Phil will typically indulge Tommy in his whims, it depends on the day as to how far he’ll go, how quick he’ll respond. But it’s only a moment or two before Phil’s head pokes out of the floor, his hands clinging to the ladder, his face twisted in confusion.

“What on earth is the matter?” he asks, and then breaks off as his eyes land on Wilbur, who—he must be a sight. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. But terror flashes across Phil’s face, and he is crossing the floor in an instant, hands hovering over him, fluttering helplessly, though thankfully, he doesn’t touch.

“What’s wrong, where are you hurt, what—” The words come out in a jumbled flurry, but he stops just as abruptly, and Wilbur knows that he is looking at the horror show that is his back.

“It hurts, Phil,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding—still concerned, but perhaps marginally calmer? “Okay, you’re going to be alright. I think I know what this is.” He settles himself on the couch right next to him and opens his arms, and Wilbur doesn’t hesitate before leaning forward, slumping against him. Phil seems to know better than to put any kind of pressure on his back, and instead places one hand on his arm and the other on the back of his head, threading his fingers through his hair.

“Then what the fuck is it?” Tommy demands.

“Tommy, I need you to run over to Techno’s and ask him for something for pain, and something for sleep. Can you do that for me?” Phil asks instead of answering, and perhaps Wilbur should be terrified by the implication that he’s going to need either of those things, but the promise of some kind of relief overrides any kind of trepidation.

“Like fuck I will,” Tommy says, “Not before you tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!”

Another convulsion wracks him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, and tastes blood. His breath is hitching, and he can’t stop it.

“Tommy.” Phil’s voice is sharp, but then, Wilbur feels rather than hears him sigh. “It’s wings, I think. I don’t understand why now, but I went through this a long time ago, when I was very young. I recognize the signs. So Tommy, please.”

Tommy makes a surprised little sound. Wilbur isn’t looking, has his face buried in Phil’s shoulder, but he can imagine the look on his face: the slack jaw, the wide open eyes. And then, there are rushed footsteps retreating, and the door slamming, and Tommy’s muffled voice calling out for Technoblade.

And then, Wilbur processes what Phil just said.

He twists his head around so he can see his face, regretting it a moment later. Any kind of movement seems to make the pain worse, and he has to take a moment to tremble through it.

“Wings?” he whispers. “How?”

He’s never had wings.

If he were going to have wings, he would have gotten them a long time ago. He remembers nights spent as a child, staying up and hoping for feathered appendages to somehow miraculously appear on his back, just so he could be more like his dad. He remembers the crushing disappointment when he finally accepted that no matter how much divine blood runs in his veins, it is apparently not enough.

But he did accept it. He accepted it years ago. There is absolutely no reason for him to be developing wings now, as a fully-grown adult, but Phil sounds so very sure, and his back hurts so very much, and perhaps that’s consistent with actual appendages trying to sprout out of him.

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I’ve never heard of it happening so late, even in avians. Which, I’m not exactly, but I got mine when I was a kid like they do, and I don’t—I don’t know, Wil, I really don’t, but I remember what it was like, yeah? I know what to do. It’s gonna suck for a little while, but you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he croaks, “okay—” and then he has to stop talking, because the pain flares again, bright and intense and holy shit, but it’s worse this time, because now that he knows what’s going on, he can feel them. He can feel things inside of him, pushing against his muscles and his skin in ways that absolutely should not be possible, and there is too much of him to be contained in his body, and there are things inside of him trying to escape—

It’s almost like the way he gets when he thinks about the void too hard. Except not, because when he does that, he feels the urge to dissolve away, gently and peacefully, to let himself back into the quiet that is not quiet and the darkness that is not dark, where all the knowledge of the world is at his fingertips, too much for a mortal brain to contain and remain sane. That is not this. This is his own body trying to explode. There is no peace, no dissolution; it’s messy and physical and Prime he just wants it to stop.

He shifts in Phil’s grasp, fruitlessly trying to find a position that takes the pressure off, a little bit. It’s no use, of course, because he can still feel something moving under the skin of his back, and his vision whites out, and when he comes back to himself, he’s shivering, shivering and shaking and sobbing in Phil’s hold, and he doesn’t remember when he started crying but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Phil is keeping up a steady stream of soothing nonsense, and he latches onto the sound of his voice like it’s the only lifeline he has.

And then the door bursts open, and Wilbur doesn’t bother trying to look, but there are two sets of footsteps, not just one.

“Here,” Tommy says, panting, and there are several thumps, and several clinks, glass on glass.

“Oh god, don’t—and he’s doing it, he’s just dumping all of that on the floor. Don’t break those, Tommy, those aren’t splash pots. Have you never handled a potion before.” Technoblade pauses for a moment. “So, what exactly’s wrong with him? The child was making no sense at all.”

Wilbur thinks he detects a note of concern. But he’s not thinking clearly, and it’s always hard to tell anyway, with Technoblade.

“He’s got wings growing in,” Phil responds, voice clipped. Wilbur feels his hand leave his arm, and he whines at the loss of touch. And then another spasm, and he whines again, pressing his face harder into Phil’s shirt.

“Oh. Huh. Yes, that makes perfect sense, of course.”

Phil’s arm dips a bit, and Wilbur finds himself being moved, his head gently tilted back. Phil’s face comes into view, pale and blurry.

“You want to drink this for me, Wil?” he says, and then there is glass at his lips, and he parts them immediately. He doesn’t like being knocked out, doesn’t like the loss of control that comes with it, but if he has to be aware for another five minutes, he’s not going to be able to keep himself from screaming aloud.

He swallows, grimacing at the taste. The effects start hitting right away. His mind detaches from himself, and the pain drains from him. Every muscle goes lax.

He exhales.

“There we go,” Phil murmurs, “there we go. It’s gonna be alright, Wil. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be okay.”

The world falls away. He lets it. He trusts his father to catch him.

----------

He wakes up a few times, and each time, it hurts. Phil is always there, and usually, Tommy too, and sometimes Techno, and he can barely move but they always see that he’s awake, and they give him a potion and he’s under again, and he’s glad for it, because those moments of consciousness are a spiral of pain and confusion and his thoughts flying apart because he barely understands what’s going on or why he’s hurting and he just wants it to go away.

And then there is the time he wakes up and he thinks somebody is cutting his back open, and he can feel his own blood on his skin, sticky and hot, and he thrashes, trying to get away, and that makes the pain so much worse, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is inhuman, and he fights until a potion is poured down his throat and it’s back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and people are talking in low, hushed tones. He can’t make out what they’re saying. He cracks his eyes open, and it’s Phil and Technoblade, deep in some discussion, both looking terribly concerned. He decides he’ll ask what’s wrong later, and then closes his eyes and goes back to sleep again.

And then there is the time he wakes up, and some part of him is moving, and he doesn’t understand what it is because it’s not any of his limbs, not his arms and not his legs, and it feels alien and foreign and his back feels like it’s been shoved under a woodchipper and then tossed through a paper shredder for good measure, and he’s not aware enough to know why, so he panics. There is a bit of the void that still dwells in his heart, and he calls on it, cries out to it, and it answers, comes rushing in around him, and his mind expands to peer into galaxies.

Philza is at his side a moment later, and he is able to look at him and see all the weight of years that lie behind his eyes, and all the years that lie ahead of him, and the moment of his death, all spiraling out like a tapestry and like a mass, and the music is atonal, confused, but a closer glance reveals it to be twelve-tone, order in the chaotic lines. Wilbur is with the void again, and his heart still beats, but it’s a near thing, and he could stop it if he chose.

“Do you want to know, Philza?” he asks, words spilling from his lips like rain, like the river, like the flood. “Do you want to know when it will happen? I can see it. I can see how some part of you wants it. All our histories are like tangled up threads, but they all come to an end, and I can see those endings, Philza, I can tell you about them if you like.”

Pain constricts Philza’s face, and Wilbur doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know who wouldn’t love the void and its peace and its everything.

“I know, Wilbur,” Philza says, “I know, but how about you come back to me now, okay? Come back to me?”

“We’re all little bits of code, Philza,” he informs him. “None of us are real. We’re little bits of code and words on a page and lines in a script written by our better selves. Nothing in this world really matters. We might as well have all the fun we can before the lights go out. Do you want to know when that will be, Philza? Not too long after you, Philza. Not too long at all. I told Tommy, he knows, he didn’t want to know but that’s alright, he’s better off for it, if he hasn’t forgotten.”

“Come back, Wil, come on,” Philza says, “you can do it. You’ve got a heartbeat, do you feel it?”

Philza takes his hand and places it over his heart, and—that’s right. He’s alive. He’d forgotten. The void spins, and then it tucks itself away again, waiting for the next moment he needs it, and he is left with only vague impressions of what he’s just said and a vague idea that everything hurts and something is wrong with his back and he’d like to go to sleep now, please.

“Alright, yeah,” Phil says, “here, you can have this, you can sleep. You’re doing so well, Wil, I promise it’s almost done.”

He takes the potion. Or tries to; Phil has to hold it for him.

“Okay,” he says faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he hears Phil say, very far away. “So long as you come back, everything’s okay.”

He goes back to sleep again. He thinks he wakes up a few more times, but he doesn’t really remember. He doesn’t really want to.

----------

And then: awareness.

The first thing he processes is that everything aches, deeply and acutely, but none of it feels nearly as bad as it did before, and not even as bad as it’s been over the past couple of weeks. It’s irritating, painful, but more than manageable, really, practically a relief. The second thing he processes is that he’s lying on his stomach, and that there is something weighing him down.

His mind puzzles over this for a moment. He tries to roll over, to see what’s going on, but something stops him, and then he remembers: wings.

He’s got wings. There are wings on his back. Growing out of him. A part of his body. Wings.

As soon as he realizes that, he becomes aware of them. And it is so very strange, to suddenly have access to two extra limbs, to suddenly have additional body parts to move about and control. It’s a feeling impossible to describe, and he has to take several minutes to process it, to try to become accustomed to it. It doesn’t really work, but he tries moving them anyway, just a bit of a flex, and—

Ouch.

He groans, shoving his face into the pillow. A mistake. That was a mistake. He’d rather like to go back to sleep now and pretend that none of this is happening.

But his vocalization draws attention, and then there is a hand on his shoulder, gently brushing him just enough to feel, not enough to pain him. He turns his head to the side, reluctantly, and Phil is kneeling beside him, his face open and soft and clearly relieved, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“Hey,” he says. “How you feeling, Wil?”

He considers this, and decides on honesty. “Bit like I’ve been caught between a piston and a wall for the past couple of days,” he admits. “Better than before, though.”

“Good to hear,” Phil says, and then his face goes a bit more serious. “How much of that do you remember?”

“Not much?” he says. “I don’t think? Impressions, I guess. I know I wasn’t having a good time. I’m glad I don’t remember it too clearly. I was out for most of it, yeah?”

“Most of it,” Phil agrees, and Wilbur thinks that perhaps there is something he’s not saying, but he doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. He can guess what it is, anyway; there is a chill in his chest, and his thoughts feel just slightly more fractured than usual, so it’s not hard to assume what might have happened. Not hard to assume where he might have gone. He’s sure he’ll feel terrible about it when everything stops feeling so surreal.

He has wings.

“It’s over now?” he asks, and winces at the way his voice cracks. “It’s done?”

Phil’s eyes do the thing where they go immeasurably soft and crinkly at the edges, and it’s love and relief and sadness all at once. “It’s done,” he agrees, and then hesitates. “You’re not gonna be able to fly on them for a while, but would you like to see?”

He doesn’t understand why Phil is being so cautious about it. Of course he wants to see. If he’s going to be put through hell, he wants to see what came of it. He wants it to be worth it.

“Usually, when wings grow in, they’re all downy and shit. Like a baby bird,” Phil says, probably in response to whatever face he’s sure he’s making. “Flight feathers come in over the next few weeks.” He pauses again, and Wilbur thinks he understands his reticence, now, understands the still-present concern.

“But that’s not what happened with mine,” he states, and Phil shakes his head.

“Yours are fully fledged,” he says. “Probably part of why it hurt so much. I don’t know why, Wil. But do you wanna have a look?”

Wordless, he nods, and Phil takes that as his cue to reach out and help him sit upright. It’s far more effort than it should be, compounded by the fact that his sense of balance feels all wrong, and that’s going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. And he’s sore, like he’s run a marathon or fought another half dozen wars all in one go, and his head spins a little bit when he finally situates himself. He closes his eyes against it, breathing in sharply.

He feels Phil guiding his wings forward, into his field of vision. He opens his eyes.

They are very big, is the first thing he notices. They would have to be, of course, to hold his weight up. Magic and suspension of disbelief only stretches so far. They are very large, and the feathers are very large, and they are very angular and neat as well, so neat that someone has to have arranged them while he was unconscious, because there’s no way that they came out looking like that.

The color, though. The color. He swallows, hard.

They are black, perhaps. They look black. But he knows on an instinctive level that they are black in the same way that the void is black, and that if someone were to stare at them for too long, they would realize as much, would realize that actually, they are not black at all, but rather some color or some lack of color that is beyond human comprehension. The void translates as black to the human mind because it is as close as the human mind can get to true perception, and most of the time, Wilbur remembers it as black, but it was not, and his wings are not, and he is never going to be free of it, is he?

On some level, he knew that. Knew that the void is in him and about him, and no matter what he does, it will never leave him completely, not after all the years he spent with it, intertwined with the infinite nothing. But now he has wings on his back, and they should be a connection between him and Phil, should be something to celebrate, but he stares at the plumage and feels sick to his stomach.

“Wil?” Phil asks. He sounds confused, sounds worried by his reaction. “You okay, mate?”

He’s not sure how to phrase this in a way that Phil will understand. Not sure that he wants to.

“Void,” he manages, voice a broken whisper. “They look like void, Phil.”

He looks up just in time to see Phil’s face crumple.

“Wil—”

“They look just like it, Phil,” he continues. “Just like it. And I know I’m not always good about, about being here, about keeping myself stable, but I’m trying. I try to ignore it when it calls, I try not to reach out to it, and when I fail, I, I try to come back, I do, I swear. I can’t—I can’t have these, Phil, they’re from it, that’s why I’m getting them now, maybe it triggered something, I don’t know, but I can’t, Phil, I can’t—”

He reaches out toward them, intending to do—something, maybe, and Phil must have a better idea than he does, because his hand darts out and snags his, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Wil, don’t do that, okay? We can work on it, we’ll figure it out, but please don’t—”

“You’re up!”

He and Phil both freeze, and as one, look to the door. Tommy is standing there, grinning like nobody’s business, and Technoblade is lurking behind him, his face contorted into an expression that looks like he wants to murder someone but really just means he’s feeling very awkward.

Tommy glances back and forth between the two of him, and his face slowly falls.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Nothing—I mean, it all went right, didn’t it?”

He blinks. Tilts his head slightly. Gently removes his hand from Phil’s grasp, and then spreads out his wings behind him, putting them on full display, as far out as he can make them go, and it aches and he’s not going to be able to hold them there for long, but it’s worth it. He wants Tommy to see. Because Tommy will know. Tommy remembers. And unlike him, Tommy hates to remember. Tommy hates the void. So perhaps this is an act of self-sabotage. That’s what Captain Puffy would say. But he does it anyway, because he wants someone else to see and understand, understand in a way he knows Phil won’t be able to.

“I’ve got void wings, Tommy,” he says, and a smile splits his face. “See them?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, and he flinches.

Gratification is not nearly as sweet as he thought it would be. Actually, he just sort of feels like crying.

But then, Tommy’s brows draw together. And he steps further into the room, coming closer and closer until he’s standing right up against the bed, staring at the feathers. Wilbur holds himself very still.

“I see,” Tommy says slowly, “but Wilbur, I’m not sure you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and cranes his neck to try to see whatever Tommy’s looking at. For a moment, he doesn’t; there’s just the feathers, void feathers, death feathers, a reminder that—

But arctic sunlight slants through the window, and if he shifts his angle just a little bit—

The noise that escapes him is small and involuntary. He hopes no one calls him on it, but that’s the least of his concerns right now. Because the colors do not change, not exactly, but if he holds them to the light, the sun illuminates the feathers, haloing their edges in gold, and there is a sheen of color running across them, a sheen that ripples and moves as he shifts them in the sunbeam, and it is a beautiful, rich blue.

And they’re lovely.

“Oh,” he says, and Tommy laughs at him, the fucking gremlin.

“Yeah, fucking oh,” he says. “You’re such a moron. They’re so fucking ace, Wilbur.”

“I think that maybe you need to work on rememberin’,” Technoblade says from the doorway, “that you’re the sum of all your experiences, and not just one.”

Wilbur stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he finally says. “That’s so cheesy. Who the hell are you and what have you done with Technoblade?”

“Alright,” Techno grumbles, “see if I do anythin’ nice for you ever again. I didn’t come up here to receive this kind of treatment. This is an outrage.”

He laughs. He laughs, from the sheer relief of it, and his trepidation is melting away like snow in the sunshine, and he can allow himself to revel in it, to revel in the wings on his back, and he is sore and tired but this is what glory feels like, maybe, and perhaps he can fly into the air and there will be no wax to drip away.

Perhaps these wings are of the void, but they are of him, too.

And he looks to Phil again, and Phil is smiling at him, warm and happy. His own wings are flared out behind him, tattered at the edges, so many feathers torn or still missing entirely, and the more time that passes, the more and more likely it is that those feathers are never going to grow back, that Phil truly will never fly again. Phil has already resigned himself to it, he knows, but Wilbur has never given up hope, will never be able to bring himself to give up hope.

“It’s not fair that I can fly when you can’t,” he says quietly, and the room goes still and quiet. Especially when it’s my fault, he doesn’t say, though he knows everyone hears it.

“Wil,” Phil says, “nothing could bring me more joy than this.”

And Wilbur hears what he means: you, here.

So he flexes his wings and revels in the ache and revels in the sunshine and revels at his family, here, his father sitting by him and his friend-protege-brother poking at curiously at his feathers and Technoblade still in the doorway, not leaving even for all his grumbling. He revels in this, revels in this life, and for a time, the void recedes entirely.

And in its wake is the sunlight.

[indiavolowetrust]

THE OBEY ME BOYS AS CRYPTIDS

READ THE OBEY ME UNDATEABLES AS CRYPTIDS HERE.

LUCIFER

It has stood there for so very long. Strutted about a bit, sat down to rest, and strutted about some more when other children passed by. It is at an exhibit at the zoo, after all, but you can’t help but think it looks a bit strange. Are peacocks supposed to have pitch-black feathers with thousands of eyes on it? Are peacocks supposed to have a massive crimson eye in the middle of their forehead? Is it even a peacock? You can’t remember if this exhibit was for peacocks. Where are the other people at the zoo?

You read the sign. BENGAL TIGER, it says.

It blinks at you. Its thousand other eyes blink afterwards in unison. As weird as it sounds, you’re pretty sure it’s waiting for you to compliment it.

MAMMON

You think it likes you. Or, at least, it seems to think of you as a friend in some way. The white crow leaves you little gifts everyday on your way home from school. Bits of shiny twine, bottle caps, the occasional soda tab or two. And then you begin to show it more and more attention, even naming it something silly like “Money”, and the thing responds in something like affection. The gifts become more extravagant: a broken necklace made from silver, a single earring, a gold bracelet encrusted with dark red, and an old ring inset with precious stones, to name a few. A pair of expensive-looking cuff links, a whole pair of earrings this time, and a circlet.

And then there is what looks like a golden tooth.

Your mother tells you over breakfast to watch out for suspicious people. There’s been a lot of grave robbing, you see. They’ve been stealing jewelry from the dead.

You drop your spoon into the cereal.

LEVIATHAN

It may be a snake -- a really big one, actually -- but you get the impression that it isn’t really dangerous. I mean, it’s not poisonous, so the worst thing it can do is bite, right? And it doesn’t seem like it would want to do that. It hisses almost playfully when you pet it, wrapping its coils around your arm as if it wants to give you a hug, and a few times you even let it kiss you in the face. You know that snakes don’t really kiss, but what’s the harm in that?

Your crush from third period walks you home one day, holding your hand, and even gives you a kiss on the cheek when he leaves you at your doorstep. Tells you that he’ll see you tomorrow. You don’t see the snake for a while.

His body is found strangled to death a couple weeks later, his arms and legs covered in bite marks from some massive animal. The snake comes up to you the next morning, affectionate as ever. You decide not to do stuff like that anymore.

SATAN

He’s a stray dog. You’d have to be a monster not to give him scraps. So you do, and the dog asks for more. You give him more. For the next few weeks – months, even – it becomes your routine: you sit at the secluded spot in the school courtyard, the giant hound with green eyes saunters up to you, and you share its lunch with it. It naps in the shade while you do your homework after school, seeing how your older brother doesn’t always show up in time to walk you home after your after-school club.

The bully from your fourth period class throws you into the trashcan one day, laughing and taunting you. Her friends join her, and soon you are being surrounded and kicked and stomped on the pavement. But you don’t cry out. You won’t give her the satisfaction.

A blow to your head, and all is dark.

You wake up sometime later. The sunset is beautiful. The area around you is warm – so, so warm – and strangely wet. The dog licks your face and wounds again and again, and you try not to giggle at the sensation. He’s a good boy.

Aside from the carnage that now surrounds you, he is such a good boy. You’ll bring him barbecued meat next time.

ASMODEUS

You gotta admit, it’s a pretty cute scorpion. You’re not really sure why it’s pink or why it’s following you, but at least it hasn’t shown any defensive or aggressive instincts. So it can’t be that aggressive. You let it be as you take the long hike back to your camp site. Your fellow co-workers in the field wouldn’t even believe you, anyway. The damned thing is probably spray-painted or something like that. Some weird kid’s prank.

Strangely enough, however, you notice it scuttling around at camp. Your co-workers seem to be getting stung by a great many insects while in the field, but they don’t seem to mind it. Or even bother treating it, for some reason. Then there’s that weird behavior – no, you’re thinking into it too much. Comparing a bright pink scorpion to a succubus is a little too crazy, even for you.

And then a strange man with pink eyes and a tipped tail stands in front of your tent one night, a rather satisfied smile on his face. You’re the only one that hasn’t been stung, he tells you. It’s your turn.

BEELZEBUB

You’re pretty sure insects aren’t supposed to look like that. Or be that big, for that matter. But he’s kinda cute, being fuzzy and orange and all, and only wants a bit of food every now and then. Mama always makes too much, anyway. A half-eaten pork chop that you didn’t want, an entire plate of rice, extra dumplings – everything, you know? Mama can’t have dinner with you because she has the graveyard shift, your dad always stumbles home smelling like alcohol, and as weird as it is, this orange fuzzy thing is your only friend. So you keep feeding him.

You wake up to screaming one night. They’re arguing like they always do, but – but this time there’s something different. Something wrong. Mama lets out a high-pitched scream, and then all is silent.

Despite being only a kid and armed with a single frying pan, you burst into the room. Blood trails from Mama’s mouth and she’s unconscious, but she’s still breathing. Just barely alive. It looks like she got hit in the head pretty hard.

There’s the sound of eating from across the room. You don’t pay attention to it too much. The fuzzy orange thing saved Mama’s life, so that’s all that matters. And at least you won’t have to feed him for a while.

BELPHEGOR

He is quite possibly the laziest ox you’ve ever seen. Sleeps all day, sleeps all night, and refuses to pull even the lightest of carts. Your uncle says he’s nothing more than a nuisance, really, but he’s nice enough. He even naps with you on long summer days, acting as both a pillow and bed, and it looks like he even grows fond of you. He seeks you out in the fields, presses his big nose into your palm, and nuzzles you.

You run through the fields, your heart hammering in your chest, but you’ll be damned if you let the neighbor’s boy catch you. You’ve already seen something that you weren’t supposed to, and he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. And he’s coming after you.

You hop over the fence. Shouldn’t be too long to the house now. He yells taunts and threats at you as you carve your way through the darkness, nearly running blindly, and then --

He grabs you by the back of your shirt. You scream. You see the glint of a knife, the murderous intent flashing across his eyes, and you know it’s over. You can only hope you die quickly enough.

The next morning, you wake up on something soft. Warm. The lazy ox grumbles beneath you, protesting as you sit upwards in a panic, and then you realize that you are safe. Last night was just a nightmare. It never happened.

And then you happen across the body. There is an indent in the grass around it, as if something massive had just fallen asleep on the body.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 1

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start. (Tags will be on the fic masterlist post so y’all don’t get bombarded with each chapter.)

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 3583

Warnings: Abusive relationship and related violence, nothing graphic. 

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The sudden stop sent the car skidding a little in the gravel, the dust cloud swirling to dissipate in the breeze as Jordan jumped out, slamming the door hard behind her as she yelled into her phone. “Kiss my ass, Darrel! No, you did this, don’t lay it on me! What?! Like hell I’m coming home! Just go back to your new little drinking buddy-slash-fucktoy and leave me alone. You can’t have it both ways. No, fuck you. Fuck you sideways, buddy. I’m done. Have a nice life.”

She let out a frustrated scream, slamming a fist down on the hood of the car, so pissed off that she was shaking. She whirled around, startled, as a deep masculine voice called out. “Poor car. Sounds like Darrel’s the one you should be punching.”

“Excuse me? That was a private conversation!” she spluttered, glaring at the source. He was standing in front of a beautiful black beast of a car, the hood up, wiping his hands on a shop rag. She could feel the heat in her face, and his appearance slowly filtering through her rage into her brain didn’t help. He was gorgeous.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, but the way you were yelling, there wasn’t much private about it.” He dropped his chin a little, his eyes narrowing as he spoke again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in. Are you okay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned to the car, jerking the back door open to grab her bag. “It’s okay, sorry I was such a bitch. And I’m not okay, but I will be. I’m gonna be fucking awesome.” She stuffed her phone in her back pocket and fished the key card out of her bag, fumbling with the door. “Thanks for asking, anyway.”

She glanced back at him before going in, watching his little nod of acknowledgment and rueful smile. She closed the door shut behind her and leaned against it, dropping her bag. “Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all. Screaming like a crazy woman in the middle of a parking lot, in front of the most fucking attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. Awesome start to your new life, Jordan.” She  moved to the window, peeking out the side of the curtains at him as he continued working under the hood of his car. He was tall, solid, in beat-up blue jeans and a well-worn grey t-shirt that was smeared with grease and dark in spots from perspiration. She watched the muscles in his biceps strain as he worked with some kind of tool, stopping for a moment to grab the rag from his back pocket and wipe his face. He was ridiculously good-looking, even with smudges of grease on his arms and face. Actually, somehow that made him even more attractive, a man’s man, a man who wasn’t afraid of hard work and getting dirty. He glanced her direction, and she backed away quickly, swearing under her breath.

She sighed, letting her eyes roam around her room. It was almost like a little bungalow, with a kitchenette and a couch against one wall, and she wandered over to take a look out the back door. Now wasn’t that convenient! Right across the street behind the motel was a little liquor store, and she began to smile to herself. “No guts, no glory, girl. Get over there and buy that fine man a cold beer to apologize for being a hag.”

A few minutes later, she was stepping back out the front door with two icy-cold long necks in her hands. He watched her approach, wiping his hands, a slow smile lighting up his handsome face. “Here. To say I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Well, no apology necessary, but I’ll be damned if I say no to that! Fuckin’ hot out here,” he rumbled, taking the beer gratefully and taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Fuckin’ hot anywhere you are,” Jordan thought to herself, joining him after a little salute with the bottle in his direction. “Nothing better than an ice-cold beer on a hot day,” she said out loud. “So – what’s wrong with your car?”

“Oh, nothin’, really. Just tuning her up a little. Killing time, actually. I’ve been here one night already, looks like it’s gonna be another couple. Just waiting for my brother to get back.”

“Ahhh, so you just like to tinker.”

“Oh, I just like to make her purr.” Jordan almost choked on the swallow of beer she had just taken. “She’s just like a woman, you treat her right, she’ll treat you right.”

She smiled at him, getting one back in return. “Well, I’m glad there’s a man in this world who knows that. I’m Jordan, by the way.”

“Dean. Nice to meet you, Jordan.” His voice was on her frequency, apparently, because every time he spoke she felt her breath catch. His eyes were green with hints of gold, framed by thick lashes that any woman would die for, and she looked down at her beer, peeling at the label, unable to withstand his candid gaze any longer. They chatted a little longer about how good the beer tasted, how hot it was, how comfy the rooms were. He finished his beer, setting the bottle down and reaching up to lower the hood and close it. The muscles of his back under that damp, clingy t-shirt raised Jordan’s temperature another notch, and she had to mentally prompt herself to close her mouth. She cleared her throat, taking a long, cool drink, surprised it didn’t just come out of her ears in billows of steam.

“Well, Jordan, thanks for the beer. I’d better hit the shower. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She smiled back at him, and then watched him walk back to his room, two doors down from hers. Those jeans hugged his body just right, and her eyes followed his bow-legged amble all the way to his door, finally forcing herself to focus on the ground before he could turn and see her staring again. Holy. Shit. She headed back to the room and opened another beer, scolding herself. Not really the best time to be lusting after some stranger, not with all the shit she’d been through the last few weeks. She plopped down on the sofa with a sigh, roaming through the channels on the TV while she finished her beer, then headed for the shower.

Dean dropped the empty beer bottle into the trash and sat on the edge of the bed to untie his boots. He smiled to himself, Jordan’s dramatic entrance into the parking lot replaying in his head. “Little firecracker, that one,” he muttered. She was a little bit of nothing, but what was there was nicely arranged, he had to admit. Big brown eyes, hair short and sexy just like her, kissable lips…

He laughed quietly to himself as he imagined Donna’s teasing voice in his head saying, “Don’t even think about it, partner. Ain’t you had enough?” As soon as he was cleaned up, he needed to call and check on her, see how she was doing. He headed towards the bathroom as he stripped his t-shirt off, pushing the door with one foot to swing it closed.

The bar and grill down the block looked like a good enough place to find some food, and Jordan walked that way, running her fingers through her tousled, short hair. The screen door squealed as she opened it, pushing hard to shove the heavy inner door open and walking into the bar, the air conditioning sending a refreshing chill over her arms. A waitress walking by gave her a pleasant smile and hello, telling her to sit wherever she pleased and she’d be right with her.

There was no one in the place at the moment but a table full of elderly men at the far back corner, playing cards and drinking coffee. She settled herself in a comfy booth by the wall, grabbing a menu.

“Can I get you somethin’ to drink, hon?” the waitress asked, and she smiled up at her.

“Yeah, a glass of whatever you’ve got on tap, please.”

“You got it, be right back to take your order. I’m Molly, by the way, if you need something.” It was a lovely place, simple, homey and welcoming. Small town friendly, which was always pleasant - as long as you weren’t from that small town so they didn’t know all your business. Sometimes being an anonymous stranger was really nice.

Molly came back with a frosted mug brim-full of beer, and she smiled. You don’t get those everywhere. “Awesome, thanks!”

“You ready to order?” the woman asked, brushing a graying lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries,” she said, and her stomach grumbled as she spoke. Things had been in such an uproar lately, she had barely been eating.

“Now, there’s a woman with good taste!” Jordan felt her heartbeat stop for a second, and she looked up into Dean’s smiling face, those stunning green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Molly, can I get the same, and a beer?” he asked, giving the older woman his full attention.

“You got it, Dean,” the waitress answered with a smile, and headed back towards the kitchen. He nodded his head towards the seat opposite Jordan’s and grinned.

“Mind if I sit? I mean, if you’re not expecting somebody...”

“No, I’m not, please sit,” she smiled back at him. “It’ll be nice to have somebody to talk to besides myself.”

He took a seat, an amused smirk on his face. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

“It’s okay. Mostly waxing poetic about the frosted mug of beer,” she grinned back.

“Right? Gotta love that.” He looked up at the waitress as his beer appeared in front of him. “Molly, you’re a doll.”

“Oh, stop. Keep tellin’ you, I’m married,” she teased, turning to go. “And I’m too old for you.”

“Love a woman with experience,” he fired back, and she flapped a hand at him, blushing.

“You are a dangerous man. You watch out for that one, honey,” Molly aimed her parting remarks at Jordan and headed back to the kitchen.

“How long have you known her?” Jordan asked, raising her mug to her lips.

“Just met her yesterday. Why?”

Jordan stared back at him in surprise. “Really? Wow, you’ve got a way with people.”

“A friend of mine told me once that I just like to flirt. She might be right.”

Jordan laughed. “She might be.” His phone went off just then, and he grabbed it off the table.

“My brother. Be right back,” he smiled, swiping the screen as he rose to his feet and headed for the door. “Hey, Sammy,” she heard him say as he went outside.

She ordered them each another beer when Molly came over to check, and she had just taken a drink, focused on reading a message on her phone, when a rough hand landed on her shoulder. “Okay, Jordan. Time to come home.”

She froze, refusing to look up at him. “Darrel. How did you find me?”

“Wasn’t hard. I knew which way you were headed. Now, you’re gonna get up from that seat and come home with me, we have a lot to talk about.”

“We don’t have anything left to talk about, but I’m not making a scene in here. So let’s just go outside and get this over with,” she ground out quietly between clenched teeth. She stood up and winced a little at the brutal grip on her arm, biding her time until they left the bar.

“Miss? You okay?” Molly asked with a frown as they headed for the door, and Jordan nodded.

“I’m fine, Molly. Don’t worry.”

“Just keep movin’,”Darrel whispered behind her. They shoved their way through the door, and took several steps away from the building before Jordan began to struggle. She cried out as he shifted his hold, twisting her arm behind her back viciously. “None of your shit, now. Just move.”

“Hey, Darrel!” Dean’s voice rang out loud and clear behind them, and Jordan tensed at the sound.

Darrel gave her arm another tug as he turned them both around to face Dean. “Fucker!” she spat, her teeth clenched.

“You okay, Jordan?” Dean asked, and she looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure I will be shortly.” Dean nodded, a wicked little smirk curving his lips.  

“Who the hell are you?” Darrel demanded. “Who is this clown?” he growled into Jordan’s ear, and she jerked her head away.

“So, Darrel, tell me – is this usually the way you get women to go with you? Because I’m pretty sure she’s gonna cut off your balls first chance she gets.” He frowned a little, then continued. “Wait, that would assume you have balls, which is pretty unlikely, I’d guess.”

Darrel drew in a breath to respond, distracted for the moment, and Jordan jammed her free arm back, driving her elbow into his ribs, then stomped down hard on his instep. Darrel loosened his grip on her, groaning in pain, and she jerked herself free from his grasp, running towards Dean.

“Good girl,” he said, sweeping his arm out to place her behind him. “Well, Darrel. Looks like we have a situation here.”

Darrel pulled a knife from his back pocket, flipping it open. “Yeah. Bad one for you, asshole. You’re not armed.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a point there. So, whatcha waitin’ for, Darrel?” He said the man’s name with utter contempt, muttering, “Go inside” to Jordan as he headed towards the coward. “Bring it on.”

Jordan couldn’t force her feet to follow his command, staring in horror and shouting Dean’s name as he approached Darrel. There was a flurry of movement, punches thrown and Darrel’s swing with the blade blocked, his arm twisted violently until the weapon hit the ground with a thud, followed a few seconds later by Darrel, bruised and bleeding. Dean bent to pick up the knife, flipping it in his hand and standing over the fallen man with a snarl on his lips.  

“I suggest you get the fuck outta here before I finish kicking your ass. And you forget about her. Forget her name. Forget you ever knew her. You hear me?”

Darrel scooted away, scrambling to his feet at a safer distance. “Jordan, this ain’t over!” he yelled defiantly.

“What did I just say to you?!” Dean bellowed, moving quickly in his direction, and Darrel’s eyes widened as he turned to run. “That’s right, you fucking coward, get your ass away from here.” Dean watched the man run until he was out of sight, then turned quickly, striding back to Jordan’s side. “Did he hurt you? Are you all right?”

She nodded, her face pale, weaving a little as her knees gave way. Dean put an arm around her waist, leading her to the bench beside the door and sitting her down. Molly stuck her head out the door, concern on her face. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, just a little shaky. Hey, Molly – can we get those burgers to go?”

“Of course, give me just a sec, hon. Just wait right there.”

Dean hunkered down in front of Jordan, taking hold of her cold hand. “Hey, Jordan? Look at me, sweetheart.” She finally raised her eyes, and he gave her a proud little smile. “You did great. Just exactly what I was hoping you’d do.” Molly came out the door just then, handing their food to Dean, and reaching over to put her hand on Jordan’s.

“Glad you’re okay. Both of you.” With a pat to her hand and a little squeeze to Dean’s shoulder, she turned and went back inside.

“Okay, think you can make it back to your room? Come on, I gotcha,” Dean encouraged, an arm around her waist, the food and Darrel’s knife in the other hand. “Man, can’t wait to dig in. Molly makes a mean bacon cheeseburger.” He kept talking, all the way back to the motel, taking Jordan’s key card and letting them both in before leading her to a chair. “I’m going to my room to grab something, I’ll be right back. Okay?” She nodded vacantly, staring down at her hands.

She looked up, eyes wide as she heard someone at the door a couple of moments later, but Dean called out. “It’s just me, Jordan, comin’ back in, okay?” He came in, closed and dead-bolted the door behind him, and set a bottle of whiskey on the table as he walked by. Soon he was back, two coffee mugs from the little kitchenette in his hand. He poured a generous splash of the amber liquid into the cup and scooted it over towards Jordan. “Drink that, it’ll help.” She nodded, taking the cup in hand and tipping it steadily back, letting the liquor burn its way down her throat. She shuddered a little, then held it out for more.

“One more, maybe,” she said, and he tipped the bottle again. She downed the second shot, then blew out a shaky breath.

“Better?”

She looked at him, the color beginning to come back into her cheeks. “Yeah. I think so. Dean, I don’t know what to say...”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just eat. You can talk later.” He grinned, shoving her food at her, and she dug in gratefully.

She moaned, her eyes closing. “This is amazing!” Dean smiled, watching her wolf that bite down and go after another. She stopped, suddenly looking alarmed. “Wait, I didn’t even pay!”

“Taken care of, don’t worry about it.”

“So it’s not enough that you chase off my asshole ex, now you’re buying me dinner? Where have you been all my life?” she teased, taking another bite, and then blushing at her own words. “Wow - maybe the whiskey’s kicking in.”

Dean laughed softly as he continued eating. “Good. Maybe you can relax a little.” He turned on the TV, surfing until he found an old sitcom, and they watched as they finished their meal. When the credits rolled, Dean stood up, gathering the trash and tossing it before turning back to smile at her. “So – I should get out of here, let you get some rest.”

“Do you have to leave?” She swallowed hard, blushing. He stared back at her, not sure how to respond, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, you’ve done too much for me already, I don’t blame you for wanting to get the hell away, like you need...”

“Hey.” He spoke softly to stop her rambling, and she looked up at him, biting nervously at her lip. “I just thought after what you’d been through you should get some rest.” She nodded silently, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her, and he spoke again, concern in his eyes. “Are you afraid he’ll come back, Jordan?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” She swallowed hard, fighting not to cry in front of him.

“Listen, I’ve got two beds in my room, you’re welcome to come down there and stay if you want.”

“No, no… I’m just being crazy. I’m sure he’s gone. You probably scared him all the way back home.” She tried to sound like she was laughing it off, but her performance wasn’t convincing even her. “Really, Dean, thank you. I appreciate it. But I don’t want to be any more of a pain than I already have been.” She picked up her phone, avoiding eye contact, and looked up in surprise when he took hold of it, pulling it gently from her grasp.

He typed something into it, then handed it back. “There, I put my number in. If you get scared, or if you need anything, call me. No matter what time it is. Okay?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. How about I pick you up for breakfast in the morning?”

She nodded, looking steadily at the table top as he gave her shoulder a squeeze and headed out the door. As soon as the latch clicked shut, she buried her head in her arms and burst into tears.

She climbed into bed a little later, feeling somewhat better. Dean was right, she did need to sleep. The last few weeks had been harder than she’d realized, and then with Darrel showing up… yeah, the tough girl mask she tried to present to the world had slipped a little.

She fell asleep almost as soon as she settled in, the first deep sleep she’d had in days. A loud crash from the parking lot outside her door woke her, and she sat up, groggy and disoriented, trying to get her bearings before climbing out of bed to see what had caused the noise.

Her eyes widened as she peered out the window. Her car was engulfed in flames, and she stumbled back from the window in shock, running back to the bed to grab her phone from the night stand. Her hands shaking, she dialed Dean’s number, surprised when he answered immediately, not even letting her speak.

“Jordan, stay in your room. Don’t come out unless I come and get you, understand?”

Chapter 2

[emmyrosee]

give us a random headcanon go 👀

UHM OK

So

This got long and kind of angsty I’m SORRY-

Axel and Mark are brothers. Axel’s older than mark by a fairly big margin so he offers that good ol’ elder brother wisdom™️ and Mark isn’t always here for it.

Axel’s had to drag mark out of parties more times than he can count, some because he was worried about his lil bro, some because he wasn’t answering moms texts and axel wasn’t about to let him make their momma feel bad.

Like this one time, their mom was punishing Mark for being completely shitfaced and missing something for their grampa, and Mark straight up snuck out of his room, no note, no regards, nothing, and with his mom fearing the absolute worst, that she’d lost her son, her baby, Axel quickly tracked down his brother and hauled his drunk ass right back home, speeding so fast mark was puking in the truck, yelling at him so bad mark pouted, and by the time they got home his brother was just a needy, scolded mess, and their mom was all over him, taking care of him and letting him puke and whine about his tummyache, and if she needed Axel to get anything, he did, not questions asked.

When mark was going through his first serious breakup, Axel really stepped forwards to work him back to normal, doing things with him other than just drinking the problems away like his friends wanted to. They went to cheap bowling alleys and drank cheap beer, they would drive around at 2 am, blasting music as they passed a joint, and it was probably the first real time- like honest, true, raw- that Mark learned it was okay to be a man and cry. He was hitting Axel, screaming and telling him she was every terrible name under the sun and that Axel had no idea what the fuck Mark went through to try to keep her happy.

When Axel pulled over, he shoved Mark back a little, just enough to straighten him back, telling him to stop being a pussy and just embrace it. She was gone. She was no good for him, and she was gone. She broke his heart, it was okay to be sad, and Mark wore his vocal chords raw with his sobs and shrieks of despair. “Why doesn’t she fucking want me, Axe? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, dude,” he promises over his brothers tears. “You’re at a stupid age where love doesnt mean shit to nobody. Fuck, I am too. But right now, you’re sad because you’re alone, and one day you’re going to find someone, and they’re going to make you fear a lot of things more important than just ‘being alone.’ Trust me dude. You’re too fucking young to get that.”

They don’t talk about that night often. Axel’s jacket collar had been permanently ruined from Mark’s tears and hot breath against the leather, but from then on, instead of just getting drunk off his rocker when he was sad, he’d just find Axel and cry it out.

Their dad passed away when Mark was young, and their mom never really recovered from it. Because of this, Axel really took the role of being momma’s fix-it man, getting an under-the-table job when he was young and making sure Mark had snacks and lunches while their mom took care of the house. When momma Cluney eventually remarried, she never ceased to thank Axel for all he did, and it always put Mark in a weird feeling. Not that he wasn’t grateful beyond words, he just always felt bad that Axel had to go through that at such a young age.

“You were in Kindergarten,” Axel says cooly, passing his brother a beer. “What were you going to do, sell dunk-a-roos for cold, hard cash?”

“I could’ve done more,” he mumbles, taking a long sip of his drink. “Like... I could’ve been more grateful for the toys and the lunch money.”

Axel chuckles and reaches over to ruffle Mark’s hair, “hey; you were fed. You didn’t give mom too much shit. And on your birthday, you got the Power-Ranger toys you wanted. You were grateful. You just didn’t get why you had to wait until your birthday.”

Mark snorts and shoves Axel’s hand away, sighing softly, “I wish I knew him, dude..”

“You look just like him.”

“What was he like?”

Axel hums and leans back in his seat, fingers swirling the lip of his beer bottle, “I remember when I was nine, I told him I was going to run away. Go live in the treehouse of our old house.” He paused to smirk, “bastard made me a lunch box with two peanut butter sandwiches, a bag of barbecue chips and a juice box and said ‘good for you! You’re a man now, do what you gotta do!’ I never made it off of the porch.”

Mark snickers and they get real quiet. “I miss him,” he admits. “I don’t remember him... but I miss him.”

Axel hums again, “he was moms great love. Never laid a hand on us, nor her. He was a good man.”

Mark raises his bottle to his brother, “you’re a good man too, dude.”

“Believe me, mark,” Axel chuckles sadly. “I’m only a quarter of the man he was.”

On a lighter note, Axel taught Mark to drive. He filled his truck with gas, drove them both out to the city limits, butt-fuck no where, with a bag of fast food and his gps.

“Okay,” Axel hums. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

Axel pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to his brother, “you’re driving us back home. Oh, and to CVS, mom needs sugar and milk.”

And with those buggy green eyes, Mark just completely stares at Axel, freaked out and worried (mostly because Axel’s truck is his baby, and Axel was levelheaded enough at all times to hide a body if need be), so with a reassuring smile, axel slips out of the driver side, gesturing mark to slide over the bench-seat, and he slowly walked Mark through the process of starting the car and driving back home.

He hit a curb. And ran a stop-light. Nearly hit a squirrel, but never once did axel raise his voice to him. He would simply tell him it was alright and that “it doesn’t have to be perfect; I just want you to get us home.”

When they finally pull in a few hours later, Mark was so terrified Axel would tell their mom everything, but axel just shook his head. “If I wanted you to be perfect, I wouldn’t have just thrown you into traffic; I wanted to make sure you could drive if I wasn’t around and mom needed you. You got home. We’re alive. Tomorrow, if you’re feeling easy, we’ll go to a parking lot or something. But you did fine.” He smiles and leaves the truck, “but don’t puke in the truck; do it in the front yard, please.”

Which. Mark obeys.

Whenever Mark’s birthday rolls around, Axel drives them up to an old lake house their great-grandparents built, only bringing some clothes, booze and a gas can to get in and out of town, and they fish, make s’mores, and just be kids again. Again, Mark is much younger than Axel, so all the memories Axel has here, Mark doesn’t, so he wants him to enjoy the young years of his life that Axel really couldn’t.

Sometimes, if they’re bold, they’ll bring whoever they’re dating or smashing, but they’ve found it’s better to just have a guys weekend away, only them two in the middle of the woods, with only the fish in the lake to keep them company.

“So you had a treehouse and a fuckin’ cabin before I came along?” Mark asks by the fire, marshmallow clinging to his face childishly. Axel snorts, “dude I haven’t had a birthday party since I was seven, then you showed up.”

“Oh I’m sooo sorry,” Mark sings, rolling his eyes and plopping the last of his s’more in his mouth. Axel sighs dramatically, “don’t be. You made mom happy,” he pats his brother on the shoulder. “And she said I wasn’t allowed to try and return you anymore, so.”

Mark laughs before his brows furrowed, “anymore?”

Axel smirks. “Why do you think you’re so claustrophobic now, Markie?”

“The fuck did you do to me?”

“Shoved you in a box and left you outside.”

“You WHAT.”

“Three times.”

They bicker. They fight. But they’d fucking die for each other. As they got older, they really became best friends and Mark is open to that fact.

In fact, for Axel’s birthday, Mark got his hands on a pikachu doll from the 90’s that Axel was dying to have a kid but couldn’t get because he had to help his mom take care of mark, but every now and again he brought it up to joke.

Mark could tell that, even as an adult, he still wanted that pikachu toy because he wouldn’t shut up about it, so he finally saved up and got it ($150 mint-condition his asshole), and when Axel opened it on his birthday, there was not a dry eye from anyone except Mark.

Big, green eyes flip from the toy to Mark, jaw dropped in surprise and just completely at a loss for words. Mark grins, “now you can shut up about it; you own it. Live your Ash Katchum dreams, freak.”

Axel laughs around his cries, a tattooed hand coming up to stop himself. He wastes no time in stalking his way over to his brother, pulling him in for a tight hug while the younger just hugs him back, still smiling before shoving him off when people tried to get pictures.

“Cant have people who get our Christmas card think I like you or anything,” he snorts, making Axel laugh again before going back to his seat to finish his gifts, but everyone (including himself) knew that Mark won that year.

The first time Axel brings someone home, they’re a guy. Their mom was chillin, she had no problems with it (though she didn’t really expect Morgan to necessarily be a man), Mark was pretty confused. Like, sure Axel always had friends over, but they were never cuddly and touchy before, and it made Mark really curious.

He probably brings it up on one of their fishing trips years later, and axel barely has any clue what he’s talking about at first.

“You seriously don’t remember Morgan?” Mark asks in disbelief. “Like, how do I, but you don’t?”

“I’ve been with a lot of people,” Axel shrugs. Then, he tenses up and a slow grin spreads across his face, “oh. Morgan.”

“Yes! Morgan, the first person you ever brought home!”

“They’re not Morgan anymore,” Axel recalls. “Well, to me anyways. After we broke up, they became she, and her name is Bella. We’re still close, she’s just not Morgan anymore.”

“So... are you... like...?”

Axel smirks, “I’m nothing, dude. No skin off my ass for labels. If you learn anything from me, Markie boy,” he turns to his brother, “do what makes you happy. Love who the hell you want. Mom’s going to love you. I’m gonna love you. And fuck anyone who tells you you can’t.”

“I think I’m straight.”

Axel chuckles. “You’ve just never pursued anyone who hasn’t gone after you; just so happens only women have gone after you.”

Mark frowns and sinks lower in his seat, “do you think... not-straight-guys are afraid of me?”

“I think they’re afraid of your frat-boy-fuck-buddies who tease someone for having any sort of human emotions,” Axel says nonchalantly. “I’ve taught you enough about treating people with respect, your friends don’t have the same drive you do.”

Which brings me to my next point

Axel ABSOLUTELY taught Mark about the birds and the bees.

He drove them both around town not long after Mark turned 14, and he parked at their town’s high school and just... talked about sex. What happens, how does it feel, etc..

“You need to listen to her, Mark,” he says sternly. “The minute you hear a “no,” you fucking stop. The minute you hear a ‘I don’t want to,’ you stop. I don’t care if you’re balls deep inside of her, you slip out, tuck yourself away and apologize for making her uncomfortable.”

“But what if-“

“No.”

That’s the basics; like what happens when you have sex, what how to use protection, and the importance of consent. A while later, once Mark starts going to parties, he drives them out again, only this time to talk about when she says “yes.”

“You gotta work her up,” Axel hums, cigarette low on his lips. “Her body will let you know when she’s ready. If you go in dry, you’re going to hurt her.”

“How do I like... do that?”

Axel smirks, “play with her a little. Kiss her nice and slow... let your hands paw and squeeze, let her moan a little, let her purr... I’ve been with a few girls who like being tickled and picked up, some girls like it more rough and playful too, a smack on the ass, a few bites on their neck-“

“How will I know?” Mark squeaks. “If she like... likes what I’m doing.”

Once again, Axel grins, “believe me, Markie boy- you’ll know.”

Sjfhvdgbgh I WANT MORE, MY BOYS🥺🥺

[tooruluv]

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 2 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,029

warnings/notes: the “party scene” so mentions of alcohol, underage drinking, weed, getting high, and some mentions of sex, mentions of throwing up, strong language (per usual), lots of angst, i based a lot of the experience on american high school simply because it’s easier for me to write

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Now, the exact day you fell in love with your best friend didn’t exist. There was no specific day, no specific realization, no “I had a dream about him”, no sudden “I see him in a different light”. It was a messy timeline of a million things, a mixture of waiting and wanting compiled together into what you determined to be love.

“How long have you been in love with him, anyway?” Iwaizumi asked you one evening.

It was after volleyball practice, and the two of you were sitting on your bedroom floor. He was leaning his back against your bed, one leg bent at the knee, his practice jersey still on, moonlight dancing off of his skin.

You would be lying if you denied his attractiveness (Like, c’mon, have you seen him? Seriously, there must be something in the volleyball water.. anyway..). You just never viewed him as anything other than a friend, a good one.

You were laying beside him, legs propped up on your bed and your head on the floor.

“I don’t know.” you told him honestly.

It was at that exact moment that you realized something else: you never openly admitted your love for Tooru Oikawa. Not once had the words slipped past your lips, to yourself or to someone else. The longest secret kept, in your opinion.

“I guess it all kind of mixes together, in the end.” you explained, deciding that the ceiling is the most interesting thing to look at. “Do you remember, when we were kids, and we were playing outside? And I brought that tub thing of peanuts?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“And ‘Kawa called me stupid for bringing it because it wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t peanut butter and why have peanuts when they weren’t spreadable?” Iwaizumi finished with a small laugh.

“Yeah. I think that was one moment that I was like “oh”. He even threw them at me.”

The two of you sat in silence for what felt like half an hour. It was a comfortable silence, one of processed memories and fondness.

“He does still call you nut.” Iwaizumi spoke into silence. You smiled.

“I should beat your ass! You scared the shit out of me!”

You were walking out of class when hands clasped around your sides. Your immediate reaction was one of both terror and putting your guard up, which ended up with you jumping and going to punch whoever just attacked. Luckily, it happened to be the tall, brown-haired volleyball captain.

“You’re cute.” he walked with you.

“What do you want from me, ‘Kawa?” you asked, pausing in the hallway in front of your next class.

“What could you possibly mean? I can’t just scare the shit out of my best friend?”

This fucker.

“You can scare me until I pee.” You crossed your arms, looking into his eyes. He always seemed to stand too close to you. “But you never call me cute unless you need something from me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. You are very cute. The cutest.”

You squinted up at him, trying to see through his lies. He smirked.

“Soooo… there is something I want to ask you. Completely irrelevant from me calling you cute. That would have nothing to do with this request. Have I mentioned that you look good in the uniform? It really…”

“You’re a dork. Ask.”

“Do you still talk to that one guy from across town? The guy you buy alc from?”

“You want me to buy alcohol for the party.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He pursed his lips. “Yes, I can get it. Now get to class before you’re late.”

Oikawa smiled, eyes squinting and tongue between his teeth. “You’re the best!” he exclaimed as he picked you up in a hug. 

You watched as he jogged down the hall.

You knew your way around. It was a gift you had: the ability to just talk up anyone and find a way to get what you’re looking for. You knew people all over Japan, to be honest, that could help you in basically any way. It had been that way since you were younger.

The first time you ever bought alcohol is when you were thirteen. And it wasn’t even for drinking. You and your friends (when you had a million friends and not two) wanted to play spin the bottle and figured it would look cooler if you were to use an actual “drink”. You gave it to your mom as a gift after.

Since then, you had bought drinks for various things. Parties, get togethers. It was only when Oikawa’s older brother wasn’t able to get it for you guys, of course.

This was one of those times.

There was this little shop a little ways away (in Torono, to be specific) that never ever ID’d anyone. You would always go there to buy since you found it at thirteen, to the point that you and the owner were on first name bases. Sometimes you would have actual conversations, if he was in the mood. Sometimes you barely spoke, but he would still bag the bottles for you.

His eyes only lifted from what he was reading for a moment to catch yours as you entered the Sakanoshita Store. You were already by the alcohol.

“You’re still not of age, kid.” he spoke through the cigarette.

“You’re still smoking.” you joked. You placed like ten bottles on the counter. “I thought you were going to try and stop. Health and all.”

“I know you’re not talking to me about health, you little alcoholic.” he sat up, running a hand up his hair to fix his headband. “Just give me the money before someone comes in.”

The exchange was fast, per usual, and you were leaving with a black bag of fun. “Thank you, my darling Keishin!”

“Get out of my store. Don’t die.”

And he was back to reading, cigarette still hanging from his lip.

The volleyball tournament ended the exact way Oikawa thought it would: wins. So, that meant that the party was already in full swing before the sun was down. You were moving between crowds, cup in hand.

It was not a secret that you were Oikawa’s, and (by association) the rest of the volleyball team’s, best friend. You sat with them at lunch, you interacted in the hallways, you let some of the boys copy your homework. It was quite obvious. That was the main reason so many people approached you. Their main goal was popularity through the most popular and successful sports team at the school. You didn’t mind.

It was when the girls would come up to you asking you to put in a good word for them to Oikawa that you had to put on a fake smile and say “yeah!” or “of course, I’ll give him your number!”. They never made it past your memory.

“What do you think?” The man of the hour asked from his position beside you. You were watching the party from the kitchen, the already drunk laughs and conversations blurred into a single volume. “How much cleaning do you think we’ll have to endure?”

“Ah, definitely hours.” You took a sip from your cup. You offered him your cup, knowing whatever’s in his cup is nonalcoholic. “You might as well live a little. Take a guzzle, you earned it.”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“But you’ll get high.”

“That I will do.” He took a sip of his cup. Maybe he put his drink in a red solo cup to look like he’s drinking, or maybe he just did it because it was better than drinking out of an actual juice box. You didn’t bother him with it. “Speaking of getting so high I forget everything around me, I gotta find Hanamaki.”

“Have fun!”

“Without you? Unlikely.” he joked. Your stomach turned.

You didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or the love.

“Technically, you’ve kissed Oikawa.” Iwaizumi told you as you both sat in the corner. You were both definitely tipsy, but not quite drunk yet.

You scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

Tooru Oikawa has kissed you, sure, but never once had it been on the lips. He had left kisses on your forehead, cheeks, temple, top of your head. Even one time on your hand. But never lip to lip. And Iwaizumi bringing it up out of nowhere made your cheeks heat up. You blamed whatever was in your cup.

“We played spin the bottle before. I kissed both Oikawa and you. And by contact, your lips were also on his.”

“You are a shitstain in my underwear, Iwa.”

“Ah yes, that was the most ladylike sentence I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

“Dance with me!” you pulled Oikawa with you to the dance floor. It was freshman year, and both of your families were invited to a wedding. It was some woman your moms were friends with, you don’t remember.

But he agreed, and let you drag him along as you danced. The songs were fun and fast, and a majority of the reception guests were dancing their hearts away on the floor.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” he told you that day, in the midst of the summer sun.

That was one of those moments. Those blurred moments you wished you could record to memory as the beginning of your love for him.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You told him, but your mind screamed you’re beautiful too.

The night was something between a blur and random scenes mashed together. Several drinks later (why did the vodka taste like water?) and hits from multiple joints, you were staring in tunnel vision.

You remember a snippet here, a minute there. You danced with Iwa for a bit, before he went to do something. You hung out with some people on the couches for a bit, and there was definitely a lot of laughing. You remember laughing.

What were you doing again?

Oh yeah, you were trying to find Oikawa. You didn’t know what exactly you wanted so desperately to tell him. You figured your drunken mind would find out what you wanted when you found him.

Scanning the crowds, you couldn’t find the boy. The house wasn’t that huge, he had to be somewhere. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him at all since he went to get high with some of the boys.

Finally catching a glimpse of him, you smiled to yourself. You were going to do it. Maybe today, maybe at some trashy party Oikawa threw, would be the day you would tell him you were in love with him. Maybe not. You didn’t really know. You just knew that you missed him and needed, desperately, to talk to him. Hear his voice.

Maybe you were pretty drunk, mind drifting away.

And he just happened to be your anchor.

Everything was moving around you. In slow motion or way too fast, you couldn’t really tell. That was, until everything froze at once.

Oikawa was standing in the far corner of the party, with someone else. He had his tongue down her throat, lips chasing hers in some passionate dance you only wished you knew what felt like.

You only stood there as he groped her, and her hands in his hair. You didn’t recognize her at all. But he was unmistakable. Even with his hair sweaty and in front of his face, he was undeniable.

You were going to throw up. 

You had to find Iwaizumi.

“Takahiro Hanamaki!” You waved to the man. He immediately caught your eye and came to you.

“What’s up? Oh, shit you’re drunk.” He helped as you nearly stumbled. His arm stayed under your armpit as he stood in front of you.

“Have you seen Iwa? Need to talk to him. Best friend emergency.”

“I thought Tooru was your best friend.” Hanamaki looked behind you, eyes scanning over the people for you. You almost threw up on the spot at the sound of his name.

There was a huge difference in hearing about Oikawa’s girls and hearing about who was in his bed, and seeing it with your own eyes. It made you sick to your stomach. You lost all breath, all feeling in your body. You didn’t know to be mad or jealous or upset. You decided that you were going to be all three.

“The last time I talked to Iwa, he went that way. He might be throwing up somewhere or something.”

“Okay, thanks my little wing spiker. My little outside hitter. My stoner boy.” you pinched his cheek.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked before letting you go. “You look like you were crying.”

Were you? Did you cry? You didn’t think you did. But it was definitely a possibility as you have been trying not to do just that for the past ten minutes.

“I don’t know, I think I’m just red from being crossed. I can’t even see straight. Ha ha.”

Hanamaki didn’t press it further, but he did give you a smile and hand you a water bottle. You liked being friends with the team.

The volleyball team were always the nicest towards you. They greeted you with smiles whenever they would come across you in the hallway, always made sure you had a smile on your face.

They all knew, too. It wasn’t hard to see how out of the entire team, Oikawa had you wrapped around his finger. (Unintentionally, of course). They tried to get him to notice. “She looks good today, right, Oikawa?” or “It’s Saturday, don’t you have plans?”. Not that their efforts helped.

Maybe one day Oikawa will know too.

You found Iwaizumi in a closet near the stairs. The party was still in full effect, but it was quiet near there. The only problem was that he was not alone, and was, in fact, preoccupied with someone's tongue down his throat.

“I swear to everything that is holy, I am so sick of finding people like this.” you sighed. “The second time today and I’m going to seriously vomit all over the place. I’m not kidding.”

Iwaizumi gasped, pulling away from whoever he was with. It wasn’t until they were both apart that you realized who it was.

“Matsukawa?”

You got pulled into the closet, the door slamming behind you.

[songficsbyrissi]

Ain’t No Way (Spooky x Reader)

“Ain't no way (ain't no way), I'm gone let you down (let you down). I know it's hard right now (hard right now), To see (it's in me). But I'm gone make you say you love me.” - Chris Brown

A/N: I know y’all think when tf did I become a Spooky writer but listennnnnnnnn I’ve caught up on On My Block and that man is Fine with a capital F. Gangsters ain’t even my flavor! But seeing him and watching season 3 got my creative juices flowing. The way I got this going, this is most likely gonna be a mini series. Aight now let’s get interracial! (I’m making a joke so don’t nobody come butthurt in my inbox. I will delete your shit.)

Oscar Diaz, also known as “Spooky”, was not your type at all. You hated to admit that once upon a time, he was. It was back in high school. He was this wannabe gangster and your young dumbass was into that. It was the whole “bad boy” image that almost every teenage girl drooled over. Once you got to your senior year, you grew tired of Freeridge and the gang bullshit so you went to college far away, got your degree, and came back home hoping to make Freeridge somewhat of a better place by opening your own restaurant that held a lot of community events. Unfortunately, coming back to Freeridge also meant coming back to Oscar, who was the head of the Santos. He didn’t know you were back. You planned to keep it that way. “Hey mami!” You stopped in your tracks. No, it couldn’t be. You decided to keep on walking until the familiar voice called you by your name this time. “Y/N!”

You slowly turned around and realization dawned on you. You moved into the only apartment with vacancy, which so happens to be a couple minutes away from Oscar’s house. This was a really bad day for your car not to start. When you’re walking and completely forgot that Oscar’s house was on the way to your restaurant. You were right in front of his front yard and could see his little brother Cesar walking out the front door with his school bag around his shoulder. He’s gotten so big since the last time you’ve seen him. When he was little, he had a little crush which you were both flattered and annoyed by. “Cesar....look at you! You got so big!” “Y/N!” He gave you a quick hug. “You got...um....” You tilted your head in confusion. “Got what?” The 14 year old sighed out of frustration. “You got hotter! But I’m not supposed to say that because I’m dating Monse!” You found yourself laughing at his confession and even more at the blush coming on his pale face. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell her but thank you. Have a good day at school.” “You too.” He rolled his eyes groaning. “Fuck!” You snickered as he went on his way and followed behind him only to have your name called out again by his older brother. “Oh my God. What?!” You stared fiercely at the Mexican gang banger as he strolled up to you, checking you out from head to toe. Once he was a few inches away from you, he smirked. “Damn you look good.” “Is that all you gotta say? Because I got somewhere to be.” Oscar let out a soft chuckle before eyeing you down again. “When did you get back?” You raised an eyebrow. “Why you need to know?” He said nothing and just stared at you which meant you had to say something. You sighed deeply looking at your feet. “I came back a couple days ago.” “You’re lying.” You looked up at him with an expression that said “the fuck?” “Look Oscar-“ “Spooky.” You snorted. “I ain’t calling no grown ass man “spooky”. His smirk came back. “You used to. Back in high school.” You rolled your eyes. “That was high school. We’re both grown, Oscar. Now if you excuse me, I gotta take my grown ass to my grown ass job.” You pushed past him and continued your journey on foot. “Where you work at? I could drive you there.” You let a dry laugh turning to to glare at him. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m fine.” “Yes you are, mami.” You scrunched your face up in disgust and went back to walking to your restaurant. Oscar kept smirking as he went back to his front porch where some of the Santos were chilling in the front. “Who’s that hyna?” One of them took a drag of a cigarette, smirking in lust. Oscar’s smirk dropped as he slapped the cigarette out of his mouth. The Santo grew wide-eyed and the leader got close in his face with a menacing look. “That’s my hyna. I claimed her so nobody even look at her or even think about her. Entiendes?” All the Santos present held the hands up in defense, saying they understood. The Santo in question spoke up. “I’m sorry, Spooky. From what I saw, she didn’t seem like your hyna.” “But she is.” Oscar declared as he stared at you in a distance.                                               *********************

“Damn, boss. You look pissed.” Your employee, Simone, observed as you approached your place of business. You put your glare on her, causing her to apologize and you waved her off. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that this morning has been really annoying. I’m sorry for being late and leaving you out here.” “It wasn’t that long. It’s fine. Shit happens. Let’s just open this restaurant up!” You managed to put a smile on your face and you pulled out the keys to open the doors. You got the place open and your other employees came later in the day for lunch rush hour. When 3 o’clock hit, in came the kids who just got out of school. You didn’t want to be that person but you had to kick them out if they weren’t buying anything. “Hey beautiful. You sexy when you’re all assertive and shit.” This medium skinned cholo bit his lip at you and it took all your power not to gag right then and there. His friend came up to you two, pulling him away. “Ay chico, that’s Spooky’s hyna.” He informed him in a cautious tone and the one flirting with you backed up with his eyes widened. “Oh shit. My bad, mami. Don’t tell your man.” The two cholos scurried away as you stood there in confusion. You spotted Cesar and his friend having burgers and fries in a booth, diagonal from you. You approached them with a huge sigh. “Oh hey Y/N.” Cesar greeted you first. “Wait this is Y/N?!??!?!” Ruby stood out of his seat in the booth and got close to your face. “Hey girl. You might not remember me but I’m Ruben aka your future baby daddy.” You placed your hand on his right cheek and pushed him back down in his seat. “Eat your food, Ruby.” “What it do, cousin?” Jamal greeted you. You forgot one of Cesar’s friends was your annoying ass cousin Jamal. “What the hell does “hyna” mean?” You questioned the group and they all looked at each other in puzzlement. “So no one knows what it means?” “It means pretty girl. Beautiful girl. It’s a compliment.” Monse stated as she popped a fry in her mouth. “Ok but two cholos came in here and one tried to flirt but the other told him I’m-and I quote “Spooky’s hyna” you explained with air quotes. “So what the hell does that mean?” The group got quiet at your explanation and you stared at all of them anxiously. What the fuck did they know that you didn’t? “Hello? Earth to the Core 4?” You waved your hand trying to get their attention back on you. Cesar drummed his fingers on the table before looking up at you. “Let’s just say.... you finding a husband in Freeridge is probably never gonna happen.” Your eyebrows were knitted together in confusion and you folded your arms. “What do you mean by that?” “Oh wow it really do be the pretty ones that are slow.” Jamal whispered out loud and turned to you slowly. “It means that......Spooky....got dibs on you. He claimed you meaning nobody else can date you because if they do, they’re signing their death certificate.” You had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from screaming “WHAT THE FUCK?!” In your professional establishment. You turned on your heel and just got back to work. Once it was close to closing time, no one was at your restaurant. You were walking to the front doors to flip the sign when Oscar showed up and walked through the doors. You sighed deeply. “You know we’re about to close.” Oscar pointed to the sign. “The sign says open.” “I was just about to flip it ov- what do you want from me, Oscar?!” He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I just wanted to talk to you. Maybe hang out sometimes.” You laughed loudly and sarcastically at his answer and the look on his face was not one of amusement. Is it ever is? “You got me fucked up if you think I’m hanging out with a fucking gangbanger. A fucking Santo at that.” You snorted and grabbed the dishrag to clean the tables. “You must be using some of the product you be selling.” He slammed his hand on one of the square tables, glaring at you. You were a little shell shocked but tried not to show it. “You talk all this shit about gangsters and shit like you weren’t feeling one in the past but you gonna feel one soon.” “And what the fuck do you mean by that?” You found your voice after taking a large gulp. “I’m gonna make you say you love me.” It took everything in your power not to laugh in his face in that moment because that shit was hilarious but you could tell he was serious. Word on the street is Spooky was the last motherfucker you wanted to piss off. You looked at the table he slammed and noticed a tiny piece of paper that read: 213-456-7893 The next day, your car ran smoothly today so you didn’t have to see Oscar on your way to the restaurant. That made you really happy. When it was close to closing time, before you could flip over the sign, a group of young boys pushed themselves inside and stared at you. You looked from side to side and back at them. “Can I help you?” “Are you the owner?” The one that seemed like the leader asked quickly. Straight to the point. You respected that. “Yes, I am. Why? Do you have a complaint?” “Yeah I do.” The leader glanced at the other two boys with him and focused his attention back at you. “This is 99th street territory and since your little restaurant is on it, you gotta pay us rent.” You let out a boisterous laugh at the audacity of these boys. Everyone was on a mission to make you ugly laugh lately. “I’m not paying you shit. You ain’t the government.” You spoke once the laughs subsided. “Now it’s either you order some food or get the hell out. I prefer the latter so you could run back home and do your homework.” You finished in a baby voice, ruffling the young boy’s hair. The group of boys began to chuckle as they began to walk out. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady.” The leader warned before heading out of the glass doors. You giggled to yourself as you wiped the tables. Suddenly you got the sense that something wasn’t right and you gut was right because as soon as you went into the kitchen, bullets sprayed throughout your restaurant. You grabbed Simone and forced yourselves to duck down. Once it finished, you remembered you had your employee, Marco, outside taking out the trash. “Marco!” You yelled out running outside which was probably stupid as hell because if the shooters were still there, now they got an easier shot. You found Marco slumped against the building with a bullet in his arm. He was holding onto it to prevent more blood from releasing. You heard footsteps approach you and you fearfully looked to see the boys from earlier. “We warned you, lady. Next time, the bullet goes in his head.” The leader stuck out his thumb, index, and middle fingers to make his hand look like a gun and gestured towards you. “Or maybe your head.” He began to chuckle and his boys joined in on the laughing fest. He stopped chuckling and they stopped too. “Don’t mess with us again, lady.” You waited until you were sure the gang was gone before dialing 911 to get Marco an ambulance. “Marco.....I’m so sorry.” You were on the verge of tears seeing your employee on a gurney, ready to go to the hospital. “It’s ok, Miss Y/N. I’ve gotten shot before. 7 more times and you call me 50 cent.” You began to smile as they wheeled Marco away. That’s what you always appreciated about him. Always finding light in a dark ass situation, even when that situation was his. You took out your phone and dialed a number as Simone stood next to you. “Who are you calling?” “Probably my biggest regret.” Too vague for her to understand, Simone shrugged her shoulders and went back inside of the restaurant. After your phone call, you sat down in one of the booths just waiting. After a while, he appeared right in front of you, saying nothing. He just took a seat in the booth facing you. You leaned in close. “First things first, take that stupid ass gang claim off of me. I’m not anyone’s fucking hyna, especially not yours. So cut the shit.” Oscar remained silent and just stared at you intensely. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Is that it?” You took a deep breath, already regretting your next words. “No. I need protection.” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “From?” You gestured towards the glass and bulletholes in your windows. “Do you see this shit? 99th street did it. I have employees and a reputation to protect. So I need protection from the Santos.” Oscar began to crack up suddenly at your words and you stared at him in annoyance. You knew you were going to regret this shit but you didn’t have a choice. The police said they’ll get them but that’s not enough. Besides, they are used to gang activity so they’re barely gonna do anything. “You know you’re one funny hyna. First, you talk all this shit about gangs and then giving me attitude since I first saw you. Shit, you gave me an attitude right when I sat down. And now, you’re asking me for a favor. Maybe food ain’t your thing, mamita. You should go for stand-up comedy.” “If I had any other choice, I would’ve took it but I don’t. So are you gonna do it?” Oscar sat in up in his seat, folded his broad hands, and leaned in close to you. “Protection ain’t free, mami.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head to avoid showing him that the look on his face kinda turned you on. Your fingers drummed on the table. “I know that. I’m willing to pay you for your tim-“ “Nah you not paying in money, hyna.” Oscar’s hands found yourself on the table and when you met his hands, you stopped thinking for a minute. You came back to your senses and removed your hands in disgust. “I rather have 99th street put a bullet in my fucking eye before I do that.” You hissed, gesturing to your left eye. “I don’t need sex from you, mami. Well, at least not now. But I need you to make it worth my while.” You shrugged your shoulders, completely defeated. “What do you want?” “How about you be my personal chef? Cook me and Cesar breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You do that and you, your employees, and your restaurant are under the protection of the Santos.” Oscar stuck his hand out to you. “Do we have a deal, mami?” You scowled at the man in front of you as he waited for your hand to meet his. To be honest, you rather slit your wrists than cook for him. But you’ll be cooking for Cesar too and you cared about Cesar. You knew he probably wasn’t having proper meals at home and you needed Santo protection. Fuck. You shook his hand. “You got a deal.” He slowly brought your hand to his lips, giving it a kiss, stood up, and left your restaurant. Simone emerged from the kitchen, staring at Oscar leaving and turned back to you, confused. “Wait what just happened?” You exhaled deeply, struggling to get your next words out. “I just made a deal with the devil.”

Tags: @cancerianprincess​ @drtycomputerx​

(whoever else wants to be tagged just let me know :)

[ricksbowen]

simply, utterly | pt. 4

IN WHICH: ricky makes your homecoming a whole lot better than you’d like to admit.

INSPIRATION: fair-weather friend — bruno major, prom queen — catie turner

A/N: i really suggest listening to fair-weather friend while reading this. i’m casting harrison osterfield as the harrison in my story because i love him, thanks

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7

“So that’s it?”

“Apparently,” Ricky groaned, hugging his pillow as he explained his situation to Big Red for what felt like the 5th time. He had explained everything, from the moment the both of you shared while singing to your words after both of you kissed. The redhead’s brows were furrowed in thought and his eyes were staring into blank space. He was thinking; that was never good. “Big Red?”

Big Red shushed him, murmuring, “I’m thinking.” A few more seconds of silence followed until the trance Big Red was in broke. “Yeah, I got nothing. You’re fucked, man.”

“I know!” Ricky stuffed his face into his pillow, letting out a muffled scream while Big Red patted his back. “Why do I like her?”

“That’s what I was thinking about. I thought you hated her, Ricky.”

“I thought so too!” Ricky yelled, his voice quieted by the pillow in his face. Big Red patted his back sympathetically, shaking his head to himself until an idea popped into his head. Immediately, he started hitting Ricky, a smile growing on his face while Ricky only winced at his hits.

“Hey— Red!” Ricky groaned, rubbing the area where Big Red hit him while Big Red ignored his complaints.

“Dude. Homecoming is coming up,” Big red exclaimed, eyes looking at Ricky expectedly. He expected a reaction to come out of him, a sudden realization at what Big Red was trying to imply, only to find nothing.

“Okay. So what?”

“So, you idiot,” Big Red drawled out, rolling his eyes at how oblivious Ricky could be. Did he really have to explain his genius plan? “You take her! Ask her out!” The encouraging grin on his face grew with each word he spoke.

“You’re aware that she wants nothing to do with me,” Ricky deadpanned, raising a brow at Big Red.

Big Red waved his worries away with his hand, blowing a small raspberry as he did. “Just ask her out! What do you have to lose?” Big Red asked, raising his eyebrows at Ricky as if he was challenging him to answer. Ricky already had an answer.

“My dignity.”

—

“Hey, Y/N.”

You turned to look over your locker, the cold look you had kept on throughout that day softening at the sight of Harrison, one of your classmates. You had him in your chemistry class in your sophomore year, when he nearly blew up your lab station because he added too much of one chemical. While Harrison began freaking out, you were practically crying from laughing— who would’ve thought that one of the jocks would react so badly?

“Sorry— I thought you were someone else,” you said apologetically, turning back to the things in your locker. Ever since the day you and Ricky made out, you had been avoiding him like the plague. While you usually went out of your way to mess up his hair or make fun of him, you found yourself making various turns in the halls just to try and avoid Ricky. You saw him try and reach you every time he saw you, yet you always got away.

You didn’t want to speak about feelings— especially when it came to Ricky. In a way, it terrified you to think of him in that way despite your want to think of him as anything other than an enemy. But you didn’t want to make things complicated; the deal was to return to your normal relationship after the musical. Nothing more, nothing less.

Life had been getting in your way too. Ej’s break up with Nini was unexpected, to say the least, and you found yourself sneaking into his room at night to comfort him and allow him to rant to you ( while you subtly called him stupid since you were the more honest sibling ). You had to be there for him.

You looked at Harrison from the corner of your eye, seeing the evident nerves that were coursing through his veins. Grabbing your things and slamming your locker shut, you looked at the boy up and down before speaking. “You’re nervous,” you stated blatantly, watching his eyes widen at your honesty. “What happened?”

“I wanted to ask you a question,” Harrison said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ( cliche ) letterman jacket.

From across the hall, Big Red patted Ricky on the back and shook him gently. “All you gotta do is ask her to homecoming. It’s simple, alright?” Big Red clapped him on the shoulder, trying to get him hyped up and less nervous. “Nothing to lose other than your dignity, buddy. I believe in you.”

“I can’t go right now,” Ricky protested, turning his head to look at Big Red. “She’s talking to someone— Is that Harrison Dupont?”

“The dude that looked like he fell out of a bad high school movie? The blonde one?” Big Red squinted at you and Adrien, eyebrows raising when he saw you nod and smile brightly at the jock. “Since when did she know him? I swear he’s always reminded me of Harry Osborn,” Big Red muttered to himself, watching as you laughed at a joke ( that probably wasn’t funny— Ricky was funnier ) he told you. You then leaned up on your tip-toes and kissed the blonde on the cheek, a subtle smirk making its way onto your lips. “Oh, shit.”

Hopefully Ricky didn’t see that.

Ricky definitely did.

He felt his heart sink when he saw the action, any small chance he had with you going down to the negatives as his shoulders slumped. Of course, you were serious about what you said after you kissed— you had always been the no-bullshit type. But some childish part of Ricky thought that you were joking, that you realized that you wanted him in the same way he wanted you.

He had to stop watching so many rom-coms.

“It’s okay, man,” Big Red mumbled, patting Ricky’s shoulder while Ricky nodded his head.

“You know what? You’re right. It’s fine,” Ricky said, as if he was convincing himself that it was okay when it reality it wasn’t. How could he think that he even had any chance with you? “I’ll just bring you to homecoming. It is your first dance.” Ricky forced a grin, bumping Big Red gently and ignoring the protests he tried to utter.

You had been enemies from the start— he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Might as well take his mind off of you.

—

“You’re going with Gina? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Says the person who said that she’s going with Harrison Dupont,” Ej deadpanned, fixing his tie in the mirror. He stood next to where you sat, your makeup strewn all over your table as you tried to put your makeup on. “You know that he’s a total di—“

His words were interrupted by Ashlyn, who was supposed to help you with your makeup ( until she gave up ). “Isn’t he that one jock? The guy that’s kinda like Harry Osborn?” Ashlyn asked from your bed, not looking up from her phone as she tried to find your homecoming date on Instagram. It only took her a few minutes, and for his page was the first that popped up. “No way do you know him,” she stated, glancing at you with raised brows.

“Is it really that hard to believe?” you asked, turning to look between Ashlyn and Ej. Both of them gave you nods in response, making you groan and turn back to your mirror.

Your hair was held up with a few white clips, a simple hairstyle that fit your dress: a rose red, a-line, spaghetti strapped dress that went above your knees. Your make up was simple, yet pulled your whole look together with rose red lipstick. Frankly, you thought you looked hot ( and you did ).

“All we’re saying is that it’s a surprise. You can barely exist next to most of the guys on my team without telling them to ‘fuck off.’” Ej gave you a pointed look through the mirror, his face softening when the sudden realization that you were growing hitting him at that moment. He felt like such an older brother as he watched you get yourself ready; you grew up so fast.

“You’re not one to talk; you’re going with Gina!” Ashlyn said, giving Ej a look. “Since when did that happen?”

“Just— Outta nowhere,” Ej mumbled, avoiding Ashlyn’s eyes as he looked at himself in the mirror. He had to be hiding something - he was avoiding the questions you and Ashlyn were throwing at him. “Can you do my tie? It’s just,” Ej sighed, his tie coming loose in his hands as he tried to fix it. “Not working.”

You tutted him teasingly, standing up to fix his tie. “East High’s own senior class treasurer can’t even tie a tie,” you tsked, grinning at him and laughing when he rolled his eyes. “I’ll add that onto the list of things I know that you don’t.”

“Must be a short list.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you laughed, Ashlyn and Ej letting out their own laughs at your words. You walked to your window, picking up the purse you planned to bring ( you really had nothing in it other than chapstick and mints ). Your eyes trailed up to the view from your window, immediately landing on Ricky’s dark window. Maybe he wasn’t going to homecoming. You didn’t know whether you felt relieved or disappointed.

But it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to homecoming with Ricky.

—

Ricky saw you walk in.

You were behind Gina Porter and your brother, and while you were usually the epitome of bluntness and independence, you almost looked shy walking into homecoming. Your eyes were searching for someone — Harrison, most likely — but instead of finding the tall jock, your eyes met his.

Of course, he had to sit at a table close to the entrance.

You played it off, rose-colored lips tilting up into a smirk that Ricky didn’t respond to. He was gaping at you, not-so-subtly admiring you to the point where Big Red nudged him.

“You’re drooling,” Big Red muttered, a teasing tone behind his voice while Ricky quickly averted his eyes from you. He saw you walk away from the corner of his eye, the breath he didn’t know he was holding escaping him. Ricky put his head in his hands, trying not to let out a yell. 

“She’s trying to kill me, I swear.”

The night went on. You sat alone, eyes on your phone as you tried to ignore the nagging feeling in your stomach.

“You too?” The familiar voice made you look up from your phone, a tight-lipped smile appearing on your face at the sight of an obviously heartbroken Carlos. You knew how he was feeling.

“Yeah. Where’s Seb?” you asked, watching as Carlos shrugged and picked at his nails. You knew they were going to homecoming together ( you called it from the start ), but seeing Carlos without Seb was odd. Seb wouldn’t stand up Carlos, would he?

“Not sure. I texted and called him.” Carlos sighed, the hurt evident in his face. He leaned forward in his chair, shifting his attention onto you. “How about you, Y/N? I can’t really imagine anyone wanting to stand you up.”

“Harrison Dupont,” you grumbled, listening to Carlos suck in a breath. Now you know why people reacted that way when you told them your date. Your eyes looked back at the entrance for what seemed like the hundredth time, the little amount of hope you had that Harrison would show up replaced with hope for someone else. “Carlos,” you said, a smile on your face as you nodded at Seb, standing at the entrance.

Without a word, Carlos stood up from his spot, walking to Seb and exchanging a few heartfelt words with him. You saw a smile creep up onto Carlos’ face, and you sighed in relief when they made their way to the dance floor ( of course ).

You wanted what they had, but Harrison wasn’t here. You continued to watch the crowd, a chuckle rumbling in your chest at Ricky and Big Red’s slow dancing and a hint of a smile tugging at the side of your lips at the sight of Ej and Gina dancing. But as your eyes wandered, it led you to an image that you didn’t want to see.

Harrison Dupont kissing another girl, his arms wrapped around her as they danced to the music.

You wanted to throw up.

You listened to the song end, sending a quick text to Ej about walking home as you grabbed your purse. You stood up from your chair, ignoring the stupid lump forming in your throat as you made your way to the entrance as quickly as you could.

“See? I told you it wasn’t that bad. The next dance you need to go to—“

“Ricky.” Big Red interrupted him, nodding in your direction as you made your way outside. He had just finished slow dancing with Ricky, ignoring the stares from the others around them. Ricky had nearly made him fall over his own feet while they danced, and Big Red almost body-slammed him into 5 couples when he twirled him. They were a mess, but it was fun.

Ricky shook his head stubbornly, shoving off the want to go follow you as he looked at Big Red. “No. I promised you a good time—“

“And you gave me one. Check up on her, man, I’ll be fine.” Big Red smiled encouragingly, motioning with his hands towards the direction you had gone.

With a grin that screamed, ‘thank you,’ Ricky ran out, head turning to look for you.

He didn’t find you until he saw you on one of the courtyard benches. Hanging lights were wrapped around the few trees, yet no one was around to see just how pretty it was. But you were there, head in your hands as you tried to get the image of your date and another girl out of your mind. You were shaking, and it didn’t take much to know that you were crying.

You never cried.

You were either going to punch him or say a comment to dodge his questions.

You felt someone sit next to you, and you immediately wiped the tears from your cheeks as you looked at who was sitting next to you. There he was: Ricky Bowen, pretending it was a coincidence that he found you outside and sat next to you on the same bench.

You sniffed. “If you’re here to throw me a pity party,” you said, voice hoarse from your crying. “Just go back inside.” Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence, more tears rolling down your face. You avoided looking at him, your eyes set on the concrete ground.

“I just thought you needed some company,” Ricky replied, listening to you scoff.

“I don’t need company. Especially from you,” you grumbled, wiping underneath your eyes and sniffing. You didn’t want him to see you like this; the oh-so-strong Caswell sibling, crying over a jock as if she had fallen out of a high school movie.

Ricky ignored the hurt your words brought him, simply choosing to nod his head. “You don’t have to talk to me,” he offered, looking up at the hanging lights. “We can just.. sit here. You can cry, I can just look at the lights.”

You raised your head from your hands, placing your chin on the palms of your hands as you let out heavy breaths. Silence followed Ricky’s words, the only sound being your sniffles and the faint bass from the dance.

“He was with someone else. He was kissing and dancing with her,” you spat, spite and hurt hidden deep within your words.

The sudden want to confess everything that had happened to him was too strong, your emotions controlling you as you stared blankly ahead of you. “I should’ve expected it,” you wiped the mascara from under your eyes. You chuckled humorlessly to yourself, shaking your head. “You probably think I’m stupid.”

“There’s nothing stupid in believing in someone,” Ricky murmured in response.

“I thought for sure that you’d come out here to make fun of me,” you murmured. “Especially since.. you know..” you trailed off, hoping that he knew that you were talking about the kiss the both of you shared.

“I don’t hate you as much as you think I do, Y/N,” Ricky said softly, his tone sincere as he looked at you. Your eyes were downcast, a useless way of avoiding his eyes like the plague. You felt guilty for pushing him out, for being too caught up in thinking about what you felt that you didn’t think about what you were doing to him. A small part of you wanted to go back to how they once were: arguing in classes and pissing each other off.

A huge part of you wanted to have your hands intertwined with his.

You looked at him with eyes glassy with tears, the faintest of smiles on your face. You had to have looked like a mess with your messy makeup and smudged mascara. But to Ricky, he had never seen you look so pretty.

“Do you want to dance?” Ricky asked, the idea leaving his mouth before he could catch it. He gauged your reaction, watching as you cocked a brow at him as if to silently ask, ‘are you serious?’ “It’s homecoming,” Ricky explained blatantly, shrugging his shoulders. “You deserve to have at least one dance.”

“What if someone sees us?” you asked hesitantly, watching Ricky stand up and take out his phone. He scrolled for a few seconds before choosing a song. ‘Fair-Weather Friend’ by Bruno Major began to play, and he offered his hand out to you.

“Then let them,” he said, and a smile lit up your face at his response. You took his hand, standing up and placing your arms around his neck.

You felt his hands hold your waist, his touch gentle as you both began to sway to the music. “I don’t know how to slow dance,” you confessed quietly, making sure you didn’t step on his toes as you both danced to the beat.

“Just follow my lead.” The chorus came around, and Ricky twirled you, your dress floating up at the move before settling back down. He pulled you flush to his chest, humming the song softly to you as you followed his movements.

Once the chorus came once again, a laugh left your lips as you tried to twirl him around. “Nice moves, Bowen,” you remarked, your comment lighthearted and making him laugh.

“I try.”

You both danced as if you had known each other for forever ( in a way, it was true ). Each small step and each small sway was performed as if you had been dancing with each other for years rather than playing a teasing game of cat and mouse.

You could tell the song was coming to an end. Your head was on his chest, your sadness gone and replaced with content. Quietly, and almost shyly, you mumbled, “Thank you for making this night so much better.”

Ricky could feel his heart pick up. He knew he was in too deep.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

—

TAGS:  @softpeteparker, @jointherebellion215, @l-tt-e, @broken-from-fandoms, @uwupxterparker, @room-3o4​, @eternaleviee​, @hobistigma​, @fangeekkk​, @wcnderwoo​, @myrandom-fandomlife​, @multifangorl​, @tomshufflepuff, @ggclarissa​, @decaffeinated-fangirl​, @religious-pizza-roll​, @rororo06​, @svelby-g​, @sarcarstic-space-weirdo​, @whoseblogsthis​, @hxney-bunches-x​

[kiribaku-queen]

Home [2/10]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Kirishima x reader

Fluff, angst, werewolf!au

Word count: 2.6K

A/N:

Summary: Being called the beauty of the clan isn’t as nice as it sounds. The beauty of the clan is supposed to exude confidence, power, and well, beauty. You were quite the opposite, only possessing one of those traits. Yet, the older you got, the more you fit into the role you were given. After your brother and all the boys of age come back from their training period, it was time to find a mate. But who will steal your heart? Is it Bakugou, the rising leader of the pack, or is it Kirishima, the personal guard?

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Today was finally the day. Two years didn’t go as fast as you thought it would but you are so glad it’s over. The whole pack stood outside the entrance, waiting for the newly trained men to return home. You’ve never felt more nervous and excited at the same time. Your brother, your best friend, and your boyfriend are going to come back as completely different people: for the best or the worst. Whether their personalities change or not, one thing is always consistent when these boys come back from training. They come back with sculpted bodies. The beefy arms, hard pecs, yummy six-pack, powerful, broad shoulders, shredded back, the thunder thighs? Ladies and gents, let’s not forget about those bootylicious buttocks. Now you’re not one to fall for looks but you’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t a plus. More than anything, you just wished Bakugou would come home already so that you can spend morning and night together.

You stood at the back of the crowd, regretting that you slept in on one of the most important days. How was Bakugou ever going to find you now? But thank god you weren’t standing there alone. Throughout those two years, you made a few friends that helped you become more confident and helped you fulfil the title of Beauty of the pack. One in particular helped you see the beauty in yourself as well as being your new best friend: Uraraka Ochako. After the boys left for training, three new girls joined the pack shortly after. They came from a neighboring pack with the intention of trying to merge so that we can become stronger together. Many were against the idea at first, but when the clan leader agreed, he let the girls stay so that they can get used to how the pack works. There’s no going against the clan leader, unless you want to get a real beating, so whatever he says goes. But that didn’t stop some people from talking and acting up. You didn’t really have an opinion on the matter, but when you see newcomers being spat at and talked bad about, you couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. They reminded you of yourself when you were younger. A rush of confidence hit you but as soon as you took a step forward, you stopped. Anxiety hit you as fast as that confidence came. You didn’t want to let that stop you because someone was in trouble. You took a deep breath with closed eyes.

If Kirishima and Bakugou can do this, so can you.

And as you opened your eyes, the rest was history. Nothing could separate the 4 of you. You helped them get accustomed to the way of life in the pack and in exchange, they helped you overcome your insecurities. They helped you see that despite being picked on at a young age, you never failed to forgive and be kind to them. Despite your lack of skill in some things, you never let failure get to your head. Instead, you worked hard until you got to where you wanted. Despite not being the skinniest girl around and being insecure about your looks, they helped you see that it didn’t matter if you didn’t look like everybody else. You became the Beauty of the pack because of how kind and sweet your personality is. And how your entire face lights up whenever you smile or how you just radiate good energy. Plus you started to like how your chubby cheeks added to your appearance. And, despite having all the insecurities and yet you still helped those that you didn’t know? Those are the best qualities to have and that’s why you are the Beauty of the pack. With this new profound confidence, you became a totally different person. You were happier, more social and emit even more beauty than before.

You waited at the back of the crowd, playing with your fingers. They should be here any minute now. Nervousness surged through your entire body but calmed down with a pair of soft hands laid on top of yours. You turn to see Uraraka gently staring into your eyes.

“Calm down, they’ll be here soon,” she comforted you. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“I know but they sure are taking their time coming back. You’d think they’d all be running down that hill like a bunch of excited, small children,” You pouted. She laughed at your remark.

“I’m sure they’ll come running once they see everybody. Are you waiting on someone in particular?” she asked. Ah, you realized that you never mentioned that you had a boyfriend. Everyone in the pack already knew that you two were destined to mate so it wasn’t mentioned in conversation.

“My boyfriend,” you answered shyly, “Why, are you waiting on someone?” you teased back, not expecting a real answer.

“I am actually! My fiancé,” she said while biting her lip to stop a smile from appearing. You could only look at her shocked and wide eyed. Fiancé? Since when? Who? She came after the boys left so who did she meet? So many questions were running through your head and before you could even get one question out, her phone rang. She was quick to answer. Only a few okays were exchanged before hanging up. “Whoops, gotta go. Father-in-law is calling,” she turned around to leave, but not before she gave you some words of encouragement. “Don’t forget! Unclench those fits, stand tall and relax those shoulders! Be excited not nervous! I’ll see you later!” And with that, she gave a wave and disappeared. You watched her run off in the direction that went straight into the heart of the town. Everything was forgotten when you sniffed the air and a flood of familiar smells entered your nose and a roar of cheering filtered in your ears, making your head spin. They were back.

You shimmied your way through the crowd, in hopes to find Bakugou first. The group of potential alphas walked through the entrance, and it was as expected: eye candy. Shaking your head and scolding yourself for looking at other men, and also taking a mental picture for yourself, but mainly to scold yourself, you tried to find Bakugou within the crowd. This was getting harder by the second because familiar members and loved ones were coming up to the boys, hugging and welcoming them back. You even tried to smell out his scent but this was proven to be difficult because all these different smells was too overwhelming. Your head spun left and right, body spinning in circles just to spot your favorite blonde hair. A pout laid on your lips and frustration was building inside you. Now you felt like the worst girlfriend because you can’t even spot your own boyfriend. You were about to give up and just wait until the crowd dies down before looking again, when you felt someone wrap their arms around your waist and their chest tightly pressed against your back.

“Looking for me, babe?” a hot breath whispered dangerously close to your ear. All the frustration disappeared and was replaced with pure joy. You turned your head and your eyes immediately lit up when you saw vermillion eyes staring lovingly back at you.

“Katsuki!” you screamed, jumping into him, arms embracing his neck while he hugged you tight around the waist. “I missed you.” You said, your voice small enough for only his ears. Your throat tightened as tears threatened to fall out. You missed him so much. His smell, his presence, his hot personality, his laugh, his smile, his frown, everything. You missed everything about it and the wait was finally over. His face was buried in the crook of your neck and he inhaled your scent.

“I fucking missed you so much,” he admitted. You two embraced for a while, just enjoying each other’s touch. Bakugou finally pulled away to get a look at you. He scans your body up and down and lets out a low whistle. “Is it me, or did you get even more gorgeous?” he smirks when you lightly hit him on the chest, embarrassed by his comment.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t! Looks like I’m not the only one who got an upgrade,” you joked. But were you joking? It was your turn to give Bakugou a good look and you the sight almost had you gasping. He was in a tight, black tank top which showed his rippling muscles. He might as well not be wearing a shirt because you could see everything. The shirt looks like its begging to be ripped apart from that godly body. His chest and shoulders got massively defined, his arms were twice the size you last saw them, but what surprised you the most was the tribal tattoo band that was wrapped around his shoulder. You poked at it, not believing that it was real.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, not realizing that you cursed. When you realized what you said, you quickly covered your mouth with both hands. Before Bakugou left for training, you never cursed. You even hit Bakugou whenever he did. But you were so used to the girls saying it, and eventually you ended up saying them, and now it was in your daily vocabulary.

“Woah, looks like somebody’s got a potty mouth,” Bakugou was genuinely surprised, but now he can tease you all he wants.

“Stop! It was an accident!” you swore. Now you’re going to have to watch what you say around him, or else he won’t live it down! But if he was going to tease you about it, you’d have to tease him right back. “You know, that’s not the only thing my mouth can do,” you looked straight at his lips and bit your lip. Bakugou cocked his eyebrow and a smirk slowly creeped up.

“Oh yeah? What can it do?” he challenged. He looked at your lips and started to inch forward. Just as your lips were about to touch, someone coughed loudly next to you. Both of you spun your head in that direction but had totally different reactions. Sero was standing there, arms crossed against his chest, a frown on his face and giving Bakugou a deadly glare.

“What did I say about being touchy-touchy with my sister?” he questioned. Bakugou only sighed and looked to the side. “If you don’t want to face your doom, do it in the bedroom,” he said dejectedly. Bakugou backed away for a second and you just jumped into your brother’s arms. Breaking his glare away from Bakugou, as soon as he laid eyes on you, his face glowed up. He caught you in his arms and spun your around, making you scream and laugh like you were a little girl again. Sero wasn’t a big as Bakugou but toned enough that it was still noticeable. He had an undercut that was similar to Bakugou’s. The only difference about Sero was that there was no tattoo.

“Missed me little sister?” he asked but he didn’t have to hear your answer. He already knew.

“Of course I missed you! Mom and dad will be so happy you’re back. They are already prepping a huge meal for your return!” you exclaimed. And now you were excited about food!! “I can’t wait to hear all your stories.”

“Trust me, there’s a ton. But I need to rest up first!” he took a step towards Bakugou and patted him on the back. “Take care of her for a bit?” he nodded in response which made Sero smile. He knew he could trust you around him and he wasn’t worried one bit. He turned to ruffle your hair and started to walk back home. Right when you thought that you were alone with Bakugou, another sigh could be heard.

“Man, what’s a guy got to do to get some attention around here?” you turned and another smile found your face.

“Eiji!” you ran up to him and immediately hugged him. He had grown his hair out quite a bit. Instead of spiking it up like he did before, his hair lay flat and he tied it into a ponytail. He was just as muscular as Bakugou with a tribal tattoo on the right side of his chest. Kirishima was a little shocked at first, but relaxed into the hug, hugging you back even tighter than before. If he hugged you even tighter, he swore you could hear how fast his heart was beating. Before it got too suspicious, he let you go and placed both hands on your shoulders.

“How has the princess been holding up?” you rolled your eyes.

“Wow, I really didn’t miss that,” you joked, but continued to play along. “The princess has been swell. She wasn’t lonely for she had made close companions and maybe replaced you two as thy best friends,” you mumbled fast towards the ends, hoping that they didn’t catch it but they 100% did. Their jaws dropped in disbelief and before they could bombard you with questions and tell you couldn’t drop and replace them, you started walking away. You didn’t get too far before Bakugou picks you up and slings you around his waist.

“Katsu!” you whined.

“Nuh-uh princess. No one can replace us. We are gonna bring you back to the palace so that no one can be your best friends besides us. Right, Kirishima?”

“Damn right! We’ll beat your new friends up cause they can’t protect you like we can!” And the entire walk back, both of them were telling their stories of their training, the fights they had and how much they missed you.

When the three of you arrived to Bakugou’s house, his father was already waiting there for you. Bakugou set you down and walked towards his father. When he was close enough, they both grabbed onto each other heads and connected their foreheads together. That was the manlier way of greeting instead of hugging.

“I’m home, dad,” he greeted his dad. He grunted in response.

“So?” his father questioned. You were confused by this question but Bakugou already seemed to understand. He nodded his head once which earned an approving smile and a pat on the shoulder. “That’s my son.” He said in a proud voice. The boys were away to train to see who would be come the next alpha leader. Turns out that Bakugou was deemed to take that position. Your eye lit up and you couldn’t be more proud of him. He waited his whole life to become the next clan leader and it was finally coming true.

“Now then,” his father continued, “Since you are going to become the next leader, we must start looking for a mate,” this comment caused both you and Bakugou to blush, leaving Kirishima in an awkward position. To save everyone from this awkward silence, Bakugou cleared his throat.

“About that, I-”

“And luckily, I have already found one for you,” Bakugou’s father said, sounding like he was proud of his decision. Bakugou’s face went from confusion to anger and Kirishima had to hold him back before he could do anything. You, on the other hand, could only open your mouth in disbelief, hurt could be seen in your eyes. What did he mean that he already found a mate for Bakugou? What about you? What about those two years that you spent together? What about the other two years waiting for him? For it to be wasted like it was nothing? Disregarding the many emotions floating around in the air, Bakugou’s father opened the door to the house and out stepped his fiancée. Bakugou still had a snarl on his face as he looked at the woman in front of him. He wasn’t thinking about anything, but you? This had to be a dream. Or a prank. Your fists clenched at your side, causing your knuckles to turn a deadly white, as you couldn’t believe at who was standing in front of you.

Uraraka Ochako?

tagged: @superblyspeedydragon

[youllneverknowrac]

Oscar Diaz-Bullet

For @lflores2008

Oscar was out for the night with homies and you decided what better way to occupy your time then going with Cesar to the Quinceañera tonight. You could use some good food, music, and company of other people-even if they were a bit younger than you. Which is why you were currently on the patio with some random freshman boy, you took pity on him when he was standing all alone. You didn’t want him to be the only person left out so you offered him a dance.

“Cesar!” You hear Ruby shout as you sway past him, everything after happening in what seemed like slow motion. One moment you were on your feet and the next you were on the ground, a blood curling scream wanting to escape your lips. However no sound coming out as your hands press tightly on your lower abdomen, not sure what happened.

“Y/N?! Shit. No, no, no.” You hear Cesar say as he slides right next your side, as do a bunch of other people. His shaky hands hover over you, unsure of what to do.

“It hurts.” You manage to get out,”What happened?” You ask, his face and voice being the only thing you could focus on,��Help me up, I want to get up.”

“No! You can’t, you have to stay still. You gotta keep your hands on your stomach.” He says urgently.

“My stomach?” You ask, your breathing growing heavier,”What happened?” You repeat, sliding your hands up so you can get a look at why they felt so wet,”Oh.” Is all you manage to get out, your body in shock.

“Y/N!” Cesar shouts and pulls off his jacket, taking over your stomach and applying pressure,”Just keep talking to me, alright? You gotta stay awake.”

“I guess I should have stayed home tonight.” You tell him, a small smile forming on your face. The pain drifting away as you feel your body starting to shut down,”Oscar would have been home soon. And I would have been in bed.” You choke, a bit of blood getting caught in your throat and coming out of the corner of your mouth,”He bought me this dress you know...can we go home and see him now?” You ask, your eyes fluttering shut and blackness being your new normal for a while.

~

You hear a slight beeping noise right in your ear and strong urge to drink water, your mouth felt so dry and your lips felt cracked. You open one eye at a time, fighting to keep them from closing again since you didn’t take too well to the dim lights above you.

“Hello?” You say with a shaky voice once you realize that you are in a hospital, the last thing you remember being when you asked a boy to dance at Olivia’s party,”Excuse me?” You ask a bit louder when you see a older lady walk by your room.

“Goodness! You’re awake.” She says shocked and uses the pager on her side to call for more people,”How do you feel?” She asks, rushing in and coming to your side,”Can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N.” You answer as she puts your bed into a sitting position

“That’s right.” She smiles and starts messing with your chart,body,Iv, and just everything around you. More staff joining her soon enough and doing the same.

“Can I please ask a question now?” You ask after a few minutes to everybody who stood in the tiny room.

“Sorry.” The gray haired doctor smiles sheepishly,”Of course you can.”

“Where’s my boyfriend? He should know I’m awake right?” You ask, understanding the fact that you were shot but still clueless as to what happened after that. Or if anybody you knew also got hurt or went out looking for revenge on your behalf. After all it had been a little over a month from what you were told, and a lot could happen in that time.

“Oh. Your boyfriend was already called sweetie, don’t worry I’m sure he will be here in no time. He was actually here just this morning.” A nurse informs you kindly,”He’s usually here at all hours but he rushed out of here so I’m sure it was something important that he had to go attend too.”

“Okay.” You smile in relief, the staff waisting no time in firing question after question once again and examining your body. When they are satisfied with your results they exit the room one by one, leaving you and your thoughts alone.

“Baby?” You hear Oscar as he rushes into the room.

“Hi.” You croak out, your eyes filling with tears as you take in his appearance. Oscar frozen as he stands in the doorway,”It’s okay. Come here.” You reassure him

He wipes his lower mouth, a sniffle coming from him as he blinks back tears, unable to respond as he slowly walks over. He kneels down next to the bed, being careful with all of the tubing and wires as he lays his head on your chest. Silence overcoming the room as you rest your hand on the back of his head, your fingers grazing his neck.

“Ozzy?”

“I just need a minute. Please.” He says, his voice muffled since his face was pressed against you. You don’t reply and just continue on with stroking his neck soothingly until he speaks again,”I can’t believe your awake mami. It’s felt like a life time.” He says

“I wish I could say the same, I feel like all I did was blink and...poof. Here I am.” You laugh dryly,”How have you been papi, honestly. I already talked to much about myself with the doctors. I just want to hear you now.”

“It’s not anything good.” He admits, leaning over you know and looking down at your face. His hand gently stroking your cheek,”I missed those eyes. I missed you. This past month has been more lonely and dark than usual.”

“I’m sorry.” You tell him softly, leaning into his touch

“You don’t have nothing to be sorry for so don’t ever apologize for any of this. Cesar is the one who should be sorry and apologizing to you.” He says, his eyes going hard at the mention of his little brother.

“Cesar? What do you mean? What did he do?” You ask in confusion

“More like what he didn’t do.” He scowls,”He never handled that Prophet. He lied to us and let the guy run off.”

“Boy.” You correct,”He let that boy run off. Cesar isn’t like you papi, he shouldn’t even be holding a gun.” You defend, already piecing together what happened.

“Don’t defend him Y/N. He’s the reason you are laying here. Both of those ‘boys’ are.”

“I told Cesar not to do it.” You admit,”I gave him the idea of giving the prophet a chance to run. I’m the reason I’m here. Me.”

“What?” Oscar says with a shake of his head,”Why are you even getting involved in that shit?”

“Because when you talk about it in our house, it becomes my shit.” You sigh,”I obviously didn’t think any of this would happen. I thought I would be helping Cesar...where Is he?”

“Don’t know, do you think I would actually let him in my house after what happened?” He asks

“Oscar, he’s a teenager. And your brother, please call him. I want to see Cesar, now.”

“Y/N.” Oscar says in disapproval

“Now.” You say more forcefully, Oscar caving in and pulling his phone out and writing a lengthy message. Pulling up a chair and sitting next to you after he sends it and taking your hand in his,”You can’t be upset with him papi. Promise me you’re going to make up with him.”

“It’s not just me though and you know that. He’s a member now, he’s got to do his part. The homies are mad, that prophet could have took revenge on them. Or one of their loved ones. That’s why it’s important to keep your word when you say you’re going to do something.”

“Then make them un mad.” You say simply,”They will listen to whatever you tell them and if they don’t, you make them. I’m the one that got hit with that bullet, so I get to decided who to be pissed off at. Cesar is not it.”

“Aight.” He says kissing the back of your hand,”you’re right. I’m gonna talk with everybody.”

“Thank you. I just want to focus on getting better and getting out of here.” You tell him truthfully.

“I know you do, you’ll be home with me...us in no time.”

“Let’s hope.” You smile and change the subject,”they just showed me a few pictures of my stomach moments after the surgery. It’s honestly not as bad as I thought it would look.” You tell him,”It should be all good by now. Let’s look?”

“Are you sure?.” He says unsurely,”You think it’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know, but I want to.” You reply, Oscar nodding and pulling the hospital blanket off of you before rolling up your gown,”Do I look like a monster?” You joke

“Nah, never that. It’s actually kinda sexy.” He says wanting to make you feel better.

“Yeah? I look like a sexy bad ass?”

“Always.” He chuckles, letting you sneak a peek as well before covering you up again.

This is how you spend the next hour or so, talking about anything and everything. Small touches here and there. Just basking in each others presence until a knock pulls both of your guy’s attention to the door.

“Hi.” Cesar says, staying afar like Oscar had.

Oscar quickly gets up and walks towards him, nobody talking as he pulls him into a strong embrace. Saying something to him and Cesar nodding in response before they break apart. Tears spilling from the smaller Diaz’s eyes as he walks over to you and once again much like Oscar, buries his face into you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant for you to get hurt.” He cries

“I’m fine Cesar. Look at me, you’re right here with me. We never know how things are going to work out, nobody could have predicted this. You know that better than anyone.” You soothe as you sit up higher and wrap your arms around him,”Don’t cry.” You whisper, Oscar coming around the other side and wrapping his arms around the both of you in comfort. Feeling content for the first time in a while as he holds the love of his life and little brother. Both of who he missed a great deal and was just glad to have you guy’s back. Knowing that soon enough you guys would all be home together.

[slashermom]

Affliction lll

Affliction l & ll

The sun was going down in the little town of Ambrose when you stopped by the service station. A cool breeze swept by and brought goosebumps to your skin as you peaked your head in the front door in search of the harshest of the Sinclair brothers.

“Bo, you in here?” You talked over the raging music and before you could take another step into the small building Bo’s head peaked around the corner to meet your gaze.

“Hey, you need somethin?” He stepped away from whatever he was working on, wiping his hands on a dirty red rag.

“No, I’m just going to be heading into town and was wondering if you needed anything while I was there?” You shrugged and watched him lean against the door and cross his arms over his chest.

“Well isn’t that mighty kind of you.” The corners of lips curving upwards and his eyes narrowing on you.

“What can I say? It’s just the kind of person I am.” Your tone was jovial and you threw your hands up in the air as if admitting defeat. Bo chuckled before pushing off the door frame and taking a couple of steps back into the garage.

“I think I’m all set. But what you can do for me is hand me my hat.” He motioned behind you to the counter where the dirty old thing laid abandoned. You turned on your heels snatching up the poor cap that had definitely seen better days and spinning back around to hand it to its owner.

“You should let me wash it. Poor thing needs a little TLC.” Examining it briefly before Bo fitted the hat back on to its rightful place on his mess of brunette hair.

“This here’s my good luck charm. I’m not gonna let you just wash all the luck out.” Bo was quick to shut down the idea and laughter bubbled up between you two.

The enjoyable moment was spoiled when you realized you were not alone.

A woman who couldn’t have been much older than you and Bo stood in the garage doorway. Blonde hair greasy and clumps of wax stuck to her strands and coated her back and shoulders. Her white blouse torn and pants dirtied no doubt from a harrowing escape. But her appearance wasn’t what held your attention, it was the handgun held tightly in grasp.

She had caught on that the two of you had seen her and the hand holding the firearm shot up and was pointed in the direction of you both.

“Woah, sweetheart. Why don’cha lower the gun?” Bo’s strides were slow and his tone was confident. A hand sweeping behind his back and motioning you to stay back and behind him.

“No! Not until one of you mother fuckers gets me a phone or a car!” Her demands were clearly non-negotiable.

“We’ll getcha a phone. Hell, I’ll pull my truck out and you can use the phone in the truck. But you gotta put the gun down.” Bo was a master bullshit artist and you knew it. But whether the woman believed it was a completely different story. You could hear the blood flowing in your ears, nerves eating you from the inside out as you prayed that she wouldn’t shoot Bo point-blank in the face.

“I-I-I know who you are! I know what you’re doing and I’m not gonna let you do this to anyone else!” Her threat radiated off the walls of the garage as a shaky finger squeezed the trigger. Bo‘s fine-tuned reactions were fast enough to dodge and snatch her arm and hold it high as two more shots discharged from the handgun. She screamed and thrashed in his hold before his elbow crushed against the side of her beat red face; dropping to the floor in a pitiful lump in front of him. Bo sighed, tossing the gun away from her body before turning back to you.

“Y/N, are you al-“ His throat went dry. His heart slamming in his chest cavity and legs turning to jello as he followed your arms all the way to the large hole that was ripped into your abdomen. Crimson fluid seeped out and trickled down your fingers, leaking on to the smooth concrete. A pair of glassy eyes met his and his jaw slacked, time stopped and it was just the two of you. Staring at each other in an attempt that if neither of you moved what was happening would stop.

“Bo?” Your back smashed against the workbench before you hit the ground with a deafening thud. He doesn’t even remember processing the thought to rush to you, he just immediately was by your side. Pressing calloused hands onto your wound as he tried to keep as much blood from flowing out as possible. Bo frantically looked around for anything, anything at all that could help you. Your slow, careful words startling him and bringing his full attention back to you.

“You have to take care of him for me, you have... you have to promise me.” It was a breathless and choked filled request. Bo had heard the same cadence from his victims when they were hanging on to their life by shreds. It was pitiful and not like you.

“What’re you talkin’ like that for? You’re gonna be just fine darlin’” He was panicking. He pushed harder on your stomach and winced as he heard you cry out louder. Bo screamed out for his twin - he couldn’t move you - not like this.

“Bo, please, for me.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes. Here you were, life leaving your body and you weren’t begging him to save you or to make the pain stop but to take care of Vincent. It was in those precious few seconds that Bo finally understood.

With that understanding, he decided he could do that, for you.

He nodded and swallowed hard. You smiled and his eyes followed the tears that streamed down your cheeks. You moved a hand from his and brought it up to his jaw, fingers softly resting there. Smearing your blood across his sun-kissed skin, Bo leaned into your frail touch and felt a sting spread up his whole body.

Not like all the other times you touched him, those were gentle and in a way bittersweetly euphoric. No, this touch stung because he knew this would be the last time he would ever feel your skin against his.

It was like watching the impossible happen as you pushed your final breath out in a pathetic wheeze. Your movements frozen and face dull, suddenly, you shared more in common with the wax resident of Ambrose than you did him.

“No, no, no.” He moved his hands from your stomach to your face, bringing you closer too him.

“Hey, Y/N, c’mon darlin’ look at me!” Bo was suddenly a helpless boy again, strapped down to a high chair thrashing as control was ripped from him. Bo told himself he was past that point, nothing will ever hold him down or be taken away from him outside of his own volition. But just like everything in his life, it didn’t go according to plan.

Bo began shaking you, begging you, pleading you, screaming out for you to look at him. Just look at him like you did when you first met, when you put stitches in his arm that rainy night, when you sat on the porch and laughed with him.

It didn’t make any sense as to why this hurt him as much as it.

You were never Bo’s to lose in the first place.

But looking at you, in his arms, reminiscing on everything you once were, Bo felt like he lost the biggest battle.

“Fuck! C’mon!” His screaming was strangled and painful, a familiar tone he had when he screamed at social services not to separate him from his brothers. Damming them all to hell as he was shoved into the backseat of a car and driven away from Vincent and Lester.

Through the panic and delirium, he didn’t pick up on the fast-approaching footsteps, too busy with fighting his mind on the right words to ask for your forgiveness.

He had failed you, just like he knew he would.

It was the clang of metal hitting the floor that brought Bo back. Angry eyes coming up to meet the sight of his twin, Vincent’s shoulders heavy as realization seeped into him. Bo slowly removed his large hands from your head, dragging the pads of his thumbs down your raw tear stricken cheeks and painting your face with your own blood.

He pushed himself away from your once life-filled body carefully before standing on two unsure legs. Vincent took quiet steps towards you, almost like you were asleep and didn’t wish to wake you. He slumped to the ground and collected you into his chest.

Bo’s legs seemed to have a mind of their own as he shuffled towards the gun that fired the bullet and effectively ripped your life from you. Picking it up and turning back to the woman who was slowly coming back to reality. There wasn’t room for a second thought before Bo aimed and the gun at her head and pulled the trigger, over and over again.

Each fire of the gun he saw your face.

Heard your laughter.

Felt your touch.

Then suddenly he felt nothing at all.

It was nauseating numbness as his mind turned into a blank slate. Maybe it wasn’t even numbness at all. Perhaps it was the overwhelming feeling of everything at once that was sending Bo into overdrive. After the gun was emptied into the woman’s skull and he let it fall back to the ground he didn’t bother to look at his twin as he muttered his next words.

“This is all your god damn fault, y’know that right?” Bo seethed. “She would still be here if you weren’t so fuckin’ useless!” Vincent didn’t acknowledge his brother, but he was taking in every single word. Bo finally turned around to face the tragedy that happened in a matter of seconds. Watching as his brother held you in his arms, his mask discarded at his side as he worked through how he could make this right.

“Clean up this fuckin’ mess.” He spat before turning back and leaving the service station to polarize this moment by itself. Bo didn’t get very far down the road before Vincent’s gut-wrenching cry ripped through the night sky like scissors through paper and shot up Bo’s spine like a strike of lightening.

It’s night like these that make Bo wish he never came back to this town.

[flywolfwriting]

Ok hi, I love your stuff! I was wondering if you could write a fic where teen Dean is being protective of little Sam (no incest!). Like, Sam came back to the hotel that they were staying at after school and he was all sad and stuff, and Dean managed get him to tell him why, and Sam told him it was stupid, but Sam admits that some kids were messing with him. John thinks that it's a normal part of life and laughs. But Dean got mad and protective. I would also love if you'd put some fluff in there!

Hi, and thank you, both for the compliment and the prompt! Also agreed, incest is not my shtick.  Hope you enjoy!

It had been a long day.  Sometimes Dean regretted dropping out of school; it wasn’t that he didn’t like learning, but dealing with all the normal people and watching them live out their lives completely oblivious to what was out there took it’s toll. It got worse after his stint in the boy’s home, when John abandoned him there.  Leaving was hard, but he couldn’t let Sammy grow up with their dad alone.

Now that he wasn’t in school anymore though, John would either drag him around hunting or leave him to babysit Sam. The latter usually meant he was at the library, staring at books until the words floated off the page – and then a little bit more.

At least at school he got breaks in his reading.

By the time Dean got back to the motel John had chosen for the boys he was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower, drink some stolen beer, and pass out.  Before he could do any of those things, however, the motel room door opened and Sam slipped in. His backpack thunked to the floor and he shuffled into the kitchen to rifle through the fridge.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean greeted, immediately putting on a smile for his younger brother.

“Hey,” Sam grunted.

“How was school? Did you pass your test?”

Sam dragged a soda and leftover mac ‘n cheese from the fridge and shrugged. “We won’t get them back until Friday.”

Dean’s alarm bells started going off.  Sam was refusing to make eye contact, instead staring at the floor while he heated up his dinner and kicked off his shoes. Rather than tuck them under the table he left them sitting in the middle of the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, dropping onto the couch next to Sam.

“Nothing,” Sam said.

The older Winchester nudged him. “C’mon, Sammy.  I know something’s up. Did you miss an assignment or something?”

Sam shook his head.

Dean waited another moment before poking him. “C’mon,” he urged.

Sam wavered for another moment before slumping back.  “Some kids at school were giving me a hard time.  It’s not really a big deal though.  I can handle it.”

“What, were they hitting on you? You know how to fight.”

“No,” Sam said, still not looking up.

“What was it?”

Sam stayed quiet, poking at his food and twitching one shoulder. “They were just saying some stuff.  It’s stupid. I’ll be okay.”

“You know you can tell me,” Dean hedged, but Sam finally looked up only to glare at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.  I can deal with it.”

Dean held his hands up in surrender.  “Okay, okay. But if you want to, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” Sam said.  He turned the TV on and sat back to eat his dinner in sullen silence while Scooby Doo played in the background.

His own day now far from his mind, Dean made an excuse and slipped outside to find a payphone.

“Hello?” John’s gruff voice answered after the second ring.

“Hey Dad,” Dean said, relieved their father had answered for once.

His voice instantly tightened. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, we’re okay, it’s just-”

“You know not to call unless it’s an emergency, Dean,” John scolded, and Dean flinched even though his father wasn’t there. “I’m trying to work.”

“I know, Dad, but Sam-”

“Is he okay?”

Irritation prickled up Dean’s spine.  He wanted to snap that if John would let him finish his damn sentence he would find out so much sooner, but years of drilling obedience and respect shut that thought down.  “He’s having some trouble with kids at school.”

“He knows how to fight.  He can take care of himself.”

“They didn’t beat him up; they’re picking on him. He won’t tell me what they said but he’s pretty upset.”

John snorted.  “You called me for a couple of middle school bullies? Dean, bullies are part of growing up. Sam’s fine.”

“But-”

“Enough, Dean,” John said, voice returning to drill-sergeant mode. “Don’t call me again unless somebody’s dying.”

The line went dead and Dean grumpily slammed the phone back on the hook.  “Not like you’d pick up if we were,” he muttered.

Sam was at the tiny desk scribbling in a workbook when Dean got back.

“I got ice cream,” Dean held up a grocery bag. “Your favorite!”

Sam glanced up and offered him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Dean peeled the lid off and snagged a pair of spoons before leaning against the wall by the desk and offering his brother the carton and a spoon. Sam accepted, and the pair shared the ice cream in silence for a while.

“I was thinking maybe I can walk you to school tomorrow,” Dean said, going for nonchalant.  “I could use the break from research, and-”

“I don’t need you to look after me, Dean,” Sam said irritably without looking up from his homework.

“’Course you don’t,” Dean said, “but I’m still going to.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Dean lightly thumped the side of his brother’s head with his spoon. “Don’t give me that attitude.  I’m your brother.  It’s my job.”

“Yeah yeah,” Sam leaned back in his chair with a sigh and met Dean’s gaze.  “I’m just being stupid.  I can deal with it.”

The brothers stared at each other for a few more moments before Dean shrugged and dropped his spoon on the table.  “If you say so.” He pushed off the wall, ruffled Sam’s hair around the younger boy’s attempts to ward him off, and headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and go to bed.  Wake me up before you leave.”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

 ----------

Dean waited just long enough for Sam to get around the corner before throwing on the first set of clothes he could find and following him.  He was careful not to let his little brother catch wind of him, but close enough to hear Sam saying good morning to a little old lady sitting at a bus stop.

“Hey!”

Dean flung himself against a brick building, hiding behind a trash can, but the voice wasn’t talking to him.

“I said hey! Samantha!”

Dean ground his teeth and forced himself to wait.  He peeked around the garbage and saw Sam at the far corner of the building, shoulders hunched and head down as he picked up his pace. Three kids surrounded him, coming from the side of the building Dean couldn’t see.

“Where’s your mommy, Samantha?” One of the boys taunted, jabbing him in the ribs.

Sam said nothing.

“Don’t you know?” another boy, the one who’d called out first, sneered.

Sam still didn’t reply.

“Bet his daddy’s downtown getting’ drunk while she’s off screwing an entire-” the kid didn’t get to finish his sentence, since Sam’s fist got in the way.

There was suddenly a lot of shouting and scrambling and Sam’s backpack ended up in the middle of the street while the first boy pinned Sam against the sidewalk and the other two started kicking him.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, sprinting down the sidewalk.

The kids scrambled back before he even got there, their leader kicking Sam once more in the head as a parting blow.

Dean managed to catch him and twisted his arm behind his back so he couldn’t escape while he helped Sam up.  “You okay Sammy?”

“Sammy?” one of the other boys, who were both standing a safe distance down the sidewalk, snickered.  

Dean pulled his captive’s arm a little tighter and the boy cried out.

“I’m fine,” Sam sniffed, wiping blood off his face and avoiding his older brother’s gaze.

“What are you kids doing ganging up on my brother?” Dean asked his captive, twisting his arm.

“Ow ow ow!” he shrieked, standing on tip-toe and leaning forward to try and escape.

“I said,” Dean pressed harder and the kid screamed, “why are you picking on my brother?”

“He started it!” the boy wailed.

“Try again.”

“Let him go!” one of the other boys shouted, taking a brave few steps back towards them.

Dean only had to shoot him a glare to quell the moment of bravado and the kid shrank back.

“Mighty brave of you, taking on a small kid three vs one,” Dean said.  “Don’t think you can beat him on your own?”

The kid squirmed.  “I can take him with my eyes shut!”

Dean surveyed the group.  All three bullies were sporting bloody faces and it looked like the first one Sam punched had a broken nose. He smirked.

“Let him go, Dean,” Sam pleaded. “We’re going to be late for school.”

“No,” Dean said.  “I have a better idea.”

He spun his captive around and shoved him towards Sam.  “You can take him with your eyes shut, huh? Go ahead and do it, then.  Just you two.”

The boy rubbed his arm, glaring at Dean and his brother. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Prove it then.”

“Dean…” Sam said.

Dean took his brother’s backpack.  “They’ve gotta learn not to mess with you,” he said.

Sam grimaced but lifted his hands into a half-hearted fighting stance.

The bully snickered and lunged forward.  Sam danced to the side and caught the other boy in the shin.  He yelped but spun around and swung a fist at Sam’s head. Sam easily blocked it and landed a firm blow to the kid’s ribs.  Dean heard a distinct crack.

The boy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he doubled over, wheezing and cursing.

“Bryan!” One of the other boys shouted. “Kick his ass!”

Sam looked up at Dean, who shrugged. This was up to the kid now.

“Get over here and help me!” the bully Bryan snarled.

The other two boys charged, and Dean folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Sam smoothly ducked around their attack, tripping one and sending the other careening into his downed friend. They bounced up and came again. Sam’s face set in determination, and within a few swift jabs and no small amount of crying, the bullies were backing off, trying to catch their breath and one holding the side of his face.

“Freak,” Bryan called over his shoulder as they ducked around the corner and vanished.

Sam slumped. “I’m going to get in trouble,” he said as he shook out his hand.

“Let me see that,” Dean said instead, snagging his brother’s hand and examining his knuckles. One had split and was oozing blood.  “Not bad,” he smiled.  “Why didn’t you lead with moves like that?”

The younger Winchester tugged his hand out of his brother’s grip.  “They insulted Mom,” he said.

“I heard.”

“The school is going to be mad.”

“Why? We’re not on school property, are we?”

Sam shook his head.

“Then they can suck it. Dad will be back soon and we can move again. Besides, those kids had it coming.”

“Yeah.” Sam picked up his backpack and brushed it off.  “I gotta go.”

“Hey,” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulder.  “You did good, Sammy.  I’m proud of you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s lips.  “Thanks Dean.”

Dean pulled Sam into a hug.  “Any time, Sammy. See you tonight.”

“Yeah,” Sam said again, waiting one more moment before pulling away and waving as he ran off.

“Love you kid,” Dean murmured as he watched him go, then headed off to find those kids and teach them a lesson of his own.

AO3

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Love me, love me not ~ pt. 3

03: When Grayson walks the red carpet

Summary: Grayson recounts the past week before walking the red carpet with Y/N and Ethan.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, SMUT

Word count: 3000

Love me, love me not ~ Series Masterlist

"Wait, so what happened?" Ethan was a little lost, finally getting the truth from his brother who had been rather coy for the past week. "You kissed her and Henry stormed off and through the paps and you went inside and stayed the night?" Ethan repeated the version the media believed, the one they all assumed considering Grayson was seen leaving the next morning, disheveled, his shirt missing a few buttons.

"Yeah. And then..." Grayson licked his lips, trying not to smile because he genuinely didn't know if there was anything to smile about.

"Bro, tell me! I've gots to know!" Ethan insisted, well aware he's acting like a fan instead of like his twin, but he was rather lost on number of things that happened in the past week and he needed answers. His attraction to Y/N may or may not be a big reason why, but hey, no harm in looking was his life moto.

"And then she closed her door and slapped me so hard I saw stars." Grayson licked his lips, wanting to continue before Ethan chuckled so loudly, a small squeal had made his laugh sound like a kicked puppy.

"And then she pushed me against the wall and kissed me even harder." Grayson continued, making Ethan's laugh die in an instant.

"She fucking kissed you?!"

Her hands ran up and down his chest as her lips claimed his - passionately, roughly, determinedly. Without a word, she started to unbutton him, her cold fingertips brushing his warm skin - until she lost patience and ripped his shirt open, pressing her palm against his chest as he broke the kiss.

"You stopped the kiss?!" Ethan exclaimed, unsure if he should let him finish the story or punch him in the face for missing out. If it wasn't clear by now, Ethan lived vicariously through Grayson.

"Wait. Y/N, are you sure?" Grayson breathes out, his own brain malfunctioning as she stepped back long enough just to pull her shirt over her head and give him a glare.

"Less talky, more kissy." She ordered, drawing a smile on his lips as she pushed him toward her bedroom, her lips reattached to his, her teeth sinking into his bottom one.

"So you actually? Like, you really - ya know?" Ethan winked suggestively, smiling like a goof who was very proud of his little brother.

"Wait. Hold up! Do you have a condom?" Y/N stopped herself, her brain working just enough to let some sane thinking push down on her incredulous desire.

Grayson groaned, his hands moving from her breasts to his face as he realized how unprepared he is. But he how could he have expected this to happen?

"Fuck." She cussed under her breath, pulling his briefs down.

Grayson's eyes snapped open, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched her cold little hands take his already hardened cock in her hand, her eyes hungrily inspecting it.

"What are you doing?" He chucked, unable to hold off the bubbling laughter of confusion and enthusiasm of having her touch him, feeling himself twitch on her palm.

"You'll fit." She smiled, leaning forward her body covering his entirely, naked completely and pressing in all the right places as he released a shuddered breath. Y/N reached her nightstand, pulling out an XXL sized condom, smiling victoriously as she showed him.

"You just have those lying around?" Grayson questioned as she shrugged, her thumb grazing over his sensitive, pink tip, making him shiver as a chill went down his spine.

"Gonna question it or gonna let me ride you until you can't breathe?"

"She dominated you! Oh my God, I love this!" Ethan threw his head back, tapping his legs on the ground as his arms crossed over his chest, laughing once again.

"Bro, that's not even the worst part." Grayson scowled, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

Heaving, Grayson could hardly get enough of the view on top of him - her beautiful mouth opening in pleasure every time she sunk down on him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her breasts bouncing as she speeds up, her hands placed over his chest to keep herself steady. She'd reach back with her left hand - fondling his balls every chance she could, prompting his loud, uninhibited moans that drew an honest smile upon her lips. He'd rub her clit every time she did so, returning the favor until she pushed his hand away and placed her own back on his chest.

However, closer to their high, Grayson had watched her move like a goddess on top - half convinced this is a wet dream instead of reality, giving his orgasm a chance to hit fully as he trusted up and into her, taking her by surprise as she gasped, giving her an unexpected release as she clenched around him.

And that's when it happened, a loud wheeze filled the room, forcing Y/N down from her pleasurable high much sooner than she'd like, finding Grayson unable to breathe.

"You had a fucking asthma attack?!" Ethan cackled, falling off his chair as the story pieced together in his head, looking at his embarrassed brother with a look of disbelief.

"She found my inhaler in my pants and we fell asleep soon after. I mean...there was cuddling, but I woke up alone. There were pancakes on the kitchen counter, her key left on a note - Didn't want to wake you. Last night never happened. Lock up after and keep the key. - and she was gone. I was supposed to drive her. Instead, I saw her two days later and only for a few minutes and we weren't even alone." Grayson slammed his head down in his desk, cringing at the situation, unable to decipher this girl he barely even knew.

"She rocked your world, got scared she might have killed you and decided never to fuck you again. That's what I think happened." Ethan's opinion didn't help. Hell, Grayson hoped it was anything but that.

Their relationship was already the talk of town, their first public outing later that night as the E! Choice Awards nominated the Dolan twins and they were expecting a win. But he wanted to know what to expect with her.

While he was getting ready, Ethan stepped in and opened the front door as she came in, all glammed up, her dress with her assistant who came along.

"Can we talk?" Ethan asked, a little serious which definitely didn't seem like him from what she could tell.

"Sure." She smiled, giving a small nod to her crew to leave them alone.

"You know." She deadpanned, aware how Grayson always said he and Ethan had no secrets between them. She also wondered how long will she be able to go on without them realizing she knows them a little too well for someone they've never met.

"Look, he's my brother and I love him, but his heart is in his penis and his brain in his chest and his head is just a bunch of butterflies and rainbows and unicorns. I get that your heart isn't in your vagina and having sex with him probably meant nothing, but he falls in love with every girl that smiles back at him and thinks he's found a soulmate in every girl who cares for him. Just, don't play with his feelings, okay?" Ethan's words left her speechless, he could tell just by a gentle flush of her cheeks that showed through her make up. He stunned her into silence.

"That wasn't my intention. I promise I'll be professional from now on. I wasn't quite in my right mind that night, so have no worry." She flashed a weak smile, passing by him as she got into the bathroom, getting dressed as well. But that's not what Ethan wanted. He expected her to admit she's into Grayson, or that she wanted something real, but she simply brushed it off and he knew Grayson will definitely be hurt by that.

Finally dressed, Y/N had walked to the middle of the hall, meeting a very handsome looking Grayson Dolan.

"Don't you look dashing in that suit!" She complimented, noticing the older Dolan come into view as well. "Both of you look incredibly handsome." She smiled widely, clicking her heels before dropping her gaze, realizing she's top excited and they might see through her.

"And you look stunning." Grayson smiled, reaching out and grasping her hand in his. He had never seen her all dolled up before. Well, not in real life. He didn’t believe she could get anymore beautiful, but oh, how wrong he was.

"I - uh, wanted to ask if you're free this weekend?" Grayson's shy attitude and shaky hand alerted her, but she remained ambivalent, her eyes losing the warmth from just a moment ago as she looked up at Grayson, trying not to remember how heavenly he looked under her - because he looked like pure porn in her mind, even fully dressed as he is now.

"Actually, I have to go to Paris." She excused, pressing her lips together in a form of a silent apology, her fingertips dancing along his palm as she hoped to withdraw her hand, but his tightened grip didn't allow it.

"That's what I wanted to ask you about. Louis Vuitton invited Ethan and me to attend and do a few photos and since you're supposed to be my girl, I thought to invite you." Grayson tilts his head right, his sort brown eyes doing much more damage to her than a thousand knives to a heart.

"Me too. So, lose the puppy dog eyes cause I guess we're attending together. Good chance to get to know each other before we get a few interviews in line." And while she didn't want to turn it into a business deal, the trip something that genuinely mattered to her, she had to find a way to explain why her finger twitched when her heart skipped a beat.

"Your hand isn't as cold anymore." Grayson remarked, quietly, almost as a whisper.

"When fire and ice meet, ice usually loses the battle." She shrugged, raising her eyebrow before nodding over her team to file out, opening the limousine she had rented for the three.

"We're going in style then?" Ethan fist bumped Grayson, happily sitting inside, screaming loudly in his excitement.

"You're gonna spoil him." Grayson fought to keep a smile at bay, glancing at her from the corner of his eye only to find her looking up at him.

"Gotta create some good memories for the children." And whether she knew it or not, the statement went straight to his heart. Grayson’s mind instantly crafted a picture perfect family for the two, shaking his head to stop himself from going overboard.

“Coming?” Y/N smiled, looking back at the gentle giant she tried hard not to let into her heart, wondering if she can do it when even at a few days mark, Grayson made her head spin.

“Yeah.” Grayson bit his lower lip, trying not to think about her asking him the same in bed, just a little differently with a sultry tone and hooded eyes and lot less clothes.

The drive was pleasant, Ethan and Grayson bickering about the Halloween decorations Y/N found ever so present this time around, their home looking more like a haunted house than an actual house. But she didn’t mind, simply watching out the window as she hoped she could put her mind at ease and get through the night without hiccups.

“We’re here.” Grayson’s warm hand on top of hers had brought her back to reality, the flashing lights already going off even with the limousine door unopened, her stomach knotting into an anxious mess as she accepted Grayson’s hand and let him lead her out.

A Dolan at either side, Y/N felt like the Belle of the ball. She couldn’t help but smile proudly, even a little victoriously as the crowd screamed as they passed the red carpet together, taking a few photos alone with Grayson as requested by a few photographers.

She was very aware of his arm around her as it pulled her close, his hand on her hip, giving it a light squeeze. He’d lean into her, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her temple, making her tingle with anticipation of something more - something she said she wouldn’t do again.

But then he spun her into his chest, her hand pressing against it as she looked up, finding his face rather near, inches away as his peppermint breath caused her eyes to water.

“And here’s the hottest couple in town!” Giuliana Rancic welcomed them after finishing up with Ethan, ecstatic to be the first to speak to them since they’ve been spotted together.

“Your dress is to die for!” She added and Grayson used the opportunity to help Y/N twirl, showing off all the best parts of her truly breathtaking look.

“Good to see you, Mercy. We’ve been missing you.” Giuliana continued. “And on the arm of such a handsome man. Tell us how you two met.”She pushed the microphone toward Grayson who looked like he’d throw up any moment now, despite his dapper smile. Y/N steered the microphone toward herself, deciding to save him as she actually had a story to sell.

“Well, after Ellen had gotten me to choose this hunk as someone I’d date, I found him in my Instagram messages the same night.” Y/N blushed, looking back at Grayson who just nodded, his hand on her hip giving more than just a reassuring squeeze - he held onto her for support.

“And she ignored me for days.” Grayson adds, chuckling.

“But he was persistent and well...look at him!” Y/N pointed at her date, giggling. “I was quite happy there was such a beautiful soul inside an Apollo as him. I genuinely didn’t expect to find someone who would have my heart a few hours into the first date.” Y/N wasn’t lying...not really. She was worried he had won her over and she was resisting him with every fibre of her being. Not that she had much strength to begin with after the public masacre she endured.

“You had me before we even met.” Grayson pecked her cheek, pulling her into his side as Giuliana gushed how perfect they seem to be and how she expects to be invited to the wedding.

Finally inside, Y/N had introduced the twins to dozens of people, all capable of furthering their career when the time comes. Grayson was patient with her, not bringing up their night, but he was on the edge - itching to say something - anything.

And he did...right after he and his brother had been called to the stage as winners for Social Star award.

“And I also want to thank my beautiful girlfriend for bearing with me and the crazy filming schedule Ethan puts me on - for giving me amazing days and...memorable nights.” With a wink, the two waved goodbye, leaving the stage as Y/N stood up and went backstage as well.

“What the hell was that?” She whisper shouted, stopping Grayson backstage, her eyes set alight with fury and mixed feelings about his insinuation. Sure, a rational part of her knew it was a good, strategic move on his behalf, one that ensures their lie can continue, but the irrational part - one she had frozen to death in her head and in her heart, the one that’s been hurt time and time again and had left her in shambles for letting people in too easily, for being too naive...that part of her wanted to scream at the man before her.

“I can’t pretend it didn’t mean anything. Angel, I can’t.” Grayson sighed deeply, feeling his chest constrict under her heavy glare.

“You need to learn to. This is a business transaction, remember? Nothing else. Sooner you get it through your thick head, the better.” She poked his chest angirly, huffing as she went to the bathroom to calm down. The rest of the night she was poise and composure, picture of elegance - as was he...no one could see his broken heart and hurt ego.

“You okay, bro?” Ethan checked in with him before bed, noticing he’s zoned out, mind elsewhere.

“I can’t do this, E. This is too much.” Grayson ran a hand through his hair, licking his lips.

“You can either accept her words or try and find a way to change her mind. I don’t think she’s the type to sleep with someone she just met and yet, she slept with you. There’s more to it, but I also think you should ignore it. She’s a mess - a beautiful mess, sure, but broken beyond repair. Probably best to just do your duty and get that audition and forget her.” Ethan reasoned, his words harsh but ringing truth.

But Grayson knew it would be impossible. Two days later, he’d be in Paris with her and while she was the main cause behind his throbbing headache and aching heart, she was also the one girl he believed would be perfect for him. And yes, he had thought so about a couple more before she came along, but this time was different - he felt it in every cell his body is comprised of, down to the twenty-one grams of soul he was given. He couldn’t give her up.

“If she’s a mess, I’ll help her clean it up and if she’s broken, I’ll fix her. She’s real and she’s a very complicated girl, but I want to know her. You’re the one who said nothing could go wrong.”

Ethan simply shrugged, deciding to let him be because he did say that and he didn’t want to admit he’s wrong for he underestimated Y/N and her charm and her ever enchanting nature. “It’s your funeral, bro.”

Tags: @xalayx @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @anything-dolan @peacedolantwins @maybgrayson @nowheredolan @graydolan12 @beautorigin @justordinaryjen @starrydolan @pitreshawn @grays-laugh

[dallas-owns-my-ass]

Something You’ll Regret

 Paring: Darry Curtis x Cousin! Reader

Summary: Reader gets jumped, and when the attacker says something about her mom (who died), she goes off on him almost killing him, and the only thing stopping her is Darry 

Warnings: fighting, blades, mentions of death, attempted murder, cursing, minor assault

---------------------------------

     7 pm. What was I doing on a Sunday night at 7 pm walking on the streets? Is walking to my cousin’s house even a logical answer, considering it was a high crime area and I was alone? I’ve done worse. I heard the rumble of a car engine, looking over my shoulder out of habit.  A blue mustang. That’s the second time it passed. I started to walk faster. It could simply just be a coincidence. Or they could be following me. I didn’t really feel like being jumped tonight, so why take the chance? The car continued to follow me. Shit. If anything happened, no one would be able to stop it. I was too far from the house for them to hear me scream for help. I didn’t even have my switchblade on me. I continued to walk with my head down, accelerating my pace even further.  The car came to a stop, and they all got out, walking behind me. I scanned the floor looking for a pepsi bottle, or anything, to fight them off with, but I found nothing. Just my luck. The one time I decide to walk alone, I get followed by Socs, forget my switchblade, and there’s suddenly no trash lying out on the streets. They caught up, forming a circle around me.

     “What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing out on the streets at night?” the one I presumed to be their leader questioned.

     “Yeah, you should know better than to walk at night, by yourself” another one continued. 

     “You never know what could happen to you.” the leader said, getting uncomfortably close to me. 

     “You look like a screamer. It’d be such a shame for no one to hear your cries for help.”he almost whispered into my ear. He started to kiss my neck roughly. I threw him off me quickly, and punched him, hard. 

     “You’re going to regret that”

     Within seconds they were all on top of me, punching, kicking, yelling. I tried my best to fight back, but I couldn’t. It was too much. I was never one to go down in a fight easily, but this time was different. There were five of them, and I was a little tipsy. The leader pinned me to the wall, but I kneed him in the crotch. Bad idea. He pulled out a switchblade and held it to my neck. 

     “You have a death wish, greaser?” he snarled.

     “Maybe” He didn’t like that one that much.

     “Watch your attitude with me. You forget I have the power to end your pathetic excuse for a life right now.” he pushed the blade deeper into my neck.

     “It would be a shame for you to die right now. Your cousins and the scum you call friends would find you dead, bruised, and injured on the side of the road, just like your mother.”

     It wasn’t really a secret of what happened to my mom. I was seven, we were in the car, a cop pulled us over, he shot her. He didn’t even blink an eye. No thought of the repercussions it would have, not that it would’ve effected him. It’s funny how something that only lasted three seconds can fuck up someone’s life entirely. It made news headlines. I’ve never been the same since then, and people have noticed, but not actually cared. Just was something to talk about I guess. But I was definitely not going to let this privileged, son of a bitch put dirt on my mother’s name. Not now, not ever. 

     I kneed him in his groin, roughly. He knelt down in pain, but reacted quickly. He took the blade that was on my neck and brought it down, cutting my leg deeply. I hissed out in pain, it burned as if the blade was on fire. I tackled him down onto the floor. We fought for dominance for a brief second, but I won due to the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I threw a punch at his jaw. I then threw another one, and continued to, the anger fueling me. I was about to knock this asshole out, not really caring if I killed him, but I felt a pair of large, strong arms pulling me off. I tried to fight back, but he overpowered me. I looked back, and realized it was Darry. 

     “Darry let me go. Now.” I demanded. I was going to let him get away. I was tired of taking shit from everyone. He didn’t listen, only tightened his grip. I struggled to escape his grasp, but found it impossible since he was a lot stronger than me. The Socs took this opportunity to run. 

     “Darry, stop. You’re letting him get away!” I continued to struggle against his grasp, which was probably going to result in several bruises on my arms. 

     “No Y/N, I’m not going to let you. I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret.”

     “Okay” I mumbled in defeat. There was no use fighting him anymore, I was tired, and the adrenaline started to wear off. And even though I hated to admit it, he was right. 

     He let go of me, but still held on to my arm, expecting me to run after them. But I didn’t. I unclenched my fist and realized I was holding his switchblade. I must’ve taken it from him during the fight. It all happened so fast... Eeh, it couldn’t hurt now.

     “Hey, puto!” I called. The Socs turned to look at me. 

     “You forgot something!” I closed the blade and threw it at the back of his head. Clunk. I was surprised I didn’t miss, they were about a block away. Darry just chuckled. 

     “All that football I taught you must be paying off, huh?” he joked, ruffling my hair, teasing me. 

     “They hit you pretty bad didn’t they?”

     “They got hit worse” I said, trying to go back to the joking conversation we were having a few seconds ago. I didn’t want to talk about what happened. I didn’t want to talk about how it happened, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about why it happened.  We stopped walking, standing right outside the house. He put a hand on my shoulder, a concerned look in his eyes. 

     “In all seriousness, are you okay? I mean... what even happened? They didn’t hurt you too bad... I didn’t hurt you too bad” he mumbled the last part. 

     “Look Darry, I don’t really wanna talk about it right now. And I’m barely even hurt, really. You were just trying to protect me.” he pulled me into a hug. 

     “Don’t do that again, okay? You had me scared to death. You know I love you kid. You’re the closest thing to a little sister I’ve ever had, and I gotta look out for you. You know, after that thing happened with your mom, I have to. She would’ve wanted me to. And I’m always here for you. Always. Anything you need, you can come to me, and I’ll be there.” I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I wasn’t used to affection in general, especially not from Darry. 

     “Hey kid, don’t cry” he said wiping the tear off my cheek with his thumb. 

     “Thank you Darry.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. All I could muster was some shitty apology.

     “If you didn’t come.. I don’t know what would’ve happened. It’s just that... you know he just... he just started talking about my mom, and you know how I get. And I know it’s not an excuse or anything but I just.. I cant take it when people talk about her like that... how they make it seem like a joke or something.” At this point the tears were streaming down my face.

     “I just miss her, you know. I miss her a lot.”

     Darry pulled me into a tight hug. He rubbed my back trying to comfort me. 

     “I know Y/N, I know. It’ll get easier I promise. And you don’t gotta thank me for nothing. I only did what brothers are supposed to do.”

     Brothers. That made me cry more. I don’t know why that hit me so hard. They always acted as they were my older brothers, but saying it aloud made it real. They were more than I could ever ask for in family, more than I deserved. They were all I needed to get by in this world. And in that moment, everything seemed to be okay. And that’s all that mattered. 

More Like This

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Real Ghostbusters: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,027

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Well guys I guess we're out of time,” Chuck addressed the fans in the same conference room as before. “So, thank you for your incredibly probing and rigorous questions, and have a good night.”

“Chuck!” you hissed, rushing on stage.

Everyone stared at you as you grabbed the microphone so that whatever you were going to say couldn’t be heard by anyone else but him. Sam and Dean were gathering the hotel staff and getting salt to trap everyone in here while you go deal with the very real spirit—or four.

“There’s been a murder,” you whispered.

“What? Holy crap,” he gasped.

The audience heard him say that which caused murmurs in concern to erupt.

“You gotta keep everyone safe in here Chuck. This is life or death.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, but please do it. We’ll try and work fast, okay?” you asked.

Chuck looked at you in the eyes, and he just sighed in agreement.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. Just do it. For me,” you nodded, leaving his side.

Leaving the conference room, you noticed Sam and Dean escorting all the hotel staff inside.

“Buddy, I got work to do,” the manager sighed.

“You're gonna want to see this, trust me. It's gonna be a hell of a show,” Dean smiled.

Once everyone was inside, he began laying the salt down in front of the doors to prevent any kinds of spirits to enter.

“So, new theory. The three boys decided to play a little too hard, they kill Leticia’s son, so she, in turn, kills them and then herself,” you laid down the line.

“If that's true it means we've got three bloodthirsty brats in the building,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah and Leticia was the only one keeping them under control,” you added.

“Smooth move on our part.”

“Yeah, well we gotta get back to the cemetery, and torch the kids' bones,” Dean suggested.

“How? We're trapped, and we don't even have our guns! The ghosts are running this joint and they're only scared of one thing.”

“Exactly,” you and Dean said at the same time, your eyes lighting up.

Dean didn’t have to wait to be told this, he opened the door, grabbed the ghost actress, Lila, and closed it once more while you made sure the salt line was still intact.

“What the hell?” she asked, shrugging out of Dean’s grasp.

“You saw that boy in the library, we know you did. We need you to distract the other spirts in this building,” Dean said, getting right to the point.

“You want me to do what?”

“You're an actress. We just want you to act.”

“I work at Hooters in Toledo. No, you can forget it.”

“You’re with us, you’ll be safe. I promise,” you said. A hand dropped on your shoulder, and you turned to see the trio that were dressed like you.

“We wanna help,” Tasha nodded.

“Just give her the puppy dog thing okay?” Dean whispered to his brother before approaching the two men and woman. Leaving the actress’ side, you headed over to where Dean was. “Guys, no.”

“Why not?” Barnes asked.

“‘Cause this isn't make-believe.”

“Look, we know. We're not nuts. We're fucking terrified,” Tasha nodded.

“Yeah but if all these people are seriously in trouble, we gotta do something,” Barnes declared.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“Because that's what Sam, Dean, and Y/N would do.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” the actress sighed.

“Okay, this is how it’s going to go,” you announced, gathering everyone’s attention. Sam and Dean let you take over since they trusted you to guide everyone to do their part. “Sam, Barnes, and Demian will get those doors open, go to the cemetery, and find the bones of the children. Burn them, okay? Tasha, Dean, Lila, and I will go into the library and distract them long enough for you to escape. It’s only a matter of you guys burning the bones before these ghosts kill everyone here, okay?”

“Break!” Barnes and Demian exclaimed as they rushed to the front door.

Sam sighed, but he followed them while you turned to Tasha and Lila.

“You’re going to great. Dean and I will be right there with you. Nothing is going to happen to you.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She entered the library hesitantly while you, Dean, and Tasha waited on the other side with iron pokers in your hands.

“I don't wanna do this,” Lila whimpered.

“We’re right here sweetheart, we’ve got your back. Trust me, this is going to work,” Dean encouraged her.

“Boys? Boys? Come here this instant,” Lila spoke, but nothing happened. She knew she had to give it her all if the ghosts were to come. “You come when I call you. You understand me?”

“Miss Gore?” one of the ghosts said, standing in front of her.

“You boys have been very naughty. Now you open the doors. Open the doors right now,” she said in a stern voice.

The ghosts flickered back, clearly worried and scared of her.

“Very naughty, you hear me? Naught, naughty, naughty,” she played the part.

However, at the last word, her phone started ringing and a hip-hop song began playing. Closing your yes, you sighed in frustration because you knew this was fucked. Tasha looked worried, but you held your hand up before walking in the room with Dean.

“Run,” he ordered.

Lila scrambled out of the room, and you were about to say the same thing to Tasha, but she looked like she wasn’t going anywhere. The three ghost boys raise their knives as they started to inch closer. Using their ghost powers, two of them threw Tasha and Dean into the walls. Dean lost his iron poker, and Tasha hit her head which knocked her right out. A ball of magic formed between your hands, and you threw it at the three little boys which was enough to distract them while you went to Tasha. Dean knew how to handle himself with ghosts, but Tasha could not if she woke up.

Sam rushed into the room at the last second, and he picked up the iron poker lying on the ground and swiped it through all three boys. Once they were gone, he helped his older brother off the floor while you got Tasha to wake up.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she nodded as she sat up.

Suddenly, Sam was thrown back into the far wall, and he lost the iron poker. All three ghost children appeared as they went to fight different people. Dean is pinned to the floor with the smallest of the boys, Sam was grabbed the by hair by the largest boy, and the middle boy came rushing over to you and Tasha. He had his knife out, and he grabbed Tasha’s hair to use it on her, but you stopped him.

Grabbing the boy’s arm, he counteracted the motion by letting go of Tasha’s hair and grabbing yours. Tasha couldn’t see it, but your eyes began to glow as you used your magic to keep the boy off you. He had a murderous glint in his eyes as he touched the tip of the blade to your scalp. Whatever Barnes and Demian were doing, they better do it fast. A split second later, all three boys went up in flames which meant the wannabe hunters did their jobs. Sighing, you leaned back to catch your breath.

All of this was a good enough distraction to keep you away from your headache, but it was back more than ever…

… and it fucking hurt.

Once the doors were able to open, emergency vehicles arrived to check out anyone that was hurt, and to take the German man’s body away. Dean was with Barnes and Demian, Sam was talking to Becky and Chuck, but you were with Tasha away from everyone else.

“Thank you for wanting to help with everything. Very brave of you,” you chuckled.

Tasha had her contacts out so they were her normal color, her jacket was wrapped around her waist, and her hair was in a ponytail.

“If it wasn’t for you, then I wouldn’t have done it. So, thank you,” she chuckled. “So, I never got your name.”

“Y/N. The real Y/N,” you admitted.

She stared at you but laughed because she didn’t believe you.

“Yeah, right,” she laughed, and you made sure she was looking at you before you did what you did.

Your eyes flashed bright blue, and that seemed to do the trick because she stopped laughing.

“See you around, Tasha,” you winked, leaving her side to walk to the car.

There wasn’t anyone around, and that gave you all the energy you needed to focus on the headache you still had. Flashes of Amara popped up in your head, and you mentally cursed at her to leave you the fuck alone. She was there to stay, and your breathing was picking up at how overwhelmed you were. It’s been a while since your last panic attack, but that didn’t mean they were gone.

“Leave me alone, please,” you whimpered as you started to pace the length of the car.

When you got to the tail of it, you turned only to see Amara standing there right in front of you. She was real, she was here, and she was coming to get you. Screaming, you backed away in fear as tears formed in your eyes. She reached out to you and grabbed your shoulders, but you screamed louder.

“Get away from me!” you yelled.

People started to stare at you from all around, but you blocked them out as best as you could. Blinking to let the tears out, you noticed when you opened your eyes, Amara was gone and Dean stood in her place.

“Y/N, it’s me. Calm down.”

“Dean?” you gasped in short breaths.

You were going crazy, and you really wanted this all to end. Dean knew there was only one way to calm you down when you were like this, and he pulled you in close. He wrapped his arms around your back, forcing your head to lay over his heart.

“Listen to my heartbeat, Y/N. Follow its beat,” he said in a calm voice.

The steady beat of his heart was loud in your ear, and it took everything in you to focus on it. Dean slowed his breathing down so that you could follow it, and when you got yourself semi-under control, you began crying in his arms.

“She’s everywhere, Dean. I see her in my dreams, I’m seeing her when I’m awake. I don’t know what she’s doing to me. I don’t know what to do,” you cried.

“Hey, listen to me,” he said, pulling away to look at you in the eyes. He wiped the tears on your cheeks in reminder to get you to stop crying. “I know it’s scary, okay? I wish there was something I could do to make it all go away. When we get out of this town, we’ll contact a witch or someone who can help get her out of your head. Maybe Cas can help. Maybe Gabriel. All I know is that I’m going to take care of you okay? You don’t need to be afraid when I’m around, okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffled, looking down in shame.

Dean knew you were going to be alright, so he kissed your forehead and brought you in for another hug.

“Hey! I got a lead on the Colt,” Sam announced as he approached the car. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Where’s the Colt?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Sam said, getting into the front seat.

Dean muttered something to you before opening the back seat.

“Get some rest, okay?”

He shut the door once you were inside and climbed into the front seat. He turned the car on and peeled away from the hotel.

Chuck watched as Dean drove away, and he couldn’t help but give a solemn look.

“Oh, Amara, what are you doing to her?” he muttered to himself.

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[inactiive-shit]

Life As A Sanders

LAAS Masterlist

Read On AO3!

Part 5: Lunchtime Battles

((Previous))//((Next))

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: broken arm, bullying, fight

Pairing: Familial DLAMP

Words: 4,205

Summary: School is alright. It really, really is. Logan likes it and Virgil doesn't, and when you add them together, that makes it alright.Some days are just...worse than others.

Age: 8

Chapter 5, here we are!

“You can’t climb that tree,” said the little boy who was nine years old. Virgil looked up at the tree and nodded in agreement with a boy he usually avoided. There weren’t enough branches on the tree, and they were way too far apart. They’d never make it up, and even if they did, how were they supposed to get back down? It was an impossible task.

“Don’t be widiciwous,” Logan said. Well, snapped. He’d been arguing with Trevor about different things all day now. First it was how to pronounce green (Trevor insisted that you had to draw out the ‘E’ noise because there were two of them. Logan said that wasn’t prati-pracl-practil? Something that started like that.), and then it had been about whether a marker was blue or purple (Logan got mad when Virgil tried to find a corpo-compis-compro- an in-between and suggested blurple. Evidently, that was not a color, either. Figures.), and then it was a bunch of other things too, and Virgil just wanted to go home to Daddy so he could take a nap and make some cookies and play dress up and maybe even play with the make-up Missy let him see sometimes.

Virgil had also been hoping that Logan would just leave Trevor alone once recess started so that he could read his book and Virgil could catch ants and caterpillars and grasshoppers to show Logan and Logan could spew off a bunch of facts about them that Virgil had probably heard a million times before. And it had begun like that, and Virgil relaxed because Trevor wasn’t very nice usually, and Virgil would rather say nothing than talk to Trevor.

Logan would say that didn’t make sense because Virgil said nothing most of the time anyway.

Virgil realized quickly that Logan starting things wasn’t what he should’ve been worried about. It was, in fact, Trevor who had come up to their quiet area on the curb and begun taunting them again. And somehow, Virgil wasn’t sure when, they’d all ended up in a different area of the playground with a bunch of Trevor’s friends. Virgil was holding a grasshopper in his hands, looking nervously at his brother. Logan’s book was clenched tightly under one arm, and Virgil was worried that the spine would break and then Logan would end up crying again, like last time when Virgil had accidentally dropped Logan’s dictionary on the floor and it had cracked the spine.

“You can not climb that tree!” Trevor yelled at Logan. The group of kids was giggling behind their hands.

“I can too!” Logan shouted back, looking about ready to weaponize his book against Trevor.

“Prove it!” Trevor demanded. Logan froze for a second, looking up at the tree.

“L, c’mon. Please. I think I saw a really cool spider over there,” Virgil mumbled, pulling at Logan’s sleeve. A girl standing near him squealed when he said spider, and Virgil did his absolute best to ignore her. The other kids thought it was weird that Virgil liked bugs, and that Logan knew so much about them but wouldn’t touch them. Dad said they should just ignore them and do what makes them happy, and Logan didn’t seem very bothered by it, but Virgil very much was.

Logan shoved his book into Virgil’s arms. It was dark blue - Logan’s favorite shade of blue, which is why he was reading it, though he’d never admit that to anyone but Virgil - and it said Alice In Wonderland across the cover in shiny gold letters. It was a bigger book than Virgil would normally read, but Logan had no such reservations about whether he could pick up the books he read or not.

“I’wl cwimb it!” Logan snapped at Trevor. He shook Virgil’s hand off his sleeve and approached the tree. Virgil watched silently, wishing he make Logan stop it and come look at an inch worm with him. He was going to fall out of the tree and get hurt. Or embarrass himself.

Really, thought Virgil, why not both?

Logan approached the tree with the confidence of an eight-year-old who knew everything (meaning, every eight-year-old with the possible exception of Virgil, though he did have his own moments of hubris.) Logan proceeded to jump up, and his fingers barely scraped the lowest branch. He glared up at it, and tried to just stick to the tree with one hand while reaching with the other. He still couldn’t quite get there.

“V, he’p me,” Logan muttered, still straining. The rest of the kids were giggling even more now, and Virgil really didn’t want to contribute to Logan getting hurt, but Virgil also knew that he couldn’t just not climb the tree after he said he would. He’d be embarrassed in front of all the others, and maybe they would make fun of him for that, too.

So Virgil went to the tree and curled up on all fours with the book cradled between his chest and his knees. He knew that Logan would kill him if the book got damaged at all in this whole ordeal. He let the grasshopper, Mrs. Legs, go. He didn’t want to accidentally squish her. Then, Logan stepped onto Virgil’s back, and Virgil’s spine felt like it would snap under the pressure of Logan’s hard shoes. The weight disappeared and Virgil looked up. Logan had pulled himself onto the first branch, and was now far more easily hoisting himself into the tree.

Perhaps the branches weren’t as far apart as Virgil had thought they were.

“You cheated!” Trevor yelled, and he pushed Virgil over as he stomped up to the tree. “You cheated! You cheated!” he chanted. Virgil sat up from the ground, glaring at anybody who looked like they might join in the chant. Virgil wished Percy was with him. She was a lot better at talking to people and standing up for the people she cared about.

Then again, Percy probably would have egged Logan on.

“I did not!” Logan called from a hundred feet high. “You never-” Logan screamed as he fell out of the tree. Lo hit the ground with a crack, and he was still whimpering and crying. Virgil rushed forward to see Logan, and the rest of the kids scattered.

“L? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Virgil tried to sit Logan up, but he screamed again, and Virgil almost started crying, too. He backed up a little, but put a hand on Logan’s back, trying to remember what Dad did when Virgil got hurt.

Usually, he would kiss the boo-boo, and then he’d get a bandaid. So, Virgil just had to find Logan’s boo-boo, and he could kiss it better. He didn’t have any bandaids, but maybe it wouldn’t need one?

“Lolo? Are-are you hurt?” Virgil mumbled. This time, Logan let Virgil sit him up.

“Muh-my uh-uh-arm hu-uwts, V.” Tears ran down Logan’s face, and Virgil wanted to help him, but he couldn’t quite staring at his arm.

His arm wasn’t supposed to bend like that, was it?

“We-we gotta get a teacher,” Virgil said quietly.

Together, they stumbled to a teacher, and the teacher looked terrified. After that, it was a blur of activity that Virgil and Logan didn’t quite follow. Logan cried the whole time, and then there was a really loud, white car that came up and two grown ups who jumped out and then they were putting Logan in the back of the car, too. Virgil tried to follow, but they were pulling him back, and then Logan and him were both screaming. There was about a minute of pure terror when Virgil and Logan thought that they were going to be separated.

Eventually, they let Virgil get in too. It was stressing Logan out too much, they said, and it would just be easier to let both boys go. As he was pulled in, Virgil vaguely remembered that Dad told him he wasn’t supposed to get in a stranger’s car, but it was too late. Virgil couldn’t just leave Logan in the car by himself, besides. Virgil was Logan’s older brother, and he was supposed to protect him.

When they got to the hospital, Dad was there, and there were tears in his eyes, but he just held Logan’s hand as they rushed him all over the place and a lot of stuff happened. Virgil wasn’t sure what exactly was happening, he just knew that it was bad. Logan was hurt and he was crying a lot still, and Virgil decided right then and there that he hated hospitals.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Dad finally took them home, Logan was sleeping and there was a weird blue cast on his arm and all of his tears had dried up. Dad didn’t say much on the way home, and Virgil didn’t mind. He was really sleepy too, he just had to make sure they got home safe before he could sleep. Nothing else could happen to Logan today.

This was already Virgil’s fault.

Dad carried Logan in, and Virgil followed on his heels. Once Logan was cuddled up on his purple pillow, Virgil looked at his Dad.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Dad jumped, and when he faced Virgil, he looked tired. There was a smile on his face, though. Things couldn’t be that bad if Dad was still smiling.

“Yeah, kiddo. He’s gonna be just fine.” Dad hesitated. “His arm was broken, Virgil. So he’s going to have to wear the cast for a while so that it heals right. Do you understand?” Virgil nodded. He thought he understood. It made sense, anyway. “Okay. Virge, you said he fell out of a tree. Do you know why he was climbing it?”

“He said he couldn’t do it, and they were fighting all day, so Logan got mad. He-he-” Virgil was starting to breathe funny, and he thought he might cry again.

“It’s okay, kiddo. It’s alright. Just take deep breaths. I’m not mad, Virge. I just want to know what happened, okay?”

After a couple minutes of Dad calming Virgil down, Virgil finally told him. “Trevor kept starting fights with Logan all day, and then at recess, he said that Logan couldn’t climb the tree. But Logan was really mad, so he did, and I helped him when I knew he would get hurt and I shouldn’t have I’m really sorry I-”

“Woah woah woah.” Dad put a soothing hand on Virgil’s back, and then he picked him up and carried him to the kitchen. Dad set Virgil on the counter, something that drove Logan insane, and started preparing some ice cream. “Virgil, listen to me. What happened is not your fault.”

“But I-”

“No, Virge. You might have thought Logan was going to get hurt, but you didn’t know. And if Logan was angry, do you really think he would have left the tree for anything?” Virgil shook his head. “It’s not your fault, kiddo. I promise. Logan doesn’t blame you, I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself. Logan was going to climb that tree either way.” Then, Dad smiled. “Besides, kiddo, you got Lolo to the teacher and you stayed with him the whole time and kept him calm. I’m really proud of you. You did really good.” Dad handed Virgil a bowl of ice cream in a suspicious shade of blue with cookie dough in it. “It’s alright, Virgil. You did the best you could, and you protected your brother. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you.”

Virgil ate his ice cream a little too quickly, and he got brain freeze part way through. But he knew the quicker he ate, the sooner he go see Logan. Even if Logan was still sleeping. Virgil didn’t really care what Logan was doing, he just wanted his brother.

By nine o’clock, Virgil had crawled into Logan’s bed with his blankets and pillow. He snuggled up to Logan’s not-broken arm, and Logan curled toward him. They stayed in that position all night.

As a matter of fact, Logan did not go to school for the rest of the week (two days) (despite his protests. Logan liked school, for some reason). Virgil refused to move from his spot by Logan’s side, bringing him toys and books and games and whatever else Logan wanted to pass the time. They both got tons of make-up work which Logan rejoiced in completing and which Virgil debated the merits of not doing at all.

Come Monday, though, they were both due back at school. Much to Virgil’s relief, Trevor didn’t say anything to them. For the most part, things were peaceful. They did math and they did some reading, and then, right before lunch, the teacher had everybody line-up so they could sign Logan’s cast with sharpies. Despite the fact that Logan did not want everybody to sign his cast with sharpies.

But the teacher said he had to be nice or something of the sort, and while Logan heartily disagreed, he didn’t get much of a say in the matter. So he stood, mostly without complaint, and let the other kids write weird things on his cast that were probably meant to be funny in whatever nonsensical language it seemed all the other kids spoke. He didn’t quite get it, and he really wasn’t sure if Virgil understood it or not, but he and Virgil had their own language, so Logan didn’t really feel like he was missing out on anything important.

Finally, when it was all said and done, the teacher took their class to the lunch room. Virgil and Logan always sat together, and sometimes Johnny or Maddie or Gina sat with them. Logan liked those days a lot because Maddie knew more about dinosaurs than Logan did and Gina always had really cool snacks she shared with them. Johnny usually made a giant mess of his pudding, and it always made Virgil laugh so hard he cried.

But today it was just Logan and Virgil. Virgil was helping Logan open containers and eat his food, and forgetting to eat his own food in the process. Once everything was set out, Logan pushed Virgil back to his own food and demanded that Virgil eat, too. Logan felt very lucky that Virgil didn’t have to feed him because it was his right arm that was broken. Logan, unlike Virgil, was left-handed, which tended to make life harder. At least this didn’t change that much.

Logan was eating the grapes Dad had cut in half for him, and listening to Virgil mumble about math under his breath. He wasn’t a fan of multiplication, but division made absolutely no sense. They said it was like multiplication, but backward. You can’t do multiplication backward! That’s not how it works.

Normally, Logan would be reading while he ate, half-listening to Virgil’s rants. However, it required all his available appendages to eat.

Actually, that wasn’t quite right. His legs weren’t doing anything important. If he really tried, he could hold his book open with his feet. But then he’d get shoe prints on his book, which was unacceptable, really. Especially after what had happened to Alice in Wonderland last week. So he’d have to take his shoes off. That might work, but would he be able to eat if he was staring at the ground? Probably not, and Dad always said that he shouldn’t hold his food over his books.

While Logan wondered whether going shoeless was worth the cost, Virgil had stopped mumbling about math and was looking over at Trevor, who kept looking at Logan and laughing. Virgil wanted to make Trevor leave them alone, but he wasn’t sure how. Words didn’t work with morons - that was Logan’s favorite word to describe Trevor. Dad was horrified that Logan would call anybody that and that Logan had even known the word. Lo didn’t say it in front of Dad anymore. Virgil also knew he could never fight Trevor. Trevor was tall; a lot taller than Virgil, who was rather small for their age. So was Logan.

Virgil got so lost in his thoughts about Trevor that it took hearing a sniffle to pull him out of it. He looked over at his little brother, and Logan was staring down at his cast with tears in his eyes. Virgil was immediately alarmed.

“Logan? Does your arm hurt?” That’s what Dad had been asking Lo all weekend, and Virgil figured that it was a good place to start. Dad was really good at making things better, and knowing what was wrong.

Except, Logan didn’t say anything. His lips trembled like he was going to start crying, and he showed Virgil his cast. Virgil started reading all the words on it, and then he saw it. The shaky, nasty handwriting that said ‘your stuped.’

Virgil knew exactly who had written that.

“You’re not stupid, L,” Virgil mumbled, pulling Logan into a hug. Logan sat and trembled against Virgil, blue cast that Logan had liked so much resting awkwardly on the table, as far away as Logan could get it.

Logan wished he hadn’t climbed the tree. He wished he hadn’t fallen and that it hadn’t hurt so bad and he wished that Trevor would just leave him alone. Logan wished he was at home with Dad instead of at school.

“It’s okay, Lolo,” Virgil said. He let go of Logan when he started squirming, and he gave Logan his napkin. Logan wiped his face off, and stared at the words branded into his cast.

Then, suddenly, Virgil was getting up and walking down their table. Logan watched after Virgil, shocked. They weren’t allowed to get up during lunchtime, and Virgil never broke the rules. He was too scared of getting yelled at. Not anymore, apparently, because Virgil didn’t hesitate to walk right up to Trevor, and Logan knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“You called my brother stupid and you made him fall out of a tree. You make fun of him because he can’t say some of his letters right,” Logan barely heard Virgil say. Virgil was glowering at Trevor, and Logan had never seen him so mad. “I hate you,” Virgil hissed. Then, he jumped on Trevor.

It took approximately five seconds for the lunch monitors to notice the brawl Virgil had initiated and in those five seconds, things hadn’t gone great for Virgil. Trevor was so much bigger that Virgil hadn’t ever had a chance, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t give it his all. While Logan watched, stunned, a word came into his mind to describe his brother: feral. He’d learned it recently, because Virgil wanted to pet stray cats and Dad always wanted to pet dogs on the street, but they weren’t allowed to pet the feral ones. That meant they were wild, and they could hurt you.

Logan jumped as a couple of teachers pulled them apart. Virgil’s lip was bleeding, but he kept struggling and hissing against the teacher, trying to get back to Trevor, who actually looked scared. They were both pulled into the office, and Logan ran after them. The teachers didn’t even try to stop him. By this point, they knew better than to separate Logan and Virgil.

Logan did his best to make sure Virgil was okay. When they said they’d be calling their parents, Virgil had immediately become so scared that Dad would be mad at him that he couldn’t breathe. Logan didn’t know how to help, but he got as close to Virgil as he could and, when that wasn’t close enough, they had moved to the floor. Logan and Virgil sat on the floor of the lobby, curled up together, and waited for their Dad to arrive.

It turned out, Virgil had nothing to be afraid of. Once all three boys, Dad, and Trevor’s parents were in the office, the principal asked what happened. Trevor immediately tried telling everything in his own twisted way, and Virgil didn’t say a thing. After Trevor’s over-dramatised (Logan learned that word from their teacher, who liked giving him ‘challenge vocabulary’ because Logan was smart) retelling, the principal looked to Virgil.

“What do you have to say, young man?” And Virgil said nothing. He stared at the principal, eyes wide and face pale, and he didn’t say a thing. Logan knew sometimes it was hard for Virgil to remember how to talk, and that sometimes the words Virgil needed weren’t there. So Logan opened his mouth instead.

And promptly got shut down.

“I was asking your brother,” the principal said, silencing Logan. And then Dad got involved.

“I’ll thank you to be a little kinder to my children,” Dad said quietly. Then, he crouched in front of Virgil.

“What happened, kiddo? I’m not mad, but I need to know what happened, okay?” Virgil nodded.

“H-he. . .he wrote on-uhm, he-”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” shouted Trevor’s dad. “The boy can’t even speak. He attacked our son, and our son defended himself. It’s as simple as that. Quit dragging out all this nonsense!”

Dad spun around and stood so quickly Logan almost got whiplash. ��Do not speak to or about my children like that.” Logan had never seen Dad look so mad before. Not when Logan and Virgil got in fights, or when they broke something, or when something went bad at the bakery. Logan had absolutely never seen the look on his Dad’s face on his Dad’s face before. “You will let him speak, and he will take as much time as he needs.” Dad turned back to Virgil. His voice was much softer when he said, “What happened, Virgil?”

“The-the teacher muh-made everybody sign-they signed his-cast? And-and he wrote something m-mean,” Virgil whispered. He went quiet again, and Dad directed his eyes toward Logan.

“Can you show me, kiddo?” Logan nodded and lifted his cast, pointing at the offending phrase. Dad leaned down and read what was written there. His eyes looked angry, and Logan had to remind himself that it wasn’t directed at him.

“Logan, is this the same boy who made you fall out of the tree?”  Dad asked. Logan nodded. “Is this the one who was making fun of you earlier this year?” Logan nodded. Dad faced the principal, and looking back, this would be a defining moment for Logan. This is the moment that Logan realized his Dad was not always happy and was, in fact, very very capable of anger. When retelling this story to an older brother and a younger brother he does not yet have, Logan would describe what Dad did as ‘raining down the fires of hell.’ Because, at the end of that meeting, Trevor was no longer in their class, Trevor’s parents had tried to pay for half of Logan’s doctor bill and been denied on account of the fact that Dad did not want anything to do with them. Virgil was suspended for the rest of the week, as was policy for first fights, and so was Trevor. Dad hadn’t objected to the suspension, because they shouldn’t have been fighting, but he also defended that his son had been protecting his brother in the only way immediately available.

At the end of the day, things had turned out okay. Virgil wasn’t in trouble at home, and though Logan wanted to, he wasn’t allowed to stay home with Virgil. He brought Virgil’s make-up work home everyday, and they both got a very stern talking to about fighting once they got home that day.

When Virgil did finally go back to school, he was a bit of a celebrity amongst the other kids, and especially with the ones that Trevor had targeted. Trevor didn’t bother either of them or anyone else for the rest of the school year, and his mom got a new job that summer and they moved away. Logan was glad that he never had to see Trevor again, and he was glad that Virgil didn’t either.

Things did calm down for them, and everything went back to normal, but better. Logan wasn’t getting picked on anymore, and Virgil had drawn on Logan’s cast so that the words Trevor had written were covered up by a whole galaxy. So were a lot of things the other kids wrote, but Logan hadn’t wanted those on his cast to start. It looked a lot cooler now, he thought, even if the purple glitter glue was a little overboard.

When Virgil and Logan looked back on this story in their history, and when they told anyone else what happened, no one quite believed that their Dad, happy pappy Patton of the Sweet Stuff bakery, had torn their principal a new one for the bullying they had tried to put a stop to before. And no one quite believed that Virgil, anxious and quiet Virgil who never really got a handle on his words, could’ve said all that or gotten in a fight. Even to Virgil and Logan, sometimes, it seemed surreal. But it was real, and it was one of the many times in their lives when their family had come through for them.

Logan wouldn’t trade it (or them) for anything.

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