#...actually paula i don't remember if you like dirty talk

[zmediaoutlet]

femme

Title: femme Link: (AO3) Square Filled: Feminization Ship: Sam/Dean Rating: E Tags: Established Relationship, Bunker Era, Feminization, Dirty Talk Summary: Rummaging around the internet, Dean finds a kink he hadn't seen before; Sam explains, and demonstrates. Word Count: ~4500 Created for @spnkinkbingo

The stitches on Sam's shoulder are holding, though they're an annoying stinging distraction whenever he reaches for his beer on the nightstand, or tries to get a new one. Dean's got the slowly-warming twelve-pack planted between them on the bed and Sam could probably drag it closer if he wanted, but it seems like a lot of effort, just now. They're holed up in a wildly sketchy motel on the outskirts of Spartanburg and it's been a long enough day that he doesn't so much care if he gets blood spots on their scratchy sheets, especially with how the rude old woman at the desk had frowned through renting him the king-size room. Even so—

"Dude, stop pulling your stitches," Dean says, giving him a quick backhand to the belly. Sam sinks back to the awkwardly stacked pillows with a huff, and Dean grabs a fresh beer for him, twisting off the cap before he hands it over. "That's fine work I did, don't be messing it up."

"Don't sell yourself short over there," Sam says, rolling his eyes, but he tries to settle more comfortably anyway. The mattress is an old one and he doesn't even want to imagine what other stains it might have under the covers, but maybe he shouldn't add to them. Anyway, Dean always bitches if he has to re-do stitches, bitches more about Sam bleeding on him, and he might as well avoid that headache, too. He takes a swig of the beer and sighs at the television. Shark Week reruns, because Dean insisted after they got to take out a bunyip inexplicably lurking in Georgia and both got soaked to shit in the lake, and Dean's got a perverse sense of humor, sometimes. They're both stripped down to their underwear, after peeling out of their wet clothes and rinsing off the mud and blood and lakewater grime, and Dean's got the heater on but it's still kind of cold in here. Sam keeps letting the chilly beer bottle glance against his bare belly and then has to hiss and pull it away, resting it against the blanket instead. Dean's not even paying attention to the TV, just screwing around on his laptop on his side of the bed, though when Sam went to change the channel during an extra-goofy great white attack reenactment he got another smack and an are you kidding? this is the best part!, so he keeps suffering through it. Maybe he'll go for a fourth beer.

Proof that Dean's not paying attention: "Wow," he says, under his breath, and Sam glances over to see him—

"Are you kidding," Sam says, on a sigh.

Dean's hand flashes up to close the lid on the laptop, ancient reflex, before he grimaces and lets Sam see it. It's not like it's the first time he's caught Dean looking at porn, although they usually aren't actively in bed together. "I was just looking something up," Dean says, sort of defensive.

The site he's on is full of just—ass, semi-artistic pictures one right after the other. "I can't even imagine what the question was," Sam says. He shifts on the pillow, ignoring another sting from his shoulder blade, while Dean scrolls down, clearly fascinated. The pictures are focused enough that it's hard to tell if they're looking at women or men, all high full muscle waxed perfectly smooth. Pretty, either way, and Sam licks his lips.

"Perv," Dean says, and then grins when Sam gives him a look. "Okay, yeah, fair." He scrolls down more, and there's a picture all bent-over, a wet shine in the shadowed valley and a hand pulling the cheek open so they can see, and—wow is right.

"This is better than your usual," Sam says. It really is, enough that there's a swirl of warmth down in the pit of his belly. He swigs down the last dregs of his beer and puts the bottle on the nightstand, mutes the TV while he's at it. When he turns back Dean's on a picture all in black-and-white, the model arched and legs spread so that there's no obstruction to the hairless hole, just a glimpse of sack down below, and Sam bites his lip. The man's wearing polish, nails perfectly manicured and painted dark as he wraps his fingers around the back of his thighs, and—it's just a really, really good look.

"I was looking something up," Dean says again, almost stubborn, but when Sam glances up his ears have gone all pink.

The laptop's covering him up, but that flush is a telltale sign that Sam's known since he knew what his dick was for, and he starts to thicken up, just like that. "What was it?" Sam says, eyes now glued to Dean's profile. "Prettiest asses on the internet?"

Dean rolls his eyes and slides the laptop over to the nightstand on his side of the bed, swings off the mattress onto his feet. "You know that's not it, they don't have a picture of me on there," he says, popping up his eyebrows before he heads into the bathroom, and—well. He's not exactly wrong.

The bathroom door's still ajar between them and Sam can hear him taking a piss, echoey and loud on the grimy tile, and while he has the opportunity he leans over the wide expanse of the bed, his stitches pulling painfully at the stretch, and fetches the laptop, dragging it back over to his side. God, those are some nice pictures. It's not a porn site Sam recognizes. Certainly not one of Dean's usual—he goes for the cheesy stuff, videos of bouncy tits and big-dicked guys and lots of spray tan. He scrolls up, and now that he's getting a closer look he can tell that all of the models are guys. Just subtle tells, in the way their hips are built, the shape of muscles in their backs. None of them, still, as gorgeous as Dean, though there's no way Sam's going to mention that. He's smug enough as it is. Still, he wants to know how Dean got here, especially if he's going to try to be coy about it—and it's just a few clicks, through the browser history to a clumsy search, and he smiles when he reads the question.

The running water in the bathroom stops and Dean comes out, wiping his hands on the hips of his boxers, and he frowns when he sees Sam's holding his laptop. Sam raises his eyebrows at him, and reads aloud: "What's a 'bussy'?"

"Don’t start," Dean says, hands on his hips. "It's not like I know what the kids are saying these days."

He's still sort of flushed, pink high on his cheeks and ears, and Sam lifts his chin, beckoning him over. He comes, of course, even if he rolls his eyes. He knees up on the bed, bare thighs flexing prettily, and Sam slides a hand up one leg, gently tickling the fine, sparse hair. "Did you get your answer?" Sam says, his thumb slipping up under the leg of Dean's boxers.

Dean blinks at him, still knelt up high, and then shakes his head after a second. "Got distracted," he says, voice gravelly, and yeah, Sam can see the bulge of his dick, not quite soft.

Sam pushes the case of beer out of the way with his foot, down to the bottom of the bed, and lifts the laptop up, and when he tugs at Dean's hip with his other hand Dean shifts over easily, swinging his thigh over Sam's to sit heavy in his lap, his hands rough but warm on Sam's stomach. Sam puts the laptop on the bed next to them and opens a new tab, types an address in one-handed. "What, are we doing show and tell?" Dean says, eyebrows high, and Sam shushes him.

It's not like it's Sam's go-to kink. That's just—Dean, more or less, and he's had a lot of years to come to terms with how weird that is. He's run across this, though, in jerk off sessions through the years, and even if it's not his favorite it works for him. "Bussy's a dumb word for it," Sam says. He rests his free hand on Dean's smooth side, slides his thumb along the soft skin under his waistband. He hits enter and then watches Dean's face while the site loads, and—

"What the hell," Dean says, almost under his breath. He's sort of frowning but he's not looking away, and something in Sam's stomach lurches hot when he sets his teeth in his bottom lip.

The site's all sugary-pink, sparkles and bubblegum. Skinny pretty boys in pigtails and little dresses, dicks swelling up through their panties. "Boy pussy," Sam says, finally, and slides his hand up the leg of Dean's boxers to get a firm hold on the plush curve of his ass.

Dean blinks, his hips pushing back automatically against Sam's hand. He shifts his weight, his knees denting the mattress on either side of Sam's hips. "That—seriously?"

Sam taps the pad, clicks randomly and gets a scroll of preview pictures, more prettily made up boys smiling for the camera. He can't believe Dean hasn't run into this kind of thing before surfing for porn, but then Dean's always been sort of vanilla. It was a shock, when they finally started sleeping together. Sam had to pry and wheedle and finally get him drunk to pry the fantasies out of him and they were all the tamest stuff—picking each other up like we're strangers and remember how you had that soccer uniform and what if we backseated it, like high school? They were hot, because Dean was the one asking for them, and Sam happily obliged but he's never really pushed them further. What they've got, it's good. Even so—this, Dean flushing dark red as another boy hides his little dick and opens his mouth wide for the camera, this is—something.

"Got the name memorized, huh?" Dean says. He darts a glance at Sam, looks back at the laptop's bright screen. "You come here often?"

Sam smiles, kneads the handful of Dean's ass he's still holding onto. "Sometimes," he says. Dean's dick is chubbing up, in his boxers, obvious and pressing out the thin fabric where he curves left. His shoulders are broad, always have been, and even if his chest and stomach are a little soft, the curve of muscle in his arms and thighs isn't. There's no way Sam would ever, ever mistake him for a girl. He sits up more, lifting off the pillow, and presses a kiss against Dean's collarbone where there's that little spatter of dark freckles. "It's kind of hot, right?"

Dean's hand goes to the back of Sam's head, his fingers sinking into his hair, holding on while Sam leaves a soft line of kisses leading to the hollow of his throat. "Uh, I guess," he manages, but he's still hard and getting harder, pressing into the lowest part of Sam's stomach, and Sam licks over his collarbone and then sets his teeth in it, applying just the lightest pressure. "So, it's—crossdressing?"

"Not just that." Sam turns his head, squeezes Dean's ass while he taps again at the laptop and goes to a different part of the site, and it's asking for money now but there are more pictures, boys with completely smooth fronts in their skirts, boys leaning over with a plug pressed deep inside, keeping them open, giving heavy-lidded looks over their shoulders. "The whole thing's more like—being pretty, and available. Knowing that you're going to get fucked and that's all you want, all you're good for."

He pulls back, so he can see Dean's face. He's still red, but there's something sort of uncertain around the tilt of his mouth, and Sam frowns and puts his hands on Dean's hips, squeezing a little to get his attention. "Hey," Sam says, and Dean looks at him, his eyes dark. He rubs his thumbs in little circles over the softness of Dean's belly, just above his waistband, soothing just in case. "Too weird?"

Dean bites the corner of his lip, then dips his head, and Sam gives him the kiss he's obviously looking for. He's got two days of stubble and it's a familiar comforting scratch against Sam's skin, his arm strong when he curls it around Sam's neck and holds on. Sam keeps the kiss gentle, just small licks and presses with their noses brushing comfortably together, and Dean murmurs Sam against his lips, and then in between the close moving of their mouths he mumbles, disjointed, "I wore panties once."

Sam sucks in a breath so sharp he almost chokes. When he pulls back enough that his eyes won't cross Dean's still blushing, his eyes closed tight, and Sam grabs his hips hard and says, "Tell me," and Dean stumbles out a story: some girl, when they were still kids, sweet-talking and dangerous, full of ideas, and she made him do it. Sam's stomach clenches hot like a fist. That's how Dean says it: "She made me," head ducked and voice quiet, like it's something dreadfully embarrassing and terribly dirty. God, just the image, just the idea of it, goofy vanilla Dean doing what he was told, liking it, but keeping it a secret even from Sam for a decade and more. Sam shoves the laptop further away and flips them, gets Dean on his back and leans over him, blocking him from the lamplight, his thighs spreading around Sam's hips, and he kisses him hard, then, filling Dean's mouth with his tongue and scraping his teeth over his lips, and Dean just gasps into him and takes it.

"Were you pretty?" Sam demands, once he can bear to pull away. Dean blinks up at him, almost dazed, and Sam shoves back on his knees, grabs Dean's boxers and tugs. "Come on, get these off," he says, and Dean lifts up his hips and Sam yanks them down over the generous swell of Dean's ass, his mouth getting wet when Dean's dick swings heavy and slaps against his thigh, gorgeous pink in the gingery-dark of his pubic hair. That's not for now, though—he puts himself right back between Dean's legs, grinds his hips down into the cradle Dean makes for him, and gets a hand on Dean's jaw, makes him look Sam in the face. "Tell me, tell me what it was like."

"They were—they were pink," Dean says, voice cracked and deep, "and kind of silky, and she said I was—pretty as a girl."

Sam groans, imagining—Dean at nineteen, so beautiful Sam would rub himself raw in the shower every morning over his mouth and his body and his perfect skin, wrapped up in pink—yeah, he bets Dean was pretty, and he keeps his grip on Dean's jaw and starts a slow rhythm with his hips, pushing his still-covered dick up against Dean's, and he says, low and almost nasty up close to Dean's mouth, "That's because you were a girl, weren't you—pretty as a picture, I bet. Had anyone fucked you yet, back then?"

Dean shakes his head, no, and Sam smiles at him. "No, course not, because that was me, wasn't it. I was the first dick in this pussy, huh," he says, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut and gasps, but his thighs drag up against Sam's hips, too, he gets his hands on Sam's sides and digs his nails in like Sam's already fucking him and—oh, god, why aren't they already fucking—

"Sammy," Dean says, dazed and breathy when Sam has to fumble over the side of the bed, ripping through his duffel to get the sticky tube of lube, and then he says it again deeper when Sam shoves his boxer-briefs off his hips, his dick swinging out heavy and throbbing already.

Sam gets his hands on Dean's meaty gorgeous thighs, pushes them out wide so the tendons strain and says, "Let me see your pussy, baby, give it to me," and Dean mutters oh my god but he grabs behind his knees, helps pull himself open, and Sam kisses him for it, licks in easy to his gasping mouth as he gets his fingers all sloppy-messy with lube and smears wet all over the crack of Dean's ass, pushing in with no preamble, no asking for permission. Dean grunts, deep in his chest, and Sam starts fingering him open right away with his mouth running crazily, saying the nastiest sweetest things he can think of against Dean's lips, into the furiously blushing shell of his ear, like there's a good girl and yeah, opening up that cunt all soft for me and are you going to be good for me, sweetheart, are you going to let me in, let me get inside you and Dean moans out loud, his body scorching and his hips flattened out into Sam grinding his fingers into his sweet spot, and Sam finally can't wait another second and he slicks his dick perfunctorily with the hand that had been inside Dean and then feeds himself in, the tight heat of Dean a shock in the base of the belly, watching Dean's face to see the startled wide spread of his eyes and lips before he moans out loud, breath hot in Sam's face, a long wild groan as Sam sinks in right to the hilt, no stopping, no waiting for him to adjust.

"Perfect," Sam says, and Dean drops his grip on his legs to wrap them around Sam's waist, one hand clawed into the pillow and the other wound into Sam's hair, keeping him close while he stares up, watery edge to his pretty, pretty eyes. Sam kisses the inside of his forearm, keeps his eyes locked on Dean's while he grinds into all that threatening wet, barely pulling out, hips churning, and then he leans in with his elbow planted hard next to Dean's head, tracing Dean's bottom lip with his thumb, and he mumbles out all low and close: you're doing so good, baby, your pussy's perfect, so wet for me, huh, god, does that feel good? You like that? You want me to fuck you like this all the time? Dean groans out like he's been punched and Sam starts to fuck him for real, hips and nuts slapping nastily loud against Dean's ass. He puts his head down and sees Dean's dick just drooling wet all over his stomach, so much there's a trickle sliding down his side, and Sam drags his hand through it and then wraps his hand around Dean's dick and says into his ear, "You've got such a pretty clit," and Dean gasps, "Fuck, what the fuck, Sammy, jesus christ—" with his voice shivery, his nails raking over Sam's shoulder, his hips flinching up up up into Sam's thrusts, and god, he's winding up, Sam can feel him clenching, ready to blow, and he hauls in his control and nails him as hard as he can where it counts and he breathes out, come on, baby, be a good little wife and give it up for me, and Dean makes a choked noise in his throat and comes like that, his heels digging into Sam's thigh, his ass, his breath coming so fast it sounds like he's hyperventilating. Jesus, he's the hottest thing Sam's ever—Sam puts his head down to Dean's shoulder and plants his hands on the bed and hammers home, lets go, and even though Dean's shaky and shuddering he keeps his thighs wide and his hips up, his hands slipping on Sam's sweating back, and he puts his lips against Sam's hair and makes a soft punched noise when Sam unloads into him, slides up to hold the back of Sam's head while Sam breathes out hard and pulses, hips working out the last of it, feeling like his spine turned to liquid and he's just pouring it all out into Dean's waiting, willing body.

"Fuck," Sam says, rolling his forehead against Dean's shoulder, and picks up his head to find Dean red-faced, his lips dark and dented with teeth-marks, his eyelashes wet as he blinks up at Sam. Jesus. Sam's dick flexes, pulsing again deep inside, and he knows Dean must feel it from the way his eyelids flicker, and Sam says, "God, Dean, you're so—" and he drags himself up on weak arms and cups Dean's face in both palms and kisses him, his hips still gently rocking. Dean lets him, mostly breathing open-mouthed against Sam until he sets his teeth in Sam's lip and tugs, and then pulls back into a little smooch like an apology. Sam's ass clenches at the tiny hurt, crushing his half-soft dick further into Dean, and god, he could—he could almost go again, right now.

"Don't even think about it," Dean says, against his lips.

Sam huffs, and gives Dean's cheek a quick kiss before he shifts back, sliding himself slowly out into the cold awful air. The head glances sensitively against Dean's soft thighs, everything a wet mess of lube and come, and Sam shivers for a second but it's nothing to the shudder that rocks all the way through Dean.

"Okay?" Sam says. Reality's trickling back in and he lifts up on his elbow, sliding a soothing hand down Dean's ribs. That was—fast, rough, rougher than Sam usually goes.

Dean nods, eyes closed, but doesn't say anything for a second—no goofy post-sex jokes, no complaining. Sam frowns and slides his hand down to Dean's hip, squeezing gently, and Dean finally opens his eyes and looks up at Sam. His blush hasn't gone down at all. "I'm good," he says, voice like gravel.

He's a really, really bad liar. Sam shifts to one side, taking his weight half-off, but he keeps his hand on Dean's hip, one thigh between Dean's, so he has to tilt into Sam's side. God—the laptop's still on the far side of the bed, miraculously, though thankfully the screen's gone dark and the sissy website isn't glittering pinkly at them both. Sam squeezes Dean's shoulder, the thickness of his bicep. "You know I don't—" He clears his throat. God, now he can feel himself blushing. They're in their thirties, who knew that was still even an option. "You know I don't think of you like a woman for real, right?"

Dean snorts, and glances down at his spent soft dick before he looks back up at Sam. "I didn't think you were blind, Sammy," he says, but there's the tiniest bit of strain still tucked under his voice.

Sam licks his lips, thinking. "And you know if you wanted to try something," he says, feeling his way through it, "I'm totally game." Dean just stares at him, their faces a few inches apart, and Sam touches his chin, prickling over the stubble. "If you liked that, say. Or if you wanted to do more."

Dean blinks and his eyes drop, but after a second he nods, jerkily. "Cool," he says, "good to know," and he's playing it off but his hand curls over Sam's side, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and oh, man. Sam takes a deep breath. Maybe another pair of panties. Maybe—maybe getting Dean into a skirt, no panties at all, because he likes to do those dorky roleplay scenarios. Sam coming home to the bunker with groceries from the list Dean made and finding Dean in the kitchen, dressed up, maybe wet already because he was waiting, and he has to close his eyes and remember that he's not fifteen anymore, he can't go again that fast. Jesus, who knew.

He leans in and kisses Dean one more time, pressing his mouth open and licking in, soft, before he pulls back and rolls off the bed. They're both smeared all over with come and Sam used so much lube that it's smeared all over his crotch, and he can imagine how nasty Dean must be feeling. "I was gonna get a washcloth," he says, grimacing, "but maybe we should just take another shower."

"Only if you're gonna carry me in there," Dean says, and then, "Oh, goddamn it," with his voice suddenly sharp.

"What?" Sam says, arrested on his trip around the big bed.

"You pulled your goddamn stitches, is what," Dean says.

"What?" he says, again, turning his head pointlessly and tilting his shoulder forward, and—ow, shit, he did, he thought that trickle down his back was just sweat but apparently not. He slides his other hand up his back and it comes away smeared red. Damn it.

"This is why we don't do athletic activity with big holes in our skin," Dean says, dragging himself into a sitting position.

Sam doesn't miss the flinch when his weight gets onto his ass. "I didn't hear you complaining," he says, lightly, and Dean rolls his eyes but pinks a little, too. "I'll get the sutures again, hang on," Sam says, and then stops in his tracks. The box of beer is on the floor, at least one bottle broken and a puddle soaked into the carpet, presumably from being kicked off the end of the bed in all the excitement.

"What?" Dean says, in his turn, and then peers over the end of the mattress. He snorts a laugh and flops down onto his back. "I'm totally blaming that on you."

Sam steps over the puddle, shaking his head. "You're the one who bought glass bottles," he argues back, but it's weak. He grabs a washcloth, running it under the sink until the water gets warm.

"You're the one who's a frickin' monster in the sack, Pornyboy," Dean says, through the open door.

Sam grins a little, can't help it, twisting around in the bathroom mirror to see the cut bleeding sluggishly down his back. His hair's a wreck, sweat damp all over him, and now he gets another set of stitches, and Dean's probably going to make him clean up the glass, too. Beer and come and blood, all over.

"We're going to have to leave a hundred bucks for the poor maid," Dean says, echoing his thoughts.

Sam smiles, and squeezes the washcloth so it won't drip everywhere. When he comes out into the room Dean's sprawled back on the bed, one knee drawn up, shining in the lamplight, watching him. "Worth it," Sam says, shrugging.

Dean huffs, folding his arms behind his head. "It really was," he says, with a sigh, and then grins.

[5hfanfiction]

Too Close To Home - Chapter 3

Surprised was an understatement when I saw Lauren on the other side. Her left hand holding a trophy.

At least I know who won the award for that category.

“Hi,” she says while smiling awkwardly. It seems like awkward is now my favorite word, since that’s the only way to describe the situations I’m in since the show has started.

“What’s up?”

“You-uh, look great,” she responded, her eyes looking at everything except for me. She looks so vulnerable, like I could crush her just by my bare hands. I grinned, weirdly satisfied to see this version of Lauren, her usual confidence nowhere to be found.

“Thanks, you too,” I replied, not knowing what to actually say. She’s usually the one that does the talking but it sounds like she doesn’t know what to say either.

“Uh, we won,” she said while holding up her trophy higher to show me.

“So I see,” I replied. What do you say to an ex who you haven’t talked to in more than a year? The air is so thick that my hand start ms to scratch my arm subconsciously.

“Yeah,” she responded. This is seriously going nowhere. I don’t get why she even knocked on my door in the first place.

I decided to stop beating around the bush and asked, “Lauren, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but why are you here?”

“Can I get a hug?” she immediately said, surprising me and by the look on her face, it surprised her too.

“Sure,” I smile. Even if we were together at some point, we were best friends first. I immediately wrapped my hands around her neck while she wrapped hers around my waist. The hug feels comfortable, but a little too much for my liking. We stayed like that for what felt like hours. I felt safe. Safer than what I’ve felt in a long time anyway.

I release my hold on her and tried to step back but she just wraps her arms around me tightly, silently telling me that she doesn’t want to let go yet.

Eventually, we had to split. But once we did, the elephant in the room was gone, the thick air was now clear.

She smiles fondly, looking straight to my eyes for the first time since she’s knocked on my door.

I can’t help but smile back,her smile is contagious. I’m not one to hold a grudge for what happened a year ago. She’s moved on, and the least I could do is try too.

“I actually came here for that, I don’t think Lucy would’ve been happy if I did that in front of her.”

I immediately stopped smiling. It was one thing for her to talk about her fiancé to me, her ex, but it was another to hug me secretly because she didn’t want to make her angry.

Irrationality came over me. Now instead of feeling the fondness and safety I’ve felt a few minutes ago, my mood shifted and all I feel is discontent. I can’t be her dirty secret anymore.

She is considering Lucy’s feelings. Although it was sweet, it was something she never did for me. The fact that she’s holding hands wit Lucy right now is inconsiderate. The fact that she showcasing her fiancé to me after we just broke up is insensitive. The fact that she didn’t tell me that she was dating Lucy, when I was literally a few feet away from her was selfish. I found out like how the rest did, from a photo and an open letter. She is scared of how Lucy would react while she never gave two fucks about mine since day 1. She doesn’t care about me, she never did. This is just another proof of what I’ve doubted long ago.

“Now that you got it, can you go now?” I said, my voice low but venoms were dripping out of my mouth, enough to startle her from the change of mood, not knowing what she did to make me like this.

“I-uh, yeah, I guess so,” her awkward self was back. She tried to go in for another hug but I stepped back, feeling like her hug would just make me suffocate. She got the hint and walked away, mumbling a bye on the way.

She walks a few feet away and stop abruptly, looking back once more, relieved that I haven’t closed the door yet.

“Actually, I want to tell you something too,” she said, looking eager to disclose whatever that is. But I was done.

“If you’re telling me you want to kiss me now, you got another thing coming,” I answered, unamused.

“Huh? Oh-uh, it’s not that. I-,” she stopped immediately. She starts looks around, probably to see if anyone was watching. Maybe she really does want to kiss, this is what we did before we kiss back when we were together. Again, I’m tired of her and her need to keep me in the dark.

She then stopped searching when she saw a CCTV mounted on the wall. Her eagerness dissolving drastically, only to be replaced with anxiousness instead.

“Nevermind, bye,” she mumbled, pacing towards the door to the stadium where the show was on.

I grew confused by the change in her demeanor. Clearly the grudge I’ve said that I’ve let go is still there, it’s just hiding behind my mask. The mask I’ve been wearing for quite a while now.

I then walk towards the stage to get ready for my performance. The band all ready with their instruments. I got ready by putting my earpiece in my ear. The curtain hasn’t risen yet so I have a few minutes before I actually perform.

Nervousness would be an understatement to what I’m feeling right now. This is the first time that I would perform alone after quitting Fifth Harmony. Actually, this would be my first ever solo performance, the others would either be with the girls, Shawn Mendes or MGK, it was never just me.

I hear the host talking through the microphone, introducing the next performer aka me as a former member of Fifth Harmony (of course) and one of most unique vocalist in the world right now. Loud claps came next, the voice on my earpiece telling me to get ready, counting the seconds in descending order from 10.

“10… 9… 8… 7… 6…,” my starts heart beating twice as fast.

“5…” My hands began to feel clammy.

“4…” My brain stopped working, what am I supposed to do again?

“3…” My breathing became shallower as the seconds tick by.

“2…” I shiver, feeling like every muscle on my body in need of movement.

“1…” God help me.

The curtain starts rising and the band started playing the intro of the song.

The lights flashing directly to my eyes, making my pupils dilate like crazy. I blink a few times, adjusting to the obnoxious light. When I could finally look at the crowd, my eyes immediately connected to the green eyes near the front of the audience. Her hand is still holding Lucy’s, making me pissed off more. My anxiety flew away and I am now filled with adrenaline as the roaring of the crowd enhanced.

(Paula DeAnda - When it was me)

She's got green eyes and she's 5'5" Long brown hair all down her back Cadillac truck So the hell what What's so special about that?

Lucy doesn’t exactly have green eyes, but I wanted to show that this is about Lauren. If I can’t tell her the ex, at least I can point out that she is somewhat the person replacing me. I know she’s heard of this song before, since she has congratulated me an hour ago. But the version she’s heard lacked in something I want to show her. Emotion.

She used to model, she's done some acting So she weighs a buck 'o 5 And I guess that she's alright if perfection is what you like

And it’s true, Lucy was a model. But now that she was with Lauren, one of them had to sacrifice their careers. She’s a literal angel on Earth and she is what you call perfection.

Ooh, ooh, and I'm not jealous, no I'm not Ooh, ooh, I just want everything she's got Ooh, ooh, you look at her so amazed I remember way back when you used to look at me that way

I stare at her, not caring about the crowd at this point. This is between me and her. This could be the closure I so crave. Her green eyes boring into mine and everything disappeared, making this performance more intimate, like I was just singing this to her, in my room, just like I used to.

Tell me what makes her so much better than me (so much better than me) What makes her just everything I can never be What makes her your every dream and fantasy Because I can remember when it was me

I sing this part with my heart out, showing my vulnerable side. It’s one of my deepest secret and I’m letting the world know how Lauren destroyed me. I might not show that I’m broken, but knowing that Lauren is happy with another girl killed whatever confidence I have left.

And now that she has won Lauren’s heart, she has also convinced her to be public about their relationship. It stung more than I would like to admit.

What makes Lucy so special that Lauren is willing to tell everyone?

And now you don't feel the same I remember you would shiver everytime I said your name You said nothing felt as good as when you gaze into my eyes Now you don't care I'm alive How did we let the fire die?

We’re still staring, every word that drips out of my mouth holding truths to it. The rhetorical question is one of the many questions I’ve been holding back since we broke up. It feels good to finally be able to ask her, even if she won’t be able to answer back.

Ooh, ooh, and I'm not jealous, no I'm not Ooh, ooh, I just want everything she's got Ooh, ooh, you look at her so amazed I remember way back when you used to look at me that way

What makes her so much better than me (so much better than me) What makes her just everything I can never be What makes her your every dream and fantasy Because I can remember when it was me

That made you smile (me) That made you laugh (me) Me that made you happier than you have ever been, oh me That was your world (me) Your perfect girl Nothing about me has changed That's why I'm here wondering

Tears now falling and I can’t help but let it. Thank God for waterproof makeup. My eyes are still piercing through hers but it’s getting harder and harder to focus since my eyes are watering.

What makes her so much better than me (what makes her so much better than me) What makes her just everything I can never be What makes her your every dream and fantasy Because I can remember when it was me

When it was me When it was me When it was me

My voice cracked at the end, my emotions were all over the place. The stadium was silent and I could only listen to my heavy breathing, partially from the singing, but mostly because of the overwhelming emotion that was released while I performed.

Loud claps erupted seconds later, and they all stood up, showing their respect to me. I have woken up then, diverting my eyes to the audiences.

A genuine smile spread across my face, happy that my performance has touched each and everyone of them. This is what I want, their reaction is why I became a solo artist. I feel like they could connect to me at an emotional level. It makes me proud of myself.

I look in front and saw the girls. Each one of them seemingly proud and happy to see me on stage. Ally and Normani are still clapping, looking like proud mothers watching their kids perform in a school play for the first time. Dinah has tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling so I can only guess that they’re happy tears. I couldn’t say the same for Lauren though.

Her eyes are watery too, but unlike Dinah, she looks rather sad. Although this wasn’t the initial reaction I was hoping for, it was nice to know that I still got some hold on her. To be honest, I wasn’t really thinking about what her reactions might be, I just thought that I needed this to be said. And I was right.

I finally feel genuinely free.

—

“Get ready for the superstars! This group right here, award winning, hit makers, Epic Records own, your winner for tonight's favorite crew, performing their smash hit, Work From Home. Give it up for Fifth Harmony!!" DJ Khaled spoke through the microphone, introducing Fifth Harmony. This is their very first performance without me.

The TV mounted on the hotel room blasting our song, or their song now. It feels bittersweet watching them perform.

I know I shouldn't be reacting this way as this was all my doing, but I can't help but feel sad about it. They're starting a��new chapter not by creating new songs, but rather remove me completely from our old ones, as if I hadn't been in the group in the first place.

It was sweet because I am finally 'free' from the metaphorical chain the label has locked me to.

Although I wasn't there, it still looked the same. The girls are wearing costumes that shows their skin a tad bit much for their own liking. I know this because I've heard them complain when I was still with them. It wasn't only the costumes, they were dancing too, as per usual. So other than losing one of the members, the performance still look pretty much the same.

Except for the fact that each one of them are glowing.

They look genuinely happy, smiling at the crowd that were roaring loudly. Lauren wasn't gloomy anymore, her smile finally reached her eyes. The tension in the group completely destroyed the minute I walked out.

And it sucks knowing that it was my fault they weren't happy in the first place.

I know that I somewhat overshadowed them when I was there, but it was never my intention to do so. The label were the one who had the ball on their court. They pushed me to the front of the stage and I couldn't do anything but accept it.

The rift between Lauren and I also contributed to the tension of course. So now that I'm gone, they don't look so troubled anymore. They don't have to hold back if they want to talk anymore. More importantly, they actually look like an actual group now.

So in a way, I did help them, didn’t I? If I knew this would be how they would be, I would’ve left a long time ago, saving the thousand heartbreaks of watching Lauren walking pass me, her eyes not even looking at mine, as if I was invisible. Saving the awkwardness between Normani and I, since she was always on Lauren’s side while Dinah was on mine. Ally was the devil’s advocate at that time

While they’re performing on stage, her I am staring at a screen in a hotel room. While they’re happy being around each other, here I am laying on the bed alone. And while they’re having the time of their lives, here I am crying through the night.

Yes, I'm free from the chain that the label locked me to, but without a map, how would I know where to go.

I just feel lost..

…

A/N My search history on my phone is funny now. I literally searched, "Songs about hating your ex for moving on” and “Songs that are deep, but not deep enough to make it not sound scary”

Also, I’m not Camila or any of the girls, so I don’t know what happened and how they feel… But for the sake of this book, let’s say I do.

I read through but I didn’t really check through the grammars. It’s a start though…

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