#Dean's eye is the brightest part of the piece

[gaytedlasso]

holy feeling

[xxblairexxss]

Supersede p.3

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff

Word count : 4k

I went through this a couple of times, even deleted half of the paragraph and rewrite it back but I still feel like something’s missing. Probably because I kept on jumping from one timeline to the other one because I have to finish this one in one part. 😔

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flash

The roaring cheer from the crowd filled up the pit lane soon as Charles hopped off his car that was parked in front of the board, which had number 1 on it. It was his 10th podium in his career in Formula 1. The adrenaline was over the head. Charles had the brightest smile glued to his face as he waved to the crowd.

The roaring cheer from the crowd filled up the pit lane soon as Charles hopped off his car that was parked in front of the board, which had number 1 on it. It was his 10th podium in his career in Formula 1. The adrenaline was over the head. Charles had the brightest smile glued to his face as he waved to the crowd.

"My bracelet?" Charles waited for another piece of his bracelet while he slipped on the last piece of ring that Joris handed. "Joris, where’s the other one?"

"I think Leona took it?" He claimed, checking on his pockets. "Which one was it?"

"The one with black and white. Please ask Leona to give it back. I need it." He mentioned that before getting into the centre, he was once again greeted with a cheer from the crowd.

"Charles! Congratulations on your 10th pole position in your career."

"Thank you, thank you so much. It was a very tough qualifying, and everyone did so well."

Charles came to find Joris, who seemed to be engaging in a conversation with his girlfriend back in the garage after he was done with the photo session.

"Give me back my bracelet."

"Let me wear it for a while." She hid her arms at the back of her waist and giggled when Charles looked defeated. She always found it adorable how he always gave in and let her win in anything.

"Just please give it back when you are done with it."

"It’s just a bracelet? I can even make a new one for you." She rolled her eyes.

"I don’t want you to make a new one; just give it back. It’s a gift from someone."

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"Oh my! Are you okay?" You shrieked.

The idea of taking a picture on the bridge where you could capture the bits of the water ride in your background turned out to be a bad idea when you were drenched head to toe the moment you clicked on the selfie button on your phone.

The picture still made you giggle every time you looked at it. Instead of smiling, Jake and you had your eyes closed, and you could see the big splash of water that was about a drop away from hitting both of you. It was a picture that you could send to be included in those "pictures that were taken a minute before a disaster’ Tiktok videos.

"Having fun?" Dean asked.

"Yeah! Look at this!" You exclaimed. Dean gazed at the picture on your phone and burst out laughing.

"What happened?"

"We didn’t know the water could reach us, and we ended up drenched." You cackled and were about to head upstairs when Dean called you out.

"Charles left you your favourite ice cream. He was waiting for you to come back, but something came up literally 15 minutes ago, I think. So he had to leave." The screen showed a goal celebration from the opponent, making Dean grumble in frustration. "What even was my goalkeeper doing, bro?"

"It must be his girlfriend." You mumbled.

"Yeah, I think so too." You weren’t expecting him to hear you. "He has been a little distant now, hasn’t he?"

"What was his girlfriend like?"

He frowned and paused the match. "Can you come here and talk? I can barely hear you, silly. I’m losing this match because I can’t focus."

Rolling your eyes, you threw yourself on the couch as he went back to the game. "His girlfriend was a little; I don’t know how to say this in the nicest way possible. She seemed to have the upper hand in the relationship."

"Is she nice?" You muttered and flinched when he shouted.

"Why didn’t you pass? This is bullshit. Sorry, what were you saying? Oh, I don’t know." He jumped in his seat when the ball nearly went into the net.

"What do you mean you don’t know?"

"She was ignoring me the whole dinner. I was invisible, I think. Pass the ball!" Dean called out.

"You are ridiculous, Dean!" Rolling your eyes, you head back to your room, leaving your half-anxious brother in the living room, shouting all alone.

"Oh, the dinner ended early, so I only spent, like, not even an hour with her? Charles said he wanted to check on someone." Dean yelled out before going back to his game.

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"I’ll be right back!" You called out and took off your apron before dashing your way to the bathroom. You had started working on your part-time job again now that you were on a summer break.

Every time you started working, you would always set a goal. Last time, it was for Charles’s birthday gift. Well, not for the bracelet alone. You had saved up some money to buy him a watch that reminded you of him. Your budget wasn’t met on time, so you could only give him the bracelet as a temporary replacement until you could buy the main gift. The watch was still in your possession, and you didn’t think it would ever reach Charles. This time, you were saving up for the necklace that you had been eyeing for months. You lost the game with Dean the other night, so now you have to actually work for it.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"Oh– I’m.." The sandwich wrapper in your hand was stuffed into your pocket. You were on a lunch break, and like usual, you would always have your lunch near the fountains where you could see your city from a higher view. This time, your lunch was interrupted by your brother’s best friends. "I’m having my lunch."

"I didn’t know you worked. Café de Paris?" His eyes trailed on the words written on your cap.

"Yeah, just for a short time, though, because I don’t really have anything to do during my break." You gave a soft smile. It’s been a week since the last time you saw him. Since the first argument

"Y/N, I really didn’t mean what I said that day. I just missed 

"I’m all set! Oh, hello! Baby, who’s this?" There was a girl in a short dress. She was stunning. Her makeup looked amazing yet very natural, enhancing her facial features. Her hair looked beautiful with the soft curls that bounced every time she tilted her head.

And she was wearing the bracelet. The same one you had around your wrist.

"She’s my friend. My best friend Y/N, this is, um, my girlfriend, Leona. Leona, Y/N." 

You saw the way she looked at you; the slight smirk on her face when she saw your uniform made you feel self-conscious and smaller. Looking down, you tried to straighten your shirt and kept your hands on your laps, your eyes looking away as you tried to think of a way to excuse yourself.

"Did you give her the same bracelet I got from you?" She scowled. The change in her tone made you dumbstruck.

"No, it was my gift for him." You gritted your teeth in silent fury. She had been looking at you up and down, disgusted, as if you had done something wrong.

"Chill. I am not asking you." She rolled her eyes. Charles was silent the whole time, but he kept on looking at you.

Charles wanted to hold you. He wanted to put you in his embrace. He wanted to talk to you about everything—every single thing. He wanted to apologise, but whenever he saw you, he would always mess things up.

"You don’t have to glare at me like that as if I were that desperate to wear this. Take it then." She pulled the bracelet off and threw it on the ground as she pulled Charles away.

"Just go first." He retracted his hand away, making the girl glunt at you even more before she walked away. "Y/N, what time will you finish your shift? I can wait for you and send you home?"

"Just go, Charles. Just leave me alone."

"Y/N, please,"

"Just go." You snapped. To that end, he walked away, and you looked at him briefly as he looked back every so often while you stood there with the bracelet in your hand.

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flash

The door to your room was barged open, causing you to jump and roll your eyes when your brother walked in.

"What do you want?"

"Well, I just wanted to check on my sister because why the heck did you keep on shouting?" You cursed under your breath when he laid down on your bed with his outside clothes.

"I just wanted to do this, but it’s not working!" The video on your phone was paused ten times as you dipped your head on the table.

"A bracelet? For who?" He took the Koala soft toy and hugged it, his eyes still locked on you at the dressing table.

"Secret!"

He cackled and turned his body to the side, arm angled upwards, head on hand. "I’m not a fool, silly. Charles?"

"How do you know?" He shouldn’t know. You had been so discreet with your feelings that there was no way he would have known, but Dean was also the one who knew everything about you.

"I’m your brother. I know everything. Need my help?"

"No, it’s okay. I got this." You actually wanted to go with a heart bracelet, but this had been your third attempt, and none of the results were up to your liking, so you went with a normal design, which is easier for someone new like you.

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"Charles! Come in!"

You were heading to the kitchen when you heard his voice, which made you trace your steps back and tiptoe your way back to the room.

"I’m sure Dean is sleeping. Wait, I’ll wake him up." Your mom stopped in her tracks when Charles called out.

"Mrs. Y/L/N, I’m actually here for Y/N. Can I see her?" Charles asked as he took a seat on the couch.

"Oh, she went out on a date. She did mention his name, but I couldn’t recall."

"Oh, it’s okay! I’ll just wait for Dean." Charles gave a soft smile as Y/M/N went upstairs, and he heard her shouting Dean’s name.

"Wake up! Your friend’s downstairs. You need to stop sleeping all day long!"

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"Y/N, I actually have something to tell you."

Jake has been acting different from the moment he picked you up. He had been the most outgoing and cheerful person on your first date, but he seemed to be anxious tonight. You could barely carry a conversation along the ride because he would always reply with one or two words.

"Is there anything wrong?" Something in your gut told you that it might not be something good, but there was a little bit of hope that maybe he was nervous because he wanted to talk about your "relationship". After all, this had been your fifth date with him.

"Do you want to order something first?"

"No, it’s okay. What is it?" Tucking the loose strand of hair behind the ear, you gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

"What? How do you know I have something to say?" Jake stuttered.

"Everyone can tell you have something to say to me!" Laughing, you placed your hand on the table and rested your chin on it. "What is it?"

"I wanted to tell you that." He titled his head back and groaned in frustration. "I just don’t know how to tell you this, but,

I’m back with my ex-girlfriend."

The smile on your face dropped almost instantly. It felt like someone kicked you on the head and knocked your breath out. "Wh–what? But I thought we had something. "

"You were amazing. I really had an enjoyable time with you, but I just wasn’t expecting her to come back." He tried to place his hand on yours, but you pulled it away and straightened your back. "And I will always choose her over anyone." He muttered.

That’s when it clicked on you. You would never be anyone’s choice. No matter how hard you try to please anyone, they will always choose someone else.

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"Mind if I continue my sleep here? Thank you. Make yourself at home." Dean gave a thumbs up sarcastically and threw his head back on the throw pillows as he drifted back to sleep. He was at his girlfriend’s house last night doing god-knows-whatever it was, and he came back all worn out, saying that 12 hours of sleep wasn’t enough.

Charles was sitting on the couch across, eyes on the door every once in a while. It has been more than 2 hours, and you should be coming home any minute now.

"What the f-" The phone blasted out The Weeknd’s song so loudly that it made both men in the living room jump in their seats.

"Turn it off, can you?" Dean groaned and covered his face with the throw pillow, making Charles click on his tongue.

"Dude, it’s your phone." He murmured while taking the phone off the coffee table. He was going to put it on hold when the familiar name on the screen caught his attention.

"Little Y/N."

"Hel–" 

"Dean," Charles heard you sob. "Can you—" another sob. "Can you pick me up?"

"Y/N, it’s me. Dean is sleeping." He replied.

"Oh, oh, it’s okay. I’ll just take a bus home."

Charles butted in before you pressed the end button. "Where are you?"

"I’m waiting for a bus."

"Where?"

"It’s okay, Charles."

He heaved a sigh of defeat. "Y/N, don’t do this. Text me your location. I’ll pick you up."

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You trailed the toe cap of your sneaker along the curve on the ground while the sound of a horn and faint music filled the air.

"I’ll always choose her over anyone."

"But I still like you."

"I need you to wait for me; can you do that?"

A chuckle escaped from your lips. Funny how, for a second, you thought your life was getting better, but it felt like you were hit by another rolling stone on your way up your dream hill.

"Pathetic." You muttered, your hand wiping your cheek as another tear escaped from your eyes.

"Y/N, let me take you home. I don’t think your brother is going to let me live if he finds out I let you take the bus this late." Jake pleaded for it ten times. It was getting more annoying now that he kept asking the same thing over and over. You tried to ignore him, but he ended up following you all the way to the bus station. "Give me that." He snatched on your bag, and you held on to the strap, glaring at him.

"Let go! I am not coming with you."

"What’s wrong with it?" 

"Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to see you again. Can you just let go of my bag, dumbass?" You yelled when the strap slipped off your hand.

"Is this how you treat a woman when you take her out on a date?" Charles seized the bag and glowered at the other guy suspiciously.

"This is between me and her, dude. Y/N–"

Anything that involves her involves me too. Say whatever you want to say to her, but I’m not going anywhere." Charles got in between, and your sight of Jake was covered by his broad back.

"I just want to send her home." Jake chirped in.

"I’ll be taking her home. You don’t have to worry about that." Charles gave a nod and grabbed your wrist, walking back to his car.

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Your eyes were on your lap, and the words Jake said kept replaying in your head over and over.

"Am I.." 

Charles’s focus went on you when he heard your voice.

"Am I not worthy of love?"

Charles blinked, his brows furrowed, wondering where the question came from. "What makes you say that?"

"I feel like I’ve never had any luck when it comes to love. I never got to confess to you, and all of a sudden I found out you have a girlfriend. I thought Jake was going to confess to me, but it turned out he wanted me to be his backup plan. It was so silly of me to think that for a second, someone could like me back." You wept out of frustration, feeling like you just kept humiliating yourself over and over. "I’m sorry, I don’t know why you have to listen to that."

“I have always chose you.” He whispered.

But you didn’t hear. So, he continued.

"We broke up."

"Hm?" This was the first time you looked at him since you got in the car. He was so beautiful, even in the dark.

"Leona and I broke up." He blurted.

"Do you want me to ask why, or is that an invasion of privacy?" You glanced. He was still keeping an eye on the road; the street lights illuminated his face.

"No," he chuckled. "I know you always want the details on everything, so go ahead and ask."

"Okay, why? When?" You were now completely turned to face him, just as far as the seatbelt allowed.

"A week ago? I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Everything was perfect at the beginning, but lately there hasn’t been a day where we won’t fight. It was draining. I don’t know what went wrong. And the–" He inhaled. "She got really angry when she found out about the bracelet, so yeah, we broke up."

"I’m sorry.." You breathed out.

"Sorry for?"

"For the bracelet, It was the reason she broke up with you." You straighten your back, leaning against the car set.

"Your bracelet was my lucky charm, Y/N. It was the reason I managed to get the pole and podium. I always felt the need to do my best because I wanted to make you proud. I wouldn’t have taken it off if it wasn’t for race week."

You wanted to hold his hand on the gear shift, but you were too scared, so you held yourself. "You always make me proud. Podium or not? Pole position or the last one in the starting grid, I’m always proud of you."

"Wanna go and get ice cream?"

"Yeah!" You exclaimed. "My favourite one?"

"Your favourite one. Are you up for a card game?"

"I never say no to a stupid card game." You replied.

Whatever happened that night was a little secret between Charles and you. You had told him to never tell your brother about what happened.

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"Y/N! You are cheating, aren’t you? That’s impossible! Give me your cards. Why can’t you just play clean?" You leaned away and brought the cards closer to your chest.

"The game hasn’t finished yet!" You put down another piece of card, giggling when he dumped his whole card right away and laid down.

"I don’t want to play anymore."

"You are so silly!" You gathered all the cards back into one bundle and put them back in a box. This was his third time losing, and while you were having a lot of fun, he was in misery.

It had been a few weeks since the last time you saw Jake. He did try to reach out, but you felt like there was no need for any other explanation from him. Charles came by every so often during his break, more often now that he has no one blowing up his phone.

He found out Leona was hanging out with someone else through Dean because, just like you, he was a really big fan of tea, but there weren’t as many hard feelings involved. She did deserve to be happy.

He came by again, though you told him Dean wasn’t home this weekend. Here he was, in your room, playing cards or listening to you rant about your customers.

"And then he was like, "Excuse me, where’s the whipped cream?" and my co-worker looked at me and was like, "Are you hearing this?"" 

He was lying on his side, head on his hand, while smiling and frowning, mimicking your expression as he rode the emotional rollercoaster ride where one second you were mad and the next second you were laughing. "Wait, I thought he said no whipped cream?" He recalled it.

"Yeah! And he was also the one who got mad because there was no whipped cream in his drink!"

"So what happened? Did he get the whipped cream in the end?" Charles sat up and bent down to get his paper bag that he had placed at the foot of your bed.

"Oh, I don’t know." You shrugged. My co-worker was the one who handled it."

"What the heck? You can’t just tell a story without an ending. That was anticlimatic, Y/N. Oh–" He took out a velvet box from the paper bag and handed it to you. "I wanted to give you this."

Your eyes went from him to the box in his hand. "It’s not my birthday yet."

"I know, but I won’t be here next week. I need to fly back to Maranello. Open it. I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but yeah, I hope you do."

The velvet box contained a Van Cleef & Arpels 18k rose gold necklace with a vintage Alhambra pendant. The one you had been eyeing since forever. "Are you crazy? I can’t take this." Your eyes widened in surprise as you closed the box. 

"No, take it. It’s your birthday gift! I can’t return it, silly. I threw away the sales slip." He crossed his arms so you wouldn't be able to shove the box back into his hands.

"It’s expensive! How do you know this was the necklace I wanted?" You gently took it out of the box and admired the way it was dazzling and dangling from your hand.

"I asked Dean. And I saw you were looking at it when I bumped into you during your lunch break the other day. Here, let me help you." He took the necklace from your hand and draped it around your neck. He found himself smiling fondly when you let go of your hair, the way the hair fell perfectly to frame your face as you gave off the brightest, radiant smile that always struck on him.

"I really don’t deserve this, Charles. My birthday gift to you was just that."

"Speaking about that, can you give me back the bracelet? Technically, it’s still mine." He scratches the back of his hair. "And I kinda need it for my next race."

"It’s all dirty now. But I can make you a new one."

"Just give it back, Y/N. And then you teach me how to make another one. Also, I was thinking if." He pursed his lips. "If I can take you out on a date after my upcoming race,"

The question had knocked you for six. You wanted to scream, but instead, you tilted your head away just so you could gather up all your emotions before you could look at him in the eyes. "I don’t know. Let me think about it first."

"I thought you liked me?"

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him head-to-toe. "Excuse me?! That was very cocky of you to assume."

"You literally confessed to me in my car weeks ago when I picked you up from the horrible date." He shrugged and cocked a brow.

"I didn’t."

"You did! Are you going to say yes, or am I getting rejected?" He tilted his head with a grin to catch your eyes as you kept on looking away.

"I’ll think about it. Oh! I actually have a belated birthday gift for you.” Standing up, you went to your drawer and pulled it open to get another small box.

“I thought the bracelet was my gift?” Charles took the box and tried to shake on it.”

“It was supposed to be a temporary one.” You looked at the box and back to him back and forth, trying so hard not to squeal. You had been waiting to give it to him as it had been in your drawer collecting dust.

“You got me another bracelet? Oh, I like it. It matched the rest of mine.” He put it on immediately and extended his arm to check on his bracelet collections from afar. “I am not gonna take this one off too. Thank you, Y/N. But I still need the old one though.”

“Oh, should we make a new one together?”

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Let me know if you could pick out few of the events where Charles picked reader first over anyone else!

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl

✧.* tag list for p.3! @sabrinaselina55 @honey6578 @julesandro @boherahpsody @gulphulp @bansheelydiia

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[ynandfics]

Imagine: purebloods edition???

“Okay everyone, do you all agree to the conditions set out? Explaining everything and all things muggleborn until the end of the month?” Harry slid a piece of paper, written in his office with the company of Hermoine, Seamus and all other half blood/muggleborn significant others who would be taking part in the challenge.

“So officially until the beginning of next month we cannot use magic? Besides work where we need it?” Neville said nervously, holding his one year old son.

“Yes, that is addressed here. And I also work with you lot so I can see if you’re using magic for your basic things such as just getting a quill” the men in the room groaned loudly.

“Potter, why did you cover that? Is this on every in the Law Department?” Draco rubbed his head, also holding his son.

“Yes love, everything that is to do with being muggleborn is here” Hermione grabbed her son of his father.

“Sign away purebloods” Hermoine, Harry, Dean, Seamus watched on as their friends and significant others signed the piece of paper which would be duplicated and carried around by them for any and all magical movement by the signed group.

“Okay, it’s signed. Can we please go home now?” Pansy looked pitifully at the paper she signed.

“Sunflower, it’s only for a couple weeks I’m sure we can manage. I’m not quite sure about Malfoy though, he’s married to the brightest witch of our age” this comment by Neville made Pansy snigger.

“Parkinson I thought you were on my side?” Draco stood in disbelief.

“Not since I married him, I haven’t” Neville’s arms wrapped around his wife and son.

“Draco, don’t you have a wife and son to be going to?” Pansy said, Hermione and the others still in the background. Draco narrowed his eyes at the two and then moved to go to his family.

“Ron, this will be fun! Plus, season is off for me for a bit, you at least have the pleasure of being a Auror” Ginny laughed at her brother resigned face.

“I don’t know how I’ll pull through it.” Ginny gave him a pointed look.

“Please, you have your kids to look after” Ginny smiled at him, her own kid on her side.

“Yeah I know, but I don’t know how Y/N would have felt about this” You unfortunately passed a few months ago, luckily enough you had a big family on both sides to help Ron and your little family recover.

“Yes, I’m sure she would have been up for the challenge, she was in fact a Slytherin ready to beat Gryffindor at any cost” Ginny laughed at Ron’s facial expression, he was probably remembering when you’d beat him and laughed in his face.

“Oh god….yeah ok we’re winning this thing” Ron high-fived his little kids and then Ginny was following back to Harry.

“This will be easy you know?” Harry said to her.

“We practically built our furniture without magic, so yeah I think we’ll pull through” They walked off as the rest of the group started to split off.

[buckleydiazmp4]

for @tootiredmotel 's follower celebration!

day 1: prompt: blue

congrats again Gen, you deserve it <3

college au, 1.2k (read below or ao3)

If Dean Winchester has a prominent talent, it is, without a doubt, painting. He just has this slight problem when it comes to actually painting stuff.

He's not exactly what people would call consistent; he can't just make a painting each week, and he isn't good with deadlines either. It just doesn't feel right, to make art because you're ordered to. His paint brush is just as much a part of his body as any of his other limbs, and none of those run on schedule, so why should this one?

Dean might not be tidy, or stick to a calendar, or function methodically, but when he gets random bursts of inspiration, they're entirely worth it. Once, he was able to paint about 5 pieces just from an ordinary raindrop he happened to see one sunday afternoon, because his brain just works in mysterious ways when it comes to creativity.

Lately, though, his mind is just a bit... lazier than usual, and he has to admit, he's getting a little desperate. He had an assessment due three weeks ago, and he hasn't been able to come up with anything. His teacher, Mrs. Jones, normally gives him a one to two week frame to deliver his homework, because she knows by now that rushing him will just end in disaster. But even by that standard, he's a week overdue by now, and he's getting worried.

"Yes professor, I promise, I'll have it by the end of the week, I'm just having a bit of creative trouble..."

"Listen Dean, you're one of my brightest students, and I hate to rush you. But you've taken too long with this assignment, and I wish I could do something about it, but I've done all I could already. If you don't bring it by Friday, I'm gonna have to fail you."

"Here by Friday, you got it. Thanks."

Dean exits Mrs Jones' classroom, his stress level dialed up to a hundred. He has two days to come up with three full paintings, and his brain is seemingly taking a very long nap. He considers asking Sam for help, but he doesn't think one of his heartfelt pep talks would work for this situation.

Defeated, exhausted, and very hungry, he decides to go to the coffee shop two blocks away from campus. That way, he'll at least have a full tummy. One less worry. He orders some coffee and freshly baked pastries that he eyes in the display, and waits for his order on his usual table by the window. He opens his laptop and browses through some folders where he saves pics for inspiration, but it doesn't help in the slightest.

When he's called back to the counter and retrieves his hot coffee, he's still drilling down on his brain, hopeful for any hint of an idea. And as if his day wasn't already going downhill, he bumps into someone, spilling the coffee on himself.

"Shit!" he hisses, trying to unstick his t-shirt to avoid burning himself further. He seriously considers giving up his career and his life to go backpacking through Europe and never return.

Then, there's a steadying hand posed on his elbow, accompanied by a deep, raspy voice, that has him looking up from the disaster going on on his chest.

"I'm terribly sorry. Are you hurt?" It takes Dean a bit too long to answer, because he's busy staring at the bluest, most beautiful eyes he's ever seen in his life.

"Uhm. What? Oh, no, I'm, uh. I'm okay. Well, as okay as I can be when a cup of scalding coffee is now all over my clothes." Great, now he's rambling. Get it together, Winchester.

"You can use vinegar and dishwashing detergent."

"What?"

The beautiful blue-eyed stranger clears his throat. "To um, clean the coffee, from your clothes. Vinegar and dishwashing detergent. That way it won't stain."

"Oh, uh. Thanks, I'll have that in mind." Seemingly waking up from its slumber, his brain catches on in the scene. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester." He holds out his hand, which is immediately greeted by the stranger's. It's warm and soft, with a few callouses.

"Castiel. Nice to meet you." If Dean thought this guy was beautiful before, the smile he gives him then makes him even more of a sight. Dean lets his hand linger for a little too long, but Castiel doesn't seem to care.

After a beat of silence, Castiel offers to buy him a new coffee. Dean insists it was all his fault, but the man is stubborn, so they end up sitting together and splitting Dean's pastries.

"So, Cas, you're a writer?"

"Yeah. It's not exactly an economically rewarding career, but I quite like writing." Castiel (or, well, Cas now), takes another bite from the pastry, little golden flakes landing on the table. Dean stares when he licks his lips, and then he feels like a creep, so he look out the window instead, willing away the redness of his cheeks.

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Most times, things that we love aren't very well paid."

"What do you do?" Cas looks so genuinely interested, it takes Dean by surprise.

"I'm an art student." That reminds him once more of his long overdue homework, but this time, he doesn't feel the worry creeping up on him the way it did earlier.

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'd love to see some of your work. I'm sure it's very good."

"Well, you can come by anytime. I've a studio at home where I store all of my art stuff." Dean realizes too late that he just asked this guy he met an hour ago to come to his house. "I mean, only if you want to, y'know, you don't have to or anything, but, um. Yeah." Dean stares down at the table. He would love for the earth to swallow him whole right this second. If he prays hard enough, maybe it'll happen.

"That sounds nice, Dean. I'd love to come by. Maybe tomorrow?" That has Dean's head jerking up, and sure enough, Cas isn't joking. He looks– excited.

That's how Dean ends up exchanging numbers with the most handsome stranger he's ever met.

On his way home, he can't stop thinking about Castiel. He's sarcastic, and witty, and his dry humor is perhaps the funniest Dean has ever heard. But he's also honest, almost blatantly so, in a way that made him feel like he could trust every word he said after having talked for no more than an hour. He's smart and a good listener, and he just has this enticing, electric blue eyes that follow Dean inside his thoughts all the way up to his small art studio.

For the first time in weeks, Dean feels light and relaxed. He takes off his coffee-stained shirt, and nearly thanks himself for being so clumsy. Turns out that was the best thing that could have ever happened.

Two days later, he has three full pieces in Mrs. Jones' classroom, all made out of coffee spills and a hint of one particular blue color that he hopes to see every day for the rest of his life.

[lxngbottom]

A Fun Trip. | N.L.

in which the reader and neville take acid, and have a fun trip together.

warnings: drug use, swearing, a little bit of angst.

word count: 1,692

i got inspired due to the fact i had to trip sit like 6 or 7 people the other night so enjoy whatever this is lolol

—

“oh, shit. this is actually about to happen...”

those were the words that came from your best friend, neville longbottom. you two sat calmly on his bed, ron, harry, seamus, and dean all present in the room.

“we don’t have to do this, you know. if you’re too scared then we should just—“

“no! i want to do this. it seems cool!” he quickly interjected, taking a quick glance at the tab sitting patiently on the plastic bag in front of both of you. you laughed at your best friend, surprised by his eagerness to take muggle drugs.

“you guys won’t like—die, right?” ron asked, not really knowing if he was trying to reassure himself or you two.

you rolled your eyes at the ginger, “no, ronald. we won’t die. we’re taking one tab each, and trust me... i’ve seen people take way more than that and be completely fine.”

“so why did you ask us to be here?” seamus added, a book settled in his hands as his back was propped up against his headboard.

“because, asshat! it’s only my second time ever taking LSD and it’s neville’s first time!”

“i thought you said you’ve never done this before...” neville stated, his face now visibly sweating. you smiled at him,

“i’ve done magic mushrooms, nev. but never acid.”

his mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape, and he quickly looked down at the two tabs once more. you could tell that he was anxious, simply from the way his hand made its way up to his neck and began to rub it. you grabbed the same hand, and put yours over it. “hey, you’ll be alright. there’s nothing to be scared of. and if you do start having a bad trip, i told all of them how to get you out of it, alright?”

he couldn’t help but to send you a small smile. you were always so good at making him feel relieved, reassured. it was one of the reasons why he adored you so much.

“so...” you began, picking up one of the tabs carefully, making sure that it wouldn’t get on your skin. “are you ready?”

neville looked at the tab once more, and sighed. “yeah. fuck it.”

you chuckled, and passed him his tab, “fuck it.”

at the same time, you two put the tab directly on your tongue. you could already feel the tab slowly dissolving, and for a quick moment regret filled your body. but you pushed it away, as you didn’t want to make neville nervous. you wanted his first trip to be good, unlike yours was.

“how long does it take to work?” neville asked, throwing the plastic bag in the trash bin right beside his bed.

you thought for a moment, trying to recollect your past knowledge from doing LSD. “about thirty minutes to an hour. but, it really all depends on the person, i suppose.”

he nodded, and began to play with his fingers.

you let your back fall onto the headboard, and moved some hair from your face.

“now... we wait.”

—

almost a whole hour had gone by, and neville stared up at the canopy, waiting for something, just anything to happen.

“still nothing, longbottom?” dean asked him, staring intently at his friend.

“yeah, nothing...” he muttered in response, “what about you, y/n?”

if neville or any of the other boys would’ve been a bit more attentive, they would’ve noticed how you were practically lost in your own world. everything was so bright, the most beautiful environment that you had ever seen. the wrinkles in your hands wiggled, and the print on the wall seemed to move like the ocean.

“uhh—you guys?” harry suddenly announced, and he pointed over towards you.

the boys looked over, and saw you staring at neville’s bed side table intently. you were on your knees, staring at the printed wood and the way it danced. you almost began to dance with it until neville got your attention,

“y/n? are you alright?”

you looked over at him, and he was shocked to see the brightest smile on your face that he had ever seen. “fantastic. the best i’ve ever felt!”

you couldn’t explain it, but it was the best you ever felt. your physical body on its own felt as if it were on cloud nine, and the things you were seeing... it was brilliant.

“look at the table. it’s dancing!” you squealed excitedly, pointing at the thin lines imbedded into the wood. neville, out of pure curiosity, looked exactly where you were pointing at. but, he didn’t see the wood dancing like you were.

“i don’t see anything. i guess it’s not working for me...” he sighed, envious of how happy you seemed from the affects.

you slowly got up, and looked over at him. you were making every attempt possible to ignore the visuals that covered your eye sight. you walked over to him, a small smile still planted onto your face. you bent down in front of him,

“it hit.” you whispered to him,

“what?”

you stared into his eyes, “it. hit.”

in that moment, neville truly believed in the power of words. because as you stood up, a blurred version of your figure followed. as if everything happening all in this moment was delayed.

neville’s eyes widened, and he looked down at his hands. he noticed the way the faint lines in his palm moved, and how they seemed to be wrapping around on each other. he closed his hand, and opened it right back up to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things.

no. this was actually happening.

“you guys... look at my hand! look! it’s moving!” neville started to shove his palm into his ron’s face, and ron laughed when he saw that his palm actually wasn’t moving.

you two began to get lost. lost into a trip that came in waves, but nonetheless, quite enjoying.

every time you looked at the walls, they seemed to move with your every step. you kept giggling at it, earning questionable stares from your designated “trip sitters.”. the bed posts seem to grow, shrink, and do the same thing all over again. at one point, you needed to use the bathroom. but as you walked passed a random mirror within the dorm, the need to relive yourself faded away.

in the mirror, you could say you saw multiple things. but, that wouldn’t even be a good enough explanation for what you saw. your face began to grown a shade of purple, a lavender shade. and you saw two extra terrestrial seeming ears grow out of the top of your head.

“neville, come check this out!” you blankly stated, too lost in thought and sight to even put any emotion into your words.

he quickly made his way over to you, and looked in the mirror as well.

it didn’t take long before the two of you were shouting about crazy things, and laughing your asses off.

“these crazy people, mate. i swear!” ron joked, shaking his head at the two of you.

—

as you sat up from neville’s bed, a large wave of sadness crashed into you. you knew this was bound to happen, just not as soon as you woke up.

you looked over, and spotted neville sleeping soundly. his hair was messy, and his lips were parted a bit. small snores escaped him, and you smiled at the way he looked, but your come down didn’t let you feel too happy for long.

“neville...” you nudged him, attempting to wake him up nicely. “neville... wake up...”

his eyes fluttered open slowly, and he smiled when he realized that you were over him, staring at him.

“hi.” he hummed, and you greeted him back with a quick, “morning.”

but from the way your face looked, neville could tell something was wrong. he had known you for so long, that he knew just one face drop always indicated that something was going on.

“what’s wrong, love?” he asked sweetly, mentally pleading for you to lay down next to him.

“i just feel...” you began, but trailed off getting lost in your own thoughts, “i just feel sad. like... noting is ever going to get better.”

you had talked to him about the affects of LSD, and how it made certain people react. and of course you didn’t forget to tell him about the infamous come down. he had retained as much as he could, so he knew from your statement that it was simply the drugs talking.

“y/n... that’s not true. you know that. everything can get better.” he assured you,

you looked over at him, “you said can. but... what if they don’t?” your voice cracked, and you could feel the sob climbing up your throat, desperately trying to escape your lips.

neville sighed, and quickly pulled your arm, asking if you to lay down next to him. you did so easily, making no complaints about receiving comfort in this moment.

he held you tight, and pressed a small kiss to your temple as he fixed the blanket that laid over the both of you. when he settled in once more, all it took was a look of adoration from him to make your lip quiver, and for a small cry to leave your body.

“oh, y/n... it’s alright...” he whispered, petting your hair gently as you cried into his chest. he couldn’t help but to feel his heart shatter into thousands of pieces hearing you sob like this. he knew it was just the routine of doing muggle drugs, but merlin, he hated seeing in this state.

you both laid still, and neville let you cry and ramble on about philosophical topics. he listened carefully, running his fingers through your hair gently.

when you calmed down, you nuzzled up closer to him.

“i had fun with you last night, nev. thanks for always doing stupid shit with me...” you chuckled through your tears, wiping them away with your hand.

“well, you want to know something?”

you hummed in response, looking up at him.

“i would do it all over again.”

[omniscientoranges]

let me help (since you’re already half my heart)

okay, I take it that some people wanted a continuation of the fic idea I had in this reblog. I, personally, wanted to not do my homework. This worked in everyone’s favor here (except for my grades).

15x20 fix-it rewrite of Dean’s death scene - Cas saves the day edition

[AO3]

"I need you, I need you to tell me it's okay," Dean begs, holding Sam's gaze please tell me I can go you have to tell me or I won't be able to, "You tell me it's okay."

Sam swallows hard and opens his mouth to respond, "Dean, it's-"

"No, it's not."

Sam jumps at the interruption, Dean slowly slides his eyes past Sam's shoulder. He knows that voice. Fuck, does he know that voice. Guess Jack must've pulled him out after all.

"It's not okay, Dean," Cas says, stepping around Sam. "You're not going anywhere, not yet, not if I have any say in it."

"Cas," Dean whispers, looking at him like he's a welcome ghost, "You real?"

"Of course I'm real," Cas affirms, or, reaffirms, as it were. What about all this is real. We are.

Dean looks awestruck, not all there enough to try to hold back the stars in his eyes that always come from looking at Cas. Cas, for his part, does hold back - he's got a job to do.

"Sam, I'm going to pull your brother off this-" Cas tilts his head a bit, "large nail, I suppose? Can you support his weight while I heal him?”

Sam nods once, finally, something I can do to help, "Definitely."

"Okay," Cas reaches his hand around Dean's back, "Dean, are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

With that, in one swift motion, Cas wrenches Dean free from where he's staked up. Dean lets out an involuntary groan, and Sam's knees buckle slightly before stabilizing. 

Cas presses his hands to the mess of a wound on Dean's back. That's certainly pierced an artery or two, Cas thinks, this will be... more difficult than I thought.

He concentrates, screwing his eyes shut, pushing as much of himself into this as he can. Dean's breathing is erratic, and, horrifyingly, it's starting to get quieter.

"Cas," Sam says, his voice drowned in worry, "Cas, it's not working."

Cas clenches his teeth in something that could only be described as a snarl and rips his hands off Dean. Sam starts to protest before he sees Cas flick his wrist and slip his angel blade down his arm. Cas takes the blade in one hand and cuts a long slice down one palm, then gives the other the same treatment. Pure grace spills out through the cuts, casting shadows and suddenly making Castiel's hands the brightest light source in the room. He moves them back over Dean’s puncture wound. Work, please work, don't do this now, don't let this be when my grace finally fails for good.

Sam and Cas hold their breath, Dean takes out another labored one that could very well be his last, or second to last, or third to last, or-

"It's not enough," Cas shouts. He moves from his position behind Dean and nudges Sam over. He brings his bleeding, glowing hands to Dean's face. "Dean, Dean, look at me. Do you trust me?"

What a stupid question, Cas, "Course, 'course I do."

"Do you know what I'm asking you?"

Oh, oh. Shit. "I- yeah, yes, yes, I know."

Cas nods and leans in, lips slightly parted and hovering a few inches from Dean's. The glowing from his hands dims, and suddenly there's grace floating like smoke, like blood in water, from Cas' mouth - curling into Dean's. Cas' eyes light up a more brilliant blue than they already are, and Dean's half-closed eyes light up the same. It's not clear whether it's Dean or Cas who closes the distance, though realistically, it's probably both of them. Hell of a way to have a first kiss.

Dean feels the tendrils of Cas' grace wrap into him, coil around his soul, seep through his skin and stitch up the ripped muscles in his back. It's strange, Dean's been a vessel for an angel before, but it didn't feel quite like this. It didn't feel... it didn't feel so familiar. It didn't feel like coming home.

Of course it feels like that, though, Dean thinks, it's Cas. That's just what it feels like to be around Cas on a normal day. At that thought, Dean can feel Cas smile slightly against his lips. You feel like home to me too, Dean. You always do. 

Suddenly, or slowly, all at once, or piece by piece, Cas disentangles his essence from Dean's. They part their kiss, and open their eyes to look at each other. They've looked at each other a lot, seen each other a lot, but this is different. Markedly different. Like the universe looked at them and decided to synchronize their heartbeats from this moment forward.

"Are you okay?" Cas breathes out.

Dean lets out a soft laugh, and nods his head.

Cas lets his hands fall from Dean's face and makes way for the crushing bro-hug that Sam pulls Dean in for a second later. He stands off to the side as the two exchange a few words of relief, followed by one, two quick pats on Sam's cheek from Dean and an understanding nod from the former as he turns to walk to the exit. Sam shoots Cas a thankful smile as he walks out of the barn, Cas returns it easily.

After Sam's a good few steps out of earshot, Dean saunters up to Cas, smiling. "That's a- that's a pretty cool trick you got there, Cas."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed it, I'm fairly certain it was my last one."

Dean furrows his brows, "What do you mean?"

Cas drops his eyes to the floor, "I- my grace has been failing for some time, Dean. Saving you just now, I think that was the last of it."

"So, you're tellin' me you're human? Again?"

"It would seem so," Cas says, still not quite meeting Dean's eye, "But-" and there, that's when he finally looks up, "But, I don't think it'll be so bad. Not as long as I have someone to pass the time with."

"Yeah," Dean laughs, moving forward and draping his arm around Cas' shoulders, "Funny you should say that, I think I might know just the guy for the job."

"Hm, I think so too."

- - -

Tagging ppl who specifically asked in the reblogs/comments so you guys get some closure, let me know if you want to be taken off!

@thenightwolf732 - @goblinwritergay - @queer-things-dont-happen-dean - @opinions-nobody-asked-for

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me? 

Special thanks to @shineestark​ for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​ for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected. 

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood. 

~Enjoy, little peaches~ 

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules. 

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved. 

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without. 

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home. 

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her. 

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together. 

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night. 

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever. 

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract. 

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked. 

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind. 

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do. 

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye. 

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind. 

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened. 

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one. 

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for. 

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all. 

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her. 

Without her. 

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most. 

You were hurting alone. 

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces. 

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface. 

They asked if you wanted to see her. 

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking. 

And you kept saying no. 

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor. 

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this. 

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve. 

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long. 

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately. 

“She’s... back?” 

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible. 

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks. 

Billie had been back for two. 

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half. 

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not. 

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no. 

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory. 

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life. 

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe. 

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had. 

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away. 

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning. 

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could. 

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time. 

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep. 

Over and over again. 

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern. 

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating. 

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face. 

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing. 

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth. 

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying. 

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed. 

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move. 

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss. 

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to. 

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes. 

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you. 

Billie Dean Howard. 

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped. 

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before. 

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend. 

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart. 

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“ 

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket. 

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch. 

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her. 

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room. 

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone. 

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer. 

Time passing. A cruel joke. 

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink. 

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence. 

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said. 

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life. 

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were. 

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life. 

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before. 

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up. 

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch. 

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else. 

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up. 

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken. 

“How could I be, when you’re here?” 

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together. 

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile. 

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.  

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her. 

“You shouldn’t have left.” 

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her. 

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.” 

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket. 

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface. 

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking. 

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.” 

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!” 

“And then you came home.” 

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said. 

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her. 

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off. 

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left. 

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking. 

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again. 

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again. 

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch. 

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly. 

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.” 

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all. 

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place. 

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again. 

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped. 

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing. 

Except you didn’t. 

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream. 

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window. 

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.  

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt. 

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to. 

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself. 

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...” 

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before. 

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.” 

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not. 

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”  

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth. 

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand. 

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what. 

She watched you, eyes narrowing. 

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze. 

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend. 

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you. 

It was easier. 

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest. 

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.” 

“She was the one who told me to come over.” 

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.” 

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,��� Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face. 

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.” 

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared. 

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place. 

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again. 

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move. 

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare. 

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched. 

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her. 

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything? 

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes. 

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself. 

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours. 

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were. 

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking. 

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you. 

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization. 

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!” 

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding. 

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone. 

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.” 

And that’s when you moved. 

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone. 

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know. 

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could. 

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth. 

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again. 

You couldn’t lose her again. 

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide. 

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently. 

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts. 

All from her. 

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest. 

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen? 

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one... 

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god... 

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you. 

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor. 

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie. 

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her. 

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her. 

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline. 

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain. 

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear. 

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed. 

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“ 

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony. 

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep. 

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived. 

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her. 

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home. 

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds. 

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt. 

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair. 

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream. 

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air. 

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way. 

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault. 

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost. 

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out. 

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away. 

You just wanted to look at her. 

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love. 

A world of forgiveness. 

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze. 

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up. 

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly. 

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything. 

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair. 

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.” 

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her. 

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?” 

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet. 

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone. 

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk. 

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal. 

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear. 

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her. 

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up. 

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat. 

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you. 

If that isn’t love. 

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again. 

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving. 

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful. 

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours. 

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight. 

Her mouth. 

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake. 

“Ow, fuck, shit.” 

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall. 

“Y/N?” 

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed. 

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?” 

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower. 

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?” 

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered. 

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone. 

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper. 

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her. 

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg. 

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.” 

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you. 

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago. 

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed. 

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking. 

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?” 

Her heel tapped. Once. 

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain. 

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics. 

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help. 

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you. 

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain. 

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered. 

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form. 

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze. 

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut. 

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment. 

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.” 

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue. 

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected. 

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling. 

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay. 

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go. 

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you. 

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart. 

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you— 

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously. 

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.” 

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath. 

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there. 

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in. 

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished. 

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head. 

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes. 

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely. 

But it was always gone as soon as it came. 

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later. 

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth. 

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed. 

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie. 

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep. 

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes. 

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself. 

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her. 

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together. 

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that. 

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts. 

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers. 

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far. 

Billie. Your Billie. 

Over and over and over. 

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed. 

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation. 

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even— 

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there. 

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric. 

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach. 

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder. 

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back. 

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone. 

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later. 

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion. 

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny. 

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. 

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think. 

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks. 

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it. 

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall. 

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten. 

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts. 

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again. 

Ever again. 

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness. 

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. 

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her. 

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal. 

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave. 

The floor creaked under your foot. 

Shit. 

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched. 

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope. 

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps? 

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet— 

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long. 

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant. 

And now she was here. 

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds. 

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time. 

One step at a time. 

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner. 

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words. 

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you. 

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way. 

And here she was, doing it again. 

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness. 

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night. 

You swallowed hard. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say? 

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask. 

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before. 

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch. 

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes. 

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked. 

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you. 

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.” 

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now. 

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted. 

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked. 

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again. 

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her. 

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you. 

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile. 

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back. 

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company. 

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes. 

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

You scoffed. 

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare. 

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it. 

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came. 

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you. 

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing. 

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything. 

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away. 

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you. 

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked. 

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently. 

Her pants. 

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes. 

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom. 

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed. 

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once. 

She was afraid you were going to change your mind. 

That’s why she was rushing you to bed. 

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip. 

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.” 

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency. 

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were. 

You could never forget how beautiful they were. 

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check. 

You nodded. 

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse. 

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets. 

Billie hummed. 

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry. 

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by. 

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep. 

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess. 

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets. 

You startled, whipping your head around to face her. 

But no, she was asleep. 

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.  

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep. 

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin. 

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did. 

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this. 

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before. 

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before? 

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up. 

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point. 

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth. 

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say— 

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg. 

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force. 

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it. 

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her. 

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours. 

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of. 

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed. 

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you. 

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting. 

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers. 

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs. 

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again. 

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt. 

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up. 

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down. 

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth. 

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp. 

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you. 

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you. 

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest. 

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours. 

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.” 

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore. 

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart. 

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides. 

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation. 

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together. 

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world. 

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying. 

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before. 

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,��� she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away. 

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat. 

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.” 

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back. 

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try. 

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.” 

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step. 

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched. 

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs. 

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands. 

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip. 

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.” 

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?” 

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs. 

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand. 

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.” 

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver. 

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her. 

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool. 

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you. 

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers. 

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours. 

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.” 

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip. 

“Shit.”

“I told you.” 

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.” 

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will. 

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.” 

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter. 

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t. 

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar. 

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to. 

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...” 

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat. 

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there. 

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion. 

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest. 

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers. 

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried. 

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool. 

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer. 

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her. 

“Shut up.” 

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours. 

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips. 

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance. 

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck. 

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings. 

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.” 

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly. 

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones. 

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides. 

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you. 

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading. 

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch. 

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you. 

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs. 

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently. 

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra. 

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong. 

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer. 

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra. 

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh. 

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here. 

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up. 

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra. 

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance. 

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.” 

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove. 

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?” 

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh. 

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“ 

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.” 

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room. 

“So you got her to eat?” 

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip. 

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle. 

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow. 

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added. 

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly. 

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her. 

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist. 

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door. 

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?” 

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point. 

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist. 

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin. 

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing. 

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends. 

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave. 

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.” 

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you. 

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck. 

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach. 

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you. 

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly. 

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there. 

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off. 

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door. 

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers. 

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up. 

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?” 

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different. 

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled. 

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time. 

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​ @shineestark​ @duchessfics​ @darling-dontforgetme​ @midnight-lestrange​ @nerdaroo​ @pradababey​ @mssallymckenna​ + @raleigh-ocean​ (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

[idreamofplaid]

The Feel of a Heartbeat

Square Filled: Autumn for @spngenrebingo​; Meet Cute for @spnfluffbingo​; Heat or Rut Blockers for @spnabobingo​

Characters: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: Sam lost his Omega many years ago and gave up on the idea of ever having another, but he’s about to find out that part of his life isn’t over.

Word Count: 4161

A/N: I thought this was a oneshot. There’s a Part 2 in the works. That’s where the smut is gonna happen. 😉 This story is also asking to be even longer than that. There’s the question of why Dean needs the pie that I want to answer. 🙂

Created for @spngenrebingo @spnfluffbingo & @spnabobingo

Sam had told himself any number of lies over the years. More than once, he had told himself this was the last case; and then he was out. Out never came. He was still hunting, and it was his life now. He had assured himself that everything he’d done had been for the greater good without any selfish motives. He’d also told himself he was evil, and neither was true. Sam had learned he was more complex than the simplicity of either of those things. 

The biggest lie he’d told himself was that he shouldn’t have an Omega in his life; it was better if he didn’t. He had tried commitment once, and it had ended badly. Very badly. He had watched his Omega die, burning on the ceiling. It had taken him years to come back from that.

Thankfully, the grief had initially suppressed his ruts. It also took away his scent. This became evident to him when his ruts finally returned. Normally during a rut, Omegas would be drawn to him. They would practically surround him, needing and wanting his knot. He still got his fair share of flirting and attention, but it wasn’t the same; and for Sam that was a relief.

Sam had no interest in the attention of an Omega or anyone else. His heart still hurt too much for Jessica and the guilt he felt for his perceived role in her death was too strong. A part of him had been taken away, ripped from him in the cruelest way imaginable. A couple of times he had sought out the company of an Omega when the pain of needing to mate had become too great, but the relief his body found only crushed his heart more. None of them was Jessica, and he didn’t dare to let himself feel anything like what he’d felt for her again.

That’s when Sam started taking suppressants, and he had been taking them ever since. They had blocked his ruts and brought a certain peace to his life, but no satisfaction. He just told himself that part of his life was over; his chance to bond himself with another was gone. Over the years, he found ways to accept it and deal with the resulting emptiness. Mostly, this involved burying himself in research and killing monsters, but the loneliness never went away.

Sam’s life changed on the day he walked into Lebanon’s one and only bakery looking for pie. One of the effects of the suppressants he took was that they not only erased his scent but also the scent of any nearby Omega, taking away any temptation and the possibility of fulfillment or pain. As he stepped inside the bakery, it was more than just pie fillings and frosting he smelled. 

The scent of pumpkin and sugar was heavy in the air; but what Sam smelled wasn’t muffins. This fragrance was laced with the aroma of crisp fall air, the way the day smells when you walk through an apple orchard while the trees are heavy with fruit and the fallen leaves are crunching beneath your feet. This smell was all delicious Omega, and that was something Sam hadn’t smelled for a long time. 

He hadn’t thought about it much really. It didn’t register with him that when the suppressants took away his scent and his ruts, they also took away his ability to smell Omegas. Then Sam saw her. He was instantly overwhelmed by the combined smell of sweetness, warmth, and freshness. It made his heart race, his knees a little weak, and his cock twitch with interest. 

It absolutely couldn’t be. Sam stood unmoving for a minute, transfixed by what was happening to him. He had been barely nineteen when he’d last felt something like this. It was unmistakable, and were it not for the suppressants; he would have probably gone into rut right there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was putting apple turnovers in the display case when Sam walked through the door. His presence filled the space as soon as he stepped into her shop; her senses tingled, and she could feel him. When Y/N looked up, she saw a man so handsome that for a moment she forgot what she was doing. 

His hair grazed his shoulders, and those shoulders were the broadest ones she’d ever seen. His eyes were a soft, warm hazel highlighted with green. Then he smiled, and her knees went a little weak. Dimples. How could a man who looked this strong also have dimples so adorable? Y/N tried not to stare at his muscles; his pecs were straining against the first closed button on his shirt, and his biceps filled the sleeves of the plaid flannel he was wearing to their limits. She silently reminded herself to stay focused.

She looked up and smiled her brightest. “Hi. What can I help you with today?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks. It wasn’t cupcakes she wanted to give him.

Sam smiled even bigger, and she could swear she saw a certain kind of gleam in his eye. It was the kind that only Alphas have. His expression was self assured and sexy, the kind of look that made an Omega want to submit and be marked. She told herself she had to be imagining it. This guy wasn’t an Alpha. If he was an Alpha, she would be able to smell him.

This tall, handsome, every bit an Alpha but the smell, man opened his mouth to speak; and his voice had a depth and a richness that calmed her on a primal level. He had the soothing tone that an Alpha would have only with his Omega. It was the way she had always imagined it, and him, to be. 

Sam interrupted the confusion of her thoughts. “I need a pie.” A bit of hair had fallen across his temple, and all the Alpha power she had sensed earlier was replaced with an almost boyish charm. He tilted his head to the side, and his hair moved over his forehead. “That is, my brother needs a pie. I need a pie for my brother.”

His awkwardness was cute, and she decided she must have imagined the Alpha thing. None of the Alphas she’d ever known could so endearingly fumble their words. He chewed at his bottom lip and tried again. “I mean I’m here to buy a pie for my brother because he’s been having a rough time lately, and pie cheers him up.”

He was handsome and thoughtful too. “Okay. I think I have exactly what you need.” There went her word choice again, sending her mind in other directions. “Do you want something with fruit? I made the cherry and apple fresh this morning. I’ve also got chocolate, banana creme, and lemon meringue, or you can order anything off the menu, and I’ll have it ready tomorrow afternoon.”

She gestured over her shoulder to the menu, but Sam was quick to answer. “No, I...um, definitely need it today.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, and she noticed how long and thick his fingers were.

Her voice took on a softness and a certain seriousness. “Apple is a great choice for this time of year.” Whatever this situation was with his brother, she wanted to help him. She felt it was her place to help him. He had activated all her Omega senses. She was still confused about how, but it had definitely happened.

Y/N lifted the fresh baked pie from the case. The crust was beautiful. She had taken great time with it, working the crust into a work of art. She had carefully latticed the top with the strips of crust weaving over and under each other and offering a peek of the fruit underneath. 

Y/N was proud of that pie, and that was the one she wanted him to have. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and Y/N noticed he started to take out a credit card; but then he handed her cash instead. “I’m Sam. Thanks for this. I’m sure Dean will like it.”

She handed him his change, and her fingers lightly grazed his palm as she did. “I’m Y/N.” She smiled. “Come back next week. I’ll be making pumpkin spice muffins with cream cheese frosting and cinnamon apple bread.” He nodded and treated her to another dimple adorned smile before he took the boxed pie from her and left with a jingle of the bell over the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was something about her smile, something about the way he looked at her, and when she touched his hand; it felt like he had come home. There was something so familiar about her, like he knew her, but he was sure he’d never met her before. 

The next week he left his salads and smoothies behind for another trip back to the bakery. It was fall, nothing wrong with indulging in some baked pumpkin treats. He would work it off during his morning run.

Y/N was with another customer when Sam walked in. That gave him an opportunity to look at her, study her really. Her mouth was small. It didn’t cover much of her face, but her lips were full; and, to Sam, they appeared very kissable. He wondered how soft her bottom lip would be if he dragged his finger over it while he looked into her eyes before he kissed her. 

Sam’s eyes travelled down her body. He watched as she wrapped cinnamon rolls; the paper sounded with a satisfying crinkle as she placed them in the bag. It made Sam think about sharing one of those pastries with her. He imagined her breaking off a piece and putting it into his mouth. He also imagined that her fingers would be even sweeter than the cinnamon roll.

Her smile set off a sparkle in her eyes when she saw him. “Hi, Sam. Are you back for the pumpkin muffins?” 

He sank his hand into the pocket of his jeans, not quite sure what to do with it. “Yeah, they sounded too good to pass up.” 

She picked what appeared to be the largest muffin in the case while she asked him, “here or to go?” 

On impulse, Sam answered, “here.” He could think of nothing better than to stay in her presence as long as he could. 

She put his muffin on a plate, and he noticed how tiny her hands were. Sam wanted to hold her hand, lace his fingers through hers, feel connected to her. “Do you want some coffee to go with that?” 

“That’d be good,” Sam replied. 

She smiled at him again. “Go ahead and find a seat. I’ll bring it out to you.” 

Sam chose one of the round cafe tables in the corner farthest from the door. When Y/N brought over his coffee, she was carrying a second cup. “Mind if I join you?” 

There was nothing Sam wanted more. “Sure.” Her movements were fluid, graceful as she pulled out the chair and sat across from him. Sam had never been so thankful for small tables. Usually such things made him feel too big for the world, like he didn’t fit. That was a feeling he’d never been comfortable with, and he found himself trying to feel smaller in spite of his Alpha status. It was a lingering result of the guilt he felt after Jessica’s death. 

Y/N took a sip of her coffee. Sam could smell it, nutty with the slightest hint of vanilla. She said, “I haven’t seen you around before. Have you been in Lebanon long?”

“It’s been a few years. My brother and I have a place outside town. We both travel a lot with work. When I’m home, I don’t usually have a reason to go places like a bakery.” Sam’s focus was fixed on his coffee mug for a second, then he looked at her. “I have one now. This coffee is amazing.” He paused, and she could see him thinking. As he took another sip, he looked at her in such a way that Y/N knew he meant more than the coffee had caught his interest.

They talked for nearly an hour. Y/N was thankful it was a slow morning. She only had to leave the conversation once to get a loaf of banana bread for one of her regulars, and eagerly she had returned to her spot near Sam. Already, she enjoyed the feeling of being near him. He wrapped her in his presence without even touching her, and she was realizing more and more it was a place she wanted to stay.

As their morning together was drawing to a close, things between them got quieter. There were fewer words and more comfortable silence. Sam looked at her, and she could see him thinking again. Finally, he asked her, “Have you ever been to the fall festival?”

Y/N felt her stomach do a flip. She hoped this was headed where she thought. “I’ve been a couple of times. It’s great for getting into the spirit of fall, and autumn is my favorite time of year.”

“Would you like to go again...with me? You could show me the ropes. I haven’t been to many fall festivals, or any other kind really.”

Y/N felt the butterflies in her stomach settle, and the calm of being around him took over again. “Yes, I’d like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It surprised Sam how much time he spent preparing for this date. Thinking about what he was going to wear wasn’t something Sam did beyond making sure it was functional enough that there was a wide range of movement and comfortable enough that he could spend a ten hour stretch in the Impala wearing it. He hadn’t even cared about clothes in his Stanford days when he was young and falling in love with Jess.

Sam had no idea which colors looked best on him, but blue was his favorite; so he decided to go with that. He chose one of his newer plaids that was predominantly blue with some gray and white mixed in, along with his best pair of jeans. At least a fall festival wasn’t fancy, so his clothes worked. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about wearing one of his FBI suits on a date, especially one that was taking on so much importance for him.

He’d even thought about asking Dean if he could take Baby for the day, but he wasn’t ready for the kind of questions a move like that would inspire. It was hard enough telling his brother he was taking someone to the town festival at all. Neither of them had hardly given the banners announcing the Lebanon Fall Festival a second glance in all the years they’d lived there. 

The biggest decision came for Sam two nights after he’d asked Y/N out. He was alone in the bunker bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror. It’d been a long time since he’d looked at his own reflection, really looked. 

The years had aged him, not that that was a bad thing. It meant he was still alive. It also meant there was wisdom in his eyes. Sam had suffered in those years; he’d learned, and he had overcome much loss and pain. The hard edge he’d once had that was fueled by anger was gone. It had been replaced by a steadfastness, a certainty of who he was that had been defined by the things he’d endured.

It was with that certainty, Sam opened the medicine cabinet, took out his bottle of suppressants, and dumped them into the sink. He turned on the water and watched as they dissolved and disappeared down the sink. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was practically giddy with excitement by the time she heard Sam’s knock at her door. She smoothed her hands over her hair one last time, took a deep breath, and opened it. She knew he was handsome, hadn’t been able to get the memory of that out of her head. He had been in her dreams these past few nights, but to have him in front of her again was purely breathtaking.

He led her to his truck parked by the curb. It was a vintage model, at least a couple of decades old. She wasn’t good with cars; so she couldn’t pinpoint it, but it fit the day perfectly. Sam opened the passenger door for her and helped her in.

The short ride to the fair was filled with laughter and fall sunshine streaming in through the windshield. Sam told her stories about when he was a kid. She found out he’d loved books growing up, still did, and so did she. They talked about the last books they’d read and favorite genres. They talked about the places they’d like to go. Sam shared with her that he’d seen most of the United States but not much outside of it, and he would like to change that.

She could imagine traveling the world with him, experiencing it through his eyes; but that was something she would do with her Alpha. Y/N felt a pang of sadness stab her heart at the thought of losing that dream with Sam. For now, she should just focus on enjoying this day with the fascinating man in front of her.

They played games together: ring toss, tin can bowling, and pumpkin tic tac toe. Sam was, not surprisingly, skilled at all of them. But when it came to popping balloons with darts, he was exceptionally good. He’d won the two prize limit in under five minutes. Both were teddy bears in the typically bright colors of carnival toys. She kept the green one, and the pink one she gave to a little girl waiting in the line next to them. 

When she turned back to Sam, he was watching the little girl hug her new bear with a soft look in his eyes. Y/N was mesmerized by the look on his face. Finally, she asked him, “Where did you learn to do that?”

The look on his face changed, and it made Y/N sorry she’d said anything. “My dad taught me.”

Sam was quick to recover, the melancholy gone from his eyes. “Would you like to learn?” She nodded, and he positioned her in front of him. “Pick up one of the darts.” Sam draped his arm along the length of hers and settled his fingers over her hand so he could guide her movements. “Focus on the target. Don’t think about it too much. Just keep your eye on the place you want the dart to go.”

He moved her hand in a circular motion. “Stay loose.” Sam let go of her hand and dropped his own hand to her waist. “Now, throw it.” Y/N kept her eye on the center of the balloon and let the dart fly. It landed just to the left of her target. “Not bad,” he told her. Sam kept his hands on her waist. “PIck your spot on the balloon. Focus. And let it go.” This time, the dart she threw landed in the center of a red balloon with a loud pop. 

Y/N couldn’t help but jump up and down a little. She was surprised she’d been able to do that. Sam’s hold on her tightened slightly, then he let her go and stepped back. “Throw the last one.” Her last dart didn’t pop another balloon, but that did nothing to diminish her glow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day had a magic about it. The air was cool, and the sun was shining with a diffuse brightness in a vibrant jewel toned blue sky, the kind of a glorious autumn. Seasonal produce was everywhere. The yellows, oranges, and reds of squash, pumpkins, and apples created a rich backdrop for the sounds of laughter coming from the people playing carnival games and enjoying fall treats.

Sam felt good, better than he had in a long time. Y/N’s enthusiasm filled his veins with an excitement of his own. It was possibility. The blood of life was flowing through his veins again. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, a spark of recognition flared. This is what it felt like when his instincts weren’t dulled by suppressants. This is what it felt like when he was falling in love. He reached for Y/N’s hand, and she laced her fingers through his.

Sam enjoyed the feel of her hand in his. The way their fingers wrapped together made him feel something deep inside of him that he could only define as peace. It was a rare feeling for him, so rare he didn’t think he’d ever felt quite this way before. He could feel her smiling at him, knew it without looking. When he did look, her expression comforted him somehow, wrapped around him, and gave him hope for the future. “Are you hungry?” she asked him. “You haven’t lived until you have fall carnival food.”

They passed by several concession stands before Y/N found the one she wanted. Sam had never seen anything like it; there was more junk food here than he allowed himself in a year, and now he wanted all of it. He’d never had funnel cake, kettle corn, or a fried candy bar; but it was the caramel apple stand where Y/N came to a stop. Sam had never had one of those either. 

There were green apples and red apples covered in a layer of caramel. Some had crushed peanuts on them; some had been dipped in candies, and others were decorated with swirls of chocolate. “Want one?” She looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah.” Sam answered with a smile that turned on his dimples. Y/N took her time choosing exactly the two apples she wanted. Both were Granny Smith with festive dark chocolate drizzles; one had nuts and one didn’t. She kept the one with the nuts for herself.

To Sam’s surprise, it wasn’t entirely easy to take the first bite out of a caramel apple. The layer of solidified gooeyness with the firm apple underneath made it a challenge to sink his teeth in just right, but when he did the intense sweetness of the caramel with a hint of tartness from the apple was perfect.

Sam thoroughly enjoyed the indulgence of the apple and managed to make an adorable mess. Y/N pushed a stray bit of caramel from the corner of his mouth onto his lips with her fingertip. Her touch lingered for a beat, and Sam felt something stir inside him and come to life. 

She asked him then if he wanted to try a bite of her apple. “It’s good with the peanuts.” He took a bite of the apple she offered him. His eyes met hers, and it was then that the thing awakening inside him exploded. The intense smell of pumpkin, sugar, and autumn air once again flooded over him like it had that first day he met her in the bakery. It was like a strong ocean wave that threatened to knock him down. Omega. HIS Omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N felt a little shy as she held out her apple for Sam to take a bite. There was still a phantom tingle in her fingertips from touching his lips. Her body was nearly humming from his closeness. It felt natural to her to feed him, like the intimate gesture was just one of many they frequently shared.

Her eyes found his, and she let herself float into the warm golden brown of his hazel eyes. For a moment, she lost herself in him and in the way he was looking at her. Then, she smelled it. It was the distinctly earthy smell of firewood set ablaze. She tore her eyes from his to look around. Had someone started a bonfire?

There was no fire. Y/N looked back at Sam, and she could only describe what she saw there as amazement, maybe even awe. He looked like he wanted to say something. She could still smell the firewood. Now it was joined by the scent of bourbon, warm and rich, kissed by the sweetness of maple syrup. It was him; the smell was coming from Sam.

Y/N’s heart started to beat faster, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. He was an Alpha, and he wasn’t just any Alpha; he was hers. She felt the slick begin to pool in her panties, and pain with a white hot intensity jabbed at her abdomen and radiated through her core. She dropped the apple and grabbed for Sam’s arm to steady herself. “Alpha?!”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester​ @princessmisery666​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @peridottea91​ @logical-princey​ @emilyshurley​ @beenlovingromansincedayoneish​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @waywardbaby​ @atc74​ @ledzeppelinsbonzo​ @shaniquacynthia​ @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @gh0stgurl​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​ @triiitoo​ @deansotherotherblog​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes​ @stunudo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @theychosefamily​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @i-joined-social-media-finally​ @autumninavonlea​ @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​  @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @waywardnerd67​ @neii3n​ @fullmooner​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​ @sammysnaughtygirl​

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 4

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

EXTRA WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS THE SOURCE OF MOST OF THE WARNINGS FOR THE STORY. Please don't kill me. THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER, I PROMISE. It's not over yet. I can't promise you won't hate me when it's over, but I will not leave you here. There's more.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

In case you missed it: Chapter 3 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Ch 4

Pre-dawn is too damn cold, she decides. She has to visually check that her fingers are actually doing up the buttons to her ragged denim jacket. She lost sensation in her hands a while back, and it’s the only way to make sure they’re actually doing their job. Her jacket is utterly unsuitable for the current temperature, but she doesn’t expect to need it for much longer.

Just before sunrise, Crowley told her.

The sky is already lightening on the horizon, the medium gray more obvious than she would have thought against the stark black, but, then, she’s never had much occasion to be out quite this late before. She’s usually done at the diner by six, singing at the club by ten, and in bed by two at the latest. She hopes Crowley is punctual. She can’t decide if the waiting or the cold is worse.

Except that, yes, she really can. The waiting is definitely worse.

The sound of shifting gravel pulls her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find the King of Hell himself smiling beatifically at her. She shivers, not bothering to search out the source of her discomfort, as she is rather spoiled for choice at the moment. She’s out in the freezing dark, about to hand over her life and soul to a demon because deranged cultists got it into their heads that they should use her blood to start an apocalypse (and who knew there was more than one of those outside of Sunnydale, seriously).

Shivering is probably the most rational reaction she’s had in a while.

“Hello, darling. Pleasant evening with the boys?”

He’s got more sass in one off-the cuff remark than she has in her entire history, and for a moment she can only marvel at the affected innocence in his expression. It's almost convincing. She opts to remain silent rather than take his bait. He smirks, the expression natural and only a touch derisive.

“No surprises, then? No sidekicks to save you at the last minute from the bad, bad demon?”

“I thought the torture didn’t start until after you kill me,” she sighs, hugging her arms tighter around herself, a futile attempt to ward off the chill. Maybe she’s got a little spark in her, after all. He laughs, a friendly, personable chuckle that would set anyone else at ease, reassure them of his honorable, benign intentions.

“Come on, Crowley, what's the hold up? I was here on time. Can we just get this over with already? I could have gotten one more round in with Dean if we were just going to stand around, shootin’ the breeze.”

Even watching for it, she can only just see the tick in Crowley's jaw, the slightest tension that betrays...something. She doesn't know what or why, but Crowley has more than a little unhealthy obsession with the elder Winchester brother, and she is pleased she managed to crack his veneer even for the briefest moment.

At least I don't have to worry about Dean, Andy thinks, relief creeping into the sea of dread that is her stomach. Her deal with Crowley was not only about stopping the apocalypse but also keeping Sam and Dean and even Castiel safe.

“Once you're gone, I won’t harm a hair on their precious heads, nor any other part of them,” he swore to her a mere eighteen hours earlier.

“I’m hurt you don't find my company more pleasant, love,” he murmurs, taking a couple of steps closer. He slides his hands in his coat pockets, the very picture of nonchalance. “I do try my best to be cordial, even congenial, after all. But since you’re so very uncomfortable, I suppose you won't object, then, that I took the liberty of inviting a few friends whose company you seem to prefer. What a lovely party we’ll have when they get here.”

As if he’s summoned them, a pair of lights appear in the distance, growing larger with every passing moment. Headlights, she realizes; a second later, she hears the distinctive roaring of a very particular car engine, and before she can turn back to Crowley, the Impala leaps out of the darkness, skidding across the hard-packed dirt road, coming to a halt bare inches from the demon’s impeccably shined shoes.

Andy stumbles back, choking in the cloud of dust the car kicks up, only to hit something solid. Impossibly strong fingers dig into her chin, lifting her face out and away as cold, thin metal is pressed to the side of her neck, and only now does she freeze.

“Let her go, Crowley,” Dean growls, his gun drawn and aimed even before he exits the car. “This isn't her fight, and you know it!” On the other side, Sam and Castiel climb out, Sam drawing his gun and moving to flank the demon.

“I do heartily protest, sir,” Crowley says, his tone mild and conversational. The blade digs in ever so slightly under her ear, and a thin trickle of warmth slides down her skin to soak into her collar. Dean doesn't flinch, but his eyes narrow, and he readjusts his aim.

“Not only is the lady at the epicenter of this fight, she's gone and made herself the brightest star in the show. Ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

“How-” she manages through fear-numbed vocal cords. Dean should be unconscious, snoring blissfully away in his bed where she left him. She made sure to leave no sort of trail they could follow, and she checked that they were all asleep or otherwise occupied before she took off.

“I wasn’t asleep, Andy,” Dean replies, leveling his gun at Crowley. “And I’ve been tracking since I was seven. Gimme some credit.”

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Moose.” Crowley’s words freeze Sam in his tracks, and the blade on Andy’s neck digs in a little deeper. The flow of warmth down her neck widens just a touch. The sheer smugness in Crowley’s tone sets her teeth on edge, breaking through her stupor, and she grabs the hand with the knife, pulling at it with all her might. She, of course, doesn’t make a dent in the demonic strength, but she’s got to try something.

If you asked her later, Andy would swear to you that the searing pain that drags along her neck parallel to her jaw line right then is pure Hellfire. Deep down in the darkest recesses of her mind where all the worst truths lurk, she knows she’s feeling the bite from Crowley’s knife, but in that instant all she is aware of is the agony of the wound, of Dean’s enraged roar, and the juxtaposition of Crowley’s gentle touch pressing her own fingers to something hot and slippery under her jaw.

“Hold pressure there, sweetheart, or you’ll bleed out too soon. Wouldn’t want you to miss the finale.”

Her knees buckle, and she drops, but somehow she stays upright long enough to see Crowley’s demons approach out of the darkness. She tries to warn the boys, but time moves with a dreamlike lethargy that betrays every one of her good intentions, and, anyway, her voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment. The roar of gunfire all around her sounds faint in comparison to the rushing in her ears, and she is powerless to stop Crowley’s plans from reaching fruition.

“You...said...you wouldn’t...”

“Well, pet, you aren’t dead yet, are you? I’ve got, what, at least another three minutes before you snuff it, by my count. Plenty of time to conclude my business with the Winchesters and their featherbrained friend before you expire.”

Though he was right behind her only a moment ago, Crowley appears abruptly next to Castiel, who at the moment is distracted by two lesser demons both wielding machetes. She realizes as she watches Cas easily fend them off that they, just like Andy, are only a distraction, only bait to tempt the bigger players to overextend themselves.

Too late, she sees the perfection of Crowley’s plan. In all the confusion, she loses track of Sam, and she wrenches her eyes away from Dean’s staggering form only to watch as the angel blade in Crowley’s hand bursts through Castiel’s chest. Then her gentle, confused friend is gone in a flash. The demons vanish, and she can’t find Sam or Dean, can’t reach them, can’t make her voice work to call out.

The quiet is wrong, so out of place after the violent cacophony. The roaring is gone, the gunfire silenced, and all that’s left is a terrible wheezing, gurgling sound that takes her too long to recognize as her own labored breathing.

“Crow...ley…”

“I’m here, darling. What do you need?”

“Lying...bastard…”

“Now, now, sweetheart, are those really what you want your last words to be?” He lifts her easily from the ground, carrying her the few yards to where Dean lies sprawled in the dusty gravel. His shirt is stained black in the retreating darkness, and Andy can only be thankful that she won’t make it to sunrise to see what exact shade of red is spreading over him. Dean’s far hand scrabbles on the ground, stopping its frantic search only when it finds his brother’s.

Sam’s still form doesn’t return his brother’s grip.

“After all, I’ve done you a favor; I didn’t have to give you the opportunity to say good-bye. I can’t promise you adjoining cells, but I’m sure your torture will coincide with his occasionally,” Crowley continues conversationally, “so, really, the two of you should be thanking me that you’ll at least get occasional visiting privileges. It pays to be on good terms with the king, after all. And, who knows? After a couple hundred years of good behavior, I might even be persuaded to-”

“Why?” It’s all she can manage as he lays her on the ground. Dean reaches for her with his free hand, and she is just able to find his fingers. Their eyes meet, but her vision is blurring as breathing gets tougher, and she can’t see what he’s mouthing to her. Even his eyes, such a luminescent green only hours ago, are fading into the remaining dark of the night.

“The Winchesters, dear, it’s always been about the Winchesters. Oh, the fanatics and their doomsday ritual were real enough, as was your blood. I just simply took advantage of the situation, as any intelligent monarch would do. Settled things with the apocalypse groupies, rid myself of some major pains in my rear, and now I get you, to boot! I do love when a plan comes together.”

Dean’s fingers tighten in hers, and she tries to grip his back, but the harder she holds on, the less she can feel him.

She’s not really feeling much of anything but cold now.

“Shut...up...already.”

“Always ungrateful in the end, even after everything I do for them,” Crowley grumbles from above her. But then he does shut up, and she finally feels something besides the cold.

Relief. ...

Chapter 5

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

High Strung AU Part 2

As they work on the competition piece, Kara and Lena grow closer. They kiss over a brainstorming session, when Kara dances out an idea, and Lena looks at her like she could drink her in for ages. That night, Lena confesses that the reason she couldn’t go to the police about her violin is because her visa has long expired, and drawing any attention to herself could end in her deportation to a country she doesn’t feel is home anymore. 

“If we win the competition, you could enroll in NCCA,” Kara murmurs with swollen lips. “You would qualify for a student visa. You could stay.”

“With you? I’m counting on it.”

Kara stays over the night she walks in on Lena playing a song that sounds like an ocean put to music. It’s deep, and old, and speaks to something in Kara that she can’t name. That night, lying in bed with their legs tangled together, Lena confesses that she doesn’t want to play anyone else’s song for the competition. She wants to play her own. A song for Kara.

Lena accepts the loaner violin, and together she and Kara start to work on their program. Kara takes on the choreography, even charming Lena’s street-dancing upstairs neighbors into joining their cast. But the music-- the music is all Lena. Lena pours herself into it, and Kara feels the love in every note, each beat a smile, a kiss, a heart. 

She falls deep, but she falls wholeheartedly, knowing that Lena is falling right alongside her. 

The day of the competition, Lena is on her way to the theater when she notices a dark sedan following her. She ducks into an alley, and for a moment she thinks she’s lost them but just as she exits on the other side a car with sirens screeches to a stop in front of her.

“You Lena Luthor?” a man with a badge asks. “We need to have a chat.”

At the precinct, they immediately hone in on her immigration status, but all Lena can think about is the minutes ticking by as the competition’s go-time inches closer and closer. Meanwhile Kara and the other dancers are all sweating in the dressing room, wondering where the fuck Lena could be. Their performance hinges entirely on Lena-- without her, they have to withdraw-- but all Kara can think about is that something awful must have happened. Lena would never leave them hanging like this, something must have happened....

“Look, Lena,” the gentleman across the desk from Lena says, leaning forward intently. “I’m not interested in your status today.”

“Then why am I here? I kind of have somewhere to be, so--”

“We need information. About your father, Lionel.”

Lena’s face lifts with surprise, then falls in resignation. Mirroring her interrogator’s posture, Lena leans forward as well.

“I will tell you absolutely anything you want to know, tomorrow. Tonight, there’s somewhere I have to be.”

Backstage, Kara and the dancers are all at places, giving Lena until the very last moment. When the stage manager signals their cue and still no Lena, Kara’s heart falls. But then a flicker of motion at the edge of her vision makes her freeze. There she is: Lena-- sweating and breathing hard, Lena is here. Kara launches into her arms with a quiet laugh, and Lena nearly crushes her in the hug that follows. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’m late, I’ll explain everything later--”

“Here,” Kara says, placing a familiar shape into Lena’s hands. 

Lena stares at it in confusion, then in shock. “My mother’s violin.” Her throat locks up with emotion. “How did you...”

“The pawn shop called. Someone brought it in, and I picked it up on the way here. I thought-- no, I knew you shouldn’t be playing with anything else tonight.”

Lena’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Truly.”

Kara nods with a smile, giving her one last kiss. “Let’s do this.”

Their performance is choreographed to be a story-- their story. The story of peace, a home lost, then regained in the form of new family. Kara dances her heart out to Lena’s music, and as she moves she feels her body unlike she ever has before. She feels every movement more keenly, every step as powerful as the storm Lena’s music creates. Integrating her ballet with the street dancers’ contemporary style, the fusion meshes with the techno beat of Lena’s composition seamlessly, embodying it’s swirling energy with grace and style. 

And as she dances, Kara remains aware of Lena, catching glimpses of her when she passes. Glimpses of Lena, standing in the spotlight with her mother’s violin, hair and body swaying with the force of her playing, eyes closed as her fingers find the notes with unerring precision. She’s never been more beautiful, never more magnetic, than in this moment, and Kara feels a tug low in her stomach. 

It takes all of her restraint to keep from kissing Lena right there on the stage, even as they’re taking their bows after the music ends. It’s all she can do to wait until they’re in the wings, pressed in among the sweaty bodies of the other giddy dancers, before she loops her arms around Lena’s neck and kisses her soundly.

“That was... amazing.”

Lena nods, still stunned from the thunderous applause and the high of performing. “Yeah. Kinda different from my subway platform, huh?”

In that moment, Kara hopes that, even if they don’t win, the dean of admissions had seen Lena’s performance, and realized that Lena belonged with them. 

“All groups to the stage, please!”

Kara and Lena funnel out onto the stage with the others, hand in hand, to stand alongside Mike and his own dance group. Kara had heard the music through the loudspeakers back stage while waiting and worrying for Lena, and while it had been technically flawless, it had been stiff as well. Without heart. 

If nothing else, Kara knows their own group has heart.

“And tonight’s winner is... Lena Luthor, and her dance partner, Kara Danvers!”

The stage and the audience erupts into cheers. Kara turns to Lena, laughing gleefully, to find her girlfriend staring, stunned. “We won!” Kara throws her arms around Lena. “We won!”

The embrace shakes Lena from her shock, lifting her arms to wrap around Kara’s waist. 

“We did it.”

We.

Kara pulls back, beaming. “Yeah. We did.”

Then she kisses Lena, and the rest of the world falls away.

The following year, NCCA’s brightest dancing star returns to school hand in hand with its newest leather-wearing violinist rockstar.

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter 14

Dean x reader

Mechanic!AU

Word Count-2652

Warnings-Angst, language, heartbreak

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

A/N- Songs in this chapter are “Somewhere In My Broken Heart” by Billy Dean and “Under Your Scars” by Godsmack. Lyrics are in bold.

Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth​ and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​

Regret and Redemption Masterlist

Regret and Redemption Spotify Playlist

It had been a week since Y/N found out that Stacy and Steven had played her and Dean. She hadn’t left her apartment or answered her phone, needing to be alone to sort her thoughts and feelings. She had gotten divorced and found out all of this in one day. It was enough to send anyone to the looney bin, and Y/N felt like she wasn’t too far off. She’d cried and screamed so much in the first few days that her voice had gotten hoarse. She was still angry but had mostly calmed down. 

The one thing that she couldn’t get out of her head was the fact that she now pitied Dean more than she was mad at him. Yes, he had chosen to sleep with Stacy, and Y/N couldn’t wholly blame all that on her. Dean made that choice, but he was manipulated. Y/N knew all too well about the insecurities he had and how they could be used against him. That had her second-guessing about the choice she had made to carry out the divorce. Could they have worked it out in the end? She had always loved Dean, and she knew that would never change. 

Y/N had been sitting in her kitchen drinking coffee with her music on in the background. She had been going back and forth in her head all day, wondering if she had made the right decisions. Dean had hurt her, but she hadn’t stopped to think about his perspective. He shouldn’t have betrayed her, but his low self-esteem and never-ending self-loathing was easy to use against him, and that’s what Stacy did. Dean was an intelligent and strong man, but his view of himself had always been one of his greatest weaknesses. 

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought of how Dean must feel. He had been the one to break their vows, and all because he had been tricked into it. She couldn’t imagine what that would feel like, to know that you were manipulated into ruining your marriage. Y/N hung her head and took a deep breath. She realized what she had known deep down for weeks: she was still deeply in love with her ex-husband, and she missed him. Y/N looked down at her coffee cup and groaned. She needed something a lot stronger than coffee. She decided to go to the bar, hoping the alcohol would help drown out the feelings that crippled her. 

Y/N picked up her phone to call her publishing company to have Steven dismissed for his unprofessional behavior. As she swiped to unlock her phone, the thought to delete any pictures she had taken with him crossed her mind. She didn’t want any reminders that he had even been a part of her life. The first man she had tried to date after leaving Dean had been a manipulative asshole. Y/N huffed at the thought, clicking on the photo app to begin deleting Steven from her life. As she scrolled through her photos, one picture, in particular, caught her eye. It was her wedding picture. 

Her breath caught in her throat as her lip began to tremble. Dean had never looked so handsome. His mossy green eyes had the brightest sparkle, and his smile was breathtaking. She could see the freckles that adorned his beautiful face, scattered across his nose and cheeks like stars in the night sky. Y/N thought back to all the nights that she laid in their bed and tried to count each one, wrapped in each other’s arms. She wiped at the tears that betrayed her and trailed down her cheeks as she locked her phone, dropping it on the counter. Y/N stood to get dressed; she definitely needed that strong drink now. Maybe a night at the bar would do her some good and help her forget how much she missed him.

Dean sat in his office at the garage. His mind replayed the day last week when everything had fallen apart. His divorce was final, and he learned that Stacy had been manipulating him the entire time. He couldn’t excuse that he had cheated, but he couldn’t help feel like an idiot. How had he let her get under his skin when he had the perfect woman at home? Y/N had been so wrapped up in writing her novel and hadn’t been paying him the attention he was used to, but he shouldn’t have let that insecurity get to him. 

He hadn’t heard from her since the day of their divorce proceedings. She told him that she didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he was trying to give her that space. He’d picked up his phone to call her many times but had refrained. If he was going to get her back, he needed to let her have time to process everything. Hell, he was still having a hard time processing what had gone down last week. The last few months had been a cluster fuck, and he just wanted his wife back and everything to be what it once was. 

He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since she had left. All he wanted was to feel her in his arms once again, to hear her laugh fill their home and his heart. Y/N was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, and her beauty radiated from the inside out. He had never loved anyone the way he loved her and never would again. He lay in their bed alone every night, thinking about what it was like when she was next to him: her warm body pressed against him, his fingers tangled in her soft Y/H/C hair as he kissed her deeply, the way she looked when she was beneath him, their bodies connected in the most intimate ways. 

Dean threw his head back and audibly groaned. He wanted to feel Y/N like that again, to have her home with him. He missed her terribly and would give anything to fix what he had done so she would come back to him. He was determined to win her back, but there was nothing he could do now, and he needed a drink. Dean looked at his watch and decided that it was late enough that he could leave. Even if it wasn’t, he was the boss. He stood from his seat and picked up his wallet and keys as he walked out of the office. Dean made his way out to his beloved Impala and started the engine. He backed out of his parking spot and pointed Baby in the direction of the bar. 

Y/N was three whiskeys deep and still felt like shit. She couldn’t seem to get Dean and how much she missed him off her mind. Even watching everyone making fools of themselves during karaoke night wasn’t helping that much. It just reminded her of the nights she and Dean would come to watch on karaoke night and laugh, occasionally singing themselves. They’d always had so much fun together, and now she sat there alone and miserable. A thought came to her mind and she stood on shaky legs, walking to the stage where the person who had just finished was exiting. She was going to sing and let her emotions out that way. What she didn’t know was that Dean had walked in and was sitting at the bar. 

Y/n chose her song and waited for the first notes to filter out into the room. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her as she began to sing. 

You made up your mind it was over

After we had come so far.

But I think there are enough pieces of forgiveness.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

I would not have chosen the road you have taken.

It has left us miles apart.

But I think I can still find the will to keep going.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

So fly, go ahead and fly until you find out who you are.

I will keep my love unspoken.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

Y/N couldn’t help but let a few tears fall as she sang the song. She had always loved the song, but now it had new meaning. 

 I hope that in time you will find what you long for 

Love that's written in the stars and when you finally do.

I think you’ll see it's somewhere in my broken heart.

Boy, I will keep my love unspoken, somewhere in my broken heart.

I hope that in time you will find what you long for.

Love that’s written in the stars and when you finally do.

I think you will see it’s somewhere in my broken heart.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

Somewhere in my broken heart.

 Dean sat at the bar, silently wiping the tears that had escaped and trailed down his cheeks. He had never expected to see Y/N here, let alone hear her sing that song. It had always been one of her favorites, and seeing her sing it while she cried had shattered his heart to pieces. Dean sat his whiskey on the bar and walked to the stage. He was determined to show her that he still loved her and was going to sing another one of her favorite songs.

 “Can I have your attention please?” Dean spoke into the microphone. 

 Y/N’s whole body stiffened at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t realized he was here and she had just left her heart on that stage. She turned to see Dean staring right at her, his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks proof that he had heard her. She watched as he continued to speak. 

 “I’m going to sing a song, but first I have something to say. Y/N, I love you, darlin’, and I’m so sorry I hurt you. You were, and still are, the best thing that has ever happened to me. I fucked up, and I know I can’t ever take it back, but I hope you can forgive me, sweetheart. I’ll do anything to prove to you that I can be the man you loved. I know how much you love this song, and I want to sing it for you. It’s not really in my wheelhouse of music, but I would do anything for you, so here it goes,” Dean sighed as the first notes of the song began to play. 

 Do we make sense, I think we do

In spite of everything that we’ve been through

Oh and you say black, and I say white

It's not about who’s wrong

As long as it feels right

Don’t think those stars won’t align

Under your scars, I pray

You’re like a shooting star in the rain

You’re everything that feels like home to me, yeah

Under your scars, I could live inside you time after time

If you'd only let me live inside of mine

Live inside of mine

 Y/N sobbed at her table. This was one of her favorite songs of all time, and there stood her ex-husband singing his heart out. She was frozen as she continued to listen to his voice. 

 Wish you were here

Right beside me

So I could watch you sleep

Hold your body closer, breathe you deep

And everything feels broken

When you’re not next to me

Would you still be you

If we weren’t we

So hey, if you feel like coming down

If you feel like coming around

Just call my name out loud.

Hey, if you feel like coming down

If you feel like coming around

Just call my name out loud, yeah

Under your scars, I pray

You’re like a shooting star in the rain

You’re everything that feels like home to me, yeah

Under your scars, I could live inside you time after time

If you’d only let me live inside of mine

Live inside of mine

 Dean opened his eyes as the last notes of the song faded away, and his eyes caught the movement of Y/N, leaving her table to run outside. Dean had to catch her and talk to her; he needed her to know just how much he needed her. Dean dropped the mic and ran after her, his long legs making it easy for him to make up the distance. He caught up to her just as she rounded the corner of the building to the parking lot. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. 

 “Y/N baby, please talk to me,” he pleaded, looking into her eyes.

 “Dean…” Y/N whimpered. She didn’t know if she had the strength to have this conversation. 

 “Just listen, please! I love you, Y/N! I know I messed up, but I swear to you that I will never hurt you like that again! I need you, baby. I’m just a shell of a man without you. You’re my everything, and I miss you,” Dean said, pleading with her to listen to him. 

 “What do you expect me to do, Dean, take you back and act as if nothing happened?” Y/N whispered. 

 “No sweetheart, I don’t expect that. Just give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve. I want my wife back,” Dean begged. 

 Y/N stood and looked at him as her mind raced with everything they had been through. She knew she still loved him, and she missed their life together. Dean’s words had given her an idea, and if he really wanted her back, he would agree. 

 “Fine. I’ll give you another chance Dean, but I’m not coming home,” Y/N said, looking Dean in the eyes. 

 “What? What does that mean?” Dean questioned. He was ecstatic that she was going to give him another chance, but why wasn’t she going to come home?

 “I’m staying in my apartment, and we are going to date again. We are truly starting over Dean. If you want to prove that you’re a changed man, you’ll agree to this. You have to regain my trust, and that will take time. You hurt me badly, Dean, and I can’t just forget that,” she said with a sigh. 

 “So, date you again? Like when we were in high school?” Dean asked, wanting to make sure he understood what she wanted. 

 “Exactly like when we started dating in high school. We’re not married anymore, and we’ve both changed. This will give you the opportunity to prove yourself, and for us to get to know each other again,” Y/N said with a soft smile.

 “I’ll do anything you want, Y/N! This means you’ll give me another chance, right?” Dean asked, his voice full of hope. 

 “Yes, Dean. I’ve missed you,” Y/N said, letting her head fall onto his chest. 

 “Oh God, how I’ve missed you, sweetheart!” Dean exclaimed, lifting her face so he could see her, “Can I kiss you Y/N?” 

 “I guess I can let you kiss me this one time,” Y/N said with a chuckle. 

 Dean cupped her face in his hands and crashed his lips to hers. The feeling of her lips moving with his and her body pressed against him was as wonderful as he had remembered. He had missed her more than words could ever express. The kiss ended as the need for air became too much. Dean pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, enjoying having her close to him again. He was going to prove to her that he could be a good man. He would do anything to show her that she belonged back home with him, the home that they had made so many memories in, with hopes that now they would make many more.

@flamencodiva @sorenmarie87 @foxyjwls007 @waywardbeanie @emoryhemsworth @voltage-my2dlove @hardcoresupernatural @msmarvelouswinchester @lyarr24 @deanmonandnegansbitch @akshi8278 @midsummereve1993 @sutton2001 @emory91 @halesandy @miss-nerd95 @ellewritesfix05 @bxbyizzy @winchest09 @adoptdontshoppets @defenderrosetyler @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @talesmaniac89​ @deanwanddamons​ @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @nihilismworld​ @winchester-wifey​ @mrsfox79​ @malfoysqueen14​ @moron225​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​ @fablesrose​ @queenofchaos7​ @maralisa124​ @deangirl93​ @aimee-ginge​ @anathewierdo​ @donnaintx​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @itsdesiree86​ @kyjey​ @roxytheimmortal​ @briagallen​ @aubageddon91​ @lunarmoon8​

[thevampirearcher-md]

something med school did not cover - astray (#1) 🩺

A/N: hi, hello, I decided to write something very easygoing and lighthearted and just bask in cuteness. (And I apparently also decided to project very heavily whoop, don't tell anyone.) Also, this is heavily based on my own experience (I did say I was projecting) so keep that in mind about the structure of the medical system.

TW for medical procedures (even though I'll try not to make them graphic). Also, some inevitable medical jargon.

also on ao3

There’s the new sea of interns, Denali thinks watching their welcoming “ceremony” - a dramatic speech about the best and worst years of their lives, about patients’ lives and responsibility, all conveyed to them in the dean of medicine’s booming voice and theatrical inflection.

They’re all the same as they are every single year - wide-eyed and hopeful, ready to prove themselves more than worthless, yet scared shitless by the prospect of failing. There’s the surgical residents, hands itching to touch scalpels, even though most they’ll be doing for their first year is suture and hold retractors still until they’ll want to have their hands detached. There’s the cardiology residents, all regal and imposing, the fanciest of the bunch, even in scrubs, waiting to prove their wit to their attendings. There’s the emergency medicine residents, waiting to call the shots over machinery beeping, as they saw in the movies.

And then, there’s the bunch that Denali will have to deal with: paediatrics. They’re usually the ones wearing the cute scrubs - pinks, pastels and various prints. They’re the one with the tiny stethoscopes, who smile kindly at one another, who smile kindly at everyone, who steal themselves against panicked mommies and bawling babies.

“What do you make of this bunch?” Denali’s boss asks.

She scans the crowd again - fresh faces and optimistic smiles.

“I think Professor Visage will have a field day with them.”

“And leave the pieces for us to pick up,” another nurse pipes up from Denali’s other side on the balcony.

🩺

Being watched by some many eyes unnerved Rosé, being whisked around on a brief tour of the hospital dazed her and being assured that they’ll surely get lost left her reeling. She would not get lost - that was not a thing that could happen to Rosé McCorkell, MD, paediatrics intern, valedictorian of her class in med school. It couldn’t happen.

Only, she has to admit to herself that somewhere between the sixth floor - the paediatrics ward - and the basement, where imagining operates out of, she has, indeed, gotten lost. What’s worse is she has the sweetest little girl to take in for her X-ray appointment.

But she won’t admit it aloud.

The blonde child in the wheelchair she’s pushing coughs and she looks down at her.

“Are you doing ok, sweetheart?” she asks her small patient, the girl looking up to her with the brightest blue eyes she has ever seen. She nods, even though she looks a bit scared.

The hallway is lit with fluorescent lighting and filled with people - inpatients, outpatients waiting for their appointments, medical personnel, radiology technicians - and yet, no one seems to notice the unsure intern pushing a small child around in a wheelchair, lingering in the middle of the hallway. The girl is probably intimidated by the amount of people surrounding her, left with her heart in her throat because of the absence of her mother.

Rosé takes a deep breath, trying to look purposeful as she scans the various doorways before her for a sign that will let her know where to go. Her patient coughs again into her small fist. She’s here to confirm whether or not she has pneumonia and, in the process, also, confirm whether or not she was right, whether or not she’s made a good impression.

If only she could find the actual place where she’s supposed to go.

“It’s at the end of the hallway,” a voice startles Rosé. It could be anyone in this hallway, speaking to another anyone in this hallway, but she gets the feeling that it’s not just anyone and that the disembodied voice is speaking to her.

She turns to face one of the nurses she’s noticed on the paediatrics floor, a blonde with a kind smile and cute dimples in both cheeks.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” she sighs, noticing Rosé’s confused look. “It’s all the way at the end of the hallway, now push… We don’t want Jessie here to miss her appointment, do we?” the nurse directs that last part to their patient, who very seriously shakes her head from side to side, making her soft blonde hair fly around her.

Rosé pushes without another word.

It’s fairly simple to find the door with the nurse’s guidance, to push the wheelchair in and allow the radiology nurse to position the child in front of the screen. She walks into the control room, followed by the nurse, who breaks into a smile at the sight of the people inside.

“Hi, ‘Monye,” she greets. “Hello, Alex,” she nods to the radiology tech, who’s pushing buttons on a keyboard, too busy to look up.

“Hi, doll,” the black woman’s face - Monye? - lights up at the sight of the blonde. “How’s everything going upstairs?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, it’s fresh meat day, so everything’s chaos,” the nurse rolls her eyes playfully. “Speaking of, this is…”

She trails off, turning to Rosé. They make eye contact for a brief instant, before the ginger steps forward, extending her arm out for the radiologist.

“Rosé McCorkell, intern,” she says with more confidence than should ever be awarded to someone who’s on their first day of work.

“Symone Avalon, MD, radiology,” the black woman introduces herself, smiling politely. “And that’s my new intern,” she waves in the direction of the corner, where a girl who seems even more terrified than Rosé leans against the wall. “Speaking of… Intern, what do we see here?” she asks, pointing to the newly generated image on the computer screen in front of them.

Rosé’s eyes scan across the picture of Jessie’s thorax, focusing on the right side of the picture, where the spaces between the ribs reveal a light gray colour, compared to the other side of the X-ray.

“Left lower lobe condensation,” Rosé murmurs to herself, as she’s done her whole way through med school. Symone’s eyes narrow her way in the cramped space.

“It is,” she agrees. “But it’s very slight, caught very early,” she explains, bidding her own intern forward. “Can you see it?” the girl nods quickly.

Rosé can swear that she doesn’t, but probably can’t bear the thought of making a bad impression on day one.

“Most likely lower left lobe pneumonia,” Dr Avalon informs Rosé and the nurse that has guided her here. “Congratulate Professor Visage on another astonishing diagnosis. And come visit me again soon, Denali,” she winks at the blonde, who’s already halfway out the door.

Rosé lingers for a brief second, torn between the pride she feels at proving herself to herself and the revolt she feels at not getting her credit. She follows Denali out into the hallway, taking a deep breath in.

“Doctor Rosie,” Jessie spreads her arms out wide as soon as she emerges back into the hallway. She smiles at the girl. She’s one of the sweetest children Rosé has ever met.

“There I am,” she winks and the child giggles, making her blonde curls bounce.

“Nurse Nali said she’s taking me back upstairs,” Jessie informs her.

“Oh, can I tag along?” Rosé bends down to come level with the child. Jessie nods. “Can I ask you to help me with something?” Rosé quirks her eyebrow at the child. “Can you carry this all the way upstairs? It’s very important,” she winks, handing the child her own chart.

Jessie grips it eagerly, her face becoming serious. “You can trust me, doctor Rosie,” she declares, clutching at the papers in her small hands. Rosé offers her a dazzling smile, which Denali can’t help but feel the effects of.

She wills herself not to react, not beyond what she would normally do - smile softly at the child in her care. She nods encouragingly at the intern, who rises from her crouch.

Rosé falls into a leisurely pace with Denali. They’re turning back the way they came, towards the metal elevators on the other side of the hospital that will take them back upstairs.

“CT scans are over there,” Denali points to a door with a huge yellow radiation side on the door, tucked into a mini hallway to their right. “And the MRI is behind that door with all the instructions,” she reveals as they pass another door on the other side of the hallway, bright red writing informing people of all the things they shouldn’t bring into the room with the giant magnet.

“All the radiologists are great, but doctor Avalon is among the top in her field state-wide,” Denali explains. “And she’s very nice so, if you’re ever unsure about something, I’d ask her.”

“Thank you,” Rosé murmurs. They’ve been shown which floor imaging was on and they made a brief stop here to drop off the radiology interns, who wouldn’t be leaving their base too much, but beyond that, it was all a mystery, a labyrinth of unknown sterile hallways.

“I know you’ve probably heard this before,” Denali throws her a look, “but we’ve all gotten lost in the beginning,” her eyes are kind, Rosé can see that. “You’ll be walking around as if you own the place in no time,” she smiles, showing off her dimples. “Won’t she, Jessie?”

The girl giggles as they come to stand in front of the elevator.

“Still got that chart, Jess?” Rosé asks, pushing the button. The girl nods again, making her hair bounce, showing her doctor the proof.

“Did you make the diagnosis?” Denali asks as they wait.

Rosé nods, unsure of whether or not she will be believed. She knows that she still has a lot to learn, but some things she knows. Some things she’s very confident in. She can see why it’s much easier for anyone to think that it had been Professor Visage, of course. It’s her first day of work - most people are terrified speechless for the first week. Denali’s eyes narrow at her and she hums as the elevator dings.

“Congrats, then,” she announces as soon as the doors have slid shut and she’s had Jessie push the button for their floor. “You’ve passed Professor Visage’s first test.”

Rosé’s eyes widen, sparkling. There’s so much hope in them, a look so open and vulnerable that Denali can’t help but reassure her wordlessly. They’re always like this - paeds interns are hopeful, sweet and caring, supportive. In one word, soft. It always feels bad to see them subjected to the challenges of real life medicine.

“Don’t get too excited, target’s on your back this year,” Denali shakes her head, but Rosé does something that most of the interns she’s seen before didn’t - she steels herself for the trials that are to come, her expression determined.

Her expression is confident, almost smug - a sight so rare among paediatrics interns that Denali is taken by surprise. Maybe, this year, someone will be able to take Professor Visage’s heat.

“Innit?” Jessie tugs at the corner of her scrub blouse to get her attention. The elevator is still making its steady ascent to their floor, but Denali’s gotten lost in thought, studying the new doctor in front of her.

“Doctor Rosie’s hair is the prettiest,” Jessie repeats, pointing at the mass of fiery curls with one of her small fingers. Denali’s eyes come back up to her.

“It really is,” she agrees as the doors open up.

The last thing she sees as she exits the elevator with her patient is the faint rosy blush creeping up Doctor McCorkell’s cheeks.

[emmelineparker308]

Father Dearest Part 4

Fandom: Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era Pairing: Harry Potter x reader Summary: Your third year at Hogwarts is about to start and with it come a lot of new changes. Harry, your best friend and crush, is in trouble from some man named Sirius Black. You try desperately to keep Harry safe but what happens when you find out some heartbreaking, mind shattering information about your father? Warnings: angst, long writing lol! A/N: Enjoy! Please like and reblog if you like it!!

“Did you hear about what happened to (Y/L/N) during DADA?”

“Oh my god, do you think that she is being abused at home?”

“I knew it, I knew that there was something off about her.”

 These were the whispers that followed you around for the rest of the week. Harry, Ron and Hermione would throw a dirty look at anyone that even dared to look at you wrong and maybe due to that, and the fact that other more threatening news was flooding Hogwarts, the incident that occurred in the DADA class was forgotten from almost everyone’s mind.

 The only thing you had been looking forward to after Moony’s class was Hagrid’s first lesson. Looking forward to it seems to be too happy a phrase to use. You had heard from Fred and George who already had their Care for Magical Creatures class that Hagrid had them caring for some crazy dangerous creatures. In fact, most of the castle was muttering about Hagrid’s lessons and you were apprehensive of what monstrous creature Hagrid would introduce to your lot. To make matters worse the Gryffindors were paired with the Slytherins for Magical Creatures. After the encounter in Lupin’s class Malfoy had been a bit more reserved in talking back in class but you were sure his tongue was going to wag in Hagrid’s class. As you made your way down to Hagrid’s hut you found that the Slytherin Prince was already there, barking all sorts of rubbish that is puny crew was lapping up. Pansy Parkinson, a toad of a girl, was hanging on every word that drew from his lips.

 “Wait till my father hears about this, that Dumbledore’s got this oaf teaching class. Honestly this whole school is going to hell,” he stated disgustingly as Hagrid was fixing something up in his garden. Harry who heard the remark turned around fuming, you had to grip his arm and hold him back before he launched himself a Malfoy.

 “What is it Potter? Got something to say?” he taunted Harry.

 “Last I checked your father was sacked from being a governor of Hogwarts after threatening the other governors. So, having your now unemployed father hear about the news of Hagrid’s post doesn’t really carry that much weight,” you recounted as the gryffindors sniggered and Malfoy turned red. You knew that the Malfoy’s were rich beyond measure and that his father technically didn’t need a  job to survive, however it still managed to bruise Malfoy’s ego.

 “At least I have a father, what was it that the boggart said? Right, ‘You’re scum, and I never wanted you’,” Malfoy stated smirking at the effect those words had on you. You froze up beside Harry, and Harry seizing the chance of you letting go of his arm grabbed his wand and threw a spell at Malfoy.

 Malfoy was about to retaliate when Hagrid came walking towards you booming, “What’s goin on ‘ere? You lot be’er not be causin’ ‘rouble ‘his early in.” Hagrid lead you into a clearing at the edge of the forest and went on to explain what the lesson was for today.

 You who had been beaming at him to show your support felt a pricking sensation in the back of your head. It was a sensation you had grown accustomed to over the past summer, a feeling of being watched. You didn’t know what it was but the past summer when you were taking your nighttime walks or when you were running errands for Remus on the weeks of the full moon you would feel this weird sensation. Nothing ever came of it, you would turn around constantly, checking your surroundings yet you would find nothing, no one was watching you. You didn’t want to alarm Remus, who (you were sure) would lock you up in the house all summer had you disclosed this information to him.

 The feeling stopped the last few weeks of summer vacation, you were sure that due to all the excitement and busyness of packing up for Hogwarts you mind simply didn’t have time to make you feel uneasy. However, the feeling was back, you instinctively turned around, you were met with nothing but trees and shrubs. There was a slight rustling of a shrub but just then a sudden breeze had started from nowhere and you heard Harry scream. When you turned your attention back to the class you saw Harry riding on a Hippogriff. Had Harry not looked like he was going to vomit, the site would have been majestic. You knew all about the hippogriffs having stumbled across an old Care for Magical Creatures textbook of Moony’s. You were slightly jealous that Harry got to ride one, and even more impressed at Hagrid for not showing a dangerous creature. Sure, the Hippogriffs may look intimidating, and yes they can cause serious harm but that’s only if you were daft enough to disrespect them.

 As Harry touched down, you along with the rest of the Gryffindors cheered. Harry was placed back onto the ground by Hagrid and you were about to get his attention to ask for a ride yourself when Malfoy pushed you out of the way. Thankfully, Dean was able to catch you before you met the floor. “Yeah, you’re not scary at all are you, you big chicken,” you heard Malfoy confidently strut to the Hippogriff. Before any of you could stop it, Malfoy was attacked, and Hagrid was fussing over him saying that Malfoy would be fine. It took ‘Mione and you to scream that Malfoy needs to go to the hospital wing for Hagrid to snap out of his panic and carry the oaf who was now moaning in pain. Dean who had been holding you still, let go of you almost as if you were made of hot iron and apologized under his breath and sprinted to catch up with Seamus.

 You were about to yell out thank to Dean for catching you when you turned around and realized the reason for Dean’s sudden odd behavior. Harry was still watching Dean with an emotion that you were not able to place filling the green irises that you were so familiar with.

 “How much trouble do you reckon Hagrid’s gonna be in?” Ron asked as you all made your way towards the castle.

 “I don’t know. Knowing Malfoy’s father, we haven’t heard the last of this,” you somberly stated.

The next few weeks went by in a blur, Malfoy moaned over his arm, which in your opinion had nothing wrong with it. You saw him catch a piece of parchment you had thrown at him with his bandaged hand without so much a thought, or a bit of pain. He just put on a show whenever he thought people weren’t paying enough attention to him. The oaf. Urgh. You would purposely throw things at him and place heavy books atop his “broken arm” whenever you had the chance. Alright you suppose it was very mean to laugh in his misery but in your opinion had he just listened to Hagrid’s instructions nothing would have happened. Hagrid obviously felt awful and kept apologizing, but Malfoy was still a git about it. He was going on and on about how he was going to have Hagrid sacked and Buckbeak killed. Once he said it very loudly in front of Hagrid that it brought the happy giant man to tears. You, being the ever so kind and patient person, you were, “accidentally” pushed Malfoy into Bowtruckle dung while he was still laughing getting dung even into his mouth.

Aside from Malfoy there was a rather awkward situation that occurred between Harry, McLaggen and you. McLaggen was a showy upperclassman, he was the epitome of the stereotypical Gryffindor. Tough, and brash, but not exactly the brightest of the bunch. He stalked up to you during one morning, chest puffed out and toothy grin plastered over his face. To you he resembled more of an ape than a boy but that didn’t stop some girls from eyeing him. “Hey (Y/N),” he charmed as he pushed Harry and you apart and sat down between you.

“Top of the Mornin’ to ya, McLaggen,” you sarcastically stated. Harry and Ron snickered at the disinterest in your voice but McLaggen clearly didn’t get the hint (again nOt tHe bRiGhTeSt bUlB)

“Listen so the Hogsmeade trip is coming up,” he started.

“Is it? I didn’t know you could read a calendar,” you retorted but he chose to ignore your statement.

“I know that this is your first trip to Hogsmeade and for a bird it’s just sad to go alone. I know that you’re probably fretting over it but not to worry, you to accompany me,” he finished his proposition. You were actually dumbfounded for a second at his remark. He hadn’t even asked you out, he told you that you can go with him.

“McLaggen, though I’m sure that would be, er- well fun isn’t the right word, tolerable, it would be tolerable. I will not be going alone. However, if I ever find the need to be in the company of a donkey, I’ll let you know,” you hotly stated and walked away. 

“Mate she just called you an arse,” you faintly heard George bellow out over the laughter that filled the Great Hall. 

Soon it was time for your first ever Hogsmeade trip. You offered to stay with Harry when you realized that he wouldn’t be able to go with you, but he told you to go have fun. While on the way to Hogsmeade you noticed Ron nervously looking at you, he always looked like he wanted to say something but after sneaking a peak at Hermione he opted to stay quiet. Once you got to the village even Hermione started acting odd, glaring at you every once in a while. Upon getting the clue, you jogged on ahead of them, citing that you wanted to buy Harry something and went into Zonko’s Joke shop. As you made your way out of  Honeyduke’s you felt an arm wrap around you, but no one was near. Vanilla and Pine Cones. “Harry, no way, how?”

“Fred and George gave me this wicked map,” he explained getting out of his cloak. “It showed me a great route to take without alerting Filch.”

“Great. I was starting to get bored. Let’s go into Three Broomsticks and get a butterbeer. I’ve never tried one,” you stated while dragging him along with you.

“Where’s Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked as you found an empty booth in the corner. Madame Rosmerta, the bartender had given you a rather weird look when you went to counter to place the order.

“They were acting odd once they got here. I decided to leave them alone,” you stated. Your butterbeers came and you both drank the liquid, letting it fill you with warmth. You dragged Harry around with you through the entire village. From Honeyduke’s Harry brought enough sweets to last till Christmas, you had made a comment on it when he said that more than half of it was for you. From Zonko’s you brought Ron the Screaming Yo-Yo he had mentioned wanting. You even walked over to Madam Pudifoot’s but one look at the pink exterior and you pulled Harry with you in the opposite direction.

“Harry,” Hermione exclaimed, as Ron and she came out of the joke shop. Ron looked rather glum until you handed him your package. He opened it and almost tackled you onto the ground in a hug.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the action and kept talking to Harry, “How did you get here?”

“Never mind how,” Ron laughed, “Harry, we’ve got to go into Zonko’s there’s some wicked stuff in there for pranks.” As Hermione hit Ron, you noticed Madame Rosmerta outside of her pub.

“Hey ‘Mione, look who it is,” you diverted their attention to the bartender who was talking to the Minister of Magic, he was looking rather intimidated by her antics. You looked over at Ron who was very red in the face as Hermione took to teasing him about his crush on dear old Rossie.

“Sirius Black?” you heard her say over the chipper of the crowd. Almost immediately you felt movement from you back and you knew Harry was making a beeline for Three Broomsticks. Without another thought you placed an invisibility charm on yourself and walked in Harry’s footsteps.

“Sirius Black? Come now Minerva why would he be coming to Hogsmeade of all places?” you heard Rosmerta ask as McGonagall started to explain the horrendous crimes that Black did. You huddled in a corner far away from everyone in the room but still close enough to hear the conversation. You felt a warm presence next to you that you guessed to be Harry.

“In the darkest times, when James and Lily Potter had to go into hiding Sirius Black was appointed as their secret keeper. He was the only one in the world that knew about their whereabouts, and when it came time to, he betrayed them,” McGonagall explained as tears welled up in your eyes.

Poor Harry must be going through a tsunami of emotions right now, you worried. Knowing that Sirius Black was after him was one thing but now realizing that he was the sole reason his parents were killed must be doing a number on him. You could tell he was shaking, and you felt around for his arm and held on to it.

“So, you think what? That he wants to finish the job You-Know-Who started and kill the boy?” Rosmerta questioned.

McGonagall’s lips stretched into the thinnest line you had ever seen, “Rosmerta the fact of the matter is that he still remains Harry’s godfather. Not only that, that poor girl (Y/N), she has no clue of course.” Your head was spinning from all the revelation that was happening but at your name your ears perked up.

 “Oh, that lovely doll, the one with brown eyes and black hair,” Rosmerta added, “I just saw her in my shop, she’s a splitting image of her mum, it made me tear up a bit. I will say her eyes and that hair, that she got from her father. She reminds me so much of her mother, even smiles the same way. (Y/L/N) was such a wonderful woman.”

 “”Metra, my dear,” Fudge interrupted, “The lass has no idea that her mother was Estella (Y/L/N) and that her father is Sirius Black.”

Taglist: @missmulti​ @may-machin​ @magicalaquarian​ @junkersandroadies-son​ @prongsyy​ @cute-but-weirdo​ @lozzybowe​ @minecraftlover444​ @selmeuuh @play-morezeppelin​ @ilovespideyyy​ @wecouldbreakthedistance​

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.7

Of Monsters and Men

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)      x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 2490

Summary: ‘Nat’ and the boys are still on the road and to kill the time more than anything, they talk monsters and most importantly, witches. 

You know what they say: speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Warnings: mentions of violence, monsters, supernatural elements, mentions of amnesia and interesting dreams and swearing (always)

Story masterlist

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“Hold onto me tight. Can’t have you falling off, doll…”

“You’re such a troublemaker-“

“I want to see you come undone first. Can I, doll?”

“Do I look unwilling, doll? I’m actually pretty eager to find out how long do you need to recover…”

“Eyes on me, darling-”

You jolted awake with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open into sharp midday sun. It took you a second to realize where you were, what the low purr under your body meant, music on low volume and a male voice softly humming along.

You blinked, meeting Sam’s gaze as he turned his head to face you.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked, concern furrowing his features.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your cheeks at the memory of the dream. They were bits and pieces, sweet and hot, yet leaving dull ache in your chest in their wake. You were absolutely sure this was your consciousness recalling moments with your soulmate, but you were unable to make anything useful of them. It was like chasing ghosts – eh, actually, did ghosts exist? What was it like, chasing them? Never mind-

You were supposed to be a ghost, because apparently you had died.

Alright. Shake it. Snap out of those messy thoughts.

The more awake your body got, the more you realized your chest wasn’t the only thing that was tense and it wasn’t only your neck that nearly cramped.

“Yeah,” you muttered finally, while Sam’s eyes managed to get really worried, still on you. “Just… call of nature.”

In more than one ways. Your bladder might actually burst soon, but you couldn’t deny your arousal either. Gee. Why did it have to be that kind of dream you had? Why couldn’t you see your soulmate’s face clearly instead? Nope scratch that, his ID would be better, complete with his freaking address.

“Hold on for about half an hour, Nat. I’d like to stretch my legs anyway and Garth should be waiting for us.”

You smiled at Dean despite him being unable to see it, his eyes focused on the road. It was sweet of him. You might as well be sweet back.

“Thanks, Dean. And you can turn the volume up, if it was low just because of me,” you hummed, holding back a chuckle when his hand immediately moved to the radio.

“Thanks, Nat. Wanna tell us what that dream of yours was about? You seem a bit shaky,” he nudged, surprisingly gentle. You would expect such approach from Sam, but he only glanced at you, apparently wanting to know as well.

You sighed, wondering how to put it without sounding like a horny teenager.

“It’s… I think they’re like memories? But they don’t make any sense,” you said in the end, casting your glance down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, fingers interlacing and disjointing again. “It’s my soulmate, I know as much. Or, you know, I’m pretty sure. It’s nothing useful though.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam soothed, his voice genuinely regretful. You just shook your head, sending a sad smile his way.

“The only pattern is a… a pet-name, I guess.” Well, until now, it was just one. ‘Darling’ was new. “He keeps calling me ‘doll’.”

You didn’t know why you told them, you weren’t planning on it. Except they were so genuinely nice to you it hurt and you felt like honesty was the least you could give in return. Now, you could practically touch their surprise.

It was Dean who commented on it, but not in a malicious way, which you were eternally grateful for.  

“Doll, huh? Maybe he’s a mafioso. Sounds like something from an old movie. Heh, maybe you time-travelled too!” he speculated out loud and you only gulped, not as amused as you should be. Was that a thing? Time-travel?

“God, I hope not,” Sam whined, effectively startling you. So it was possible?

“Nah, I bet it’s just him being a gentleman, ya know, the old-fashioned kind of guy. After all, how could he not, having such a… swell dame for a soulmate?”

Both you and Sam eyes Dean with wary and confusion.

“Since when you’re an expert on war era slang?” Sam demanded, amused surprise lacing his voice.

“Simpler times, Sam. Simpler times. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Sam just chuckled, shaking his head. You laughed as well despite not quite understanding what it meant. You simply enjoyed the banter and teasing that was strengthening their brotherly love; you already caught up that much, that they loved each other greatly. How could they not? They were both absolutely amazing despite their differences.

People might find it strange for them to be so close at their age – not that you knew theirs precisely, or yours for that matter – but you thought it was endearing. If they killed monsters for living, their lives couldn’t be normal and conventional, could they? It spiked your interest once more.

“Alright. What can you tell me about what you do and how you get your money?”

“Not sure you wanna hear that, d-- now I have the nickname stuck in my head, dammit. It’s not a pretty chat, Nat. You sure?”

You nodded, but agreed out loud for the god measure. After all, Dean was still driving.

“Your choice. We hunt monsters. But let me tell you, humans are actually the worst… well, humans and witches…”

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Dean and Sam hadn’t even told half about the monsters that lurked in the shadows and you already felt overwhelmed, grateful when you reached Bedford and the older brother called his ID maker.

Garth was a nice guy, if a little overexcited and goofy.

He called you a madam, gave Sam a newest book by George R. R. Martin (who?), which seemed to excite the hunter greatly and Dean received a piece of apple pie. You couldn’t remember your life, but if you had, you were sure it still would have been Dean’s smile that was the brightest you had ever seen. Note to yourself; when repaying Sam and Dean, a pie and a book were necessities.

Your trio didn’t stop to chat with the man for long though – you needed to be on your way. Garth was apparently in the business of hunting, because he made a face way too similar to Sam’s at a mention of witches. You weren’t sure if you looked forward hearing about those; you guessed they weren’t wearing pointy hats and befriending cats.

The remaining hours to your destination flied; the brothers continued to educate you in monster food chain (people were usually the food, which you did not enjoy learning), briefing you on existence of things you could barely imagine. Also, they weren’t only friends with an angel, apparently – they were also on rather good terms with king of Hell.

“King of Hell?” you parroted, bewildered. What the h— heaven?!

“Yeah. Dean used to be bestie with him, too,” Sam quipped, half delighted at his brother’s annoyed face when sharing this fact, half bitter for pretty obvious reasons.

“Dude.”

“You keep the weirdest company,” you stated, your head buzzing with all the info you got. You grimaced when you realized that the company included you.

“We know,” Sam sighed, turning his tablet on. “But it’s not all bad. I mean, Garth, the guy you just met… he’s a werewolf and-“

“He’s a WEREWOLF?!” you yelped, causing the brothers jump in their seats and Dean jerk the steering wheel aside, throwing you all of balance.

“Christ, woman! Keep the volume low!” the driver spitted out as he returned to the correct lane, ignoring the honks of other cars. “I know, I know, shut up, I’m not drunk…”

“Sorry,” you blurted out on autopilot, your mind pre-occupied with the fact that the sweet dorky guy you had just met was a fucking werewolf.

It was Sam’s turn to apologize or he thought so. “My bad. I shouldn’t have just dropped that on you.”

“But he was so nice!”

“If you say so,” Dean assented reluctantly, voice dripping with doubt. You weren’t trying to figure out why he questioned such an obvious thing. It wasn’t your place. Not to mention you were still too astonished by the announcement.

Sam cleared his throat. “Anyway. We have two victims so far. Both are young women, Alicia Peters, 16 years old and Helen Sanders, 16 as well. They were apparently classmates, rather good students, but not friends. One of them was found three days ago, the other yesterday. They both sneaked away in secret, some other classmates claimed to them being… eh, giggly. They thought they had new boyfriends,” Sam summed up, while Dean nodded every now and then. “Why do you think witches? Could be dragons… which would be probably even worse.”

“…dragons? You’re joking.”

Dragons were real now?!

Dean ignored your incredulous remark. “Virgins, right? That’s what I thought. But check this out – according to the coroner, they had a puncture wound over their heart like from some very thin needle – or, more likely, a very thin straw, because their hearts were completely drained of blood.”

Your head was definitely spinning now, your stomach flipping over. You had been getting hungry before, but not so much anymore. You wanted to tune the conversation out, but it was inevitable to hear it. Your ears wouldn’t listen; it was like watching a train-wreck happen and being unable to draw your gaze away. Morbid curiosity played a part too.

God, you really were weird company.

“That’s disgusting,” Sam stated, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

You only hummed in agreement, trying to get the visual from your brain. Soulmate. Think of your soulmate and his sultry voice calling you doll. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, shocked that it actually worked. His voice washed over you, cocooning you in a soft blanket.

“Tell me about it,” Dean agreed darkly, but Sam held out his hand all of sudden, causing both you and Dean freeze.

“What?”

“They found two young men this morning. John Doe One and Two for now. They were…” Sam wavered, eyeing you in the rear-view mirror. Now he was checking with you? You guessed your face was pale as a sheet of paper, but hey, it wasn’t like you couldn’t just try and cover your ears. You nodded at him encouragingly and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “…found in one bed, stabbed in the heart and… ugh, with their… tools ripped off.”

Dean winced, while you just blinked. Did he mean like… wow. Oh, wow. You weren’t sure how to react to that.

“There was a note. We apologize for ruining such pure lives of the sweetest kind and as a prove of our remorse, we present their families with-“ Sam faltered in his speech, gagging. “Yeah, alright. Apparently, the missing part of their bodies was found with the… note. No need to go into details.”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’d be pretty grateful if we stopped talking about that. What now, though? Do we believe this crap?”

“You could have an ally,” you quipped shyly, receiving Sam’s sigh in reply.

“Brutal one, but yes. We need to at least check it out.”

“Yeah, but we get a lunch before that. I need something to comfort me. You traumatized my love muscle, Sam. Do you have any-“

“Yeah, alright, just… stop right there,” Sam stopped his brother, as if shielding himself from TMI by holding out his palm against Dean. “Got it. We need to stop for a bite.”

You giggled, the sound interrupted by your stomach growling. When had you got your appetite back?

“I guess lady in the back agrees,” Dean hummed, grinning in Sam’s direction. You laughed when you came to conclusion that he enjoyed making his younger brother uncomfortable, Sam making a face back at him as he realized the same.

They seemed like a greater pair of siblings the longer you spent with them.

It only took several minutes to get to the town and find a place to eat; Dean seemed to have a talent for finding food, which you appreciated immensely. You hadn’t been eating much, ashamed of using the brothers like that, so you were hungrier than you would be willing to admit. You had a sneaking suspicion that Sam was beginning to notice, because his eyes were narrowed as you picked the cheapest thing on the menu that appeared edible.

“You’re not eating,” he pointed out bluntly the moment the waitress left.

You just gaped at being caught and so shamelessly called out. Dean’s gaze shifted to you and now you had two men glaring at you keeping you company in the boot.

“I’m… not hungry.”

“Your stomach said differently,” Dean reminded you with his eyebrow arched in challenge. You opened your mouth uselessly, the protest dying in your throat at the intensity of his bright green eyes. “If this is about money, get your head out of your ass, Nat. You need to eat.”

“But-“

“But nothing. We’re having a desert,” he shut you up effectively, not permitting any objections.

You sighed, guiltily merging with your seat. A menu was placed in front of you, Dean’s fingers pointing at it.

“Actually, you’re picking one right now.”

You wordlessly obeyed, defeated. “I don’t mean to be difficult,” you whispered apologetically and Sam just shook his head with a smile.

“We know. And I get it, you don’t want to impose and use us, but… we chose to help you. Try to accept it, alright?”

You only nodded, determined to at least find the best dessert. The corners of your lips quirked when you found it.

“Looks like we’re in for an apple pie,” you decided, smirking in Dean’s direction. His eyes lit up and you couldn’t but feel the warmth around your heart at that. You actually did that, made him smile. Maybe you weren’t the worst company in the world after all. “Unless you’re sick of it after-“

Dean’s hand snatched the menu away, shutting it close. “Shut you piehole, Nat.”

Sam laughed as they brought your food.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You were just finishing your infamous dessert, when the brothers stiffened at the voice coming from behind their back, the other side of the boot.

You frowned, not finding anything strange about the female voice with British accent.

“Thank you, darling. It will be all,” the woman said politely.

The moment the waitress left, Sam and Dean stumbled from their seats and towards the other boot. The tension in their shoulders only grew and they let out a ridiculously synched irritated sigh, multiple emotions playing on their face; you caught annoyance and a bit of anger for sure.

“Rowena,” Sam greeted her in pretended politeness and you couldn’t but check the situation out. They didn’t seem to be happy about running into their acquaintance.

You got a glimpse of a redhead sipping at her tea delicately, her pinkie raised as she held her cup.

“Hello, boys.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 8

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺ 

I adore that woman, I swear. She’s so classy and sassy. 

Also, for those who haven’t seen SPN, I extended the guide at the end of chapter one - you’ll find ‘Chuck’ and ‘Rowena’ there ;)

Thank you for reading!

[complicatedchelsea]

Once Upon A Time

(Dean Winchester x reader)

A/N: Hello everyone! Here is another Dean for you! This is different from what I have ever written. Remember to also check me out on Wattpad! Enjoy!

Once Upon A Time,

There was this girl named Y/n. She was the prettiest and fairest girl I would ever know. Her life was so much like a fairytale, I was surprised she wasn't living in one.

She had the softest hair, brightest eyes, and the most dazzling smile. She was so beautiful that she reminded me of a princess.

Too bad I wasn't her prince.

She wasn't just a princess, she was a warrior too. Saving people that needed saving, killing monsters that only existed in fairy tales.

Being the hero, saving the day. That is what she did. That was her power. Being able to be so dangerous, yet so sweet at the same.

But all fairytales must come to an end, right?

I met Y/n in fairytale style. Some could even argue that everything we did was like a fairytale.

Too bad she won't.

We met at a dance, more of a masquerade ball. Sam and I were hunting witches and by her luck, she was on the same hunt.

Sam and I had tried to blend in, wearing our nicest suits and plain black masks, but she could smell a hunter from a mile off.

That's one thing I loved about her.

She walked right over to us, a walk of confidence. Her hair was curled loosely and a few pieces were pushed back from her face. She had a beautiful  blue dress on, it stopping at her knees. The skirt of the dress was slightly poofy, and the top of her dress was strapless.

No women could have looked more beautiful.

I hadn't even seen her face, but I could tell. She had a white and gray mask on, designed with blue flowers and lines.

She was gorgeous. Hands down.

It also seemed like she knew that.

I looked away once she got closer to us, not wanting to scare her off. She stopped about three feet away from us.

"Nice evening, isn't it boys? Doesn't this party look amazing?"

'Not as amazing as you', I wanted to say to her.

She turned back to us, a small smirk on her face. "I think it's getting kinda loud in here. Do you boys want to accompany me outside?"

We nodded our heads and followed her as she stepped out to the back deck. Only about two people were outside, so we didn't have to worry about people overhearing.

She picked a flower from the plant beside her, and twirled it around her fingers. "You boys almost got caught."

Sam looked confused and before he could open his mouth, she answered his question.

"The witches were starting to think you two were hunters. If I wouldn't have got to you, they would have."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"I have my ways," she said and turned to wink at me. I swear in that moment, my heart stopped. "Plus, I could see the outline of a gun in your pocket."

I let out a soft chuckle, and Sam just looked confused. "Do you know what's...", Sam started to ask.

"I do," she answered in her angelic voice. "I'm Y/f/n Y/l/n by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you boys."

Y/n, what a beautiful name. The name only a princess would have, a princess that would have the beauty to match the name.

"You know us?" I asked, the first time I spoke to her. The first words she ever heard me say, and sadly the last too.

"Of course I know you. You're the Winchesters, and you've made quite a name for yourselves. It's nice to put a name to the faces." She said with a smile.

I smiled back at her, her smile was so perfect. She was perfect. The way she held herself, the way she talked, the way she smiled. I was smitten right from the start.

And I think she knew that.

"Well are we going to stand out here all night or are we going to kill these bitches?"

The hunt ended well enough, three dead witches and a cut for Y/n that I stitched up later that night. Luckily, she was staying in the same motel, so it was easy to stay in contact with her.

After the hunt we had ditched our fancy clothes and changed into something more comfortable and went to the diner across the street. We talked for hours and in the first time in a while, I felt truly happy.

Before we parted ways, I slipped her my number and promised her to stay and touch, but all she was wink and climb into her mustang and drove away.

It wasn't until months later that we saw her again, this time it was on a ghost hunt. Of course she showed up earlier then we did and already had all the information, but she persuaded us to stick around in case she made a mistake.

To me, Y/n never made mistakes. She was perfect. The only mistake she ever made was falling in love with me.

That hunt actually finished without a hitch. Y/n had gotten all the information correct, and the hunt finished before dawn. We were all in high spirits and got a drink to celebrate.

I don't remember much of that night, but I do remember the sound of her laugh, the blush in her cheeks, and how beautiful she looked when she slept.

I was a gentleman that night, never taking advantage of something so innocent. And when she woke and I explained why she was in my bed, she kissed me.

She kissed me and I had kissed her back. The image of her that morning was seared into my brain. Messy hair, my t-shirt looking baggy on her smaller frame, and the way her checks turned pink when we pulled back.

It wasn't long after that night that she started hunting with us. We agreed to try being frienda, but soon I felt a connection with her so strong that I couldn't bare to be away from her.

When I finally confessed this to her, she told me she had the same feeling. She said a prince couldn't survive without his princess.

She then started hunting with us and we soon became an amazing team. She got right in with Sam and I, and even through all the troubles of the years, she never left our side.

I loved her since I first saw her, and she told she had felt it too. She called us a fairytale, I told her that not all fairytales end happily, but she was determined that our ending would be great.

Oh how I wish she was right. I would give anything for her to be right.

A few years later we got married. It was a small ceremony and an even smaller reception. She was the one that wanted to go to town hall, I pushed the idea of a wedding. She wore a beautiful dress, and in that moment she had never looked more beautiful.

No matter how many times she told me, I never felt like I was her prince. She was too perfect, but she never doubted me.

That was her downfall.

We had been married several years when it had happened.

It should have been a simple hunt, a simple witch hunt, like the one we met on.

It was one last hunt before we went on a break. We were going to take off to concentrate on us.

It went to fast, I was in a different room and I didn't hear her scream until it was too late.

I rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. No kiss could save her, no magical tears, no love could bring her back. She was gone.

I cried that day. Cried until I was numb. She was my princess, and I was the prince that failed her. I didnt deserve to be her prince. I wasn't strong enough, brave enough. She wouldn't be able to live the life she wanted.

But I couldn't give up, she wouldn't want that. I couldn't do that to her or us.

I had a reason to live, a reason to smile, a reason to look back on the memories, a reason to give up hunting.

I did it all because of our daughter. Which was a spitting image of her.

And this is what I tell our daughter each night before she goes to sleep. I fill her head with the stories of her mother, who was a princess that not only saved me, but the whole kingdom.

One day I will be reunited with Y/n. But for now, I have a new princess to look after.

The End.

[castielscarma]

Thief

Love this challenge.Here is my third prompt  @helianthus21 @pray4jensen @bend-me-shape-me The darkness lay shrouded around the village and night had long settled over the mountains that loomed in the distance. Usually, Dean slept like a passed out drunk but something stirred in him and he found himself opening his eyes.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to decipher the veins in the wood into something meaningful. A sudden chill passed over him and he turned his attention to the door. He could have sworn he saw a shadow pass by in the hall.

Listening harder, the only thing that came to him was the soft snores of Sam in the room next door. Just as Dean was about to turn around and let sleep take him again he heard a creak. It wasn't the wind pushing one of the huge tree branches against the windows, neither was it a nightly bird calling out in the dark.

No, this sound had been a constant since Dean had been a child running around the house like the unleashed Tasmanian devil itself. The second to last step on the staircase hadn't been hammered down right, so if anyone stepped on it, it creaked that familiar sound but this time it didn't bring Dean any comfort. On the contrary, it made the small hairs at the back of his neck rise.

His mom and dad were sleeping downstairs and Sam was asleep too, so that sound could only be explained by something more sinister. A stranger was roaming the halls of the Winchester home.

Dean got up on soft feet and padded out into the hallway. The moonlight coming in from the windows softened some of the darkness into muted grays.

Everything seemed fine but Dean's whole body screamed that it wasn't. His heartbeat was speeding up, hammering in his chest and his hands felt clammy with sweat. A voice whispered to him to run from dangers unseen but Dean was not a guy to run, especially when his family, the people he loved were threatened.

There were only shadows dancing on the walls, no signs of any intruder that could have stepped on creaky stairs. Exhaling heavily, Dean walked into Sam's room.

His heart stopped.

Sam's legs were tangled into the bed sheets but that wasn't the source of Dean's sudden worry.

A dark figure loomed over Sam, his hand outstretched.

What the hell? Dean was on the verge of shouting at whoever was intruding to get the hell away from his brother when the figure turned.

Dean saw that it was a man but shadows twirled strangely around him as if the night itself tried to hide him from Dean. His blue eyes had an odd intensity to them and seemed to glow.

“Hello, Dean.” His voice was old leaves crushed under a leather boot.

Goosebumps rose all over Dean's body again.

“I don't care if you read my diary to know my name, you step back from Sammy or I swear to God I'll give you the beating of a lifetime.”

The man just chuckled and uttered a single word. “Stay.”

Dean's heart was still racing, despite the confrontation not going in the direction he'd initially thought. “You get out right now, or I'll call the fucking cops on your ass.” He wanted to bring credence to his words with something more substantial. He didn't have any weapons on him so he figured a good old fashioned beating would get the guy running. Dean went to take a step forward,

He was stuck. Literally.

If he didn't know better, he'd swear that he'd stepped into superglue but it was more than that. His body was rigid, locked completely. A crushing sensation sank down on his chest and he could feel his heart slow down. Trying to move his arms, toes, even eyelids was out of the question.

If he didn't know better, he'd say he was turning into stone.

The man walked up slowly to Dean, taking his time as if he too had been struck with this strange spell, yet a diminished version.

“You were saying about a beating?” His voice was dark and echoed with painful promises.  He cocked his head, a faint smile on his lips.

Whatever this creature was, despite its very human features – Dean had quickly come to the conclusion that it was a creature – it wielded magic. As ridiculous as that thought was, Dean knew it to be real. If he had any doubt, the unyielding sensation of his teeth being pressed together and the dull ache in his jaw traveling upward was proof enough.

Long fingers with sharp nails trailed along his cheek in an almost loving caress that turned hard when the man squeezed viciously around his jaw.

Dean breathed out the pain through his nose, trying to open his mouth to speak and say even one word of defiance to the thing in front of him but found it impossible.

A low chuckle rose from the man. “Cat got your tongue?”

Dean exhaled sharply again when one of those nails pricked his skin, drawing blood.  

The man took another step up to Dean until they were chest to chest. Slowly, he dragged his finger on the pricked skin and drew it back to taste. “I see you're a Winchester too. I can taste it.” He traced his finger slowly over Dean's lips before stepping away. “But you're not the one I'm after.”

He walked over to Sam who was still snoring soundly in the bed. “This one will serve me well.”

The look he gave Sam made Dean's blood chill. It was a claim and just those brief seconds –  as his gaze traveled from the auburn short hair that always was a mess down to his nose and mouth were still soft snores escaped – was enough to make Dean swallow hard.

Dean felt his chest constrict again, but this time not due to magic but due to the panicked thought of what he'd do if he lost Sam. He willed his body to move, screaming at his legs to just take one cursed step forward but he could as well will the ground to swallow the man whole. Just when Dean was about to give surrender, he felt a movement.

He moved his hand a whisper of an inch closer to Sam. His eyes were burning from being forcefully opened this long, and tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.

For a moment, Dean imagined choking the life out of this monster that threatened not only him but his  brother. Then his hand was made stone again, unflinching.

The man looked up sharply, a sudden gleam in his eyes. “Did you just move?” Quicker than a snake he was by Dean's side again.

Fuck you, you piece of shit, Dean thought with all the acidity he could.

If the man could read minds, the look on his face was impassive. He looked down at Dean's hand, narrowing his eyes. “You moved, didn't you? How... intriguing.”

Dean exhaled in anger. He could take his 'intriguing' and shove it.

Up close again, Dean took his time to really look at the man – as well as he could with his eyesight obscured by tears.

He looked the part of human where Dean could see him clearly – short brown disheveled hair, a straight nose, and thick full lips. He could see part of his shoulder and his hands and arms were visible but the rest was still obstructed by that swirling black cloud.

The more Dean looked, the more beautiful the man seemed. Every second his eyes lingered on that face something new to marvel at was revealed to him. Finally, he brought his gaze to the man's eyes. A shade of blue that could just be described as otherworldly looked back at him. Where the darkest deep of the ocean met with the brightest of days, there the color of his eyes could be found.

The man raised his hand, playing with a lock of Dean's hair.

The movement brought Dean out of his trance, and he was made aware again of the trouble he was in. He wished death and torture on him but couldn't do much else.

“I see you have a lot on your mind. You want to share some of that burden with me? Since you've given me a gift tonight, I feel indulgent.” He stroked his hands through Dean's hair.

If Dean could actually move he was sure his body would shiver. Creep.

“Speak.”

The command released some of the awful pressure that surrounded Dean's body. His jaws and chin relaxed, and he could finally blink but that seemed to be the extent of his freedom. Dean could finally blink and new tears escaped.

“Let me help you.” The man wiped at his eyes, wiping the tears away.

“You can help me by getting your fucking hands off me.” Dean knew that anger was not the smartest choice but he had to channel his fear and frustration somehow. Since he couldn't punch the asshole, he had to do something. He shut down the voice that whispered to him that it was futile. “Let me go!”

The man looked at Sam who was still sleeping. Dean was grateful that Sam was not awake for any of this.

“I intend to let you go. After Sam and I take leave.”

Dean strained his body to move, but he could as well have been turned into stone. “If you so much as touch a hair on his body I'll – “

A hand swiped out quickly, wrapping hard around his throat. “You'll do what? The Winchester clan owes me. I'm here to collect my due.” Letting go, the man turned around, removing Sam's covers.

Sam stirred in his sleep, yawned once and then turned to the other side.

“Wait. What do you mean we owe you?” Dean whispered around that iron grip.

The man looked back and smiled at Dean. “I could find your kin in my sleep. I've been patient and gave Henry and Millie many years, gave you all many years. What you did with that time was up to you. But what's sealed in blood can never be broken. It's time.”

Half of if, hell, none of it made any sense but Dean couldn't pretend that this – whatever it was – wasn't happening. He swallowed but it did little to alleviate his dry throat. “Please, not Sam. I'm begging you  – “

The man shook his head. “Begging has a certain allure to me, Dean, but not tonight.” He let go off Dean's throat and grabbed Sam's leg.

“Take me!” It was born out of desperation, confusion, and above else a desire to save his brother.

“I'm Castiel.” He said it like it was a great honor to know as he turned back to Dean. He stayed silent for a few seconds, judging Dean by some unknown parameter before encroaching on his space again.

He placed a hand on Dean's chest, digging his nails into the skin. “You'd do that for me? Trade places with your brother?”

Dean winced but didn't hesitate. He'd offer up everything, even his very soul if he could save Sammy from a fate unknown. “Yeah, I would. I will, just... don't hurt him.”

Castiel quirked his lips into a smile, placing a placating finger on Dean's mouth. “Shh. A deal is a deal. I won't hurt him. Will this appease you?”

It did nothing to appease Dean, but he realized his choices were few.  To save Sammy he'd try everything even if that gamble could cost him dearly. Better him than Sam.

Dean nodded grimly.

Castiel shook his head. “Speak.”

“Yes. It's a deal.” As he spoke those words, something heavy settled on him. He was being dragged down into an abyss. So real was the feeling that Dean tried to look down but his body was still locked tight, rigid and unyielding in Castiel's presence.

“I do recall you talking about a beating earlier.” Fingers speared through Dean's hair and he grimaced through the pain as Castiel pulled hard, yanking his head back. “But you don't understand, Dean. I already beat you.”

Letting go of Dean's hair, he grabbed him by the shoulder.

For a blissful second, Dean's entire body relaxed even as the crushing sensation of being held in place evaporated. Blood rushed through him at the same speed as his first initial reaction; freedom.

He tightened his fist, his whole body coiled again. This time it was voluntary, every ounce of force gathering in his fist, ready to meet Castiel's face.

“That's charming, Dean.” Castiel' eyes shone with mirth before turning hard. “It will be your last act of defiance. You're mine now.”

The living shadows enveloping Castiel's body turned impossibly darker. His grip turned hot.

Dean tried to pull away but it was as if Castiel's hand had merged with his shoulder. His skin was on fire. Each heartbeat amplified the pain, sending it coursing through his entire body. Dean opened his mouth to speak but a scream came out instead.

Sam sighed deeply, still lost in peaceful slumber.

The smell of burning skin drifted to his nose. Sickness rose in his stomach, competing with his painful outcries of which would be the first to bring him to his knees.

Cas' voice broke through Dean's anguished cries, an unwelcome anchor in a sea of pain.“I'll see you on the other side.”

The last thing Dean saw before his world turned dark was Castiel looking at him, a pleased smile on his face.