#I know I’m definitely reading way too much into this

[littleapplle]

Dearest writer, I would like to submit an order into your respected bakery! 🍞🥯🥖🥐

May I kindly get a NSFW A to Z Headcannon for Rafayel or Caleb? (or both if you don’t mind :3) I’m a huge fan of your writing and given that you are open for orders I figured I could try my luck in ordering something special 🙂‍↕️🥹

But ofc if this is too much of a hassle you may kindly ignore my order and move on 🤭🥹🥺 I shall kindly await for your response and I look forward to your masterpiece (even if it’s not my request) 💖

nsfw alphabet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel and caleb

cw.: nsfw. real porn links!! must be logged in twt to watch.

note: oh anon you'll make my heart melt:( thank you for your sweet words, my luv. i'm so sorry for the wait, i wish i had finished this much sooner >< hope this is good enough tho bc i lwk feel like i did a terrible job <//3

rafayel

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): Really good! Rafayel can’t stand being dirty after sex and won’t really rest until you and him are cleaned up so you two always end up snuggling in his bathtub while he massages your scalp and scrubs your body lovingly. If you're not too tired, talk to him. He wants to hear your voice. How was it? Did you enjoy it? Tell him everything, he'll listen. Rafayel holds you so close you think he’s actually trying to get under your skin, literally.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): If you asked, he’d say he loves every part of you and he absolutely cannot choose. If he really had to answer… your boobs. They’re the perfect size, feel good on his palms, your nipples don’t have a single moment of peace. You have to physically pull him away before they’re sore and puffy. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

on his body though… his hands, of course! It is with them that he creates his beautiful pieces and makes you come undone as his slender fingers press down on that spongy spot inside you.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): Will come anywhere you want if you ask him to but he really likes to see his cum dripping on your skin. Be it your stomach, your tits, doesn’t matter, he’ll go feral. As for the taste, it barely tastes like anything. It’s a bit salty and very watery but that’s it. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Really wants to photograph you. Be it during sex, just you touching yourself, anything. Definitely has a secret journal about you and wants to decorate it with your beautiful body and face. 100% has a polaroid of your tits on his wallet and has no shame at all.

e = experience (how experienced are they): Barely any. Listen, he has read erotica, studied human anatomy a thousand times and knows the human body like no one else but he never had sex with anyone but you so please guide him the first few times. Be vocal, he’s a quick learner, he’ll learn his way around your body in a second.

f = favorite position: Rafayel likes a position based on how easy he can 1. kiss you and 2. look at your face. Missionary lover, basic but nothing with Rafayel is boring. Sex with Rafayel tends to be SO romantic, he’s THE lover boy. He kisses you so sweetly, sucking hickies on your neck while his cock drags inside you slowly. Also looooves when you ride him! it’s a combo of everything he likes, you frowning in pleasure, your boobs bouncing AND you on top of him!! ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Oh sex with Rafayel is never serious! He’s always trying to get a reaction out of you, be it trying to make you laugh by pressing a kiss to that ticklish spot on your neck or by making the stupidest joke ever. Your laughter gets him going more than he’d like to admit.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): First of all,  yes, it is purple and second, he shaves very frequently. As a lemurian, he never had any issues with body hair since he didn’t have any. Nowadays, he’s grown used to shaving since his pubes sensory bother him.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Puh-lease, we are talking about Rafayel. The artist, the lemurian that lives and breathes for love, your one and only soulmate. Rafayel is obsessed with you, always has been, always will be. To have skin to skin contact with you, letting him see you bare and vulnerable and yet still trust him, it’s everything he’d ever wish for. Rafayel lives for romance, love and pure intimacy and he will show it to you in every touch, kiss and praise.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Before getting together with you, if he was ever really pent up and stressed, maybe once or twice a week. After you two got together officially, he doesn’t see the point in masturbating when he’s always glued to your side. If you’re away for whatever reason though? I believe he can get pretty needy and maybe, just maybe, rub one off.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): Does body worship even count as a kink? Well, doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to say that Rafayel is OBSESSED with you??? There’s nothing that makes him hornier than being allowed to kiss your body. Praising you in every single language he knows is not enough, he needs your soul to be tied with his so you can read his mind and deepest thoughts about how lovely you are. Also, voyeurism, Rafayel is a closeted perv. He likes to watch, to take his time eyeing his food before actually diving in. Seeing you touch yourself without his intervention makes the knot in his lower stomach grow tighter and his skin hotter.

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Rafayel is too possessive to have actual sex in public so that’s a no. Anywhere in his studio is fine if you’re comfortable! Buuut if you trust him enough, please let him drag you to the ocean. There are no interruptions, no important phone calls, no Thomas to accidentally walk in, it’s just you and him where he’s most comfortable. It doesn’t tire him to be in his human form but giving his body a break and finally being in his real, lemurian form, feels like a relief from time to time. 

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): When you’re more petty than him and talk back. FUCK he could bust a nut right there. Or the fact that as a hunter, you can manhandle him just as easy as he can manhandle you. OR the fact that you’re not scared of him in the slightest. He would never hurt you, but if he wanted, a single song would be enough to make you go crazy and drown in the ocean. You’re aware of that, you just don’t care. That’s what makes him go insane.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Share you with someone. Although he doesn’t show it, Rafayel is extremely protective and can be very possessive depending on the situation. Letting someone else touch you turns him off completely.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): #01 pussy eater. Rafayel loves your pussy ok, leave him alone… Can totally cum untouched from just eating you out and is not embarrassed in the slightest. Actually really good at it too, like, 100% a muncher. Def tries to make you squirt on his tongue. As for receiving? Sure! It’s never unwelcomed. Just know that he will return the favor 10x better. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...² ❤︎...³

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): Rafayel can be both. There is no red and blue with him, there’s purple. Rafayel can’t stick to a single thing forever. During his heat, he’s rougher, manhandling you around and bending you in whatever position he judges comfortable in the moment. When he’s feeling needy and clingy, he’s gentle. Rolls his hips against yours slowly, kissing your neck sensually while praising you in lemurian.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Not a big fan but he isn’t totally opposed to them. For Rafayel, sex is something intimate and he wants to take his time with you. He wants both of you to enjoy the moment with no rush. 

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): That depends on how far you two are going. Fingering you under the table at a banquet? Sure, why not. Getting a bit handsy and making out? Lovely. Actual sex? No. Not happening at all. Rafayel, even if he hides it, is a possessive creature. Your sounds and body are for his ears and eyes only. You’re his and he’s not up for sharing.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Normally, he can go for two rounds before falling on top of you tiredly. In heat though? He is not stopping. His mind breaks but his body still wants and needs more. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s come already, his hips do not stop against yours until he thinks you’re full of his eggs.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Doesn’t own any but is not opposed to them. If you’re interested in trying it out and using them during sex, sure! He can work with that. Extra stimulation on your clit while his fingers are shoved on your cunt isn’t unwanted.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): Now, is it really Rafayel if there’s no teasing? He is insufferable. He likes to see you work for it even though he knows damn well it’s him that will fold first in the end.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): Sorry, he’s not holding back. He needs you to know how good you make him feel. His range is insane, he’d be grunting in your ear and suddenly his moans turn high pitched and beautiful. Rafayel can get whiny, he complains, he’s petty, he mewls and in the next second he groans and curses in his mother language in pleasure.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): I need to spread the virgin Rafayel agenda… He is a lemurian, he’s bound to you in a level that no human would ever understand. There are no “friends with benefits”, “situationship”, “hookup”, Rafayel has been waiting for you and only you. He doesn’t need it to be magical or perfect, he just needs it to be you.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): The prettiest cock you’ll see in your short human life. It’s genuinely nice to look at. Rafayel’s cock is pale, with the prettiest pink tip and cutest mole on the length that if you kiss, his knees buckle weakly and his head spins. It isn’t thick but it’s curved up and it drags deliciously inside you. I’d say #c7b2ab for the length and #d9a3a3 for the tip. In his human form, solid 6,7 inches (17 cm).

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Lemurians are creatures with many cycles. Rafayel has a high libido naturally, but during ebb day and his heat? He is trying to crawl under your skin. Ebb day makes him needy, sensitive and whiny, he just wants an effective way of cooling off. His heat quite literally makes him feral, he wants you and if you consent, you’re not leaving the water at all. At least not until it is over.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): Pretty quick. After he’s sure you two are clean, comfortable and satisfied, he’s hugging you close and burying his face in your neck sleepily. If you feel like it, you two can chat. Rafayel loves pillow talk. If you’re tired and wish to be quiet, then it’s time to nap.

caleb

a = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): THE BEST. King of aftercare. Knows everything you want and attends to every one of your needs. You want water? There’s already a glass on your bedside table. You’re hungry? You want him to cook or do you want to order takeout? He’ll do it. You feel dirty? Let him run a bath for you- you get the idea.

b = body part (their favorite of theirs and their partner): In your body, definitely your ass. Always has been. Doesn’t matter what you are wearing, be it those old pj’s from your childhood, a new pair of undies, nothing at all, it all makes him feel like he’s gonna bust a nut on his pants.

He really likes his arms. Caleb has always worked out a lot since highschool and he’s really proud of how far he’s come. He likes how big they’re compared to yours, how he can manhandle you during sex and roughhousing, and how comfortable you look in his arms when you two hug.

c = cum (anything to do with cum): If you allow him to cum inside you, that’s all he’ll ever want to do. Caleb has a huge breeding kink, and the fact that you trust him enough to let him fill you up drives him mad. If you go down on him, he never lets you swallow it, he feels too bad to do so. Makes you spit on his hand and honestly thank god. It’s thick and slightly bitter but he cums so much you WILL choke. ❤︎...

d = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs): Sigh, is it really a dirty secret if you already caught him at least twice? Caleb’s interest in your underwear is pathetic. At this point he’s not even trying to hide it anymore, he’s just shamelessly going through your drawers to find that old and stained pair you forgot to throw away. Bonus point if you catch him sniffing them and complain about it. Secretly likes when you scream at him and say “Gross, Caleb!”. Also wishes you let him keep your undies on during sex, it really turns him on.

e = experience (how experienced are they): None. Caleb has never felt any attraction to anyone but you his whole life. For years he has been waiting for the right moment for both of you so, you’re his first and last.

f = favorite position: Backshots. He loves your ass. There’s nothing better than taking you from behind, a hand wrapped around your waist while the other smooths the skin of your back. Also really enjoys being inhumanely close to you, doesn’t matter the position. As long as you two are close, you, safely in his arms, he’s happy. ❤︎...¹  ❤︎...² ❤︎...³ ❤︎...⁴

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Caleb wishes that you only see his outgoing and playful persona, created just for you and the sexual aspect is not different. He likes to make you laugh at any and every moment. If you whine in pain because his cock is too big, he’ll blow a raspberry on your neck to distract you and make you giggle. He’ll tickle your waist if you talk back. Anything to make you smile.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): It’s trimmed. Not all shaved and smooth but it isn’t unruly. Has the sliiiiightest happy trail peeking up his boxers. If it bothers you though, he’ll shave it in a minute.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Very romantic. At least he tries. Caleb wanted to be your prince charming, your knight in shining armor his whole life. Sex is one of the many ways he wants to prove he’s the best for you, that around him, you’re safe and can be yourself with no fear. He kisses you gently, whispering the sweetest words ever in your ear, massaging every sore spot in your body while wishing he’s worthy of your praise too.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon): Yeah… During his teenage years, he jerked off a lot. Caleb had a high libido but could not have the only person he wanted so all he had was his fist. Nowadays, before and after you two got together, i still believe he jerks off alot since you two are still very far apart, you living in Linkon and him in Skyhaven, though he prefers coming to you rather than fucking his fist by himself.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks): As I mentioned previously, Caleb has a huge breeding kink. Part of it is because he genuinely wishes to start a family with you in the future but also because he feels so close to you this way. Loves to keep his cock plugged inside you for a while before actually pulling out. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

His praise kink goes both ways. He’s always praising you for all of your achievements, not only sexually. Please praise him back, he’s trying his best for you, always. Tell him he is making you feel good, tell him you love him, that what he’s doing feels right. He might come on the spot.

Do I even have to mention his size kink… He is bigger than you. Caleb goes weak at the thought of being able to manhandle you into whatever position he wants you to be. And if he can press down on your tummy and feel his cock abusing your cunt? Ohhh yeah, yes he came. Don’t judge him. ❤︎...

l = location (favorite places to do the do): Caleb can only actually relax when he’s alone with you at your apartment or his. Preferably yours back in Linkon. He feels tense in Skyhaven and is always on alert. In Linkon though, he can let himself relax better knowing that you’re safer. Not a fan of kitchen sex specifically. That aside, anywhere is fine.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): You’re horny? So is he! Caleb has been waiting for you for years, saying he’s pent up is an understatement. Just say the words and he’s already looking at you with puppy dog eyes, waiting for an order.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs): Anything related to impact play. No. He hates the thought of hurting you and finds no pleasure in such things.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): Zero skill, no experience, but he has a dream. Show him how you like it, ride his face, pull his hair, order him around, hell, sit on his face. He’s a quick learner once he sets his mind onto something. 100% a giver and doesn’t want you to go down on him because it’s too “degrading” and he feels bad. Please go down on him. He’ll complain and try to pull away but he comes SO quickly, cock twitching, grunting, knees buckling and all. ❤︎...

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): … Rough. Listen, he doesn’t mean to be rough but he can’t help it. Your cunt makes Caleb malfunction, overheat and shut down. He’s dumbed down at the slightest clench around his cock and his hips have a mind of their own, snapping against yours harshly as he drools and kisses your shoulder in apology. 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Actually likes them! You two are always very busy with your jobs and being distant from each other most of the time isn’t easy. To him, quickies are more about you than him. He wants to get you off so you feel at peace. He can rub one off later and you don’t have to concern your pretty head over it.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): No. Caleb hates, hates, hates the thought of taking risks with you. He’d rather die than having you be seen in such an intimate way. As for experimenting, yes of course! Be open with him, tell him what you’re into, what you want to try… Your wish is his command.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): From the lack of experience, Caleb can last two rounds max before you tire him out. That does not mean he’ll leave you unsatisfied though. He still has his mouth and fingers ready to satiate you. ❤︎...¹ ❤︎...²

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): Absolutely not. Are you trying to get him killed? Caleb is jealous of anything that breathes the same air as you and you want him to accept the idea of having something else making you cum? Just shoot him already.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease): If anyone is being teased, it’s him. Although you two play fight a lot, Caleb isn’t one to be a tease during sex. He has been waiting, planning for this moment for years. Everything needs to be perfect. He can wait to get under your skin later.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make): He tries so hard to be quiet… he wants to focus on your moans, your moans are the pretty ones, not his. Caleb holds back, bites his lip, hides his face on your nape but nothing can make him shut up. The moment he enters you, he’s moaning, huffing and grunting like an animal.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Caleb really enjoys all the attention you give him when he’s looking all scary and dominant in his colonel uniform. He knows you eye him hungrily when gets home, he won’t take the uniform off on purpose, he just waits to see how long it’ll take for you to fold and come sit on his lap, grinding your cunt on his clothed thigh. Won’t admit it but likes when you call him colonel, sir, mr. xia, etc.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Alright mr. fat cock pack it up. It’s thick alright. I can totally picture him saying “biiiig stretch, pips” while shushing your whines. Thick base, thick and veiny length, fat tip. That’s what he's hiding in his boxers. 6,6 inches (~16,5cm) that stretch you out SO good, the veins drag inside you soooo nicely it feels like heaven. #a88479 for the length and #a66d5b for the tip.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Oh boy, do I even need to say this? We are talking about THE yearner. Caleb’s super pent up and dare I say he has a pretty high libido. He is always stressed because of work and he has been waiting for you for years. The moment you consent, he’s fumbling with both his and your clothes. 

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward): He usually doesn't sleep after you two have sex. He’s too busy watching you sleep to do so. Caleb is only at peace if he is sure you’re safe and comfortable. Poor boy barely has time to catch his breath as he’s running around the apartment getting everything you might need and want so you don’t have to leave the bed. Tell him to relax, ask him to lie down with you, bury your face on his beefy chest and make sure he doesn’t leave the bed, he needs it.

⊹ ࣪reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading!(*´▽`*)

[liminalmemories21]

This prompt list is great! I can see so many of them going in different directions. How about #90, “Why didn't you tell me?”

@cecilyv and I are working our way slowly down the list. All these prompts were great. Thank you to everyone!

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He finds out Eddie's moving back to LA, and that Evan is homeless, and that holy shit had he not needed to be jealous of Eddie, all within two minutes of gathering up the nerve to knock on Evan’s door. It's a lot to take in.

Tommy takes a deep breath, knocks on Evan’s door. Waits what feels like an interminable amount of time before the door creaks open and Chris' face appears in the crack. His suspicious look transforms into one of his giant grins, “Tommy!” The smile that creeps across his own face matches Chris’. 

He really had missed the kid but definitely hadn’t been expecting him.  “Uh.  Hi.”

Chris leans on the door jamb.  “Are you looking for Buck?”

He scratches his neck.  “Yes?”  Didn’t actually mean that to come out as a question, but –

Chris helps him out.  “Dad got his job at the 118 back.”�� Adds unnecessarily.  “We moved back.”

He peers past Chris into the house, and it’s Eddie’s furniture, Eddie’s layout again.  “Right.  Makes sense.”  Except he knows Evan had given up the lease on this loft, so where– “Do you know where Evan is living now?”

Chris shakes his head.  “Not sure.”  Glances back into the house, and then leans in to say more quietly, like he doesn’t want Eddie to hear what he’s about to say, and Tommy has no idea what that means.  “He hasn’t been around much since we moved back.  I think maybe he and Dad had a fight?”  He looks at Tommy like he expects Tommy to know more, but he doesn’t.

He’s had the occasional text from Evan since the helicopter ride, since the funeral.  Had the feeling Evan was checking in on him, checking up on him, making sure he was okay.  Hadn’t really known how to respond, which was kind of why he was here now.  Figured that he might do better in person, or at least it would be harder to leave Evan on read if he was here, in front of him.

He shakes his head, and Chris looks disappointed in him, which thanks, he already kind of felt like a heel.  Has to shift his gaze upwards when Eddie appears behind Chris.

“Hey.  Chris was just telling me you moved back.”  Eddie makes a noise that approximates agreement.  “And you moved back in.”  It’s a statement, but also a question.

Eddie shrugs.  “Buck was just subletting.  House was set up for me and Chris.  Made sense.”

Right, except for the part where Evan gave up his loft to move here.  “Sure,” he says blandly.  “Any idea where Evan is now?”

Eddie shakes his head.  “I wasn’t invited to the housewarming.”

Ooookay then.  He’s not touching that one.  Backtracks to his truck.  Considers his options.  He could just call Evan.  That would be the sane and mature thing to do.  He calls Howie instead.

“So, Eddie’s back.”

There’s the sound of a fussy baby in the background, and Howie sounds frazzled.  “Yeah.  Couple weeks now.”

“Any idea where I can find Evan?  Since apparently Eddie kicked him out when he moved back?”

That brings Howie up short, and he’d apologize, except for how he kind of doesn’t want to.  There’s a pause.  “I’m not actually sure,” is what he finally says, and Tommy wants to grind his teeth.  “Hang on, Maddie will know.”

Maddie does not in fact know.  He’s going to give her – and maybe Howie by extension – a pass if only because they have a newborn at home.  

Calls Hen and gets the same pause, and then admission that she doesn’t know.  His dentist is going to have words with him the next time he goes in for a cleaning, but he can’t unclench his jaw. .

Doesn’t actually have Ravi’s number, which means he has to put on his big boy pants and actually call Evan.  Who picks up on the first ring.  “Tommy?”

He’d told Evan, ‘you call, I’ll always pick up;’ hadn’t been sure it would work the other way around.  Had never tested the theory until now.  And he’s been silent too long because Evan sounds a little worried when he says, “Tommy?” again.  “You okay?”

He should say something normal.  Instead he says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s a pause, and then a cautious.  “Tell you what?”

“That you’re homeless.”

There’s another pause.  “I’m not?  Homeless?  Or well, I guess technically I am kind of.  But, I’m not like living out of my car.”  Gives a half laugh.  “I think I’m too old to do that again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again.

There’s a silence long enough that he doesn’t think Evan is going to answer.  Then, “Everyone’s got their own shit going on. They didn’t need my drama too.”  Tommy opens his mouth, to interrupt, to tell him that he does, but Evan plows on, doing that half laugh that’s definitely false. “You didn’t either. You-- You’re not signed up for that anymore.” He huffs, Tommy can picture him waving his hand to dismiss the idea that it’s important. “ It’s not even interesting drama.  Nobody wants to hear about apartment hunting in LA.”

“I do,” he says promptly.

“Oh,” Evan says softly, like Tommy’s surprised him.  “Uh, really?”

“Really,” he says firmly.  Bites down on saying, ‘I always want to talk to you, I miss listening to you talk about whatever you’ve been reading.  I miss you.’

“Oh,” Evan says again, and still sounds surprised.  “Umm.  I was actually going to look at an apartment this afternoon – I think my realtor hates me, I keep not liking anything she shows me.”  There’s a pause and Tommy’s not sure what’s coming next.  Waits.  Tries not to feel too eager.  “Would you, uh, want to come with me?”

He says yes before Evan can hedge the question, or take it back, or say something that will make Tommy feel slightly homicidal towards Evan’s friends and family.

“That eager to see my apartment drama first hand?” Evan says, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“Yes,” he says dryly.  “I cannot wait to witness the battle between millennial gray and boomer beige.”  He’s not even really joking, but it feels like a win when Evan laughs.

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part thirteen | r.c

summary:

JJ only snickered as he fixed his cap, before turning to you with a smirk. “Hey. Kie run you off yet?”

“I don’t think she’d ever manage do as much damage as you yourself could,” you pointed out and JJ laughed, his hand curling around the arm of your chair, pulling you closer to him.

“See, when you used to say things like that, I thought you meant it, but now I know you’re just trying to hide that you actually like me.”

OR; JJ sees another side of you and you distance yourself from Rafe and your friends

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of smoking weed and driving while intoxicated, vulgar choice of words (idk why I put this, I always use vulgar words help)

word count: 4,2k

author's note: hi. highly anticipated new chapter 👀 also I've noticed that the chapters do tend to be longer now (compared to the 2k-ish chapters from season one) but I just gotta pack everything in that needs to be in the chapter and i know you guys don’t mind hehe. hope you have sooo much fun reading! 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. thirteen: "tell your friends you’re out for a run”

kelce in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 3:54 pm]: we hanging out this week?

top in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 4:12 pm]: I’m down. Time and place?

rafe in 3 musketeers and their precious [05/02/24: 4:19 pm]: ask Precious

kelce [05/02/24: 4:21 pm]: hey what’s up??? why are u awol?

JJ [05/02/24: 4:26 pm]: gotta finish this up with john b and then i’ll meet you there

With a small sigh, you flipped your phone around, screen face down. It had been about a week since you got back from Nassau. It had been the same amount of time since you had seen your friends last. Rafe definitely knew you were blowing him off, and you did feel bad, especially since he had been worried about things between the two of you. But really, what other choice did you have? You needed some distance before you could pretend like you didn’t care that he was apparently starting some relationship with a random girl he met. And staying away from Rafe meant staying away from Topper and Kelce, too.

Topper definitely knew what he was talking about when he was warning you about having sex with Rafe.

“Can I get you anything, or…?”

You lifted your eyes from the wooden table top you were staring at to see Kiara look at you expectantly, raising a brow.

As it turned out, you didn’t have a lot of friends besides Kelce, Topper and Rafe, which honestly was never a problem before. Now, however, that you were trying to get some space from Rafe, it proved to be more lonesome than you had expected.

Not that lonesome though.

You had been spending a lot of time with JJ lately, which did manage to distract you. It also meant spending a lot of time over on the Cut, mostly because it was more convenient, but also lowered the chances of running into your friends. You weren’t exactly trying to hide that you were out with JJ, but honestly, you knew you were preventing a lot of headaches that way.

Another place you had been frequenting more often was the Wreck, where you were now. It was one of the last places anyone would expect you to be, despite it being on Figure Eight.

“Can I just get a diet coke on ice?” you said, and Kiara gave you a brief nod, disappearing back inside. It didn’t take long for her to return with a can of diet coke and a glass filled with ice.

“Thanks,” you said and Kiara only responds with a wry smile, which was fair. The two of you barely interacted before, considering you were in very different circles. Despite her parents’ lavish home and their establishment on Figure Eight, Kiara considered herself a pogue, distancing herself from your part of the island as much as she possibly could, whereas you did enjoy the privilege your parents were able to provide you. Though you did see where she was coming from. In spite of all your differences, you both were two sides of the same coin. Before Sarah joined their friend group, Kiara was the only girl among her friends for the longest time, if anyone could understand you, it was her.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kiara paused, eyeing her parents behind the bar and the rest of the customers who seemed to be content, before she nodded with a small sigh, sitting down across from you, serving tray in her lap. She looked at you expectantly, while you struggled to find the right words.

“You’ve been friends with those guys for years… Did you ever.. Catch feelings for any of them?”

You knew you were revealing your feelings with your words, but what was Kiara gonna do? Go tell Rafe that you loved him?

“If you’re asking because you’re worried that you’ve got competition with JJ-“

“That’s not why I’m asking,” you quickly intervened, huffing. “You know my friends.”

Kiara leveled you with a look, squinting her eyes at you before she sighed, shrugging a bit with her shoulders.

“Well, it helps that JJ is a fucking idiot.”

You quirked a smile at her. “No argument from me.”

Kiara rolled her eyes with a scoff but you could detect a hint of a smile when she turned away. It took her a minute, before she finally found an answer to your question.

“I think it’s easy to mistake platonic love for romantic one, especially because you do spend so much time with your friends. There were times where I thought I was in love with one of them,” Kiara said, making you raise a brow at her. “But then I imagined kissing them and immediately realized that I would hate doing that.”

Yeah, you were definitely fucked.

You exhaled softly, leaning back in your chair, clearly unhappy with her answer. Kiara stayed silent, allowing you to wallow in your misery before you lifted your head again, finding her still looking at you. Right, JJ was one of her best friends and you basically just admitted that you were in love with one of your best friends.

“So is this the part where you’re telling me to stay away from JJ or…?”

“Nah, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Kiara jeered, crossing her arms in an x. “JJ and his mortal enemy’s best friend is just a disaster waiting to happen. I want no part of that.”

“Mortal enemy?” you echoed, snorting. “What, are they going to fight for my honor?”

“What would you describe them as then, missy?” Kiara shot back. “Besides, I think you’re capable enough of fighting for your own honor.”

With a small laugh, you nodded, taking that as some sort of gesture of peace, which was nice. You were in no mood for more drama.

“And I think you know what you’re getting yourself into by getting involved with JJ, especially when your friends find out,” Kiara added, “I’m assuming they don’t know yet?”

You pulled a face, which was answer enough for Kiara. She didn’t have to tell you that this would end catastrophically, you knew and yet, here you were.

“Who died?”

JJ let himself fall into the free chair next to you, his crude words serving as some sort of hello. Kiara rolled her eyes, giving you a look which you knew meant really, this guy? and stood up, pushing JJ’s cap further down his face before she left to take care of the rest of the customers.

JJ only snickered as he fixed his cap, before turning to you with a smirk. “Hey. Kie run you off yet?”

“I don’t think she’d ever manage do as much damage as you yourself could,” you pointed out and JJ laughed, his hand curling around the arm of your chair, pulling you closer to him.

“See, when you used to say things like that, I thought you meant it, but now I know you’re just trying to hide that you actually like me.”

You rolled your eyes grinning as JJ looked you up and down, taking you in now that you were much closer.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Undercover ray of sunshine posing as an ice princess, I get it,” JJ said, like it was a matter of fact. Before you could argue with him, he leaned over to you, pressing his lips against yours.

Cheap trick.

Still you kissed him back, everything else pushed into the background for a while. While you didn’t want to think of Rafe while you were kissing JJ, you couldn’t help but compare them as you were with him. It was easier, being with JJ. Whenever you kissed Rafe all you kept thinking was is this the last time? am i kissing too much? this kiss feels different. With JJ, it was just kissing, no worries or thoughts behind it. It was nice, for a change.

You didn’t know how long you kissed, only breaking apart when someone cleared their throat. Looking up, you found the rest of JJ’s friends surrounding you, all wearing different expressions.

“Hey guys, didn’t see you there,” JJ greeted them cheerfully, as if this was the most normal setting.

“Hey,” you greeted them, lifting your hand for a wave.

“Hey,” Sarah said, sitting down next to you, glancing between you and JJ. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling a little awkwardly. “How have you been?”

As you and Sarah spoke John B took a seat next to her, leaving Pope to stand.

“I’ll go grab another chair,” he said, gesturing to a table in the back, but JJ stopped him.

“No need. We’ll make some space.”

“Please don’t,” John B said dryly, but JJ had already tugged you over in his lap, freeing up another chair.

“Jesus,” you muttered, brushing your hair out of your face, giving JJ a dirty look. Pope only sighed loudly, dropping into your now free chair while you got comfortable in JJ’s lap.

“You good?” JJ asked, his hand coming up on your back to support you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Can you just warn me beforehand next time? I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Sorry,” JJ apologized, wincing. “Was trying to act fast.”

You huffed quietly under your breath and as you lifted your head, you realized that that the others had watched you the entire time. Especially Pope seemed particularly interested, leaning his chin in his hand.

“So how exactly did this happen?” he asked, gesturing towards the two of you, like he didn’t quite understand.

“Oh Pope my boy, you know it was only a matter of time before she fell for the Maybank charm,” JJ said with a waggle of his eyebrow, though they quickly creased when you dug your elbow into his ribs. “Guess I was a little persistent.”

“Now that sounds more believable,” Pope stated and John B nodded in agreement.

“Gotta say, I do like the two of you together,” he added, throwing his arm around the back of Sarah’s chair. “Maybe you can get JJ under a control a little, tighten his leash.”

“Big surprise, John B supports pogue and kook macking,” JJ snorted and you furrowed your brows.

“Hold on, I know for a fact that I’m not the first girl JJ’s been with that’s not from your side of the island.”

“You’re different,” Pope replied and the creased on your forehead deepened even more.

“How am I different?”

Before either of them could answer your question, Kiara returned with several bags of food, and another bag filled with drinks.

“You guys ready to go?”

You all piled out of the restaurant, getting more than one look thrown in your direction and you were sure that Kiara’s parents were glad that you left.

You had come in your own car, so you split up, JJ riding with you, while the rest of his friends piled into John B’s old VW van.

While you drove over to the Cut, soft music filtered out of your car’s speakers. Out of the corner of your eye, JJ was relaxing in the passenger seat, his hand out of the window, following the motion of the wind.

“Enjoy being the passenger princess for once?”

“Excuse you,” JJ said, affronted as he looked over to you. His long hair was swept over his forehead, but it was no use pushing it back, the wind blowing through the open window kept tousling his hair. “I was a passenger princess long before you decided to grace me with your presence. John B doesn’t trust me around the Twinkie anymore after I drove it into the tree in his backyard.”

“… You know what, I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Smart,” JJ acknowledged with a nod and you only rolled your eyes with a laugh.

The drive to John B’s place didn’t take too long, his van already parked in front of his house when you arrived. There wasn’t really a parking spot per se, so you parked right next to him. As you got out, closing the car door behind you, you couldn’t help but notice how your car seemed to stand out like a sore thumb. Your jeep was sparkling, especially after you had just picked it from your your monthly detail the day before, the blue car paint shining even more than usual, a stark contrast to John B’s van and house.

You tried not to think too much about how it mirrored you and your place here with JJ and his friends. Pushing your thoughts to the back, you followed JJ into the house, where it was clear that the Pogues had a routine; while Kiara unpacked the food on the small coffee table that was surrounded by the couch and an odd assortment of arm chairs, Pope cleared the paper bags, Sarah and John B disappeared somewhere, before returning with plates and cutlery. Everyone seemed to contribute to the shared meal that you were going to have.

Well, everyone except for JJ, who made himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes found yours and he patted on the empty nook on the couch next to him. Letting out an almost unperceivable sigh, you joined him on the couch. You felt a little weird, sitting around doing nothing while the others were fixing up food, like you were just a picture perfect “kook”, but honestly, JJ was the definition of the pogue, and he couldn’t be more relaxed sitting next to you, opening a can of beer while his friends finished setting up the table.

It wasn’t much later that everything was set up so you could finally eat, the food more than enough for the six of you. After you finished eating, everyone leaned back in their seats, tummies full.

“The food was really good, Kiara,” you said, the other girl looking up to you. “Your parents really know what they’re doing.”

“Thanks,” Kiara answered with a small smile, frowning when Sarah accidentally yanked on her hair when she reached for her bag, rummaging in it before she cheered.

“You know what’ll make today even better?” she asked before thrusting her hand forward. “This!”

The others clapped and cheered, but it took you a second to see what Sarah was holding was a joint between her fingers. In about a second, the joint was lit, and burning in qualms in Sarah’s mouth before she passed it around. You were impressed at their speed, not even you and your friends were that quick. Even though you didn’t really feel like smoking, you figured a little wouldn’t hurt.

You had suspected it the moment Sarah pulled the joint out, but when it finally reached your hands, it confirmed your suspicions. The joint felt familiar between your fingers, like one you’d smoked so many times before when you put your lips around it.

You wondered Sarah had just snuck the joint when she was at home, or if she had asked Rafe for one of his hand rolled joints. It was funny, you thought, how Rafe would do something so trivial like rolling his own joint, but you knew he liked knowing what was actually in there.

You passed the joint to Pope, already starting to feel the effects of the weed spreading into your systems, your limbs starting to loosen. Leaning your head back on the couch, you allowed yourself to relax a little, JJ’s warm body close to yours. The others talked among themselves, what exactly they were talking about, you didn’t really know, but you also just didn’t care.

It wasn’t long until JJ had the joint again, taking a few puffs before he offered it to you.

“I’m good,” you declined, making JJ pout.

“Come on,” he tried to coax you. “Just one more drag.”

“I said no JJ.”

JJ sighed, shaking his head, taking another drag. He leaned over you to pass the joint to Pope, but before he sat back down, JJ curled his hand around your neck, pressing his lips against in a kiss, blowing the smoke into your mouth.

“Jesus, JJ,” someone said behind JJ. You weren’t sure who it was, probably John B.

You were too busy coughing, not having expected the smoke filling your lungs, your hand coming up to punch his shoulder. You being you, not one to to back down, you kissed him back, biting down on his lips, a little more forcefully than needed. JJ grunted, his knee slotting in between your legs so he could press closer to you.

“Ugh, guys, really?”

“Get a room.”

You barely acknowledged their words, unusually so. It was rare that you engaged in public displays of affection and this was definition more than affection.

“I don’t think they’re gonna stop.”

The rustling of the couch and the door opening and closing was distant to your ears, too busy being surrounded by JJ. He however, seemed to clock immediately that the two of you were alone, moving to lay you down on the couch. JJ didn’t waste a second, his mouth finding your sensitive skin on your neck, working himself down your chest with small kisses, sucking on your skin every now and then.

You lifted your head a little, watching JJ plant kisses on your chest, sprawled on the couch gave you the worst kind of flashback. This was not the time to think about Rafe.

“Wait,” you stopped him, both of your hands on his chest to push him off of you.

“What?” JJ breathed out. His blonde hair was in streaks over his forehead, and you couldn’t help but notice how pink his lips were, undoubtedly your doing. Served him right.

“I’m not gonna fuck you on this couch.”

“Oh good,” he sighed, “cause I was planning on fucking you on this couch.”

You snorted out a laugh, slapping his chest and JJ sat up with a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“You know they’re not gonna come in, right?”

To be completely honest, you had forgotten all about this friends.

“It’s not about them,” you answered, somewhat evasively. “Just not today, okay.”

JJ cocked an eyebrow at you. “You sure I can’t convince you?”

“Yes, JJ.”

Still, he leaned over, his hand on your waist.

“What about second base?”

“Jesus Christ.”

The house was dark when you got home. You tried not to happen too often especially too many nights in a row, knowing your parents would be on your ass if you spent too much time away. To be fair, you hadn’t expected to be hanging out with JJ and his friends for this long, because you just didn’t know where you fit in with them, with your friends disliking his friends so much. The joint helped though, and against your smartest instincts, you smoked another round with them, making you relax and turn your thoughts off for a while. Despite the darkness of the night, you could make out someone sitting on the steps of the porch, and first, you thought it was one of your parents. But as the headlights of your car shone over the front of the house, you realized it was Rafe. Was it too late to wish it was your mom instead?

The trilling of insects was the only sound when you turned your car off, getting out without any difficulty. The slam of the car door echoed through the drive way and Rafe seemed unamused as he pushed himself off the stairs, walking towards you with deliberate steps, his phone in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, with a frown and Rafe pressed his lips together.

“You’ve been MIA. I was worried,” he said, eyeing you up and down. “Where were you?”

“Out.”

“With whom?” Rafe wanted to know, knowing the same thing you knew. You didn’t have a lot of friends besides of him, Topper and Kelce. “You hanging out with someone you shouldn’t have?”

“Just Scarlett.”

You tried acting nonchalant, shrugging with your shoulders but the movement only allowed the strap of your purse to slip off. Before it could drop to the floor, Rafe caught it with his hands, giving you a look.

“You’re high?” he asked, but it sounded more like a statement than a question. You weren’t sure if it was the weed he was smelling on you, or if it was just plain obvious.

“And you drove like that?”

“How else would I get home?”

Rafe looked at you like you were stupid.

“You could have called me.”

“Because I need you to save me?” you scoffed. You weren’t entirely sure what was up with you.

Lie. You knew exactly what was up with you.

Rafe only stared at you, his nostrils flared, clearly agitated, and for a split second, you expected him to leave, leave you standing in front of your house, but he only wrenched your keys out of your hand, unlocking the front door for you. Despite the anger radiating from him, his touch was gentle when he ushered you inside the house, his hands steady on your back as you walked up the stairs, like he expected you to fall.

Surprisingly, you got into your bedroom without making too much noise, but instead of leaving, Rafe shut the door behind you, placing your purse on your drawer.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, frowning in confusion, the devil’s lettuce clouding your mind. You really needed to sleep.

“Getting you shower, because you might actually fall and drown yourself,” Rafe huffed, his hand around your arm when you moved to sit on your bed. “Don’t. The smell will seep into your sheets”

You rolled your eyes at him but you still let him drag you to your bathroom. He let go of your arm when you stood on the pink bathroom rug, gesturing towards your clothes.

“With or without clothes?”

Your face was blank as you stared at him.

“You’re not watching me shower.”

“Precious, I trust you to shower by yourself about as much as I would trust Kelce to drive my truck,” Rafe sighed, sitting down on the small ottoman, crossing his arms. For a while, you stood in the middle of your bathroom motionless, before you realized he wasn’t joking. With a small sigh, you started undressing, letting your clothes fall on the floor. You hesitated, pulling your top over your head, your bra soon following. Even though Rafe had seen you naked before, you still felt vulnerable as you got undressed in his presence, your eyes flitting to him.

His eyes zeroed in on your chest, but instead of making a lewd comment like you had expected, his face hardened before he turned away without saying anything, his jaw clenched. Your brows knitted together, but you kept quiet, your underwear joining the rest of your clothes on the floor, before you stepped into your shower, turning it on.

The water sobered you up a little, the cool droplets feeling refreshing against your skin. While your head was still in a daze, it lifted slightly, and embarrassment started to settle deep in your bones. You made quick work of washing the lingering scent of the weed of your skin, before you turned the water off, the stream becoming smaller drops, before the water stopped completely. You didn’t get out immediately though, trying to let go of what you were feeling, having to face Rafe, who was still here to take care of you, despite your behavior.

When you finally got out of the shower, your clothes on the floor were gone, and so was Rafe. Before he had left, he had put out your bathrobe and a towel, which you quickly used to dry off and wrap your hair. Exiting your bathroom, you went back into your room, and it looked like Rafe was never here, except for the glass of water that stood on your nightstand.

You picked it off, taking a sip and before you knew it, the glass was empty. You hadn’t even realized how thirsty you were until you’d seen the crisp water. With a small sigh, you pushed the empty glass back on the nightstand, before crawling into your bed, knocking out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The next morning, when you woke up, you felt slightly less terrible than you had anticipated. The sun filtered in through the closed blinds, which you didn’t remember closing, though you did appreciate the sun not completely shining into your bedroom.

Throwing the blankets back, you got out of bed, your movements slow. With a yawn, you padded to the bathroom, turning the lights on your feet coming to a halt when you caught your reflection in the mirror.

“Fuck.”

Slowly, you traced your finger tips across the splatter of hickeys that JJ must have left on your chest. You honestly hadn’t even noticed.

Rafe knew you lied to him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: so there were two version of this ending, one with rafe tucking precious in and the one you got. if you don't like it, @eldrith said to go the angstier route so complain to her <3 BUT WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS???!!?! <3

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot (Prologue) - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: A lovely anon asked how Mattheo and reader started out, so here is their backstory. I hope you enjoy!

-

You weren’t the type to fall for Slytherins.

As a Ravenclaw, you had your nose buried in dusty books, spent your weekends organizing enchanted study notes, and found comfort in the quiet hum of the library. You weren’t antisocial — in fact, many people found your presence captivating. You were kind, witty, effortlessly graceful in a way that made people pause.

But he was something else entirely.

Mattheo Riddle had a reputation that was even darker than the Black Lake. He was tall, sharp-jawed, dark-eyed danger personified. His smirk was the stuff of whispered dorm gossip. Son of Voldemort, future heir of the Dark Lord, some claimed — though no one dared say it to his face. Professors tolerated him because he was brilliant. Students tiptoed around him because he was terrifying.

But you? You didn’t seem impressed. And that’s what started it all.

———

Your first encounter happened during a shared O.W.L Potions class. You arrived early, as always, settling at your usual table with your notes already out and organized. The seat beside you was always vacant—no one dared sit there because you were known to correct your seat partner’s technique if they so much as stirred it clockwise instead of counter-clockwise.

But that day, Mattheo Riddle strolled in late, sleeves rolled, eyes heavy-lidded with arrogance—and dropped his bag right next to you.

You barely glanced at him.

“Just so you know,” you said without looking up, “you over-grind your lacewing flies. You’re destroying the compound.”

He raised a brow, amused. “That so?”

“I saw your Amortentia yesterday. Smelled like gunpowder and blood. Classic overgrind. Rookie mistake.”

He blinked.

Most girls would be fawning over him by now. But you had already gone back to annotating your textbook, like he was no more interesting than a cauldron manual.

It bothered him.

No one talked to him like that. Certainly no one corrected him. And definitely not someone as annoyingly beautiful as you.

He watched you out of the corner of his eye the entire lesson.

———

After that class, he started showing up wherever you were.

He’d pass behind your desk in the library and flick the ends of your parchment. He’d steal your quill and replace it with an obnoxiously large green feathered one. Sometimes he’d lean on the library shelves right where you were looking and say things like:

“Careful, love. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll think you’re in love.”

You always rolled your eyes. “I’m trying to look past you.”

And yet… your heart beat just a little faster.

———

What he didn’t expect was that you saw him.

Not the version of himself that he projected: the Riddle name, the cold eyes, the untouchable snark. No — you saw when his hand trembled during Dueling Club. You saw how he lingered after class, sometimes staring at nothing. You noticed the circles under his eyes, the way his jaw clenched during mentions of “family.” You even caught him once in the library — reading Muggle poetry. Hidden inside a copy of Magical Theory and Practice, but still. Poetry.

“Byron?” you’d asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

He’d gone completely still.

“I won’t tell,” you promised, voice gentle. “I like Byron too.”

That was the moment. You felt it — a shift. A hesitation. A choice.

Instead of walking away, he stayed. Instead of shutting you out, he let the conversation continue.

“You always like the broken ones?” he’d asked that day, tone teasing but eyes dark with something real.

You shrugged. “Only the ones who try to rebuild.”

———

Weeks passed.

You became… a thing. No official labels. No public declarations. But you knew. Everyone knew. If someone even looked at you sideways in the corridor, Mattheo was there—silent, glaring, dangerous.

He never held your hand in the open. But he waited for you outside the library. He’d leave you enchanted paper cranes with notes like:

“Stop looking so pretty when I’m trying to focus in class. – M.”

He once punched a fourth-year Slytherin for calling you a “bookish tease.” You didn’t ask him to. He didn’t tell you he did. You just knew.

Then came the Astronomy Tower incident.

It was late. You’d both been working on your projects, and for once, you were exhausted. You leaned your head against his shoulder — and instead of pulling away or making a joke, he let you rest there.

And then, quietly, he whispered:

“I don’t like anyone. You know that, right?”

You nodded sleepily. “I know.”

“But I like you.”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “I know.”

———

You didn’t need a dramatic kiss or a grand gesture. You didn’t even need him to ask. It happened naturally — one day, he reached for your hand in the corridor, not caring who saw. The whispers spread like Fiendfyre.

“Ravenclaw girl? Mattheo Riddle’s girlfriend?”

But no one dared say a word to your face.

Because Mattheo wasn’t the cold-hearted monster they thought. Not with you.

He carried your bag when you hurt your wrist in Charms. He memorized your favorite tea order. He’d pull you onto his lap during study nights in the Slytherin common room and press kisses to your temple when no one was watching.

You got away with everything.

Once, you fell asleep in the restricted section of the library after a long night of research. Instead of waking you, Mattheo sat beside you for three hours, hexed anyone who came too close, and carried you back to your dorm when dawn broke.

Professor Snape caught him once and said, “Mr. Riddle, you know you’re not allowed in Ravenclaw Tower.”

To which Mattheo simply smirked and replied, “Then I suggest you give her a passcode to my room instead.”

———

Now?

He still scares people.

Still has that coiled, dark energy that promises ruin to anyone who crosses him.

But with you?

He softens. He folds. You’re the only one who can touch his heart without getting burned.

And he still can’t believe it.

Every time you sit in his lap, cup his jaw with your gentle hands, or tell him he’s not like his father — you remind him that maybe, just maybe, he’s worthy of something good.

And you?

You never expected to fall for the most dangerous boy in Hogwarts.

But here you are — adored, protected, chosen.

By Mattheo Riddle.

Taglist: @hisonlyobsession

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Assigned to You

🐺Pairing(s)🐺🠞Isaac Lahey x shy!male reader ⚠️CW⚠️🠞 gay, gay-sex, top Isaac, bottom male reader, Isaac is an ass lover, ass eating, size kink, breeding, Isaac is bigger than you (6 '2 to 5' 6 or something), anal-sex, Isaac has a big cock, both of you are 18, Isaac cums quickly, and needy reader. 🔞Rating🔞🠞 Explicit and fluff 🐺Requested🐺🠞 Yes

🖊️Word Count🖊️🠞 4.1k

🐺Summary🐺🠞You and Isaac were pinning after each other for a long time, but you were too nervous and shy to say anything. That changed when your English teacher assigned you to be partners in a project. Feelings were confessed, and both of your closeted desires sprouted into reality. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

Note: I haven’t watched Teen Wolf, so there might be some mischaracterization. I’m mainly using Google and other sources to get a better understanding. This happens after Isaac turns into a werewolf. 

“Today, there will be a group project! Before you get excited, you will have assigned partners…”

The moment Ms. Ramsey mentioned “group project,” you internally groaned and felt your heart sink. You weren’t keen on working with a random classmate, you barely knew their names apart from a few notable ones. Group projects are the worst, you would much rather work alone than with someone else. 

You were very much a loner and a shy person, staying in the background and among the shadows of hundreds of other students. High school was overwhelming enough, and you didn’t need to add the pressure of speaking to other students to the mix. It's not like you’re gonna have contact with them after graduation is over, they’ll fade away into the obscurity of life. 

Although there was someone you liked (or loved), Isaac Lahey, you shared the majority of your classes with him, so you naturally saw him everywhere. Your eyes would follow him, filled with love and desire for him. He was your hallway boyfriend, seeking him out in the hallways and giving subtle glances when he walked by. To anybody, it was creepy and obsessive, and they’d be right.

You don’t know what pulled you towards him. Maybe it was your similarities: quiet nature, shy, and lonely. Although you did notice him becoming more confident and dominant, he still had compassion and kindness. It only made you like him more. 

Or maybe your attraction was to his physical appearance; he was tall, standing at 6’2 (187 cm), with a lean, muscular stature after being on the lacrosse team for a year. You found that out by sneaking some glances whenever he would lift his shirt. Oh, how you love his dark, blonde hair; you want to run your fingers through his soft hair, staring into his large blue eyes.

Though you doubt he feels the same way, he’s definitely out of your league. You didn’t want to confess for fear of rejection. 

The number of students was thinning out, with only four remaining. You prayed that the teacher would pair you with a random person rather than Isaac. However, your prayers weren’t answered as the other two students were paired together. 

“And the last pair is Isaac and Y/n. You’ll have a week to complete this…”

Your heart stopped, mouth hanging open as those words went through your ears. You couldn’t believe you were assigned to Isaac! Out of all the students in the classroom, it had to be him. You didn’t mind working with anyone else because they weren’t Isaac, they weren’t the guy you were crushing on. 

You glanced at Isaac, sitting in the middle section of the class. He glanced back at you with a smile on his face; it was a genuine smile, soft and warm. His eyes looked like they were sparkling as they made contact with yours. You felt your heart beating faster, cheeks turning red as you looked away from his gaze.

“Use the rest of class to talk about what you’re gonna do.” Ms. Ramsey said, returning to her desk, turning on the monitor, and entering the different groups into the system for grading once the time comes. “Oh, and please don’t procrastinate,” was the last thing she said before returning to her work.

“Hey, Y/n! So, what do you want to do for this project?” Isaac’s voice snapped you out of your inner thoughts, causing you to jump a little. You felt embarrassment wash over your body, getting scared by your crush, who was your partner for the next week. 

“What was the project about…?” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper. You were stuck in your world, not hearing what the teacher was saying. 

“It’s an analytical project on any piece of literature, as long as it's appropriate,” Isaac paused so he could grab a chair. “She probably thinks someone is gonna analyze a pornography book.” Isaac continued, chuckling at the thought, before placing his materials on your desk and taking a seat. 

“Anyways, wanna start? And maybe let's go to your place to continue working,” you agreed to Isaac while you were internally battling yourself. You were stressed over inviting your crush over– what if he judges your tastes, or what if he judges everything about you? 

You didn’t feel as excited as you should have.

Isaac was honest with himself, and he was ecstatic that you got to be his partner. He always noticed your discreet glances whenever he was not looking. Even before he accepted Derek’s idea of turning him into a werewolf, he had eyes for you. Everything about you attracted him, the same way you are with him. 

He also couldn’t get the courage to approach you. He thought you didn’t feel the same way; hell, he didn’t think you knew he existed. So, he admired from afar, doing the same ministrations as you, without the other knowing. 

Idiots in love. 

His attraction changed after he was transformed into a werewolf. His sense of smell became so enhanced that he could now detect the scent of different people; whether it was an unpleasant or average smell, yours was distinct. Your scent was unique, and he could smell it change whenever he was close to you. 

Your scent blended in with others, but it was still distinct to his nose. When you were in his vicinity, it would spike; he could smell your scent wafting in the air, turning sweet and delicious at times, while other times it would sour and foul. He could attribute the foul and sour smell to your nervousness about confession and fear of rejection. 

He was going to try to slowly approach you, help you feel less tense around him, and hopefully less shy. Maybe even open up and confess to him. 

xxx

Over the next few days, Isaac eased you into his presence, hoping to get you out of your shell and open up to him. 

He did this by being gentle with you, speaking softly and lightly – never teasing, never pushing with his voice. He regulated it so as not to seem obnoxious and loud. Sometimes, he would lean in slightly, pushing the boundaries while speaking to you. 

Whenever he would sense your fear and anxiety spiking, he would back off and give you space. He apologized for getting too close and intruding on your personal space. “Sorry about that. Got carried away.” Isaac says, scratching the back of his head, cheeks flustered from embarrassment. 

He made small talk, disregarding the project, with you, wanting to learn more about you. He listened intently to every word you said, sometimes getting lost in your soft, spoken voice as you talked about random topics and your interests. You kept rambling until the assignment was forgotten under a pile of conversations.

Isaac was proud that his ministrations opened you up. Maybe the time was right. 

“Oh… I’ve been rambling!” you mumbled, looking at the time; you rambled for almost two hours about [your interest]! “Sorry for wasting time, we should get back to work,” you continued, mumbling, looking into Isaac’s eyes for anything negative; there was nothing. He stared at you, his elbows resting on your desk, with one hand holding his head. His eyes were soft, shining as if he were enchanted.

“No, no, I liked your rambling. I like listening to your voice.” Isaac said without a second thought. His old self would’ve been mortified for saying something like that, but he wasn’t like that anymore. It was the truth, and he had no qualms with himself. 

You froze, mouth open, but no words were coming out; your face was flustered before breaking eye contact. “Really… why?”

Isaac laughed softly, causing your face to turn redder. “Why not? I like hearing your voice and learning everything about you! You’re more interesting and genuine than many others. Kind, thoughtful… I’ve always noticed you.” Isaac said, his remaining on your figure as he slides closer, but not too close. 

You looked into Isaac’s eyes with shock, attempting to see if the other man was pulling at your heartstrings. There were no ill intentions, no joke, or cruelty hidden behind those deep-blue eyes; his words were authentic, and he really meant them. You awkwardly laughed, trying to recollect some words to say, your mind reeling from the truth in Isaac’s words. 

“I… didn’t think you noticed,” you said, biting your lip, your heart hammering. Alarms were blaring in your head, this was actually happening, this isn’t a dream. Your breathing became heavier; it was happening fast, but you felt relieved. Like a heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders, knowing that Isaac possibly feels the same. 

“I’ve always noticed you. In fact, I thought you didn’t notice me.” Isaac said gently, sensing your heart rate getting faster, placing his hand over your smaller one. He squeezed it softly, smiling with his teeth as he felt you calming down and settling. “I like you, Y/n. A lot.” Isaac finished, waiting for your reaction and response.

You didn’t move, your brain scrambling for a response to Isaac’s confession and grasp on your hand. Your heart was beating faster, and your breathing was strained as you choked out: “Oh… I like you too! I thought you were out of my league.” You replied, your tense body relaxing and breathing returning to normal levels. 

Silence filled the atmosphere, the quiet breathing, and the humming sound of the ceiling fan as its blades rotated. Isaac broke the silence, “Can I… kiss you? Or is that too soon? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable!” Isaac rambled before you shushed him with your finger, smiling warmly at Isaac’s cuteness and words.

“Of course, I want this…”

xxx

Isaac was lying down on the bed, your body pressing against his as your hands were on both sides of his head. You could feel the other man’s hand moving and gripping your hips, grounding your smaller body against his larger one. 

Your lips are moving in sync, and you could feel your body melting into his grasp as he deepened the kiss. The kiss was wet and sloppy as you opened your mouth to Isaac’s invading tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed, enjoying Isaac being the dominant one. Your teeth clack against one another, Isaas’s tongue beating yours in dominance, and the erotic sounds of wet kissing, quiet moans, and groans slipped through 

Isaac was getting more aroused, his bulge grinding against yours, his grip tightening as he thrusts against your bulge. The bed squeaks from the dry humping, your two bodies moving in sync. Isaac’s eyes rolled back as his cock was straining in his pants, his breathing getting heavier as he needed more. Isaac broke the kiss with a light snicker, placing a light kiss on your nose before tracing his mouth down to your neck, leaving a trail of marks and saliva. 

You were breathless after the heated kiss, and your breathing transformed into soft moans. The werewolf’s lips found your neck, giving sloppy kisses and bites. You could feel Isaac’s large hands groping your ass through your clothing, kneading the flesh like how a baker would with raw dough. 

“You wanna continue, baby?” Isaac said, breathing heavily as he desperately wanted to touch your naked body, feeling it underneath his fingertips as he showed you what it means to feel and be loved by someone. 

“Yes! Please, I need you,” you replied needily, humping Isaac’s clothed bulge. Your once timid and anxious brain was clouded by need and lust. There was no shame or embarrassment left in your body as you begged Isaac to continue his ministrations. You needed his touch, you needed everything Isaac could provide, now that you have him wholly to yourself. 

This was the type of drug you could get behind and become addicted to. 

“My baby is needy? Let me fix that.” Before you could blink, Isaac had suddenly switched positions with you, flipping you onto your stomach with your ass pointed up. He made quick work of your pants and underwear, hastily removing them until your fat ass was bare before his eyes. Unbeknownst to you, Isaac’s eyes glowed yellow, his werewolf side clawing its way out. He could feel himself going feral from the sight of your ass, but he didn’t want to lose control and expose his secret to you, not yet. 

He let out a bellowed growl before leaning down, his hands holding your hips in place. Isaac fondled your cheeks, hypnotized by the way your fat ass was wobbling and jiggling from his hands. “Ngh…” The pillow muffled your whine and moan as you felt Isaac’s tongue run over your bare ass. 

“Oh God!” you gasped softly, biting the pillow as you felt Isaac spreading your cheeks, your little hole revealed to his lustful eyes, glowing brighter like your hole was a prize from a carnival. Without hesitation, Isaac leaned forward and licked a long stripe, his wet tongue making contact with your hole. 

Your eyes widen before fluttering closed. The werewolf made out with your hole, coating the muscle with saliva as he kneaded your flesh. His lips give light kisses around your hole before pulling out and biting the flesh of your ass. Isaac’s groans were muffled as he buried his head in your ass, wrapping one arm around your legs and yanking you closer to him. 

“O-oh fuck… I-Isaac.” You cried, pushing back against his face. You could tell he approved from the satisfied groans and growls. Your cock was twitching, bobbing in the air, precum dripping onto your bed sheets. Your mind was going blank, you’ve jacked off and fingered yourself before, but this was different, more pleasurable and intense, and it was with Isaac. 

“Love this ass, baby…” Isaac groans, pulling back to breathe, taking long gulps of air as he admires his work. Your hole was soppy, coated with saliva, with your cheek having bite marks and scratches. He could see your hole fluttering, gaping, and clenching around nothing, begging for something to fill it. 

With due time.

“You’re gonna feel some pain, baby…” Isaac said, lathering two fingers with saliva, bringing the digits closer to your hole. Slowly, he pushes them inside you, groaning as he feels your hole fluttering and clenching around his fingers. He could feel them sucking his digits deeper. 

“I-Isaac!” you gasped softly, whining from Isaac’s intruding fingers. You clenched the sheets, biting down on the pillow as the werewolf spread your hole, preparing you for something bigger and thicker. Although you didn’t need preparation because you fingered yourself a couple of minutes before Isaac arrived.

“It hurts? Sorry, I… you don’t feel… tight?” Isaac said, brows furrowing as he felt your hole being loose. The gears in his head were turning before the realization. “Didn't take you to be that person, baby. Fucking hot if you ask me.” Isaac grins, still pressing his fingers as deeply as he could, scissoring and stretching your hole. The werewolf didn’t expect a shy, introverted person like you to be naughty and needy, but he liked that.

Your face grew slack, jaw dropped as Isaac’s fingers sheathed deep inside you, unknowingly riding his fingers. He touched your gummy, pink walls, spreading them as he searched for the fabled spot that was taught in sex education: the prostate. 

“That’s it, baby. Doing good.” Isaac praises as used his other hand to grope and fondle your right ass cheek. He was so caught up in his ministrations that he forgot about his own needs. He looked to see his cock bulging out, throbbing with a precum seeping through the fabric. “Jesus Christ…”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as his words repeated. Your moans and cries of pleasure fell from your tongue, mixing with the sinful sounds of his fingers thrusting deep inside, accompanied by wet squelching. “Oh God… feels so good… making me feel so good…” You arched your back and pushed your ass further into the werewolf’s grasp. 

Something was blooming in your stomach, its petals were blooming as the roots sank deep into your nerves. Your breathing got heavier, your body tensing and clenching around Isaac’s fingers, halting them and making the digits unable to move. It was a dizzying sensation, and drool seeped from the corners of your mouth, soaking the pillow. 

“Feel good? Yeah… it does… cum for me.” Isaac growled as he abused that special bundle of nerves 

Your response was immediate, a myriad of messy and muffled cries of pleasure and relief. Your cock throbbed before spurting its load, coating the bed sheets. Your body was sweaty underneath the shirt, trembling and shaking from the orgasm, and you collapsed onto the bed. Your vision was blurry and white.

“Do you wanna continue or…” Isaac said, pulling his fingers out with a wet plop sound. He didn’t want to continue until you gave him confirmation. He couldn’t finish his sentence before you moved back, grinding your bare ass against Isaac’s clothed bulge. The werewolf moans as he feels his dick being squeezed between your cheeks, his eyes roll back as he fells his climax nearing.

He wasn’t even inside you, and he was already about to cum. 

“Yes! Please… need more… need you!” You begged, arching your back and desperately grinding against Isaac’s clothed bulge. It was just as you imagined it to be: large and thick. Your hole twitched at the thought of being filled to the brim with that beast.  You were lost in the sensation of lust, your body developing a mind of its own as it disobeyed your brain. It needed Isaac to satisfy the thirst that had been denied for a long time. 

“Okay… okay, I’ll give you what you want, but I don’t know if I’ll last long,” Isaac admitted. He could feel himself teetering on the brink, a single thrust would send him into an orgasm. He was slightly embarrassed by confessing it, but it was his first time being intimate with someone, so you couldn’t blame him. 

“I don’t care! I just wanna feel you inside of me… just fuck me,” You replied, whining from waiting for too long for Isaac to penetrate your aching hole. You didn’t care about Isaac admitting to cumming early, you just wanted to feel connected with him. That’s all you wanted: a connection with your lover. 

Isaac nodded and began stripping his clothes, tearing them off along with his pants and underwear. He groaned when his aching large cock was released from its cage, it twitched from the cold breeze with precum oozing from the cockhead. “Let’s take that shirt off,” Isaac said, reaching down and pulling the hem of your shirt up. You lifted your arms when he yanked the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side with his clothing as well. 

“I’m going in…” Isaac gave you the heads up, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to his abdomen, his cock resting between on top of your ass. His chest heaved as he held his length and aimed it towards your saliva-coated hole. He gulped as he pressed his cockhead against your hole, sweat dripping down his body as he braced himself. 

Your heart was pounding, your breathing hitched as you held onto the pillow. You could feel the blunt shape of his cockhead pressing against your entrance, the pressure increased as your breathing got heavier until your rim gave in and the swell of Isaac’s cock sinks in. Your body trembled from the force. Isaac’s grip on your hips was firm, nails digging into your flesh as he didn’t stop until he cock was fully sheathed. 

“Isaac… It's so large! How…” you moan shakily, back arching to give Isaac more access. Air was leaving your body as your insides were being stretched to accommodate the werewolf’s large cock. It stopped when Isaac hilted into you, his cock swallowed by your tight, warm hole. It didn’t hurt as much, thanks to your previous enjoyment and Isaac stretching you with his fingers. 

Isaac growls and groans, removing his hands from your hips before collapsing onto your smaller frame. His hands find yours, holding them as his larger and stronger body covers your smaller one, his head buried in your shoulder. He was able to control himself for a while, but the cracks were shattering his composure as he felt your rim squeezing and spasming around his cock. His train of thought was becoming cloudy as the only thing on his mind was to fuck and breed your hole. 

“Lose control… I don’t care if you cum early,” you said with a heavy breath, tilting your head back to kiss Isaac on the cheek. 

That was the last straw for him. Isaac stood up, removing his hands from yours to your hips. His grip was firm as he pulled back with his cockhead being left inside before ramming back into your hole. Your eyes widen as Isaac began aggressively fucking your ass, his cock reaching deeper than ever before. The bed squeaking got louder with the headboard slamming into the wall. 

A symphony of moans and growls mixed with the bed squeaking and wet squelching, with the topping of wet skin slapping and balls slapping against yours, echoed through the house. You were grateful that your parents were out for the evening, so they wouldn’t have to hear their son getting his guts rearranged by his classmate. The bedroom was hot and sweaty, with sex permeating the air. 

Your fingers gripped the pillow tighter as your moans grew louder with Isaac’s cockhead ramming directly into your special bundle of nerves. Your body was becoming overstimulated as it was still recovering from the previous orgasm, your cock was hard as it bobbed with each thrust Isaac was giving. Your cries for more grew louder as base instincts took control, begging to be claimed internally by Isaac’s thick cum. 

With Isaac being inexperienced, he didn’t last long. He gave a couple of rough thrusts before reaching his climax. He was lost in the feeling of your warm hole swallowing and tightening around his throbbing length. He couldn’t handle the spasming and clenching of your hole trying to milk his cock of its load.

“O-oh god… I’m cum… can’t pull out.” he was gonna pull out but it was like your ass knew and prevented it. His breathing hitched as he grounded his hips, growling as his cock spurted its load deep inside, flooding your hole with waves of hot cum. His balls tightening as it pumped more cum that began to seep through your plugged ass, soaking the sheets with the sticky substance. You came at the same time, adding more cum to the sheets, more watery than thick globs.

Isaac collapsed beside you before his strong arms wrapped around your chest, pulling you into his embrace. He peppered kisses on your shoulders and nape area, his hands rubbing circles on your hips to soothe the aching he caused. 

“Sorry for cumming early…” Isaac apologized, nuzzling into your shoulders. He moves slightly, his cock, which was still inside your hole, rubbed against your sensitive spot causing you to moan and clench which in turn caused Isaac to groan. You could feel his heavy breathing rubbing against your skin as he held you close, his lips touching your salty, sweaty skin. 

“It’s okay… I don’t care about that… does this mean you wanna be my boyfriend?” you asked, leaning into Isaac’s warmth, grabbing the comforter and pulling it over your bodies. The comforter provides extra warmth, and you don’t even care about the cum on the sheets or the cum oozing out of your hole.

“Of course.” 

THE END

Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! I hope y’all enjoyed this fic! To be honest, I don’t know if I ate with this one. Very special thanks to my proofreader🠞 @sagethegaywitch Taglist🠞 @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @sleep-0-deprived @cronasluvr Join my taglist! Masterlist here! I have K*-f* if you wish to support!

[risingoftime]

TOUCHED LIKE A PRAYER | SAMMIE MOORE X F!READER

based on this request! thank you for inspiring me :)

You stared at Sammie as he sang and strummed his guitar mercilessly. He was taken entirely, as he played like the world would end if he stopped. It was awe-inspiring to see a man enraptured by his passion for music. He played like he loved it more than breathing. Sammie’s fingers were calloused and raw, chasing the next perfect note and melody even if it meant he’d draw his own blood. Something happened that night, the night Sammie got those scars on his cheek. He wouldn’t dare utter a word to you or anyone else, for that matter. But when he played, it seemed like he had travelled elsewhere; a part of you wondered if he had returned to that unspoken night.

I’ve seen it, haven’t you? How he keeps going, even when the scars are louder than the music. Even when they tell him he’s too rough, too raw, too Black for the places that matter. It’s gotten in the way of work, of gigs, of respect. But Sammie still plays. Because somewhere in all that ache, the music still says his name like a prayer. And watching him, you can’t help but love him for it.

He sat at the edge of the bed, guitar limp in his lap like a tired limb. It was a part of him after all. His shoulders sagged in defeat, under something heavier than the day, heavier than the Delta heat.

“I can’t keep doin this,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes fixed on the floor like it might offer relief. “They hear the sound, sure they always do. But as soon as they see me… it changes. Doors close, faces shift. That smile they had turns polite, then turns cold and demeaning.”

You stayed quiet, let the silence help fill the space for the ache that had succumbed your baby Sammie.

“I play till my fingers split. I write songs that make grown men cry for fuck’s sake! But it ain’t enough. Not with this skin, and definitely not with these scars. They look at me and see trouble, no talent.” Sammie finally raised his head to look at you, eyes glassy from unshed tears and pain he’d carried too long. “I ain’t got nothing to show for myself but a guitar from my cousins and torn up hands that ain’t even presentable enough for an interview.”

You moved closer, reaching for him. Fingers lightly tracing his jawline, the hairs of his beard prickling your fingertips. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be heard,” he said, his voice began to crack. “To be seen somethin’ more than the struggle. But this world– “ he kissed his teeth. “It don’t want men like me to dream out loud.”

Sammie looked at you then, with softened eyes. “You believe in me. And at times that’s the only thing keepin’ me from laying this guitar to rest for good.” Your hands found his then.

“I do believe in you,” you said softly. “But more than that, I see you. Not just the songs or the smile you wear when you’re trying not to fall apart. I see the boy who taught himself chords for Sunday service, his hands too tired from fieldwork. I see the man who still dares to dream with a foot on his neck.”

Sammie turned his face away, but not before you saw the tears begin to fall. He hated crying. Said the world wouldn’t give Black men room for softness, only survival.

“I know what it feels like to be told you’re too much and not enough at the same time,” you continued, regardless of his averted gaze. “My mama worked the same fields her mama did. Could’ve run, but stayed cause the land was the only thing that ever called her by name, and me?” You paused to swallow. “I got a voice, too. I write, I write stories that ain’t no one is ever going to read. Cause what if they say the same thing? That I’m just another Black girl with ink-stained hands and nothing worth saying.” Your last statement caught his attention. Sammie moved his body so that he was now fully facing you.

“Why ain’t you ever told me that?” He whispered.

“Cause I figured one of us needed to stay whole,” you said, now leaning in closer to him. “But maybe we’re meant to hold each other instead.”

You reached up and cupped his face. “You don’t have to carry it all alone, Sammie. Not your scars, or your songs, not even your silence.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. And when he leaned forward to meet you halfway, he rested his forehead against yours, the weight shifted just enough to make room for both of you. His breath was warm against your skin, and his forehead pressed against yours. Sammie closed his eyes like he was praying. For a long moment, neither of you moved. It was as if he was scared to make the first move. You could feel it in the way his hand trembled slightly in yours. His chest rose and fell, as if he were still trying to fight back tears. Still trying to stay strong, even as everything in him begged to fall apart.

“Sammie,” you whispered, barely more than a breath. “It’s okay to break. I’ll hold you.”

You lifted your hand, slow and careful, brushing his face with your fingertips. Your thumb found the scar along his cheekbone, the one that curved like a crescent moon, soft but deep. You traced it slowly without hesitation, the scar was rough beneath your touch, ridged and unyielding in places. Sammie flinched. He wasn’t used to being touched there with such tenderness and love. The world has a way of carving its name into Black men, and Sammie wore its signature across his skin.

He let out a shaky laugh, “You always know the right thing to say, even when it hurts and I ain’t ready to hear it.”

“I’m not here to fix you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “Just want to be where it hurts… with you.”

“You ever feel like maybe this… us. Might be the only good thing that makes sense right now?”

“Every damn day,” you nodded.

He came in closer, slow and uncertain, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. Your lips met delicately at first, like neither of you wanted to scare the other. Sammie’s guitar slid gently to the floor, forgotten. His hands found your waist, pulled you flush against him, and everything else just melted away. You kissed him back like you meant to rewrite every song he ever bled for. Every chord that bruised his fingers. Every time the world told him no.

You felt him, all of him, in that kiss. His hunger, his hurt, the way he kept his heart wrapped tight even when it was breaking. In return, he felt the same way about you. Your hands moved up his chest and back to his face, grazing his scar again. Underneath it all, it was him, warm, real, and only yours in this moment.

When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours again, breath uneven. “You sure?” He asked, scared and full of want.”

You nodded, lips still parted from the kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

[rileygorski]

it’s the shen x king, jealous!langdon fic no one asked for but i desperately wanted to read so i wrote it instead (all mistakes are my own since i wrote this at midnight in one go)

john shen and mel king, two of the world’s unlikeliest couple or so he thought because here they were laughing and talking and flirting—right in front of his fucking salad.

his feet are moving even before his brain registers, out the door towards the hallway. he takes a few minutes to settle himself, in and out, inhale exhale, repeat for five. until a sense of calmness takes over long enough for him to fucking think.

langdon owes his therapist a few apologies, but that’s a problem for another day. right now, he needs answers and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it from the source. but maybe—

“hey, mohan!” he calls out, and her fingers still against the door that leads to chairs. “got a minute?”

“not really.” she nods behind her. he knows there’s a whole world of angry patients and a line out the entrance, literally. it is saturday after all but there are bigger problems.

he steps closer. “um, mel and shen—when, when did that happen?”

she looks around the room as if they’re around. “i’m not sure.” at his look, she thinks harder. “maybe thursday? wait, did she really not—nevermind. look, she told me they went out for drinks after she took that night shift.”

surprisingly that was a memorable night for him too. the kids were with abby in florida meeting her new boyfriend’s family so he was stuck watching terrible movies and waiting for mel’s phone call. one she always made if she had to drive nights because her anxiety wasn’t fond of it and “hearing your voice calms me down, frank.”

he just didn’t know that she never made the call because she was already talking to john.

“i think they’re cute.” she says before opening the door to chaos.

yeah, they’re fucking adorable.

*

*

*

it’s fine

he’s fine

everything is fine

he’s definitely not—

“jealous?” it’s trinity, always in his damn business, leaning against the same nurse’s station he is, licorice in her hands.

“don’t you have patients to go see?”

she scoffs, “could say the same about you, doctor langdon…and yet, here you are, pouting.” she turns around, following his gaze. on mel. with shen. laughing over coffee that was supposed to be his.

trinity rolls her eyes when he fixes his face, and stands a little straighter against the desk. she did come here to ask for medical advice but something gnaws at her instead. they’re cordial, professional, maybe even friends on a good day. so she drops the teasing for a minute. “actually, i just came here to ask if you were okay. you haven’t so much as teased me or yelled at me or made jokes at really, anyone, all day. we’re concerned.”

“that what? think i’m using again?”

trinity flinches, she definitely walked into that one. but langdon inhales and exhales before his voice drops. “sorry. i didn’t—i’m sorry. i’m not, i swear. just..“

and he doesn’t have to finish that sentence because she knows. saw the way he tensed up every time shen, or mel were in the same room. the distance mel and langdon seemed to put on each other as the day went by that created an eerie silence on the floor felt by literally everyone.

trinity takes an awkward fist to his arm as a way of reassurance telling him that “for what it’s worth, john’s a good guy.” before she leaves.

and that there is his problem: he knows that john is a good guy who loves strawberry milkshakes from jamba juice and that he is a good doctor who loves this job far more than langdon ever could. john never misses a shift and spends his weekends reading articles on the history of medicine.

john shen is a good person.

mel king is an angel on earth.

meanwhile, frank spends only half his time with his kids, and the other resisting the urge rely on pills to make it through the day. he got fired, finished a rehab stint, then another. he spends weekends unpacking boxes from his fucked up marriage, which agitates his fucked up back, all while trying, since he’s been back, not to fuck up.

frank langdon is not a good person.

but mel king thinks he is.

and it gives him hope.

*

*

*

“are you mad at me or something?”

he looks up at mel, slowly. her brows are furrowed and the corner of her lips are turned downward, she’s fidgeting with her fingers in the way he knows she’s uncomfortable and anxious.

he’s a terrible person.

“no, what makes you say that?” because he isn’t mad at her, could never be mad at her.

“you’re avoiding me.” she states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is).

the lie slips from his tongue so easy, it scares him. “i’m not, mel.”

“bullshit.” she says and then there are tears and frank feels like worst person to ever exist. “i’m sorry, but i’m not—“ she wipes her arm across her eyes. “frank, what did i do?”

“nothing.” he says quietly, then a little louder. “mel, it isn’t you. it’s me. because i can’t be around you and shen for more than one second without feeling like wanting to punch the guy all because he makes you happy.” he lets out a laugh, “i’m mad at myself because i can’t be that guy for you, mel.”

he doesn’t look her in the eye but her hand comes to rest on top of his. it feels like an eternity that they sit like that and then she says, in a voice gentler than he deserves right now, “who said you don’t make me happy?”

his eyes meet hers now. and he thinks he might drown with all the love he has for her.

“what?”

she laughs. “who said you don’t make me happy? it wasn’t me. i know because you never asked and i was waiting for you to ask, frank.” tears are in her eyes again and it takes every muscle in his body not to wipe them away. “i waited until after the divorce was finalized. i waited until after rehab. i wanted until you got back and then for months after that and you never fucking asked.”

“mel.”

“so yes, i went out with shen because i was tired of waiting, but the truth is, i still would’ve been waiting.” mel says, her voice softening. “because you make me happy in a way i’ve never felt before just by being you. ”

and he doesn’t know who moves first, but his lips are on hers, soft and gentle and it feels like coming home.

“i’m sorry.” he tells her once they pull away. a tear rolls down her cheek and this time he doesn’t resist the urge to wipe it away. “sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i just—“

she closes her eyes, but whispers, “frank.”

“yeah?”

“shut up and ask me.”

and he smiles until his cheeks hurt. “mel king, can i spend an undetermined amount of time in our lives making you happy?”

and she’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt and then she’s kissing him again.

*

*

*

outside, a crowd has formed against the window in an almost comedic way. questions are being asked about who won the bet today or how much it got up to. whitaker gives santos a fifty because they had their own bet going. (and thirty for gas money), dana rushes to go check the board, meanwhile everyone is all sorts of happy they finally got to that point.

john shen walks up, smoothie in hand and the crowd goes silent.

“what’s going on here?” he asks.

“uh—“ one of the nurses manages out.

“you’ve been replaced, shen.” trinity yells out a little too pridefully. “langdon and mel are making out in there.”

he takes a sip of his juice, “cool.” is all he manages out which earn a couple stares. but he knows mel is thinking the same thing right about now:

mission accomplished.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 30 (Final Chapter)

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

First | Prev

Chapter 30

Stressed didn’t even begin to describe how Jason felt.

He passed his letter off a week ago. Steph made no promises, but he hoped she was more merciful than the serious turn of her mouth suggested, but he’d heard nothing since then. Did she give it to you? Had you already read it? If so, why hadn’t you reached out?

Silence was, of course, an answer, but silence was more painful than outright rejection.

In the days that followed, he overanalyzed what he wrote. Was it too much? Not enough? Were the gritty details necessary to make his point, or could he have softened the narrative with more flowery prose? No, that would have been a disservice to you. The truth wasn’t flowery, it wasn’t romantic. He had to accept that.

But the what ifs were killing him.

He couldn’t sleep, so the next best thing was to eat his feelings at Bat Burger. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but neither was beating the shit out of Black Mask’s goons. He could only tun laps around Park Row so many times before he ended up outside your apartment. Choking on a greasy burger sounded far less painful.

As he pushed through the doors that led out of the fast-food joint, a bag of burgers and fries tucked in the crook of his arm, the odd sense of being watched struck him. He learned to trust that instinct early on but continued down the sidewalk as if he hadn’t noticed.

When he rounded the corner three blocks later, he could still feel those eyes on him. It was unlikely that they were following him to knab one of his burgers. He slipped a hand under his jacket to grip the gun that hung off his belt.

“I know you’re watching me. You have for the last three blocks.”

“Boo. You’re no fun. This is what I get for going sans costume.”

Steph appeared suddenly behind him, her wild curls fastened by a purple bandana. Jason immediately relaxed as he pulled a few fries from his back. She stole one before he offered, not that he planned to because she pulled shit like this.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, the swift and agile Dionysus, come bearing the message of the fair Juliet to her Rhett Butler.”

Jason swore he was having a brain aneurysm. Where did one even begin with all the wrong in that singular statement, but he tried anyway. “You mean Hermes?”

“I do not.”

“Juliet is Shakespeare and Rhett Butler is Margaret Mitchell.”

“So?”

He couldn’t help himself. “They’re not even from the same era.”

“It’s all the same to me.”

She easily dodged the burger he lobbed at her head. It bounced a few times before stopping further down the sidewalk. She gasped, feigning a look of shock. “That was a perfectly good burger. How dare you?”

Jason reached for the second burger, prepared to waste another.

Steph threw up her hands. “Geeze, someone’s in a mood today. Did you completely miss the part where I said I have a message from your sweet lovebug. Still think that’s adorable, by the way.”

His hand fell from the paper bag, stunned. “What?”

She pulled a letter from her purse and waved it teasingly over her head. “A letter from Juliet to her fair Romeo.”

Why did people always use Romeo and Juliet as the pinnacle of romance? He had a long list of better literary couples. Lizzie and Darcy, Odysseus and Penelope. Hell, if she wanted to keep in the vein of Shakespeare, he would have suggested Benedict and Beatrice. Their love story was far more realistic.

“Dude, did I fry your brain or something?”

Jason dislodged himself from his internal monologue before it became an external monologue. After wiping the salt and grease off on his jeans, he reached for the letter.

She drew back before he could.

He scowled. “Seriously?”

“I really like her.”

His chest ached. “I really like her too.”

Like didn’t even begin to cover it, but his way his heart bled for you was no one’s business but his own. And maybe yours. Definitely yours.

“Oh, good. I’m glad we bot agree. Then you won’t take it personally when I tell you not to fuck this up. I’d have to pick her side in the divorce, and you’d never see me again.” She placed the letter in his outstretched hand. “And that would be a travesty.”

He chose not to reward that with a response.

Steph smirked. “Want to hear your horoscope for the day?”

“I’m sure it’s something about me being a dumbass for letting my pride get the best of me.”

“Something like that.” She punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t wait too long to see her, alright? You two were made for each other.” Swiping another fry from his bag, she stuck out her tongue and bounded around the corner.

Jason waited a beat before he ripped into the letter, not wanting to appear too eager. Your letter wasn’t nearly as long as his. Just a single page written in green ink. He took that as a good sign. Knowing its contents terrified him, not knowing was worse.

Dear Daddy Long Legs,

Dear Bruce Wayne,

Dear Mr. Darcy,

Dear Red Hood,

Dear Jacob,

Dear Jason Todd,

A man with a million names.

As I list them out now, I realize you’ve succeeded in touching every aspect of my life, even the parts I wasn’t aware of. That was never more glaringly obvious now that you’re no longer in it. When I accepted the Jason Todd Memorial Scholarship (along with all the strings attached), I promised myself that I’d never fall in love with my mysterious benefactor like Miss Abbott had, but here I stand.

I have fallen irrevocably in love with you.

Every mask, every name. Red Hood, Jacob, Jason. Whatever name you choose is inconsequential because it’s the man behind the name who’s stolen my heart. That was always the case.

I accepted that in loving you, I would have to exist in shades of gray. Admittedly, learning you were also the man behind my scholarship made gray a little muddier than I would have liked. I had no idea how to respond to the revelation at the time. I panicked, but I now see it came from a place of good intentions.

Your intentions have always been good.

You are good.

I know you don’t believe me, but seeing as you’re human, you’re allowed to make mistakes. I’ve seen your heart, the fire in your eyes, and all the scars that come with doing good.

I love you more for it.

You don’t have to do anything with this letter, but I thought you should know how I really feel, and this seemed like the most appropriate way to tell you.

I’ve been patient.

I can continue to be patient.

There are chapters of your life that you’d rather not talk about, and I respect that. Just know that it’s the man you are today that I fell in love with, not the man you were.

My heart is yours, should you choose to accept it.

You know where to find me when you’re ready.

Reading your letter had always given him this warm, cotton-soft feeling in his chest, and this time was much of the same until he read ‘I have fallen irrevocably in love with you’.

That’s when he started to burn.

You loved him.

He’d almost written similar sentiments, but writing those exact words made it real. There would be no turning back because Jason loved with his entire being. But seeing those words, he realized it was already too late. He was so hopelessly in love with you. All the signs were there, but the idea that Jason could love and have that same love reciprocated was a foreign concept.

You chose him.

You continued to choose him. Even when he felt he didn’t deserve it. Being wanted despite all his flaws was new territory for him. There was always this unspoken expectation that he had to do more, be more, but you weren’t asking for anything but his love.

He needed to see you.

Now.

It couldn’t wait another second.

You’d waited for him to make the first move long enough. This time, it was Jason’s turn to bridge the gap.

***

Jason arrived outside your apartment twenty minutes later, dressed in his street clothes. No Red Hood, no shitty disguises, he wanted to face you as himself.

As Jason Todd.

The last time he tried this, it didn’t end well, but he was determined to do everything right this time. His stomach lurched with anticipation as he approached the call box. A month wasn’t very long in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like an eternity when he’d gotten used to seeing you daily.

He buzzed your apartment and waited.

Silence.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

He wandered around the back to check your window that emptied out onto the fire escape. The blinds were closed, your apartment dark. He flexed his fingers irritably.

Ah, fuck.

Alright, new plan.

He’d find the highest building in Gotham and jump off it, because he should have realized you’d be working around this time. Grand romantic gestures only worked if you were home.

He left the way he came, heading toward the subway terminal a few blocks down. A full moon brightened the sky, lighting his way as he walked. Disappointment simmered in his chest. And here he thought nothing would go wrong. A bitter laugh burbled from his throat as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

It was a stupid idea anyway.

He should have sent you a text to ensure you were—

“Jason?”

He stopped dead, blood coating his veins like ice. His gaze lifted to you, standing a few feet away. No uniform, but you wore your yellow hoodie. It was such a welcome sight that yellow might just be his new favorite color. You gripped a canvas bag filled with groceries with a trembling fist as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Jason?”

You stepped toward him.

He matched your step with one of his own, holding out his arms timidly as he presented himself. “That’s my name.”

Another step. He could almost touch you, and shit, he wanted to more than anything. One more step. He brushed your cheek softly with the ridge of his knuckles featherlight in case you were a vision, and his touch was the thing that would bring reality crashing down again.

And if that was the case, seeing you was a beautiful dream that he never wanted to wake up from.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, confirming that you were real. That this was real. Emboldened, his fingers curled around the base of your neck, drawing you in. “Jason, Jacob, Jensen, Jerimiah. I’ll call you whatever you want if it means you’ll stick around long enough to hear me call you it.”

He cracked a small smile. “Jason is fine.”

“So, Jason.”

God, he loved the way you said his name. To think, he’d deprived himself of the pleasure of hearing it spill from your lips.

“I assume you got my letter?”

“I did,” he confirmed, “And you got mine?”

“More of a light novel if you ask me,” you teased as you smoothed the front of his jacket. His heart hammered beneath the slow drag of your palm. “But I don’t mind. You know how to tell a captivating story.”

“And you still want to give me your heart?” He pressed his forehead to yours. “After reading it?”

“I really do.”

“I would offer mine as well.”

His free hand settled on the small of your back. It felt like coming home. You felt like home. It might be the sappiest thing to ever cross his mind, but he didn’t care. It was the truth, and the truth felt as nice as the warmth of your body pressed to his.

“But I think you already have it,” he continued as he traced the length of your nose with the tip of his. You nudged it, nearly bridging the gap between your lips. “You stole it the moment I met you.”

“My apologies.”

His lips grazed yours. “Don’t apologize. You were always meant to have it. I want you to have it.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I love you with every fiber of my being, and being apart from you feels like dying all over again.” He cupped your jaw loosely. Tears gathered in your eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “If you’re willing to give me another chance, give us another chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.”

You twined your fingers through his, your chest now flush with his. It still wasn’t enough. He needed to get you closer. Temptation burned like an open flame, threatening to turn him to ash. “Will you let me?”

“I forgave you the moment you left.”

His breath caught in his throat. “We really are idiots, aren’t we?”

“No. I’m stubborn and rightfully cynical of the world, and you were afraid of losing me. Your fears were founded given the way I reacted, but I’m not going anywhere. I now see the appeal of shades of gray, and I don’t think anything is scaring me away now.”

“So, you’ll let me love you?”

In lieu of an answer, you kissed him.

Jason melted. His lips worked fervently against yours until his lungs ached, but even then, he didn’t stop until you broke away first. You kissed the tip of his nose. “I love you, Jason Todd.”

Jason Todd.

Not Jacob.

Not Red Hood.

But Jason fucking Todd.

At the back of his mind, several questions surfaced. What about the scholarship? What about your education? Was he ready to come back from the dead? To move on, and pursue the dream he’d put on hold for the sake of revenge and anger?

He shoved those nagging questions away and pulled you in for another kiss. He poured everything into it. His love, his devotion, and all the dreams he’d put on hold because he thought it was too late for him.

It wasn’t too late.

Admitting that to himself, he felt like he was shucking a weight he’d carried for far too long. Neither of you needed to have the answers to those questions right now. Life was all about figuring things out. Being human was about figuring it out. You and Jason would navigate that path together, deciding which chapters mattered and which were best left in the past.

Because there was still so much life left to live.

And Jason couldn’t wait to finally live.

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

A/N: And that's a wrap. I want to thank everyone who's followed along with this story. Your support really gave me the motivation to keep going and your support meant the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

If you weren't aware, I am working on a Tim Drake x Reader fic that takes place in the same universe as Dear Daddy Long Legs, so keep an eye out for that if you're interested.

I'll likely make a post as it gets closer to being ready to post, but if you'd like to be tagged in future updates for that fic, let me know :)

Again, thank you all so much. This fic was so much fun to write.

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

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[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: An old friend of John's leads the group on a hunt for a clown.

Warnings: cannon violence, death, grieving, clowns, possible inaccurate Tarot reading and representation (I did my best with research), banter, flirting?

Word Count: 11.6k

Everybody Loves a Clown

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

  It’s been a week since we had John’s Viking funeral, and everything’s pretty much gone to shit. John is dead, the Colt is gone, and we have no leads.

   I had to send Adeline back home, both of us agreeing that this wasn’t the time for greetings. I haven’t gone to see my brother either, feeling that it wouldn’t be right to leave right now. But we made plans for me to head to him sometime soon. So to say the overall morale is low would be an understatement.

   But we’ve been staying at Bobby’s, which has been nice. I think I’m growing on the old man, he hasn’t pointed a gun at me since or given me any particularly weird looks.

  In the meantime, each day has been close to the same, but in a nice way. I mean, it’s nice to be living somewhere that isn't motel to motel, something stable. I have my own room, all sunlight pouring in, and quilt blankets. The floorboards creak with nearly every step in that well-loved way that becomes second nature. Bobby makes breakfast in the morning, though I surprised him with pancakes once, and while it's cooking, I go out to the porch, taking in the fresh and warm air. Like clockwork, I find myself walking off to where Dean’s been working, always up ridiculously early to fix the Impala that was left a crushed piece of metal in the wake of the car crash. I didn’t even know a car could look like that, or that it could be fixable, but he’s determined, and he’d never let Baby go. 

  I'd hang around him for a while, bringing him a mug of hot coffee and company. Sometimes we’ll talk, and other times we’ll sit in a comfortable silence before I try to convince him to come inside and eat. And again like clockwork, he’ll refuse, say he’s fine till I leave, then I’ll come back with a plate for him, lingering till I know he’s eaten.

  He hasn’t been doing that well. He won’t talk about what happened with his Dad or allow himself to express any emotions. He throws himself into his work. It’s not that Sam is that much better; he just regulates and expresses his emotions better. There have been multiple nights, and sometimes afternoons, that I have held him while he cried, I don’t mind it. I’m glad he feels comfortable enough to do so. I think we both wish Dean were the same in that way. We’re all concerned. So, today's no different.

  It’s a hot summer day, the sun seeming to beat down harsher as it reflects off the stacked hunks of metal in the junkyard. I balance a bottle of water, a glass of lemonade, and a plate in my hands as I navigate my way to where Dean always is. The muscles in his back flex beneath the fitted grey shirt, sticking to him like a new layer of skin from sweat. That was a pro to all of this, he looked ridiculously good as he worked. Maybe, a little too good. Anyways, I put the sandwich plate and bottle down on the cart he’s got out here filled with all sorts of tools I couldn't begin to name, except that one was definitely a wrench. 

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he greets without looking up from the inside of the hood, knowing it was me before I said anything. I now know for a fact that nothing could replace the sound of his voice, I could listen to him say ‘hey’ a million times and never grow tired of the syllable. 

  “Hello,” I answer cheerfully.“‘Made some lemonade,” I announce, moving closer to hold out the glass cup for him.

  He looks over at me, grease streaked on his cheek, and in patches on his shirt. He’s staring as if he’s contemplating something; whatever it is, he puts the tool in his hand down, taking a rag from nearby to wipe at his grease-stained hands. His biceps flex with every wipe, and he smells like motor oil and sweat in a somehow not disgusting way. Jesus Christ, he’s  so hot. 

  His eyes drag up my frame, over the denim shorts, the brown belt, and the small amount of stomach that's exposed between my shorts and my light pink shirt. “You know, you don’t have to keep doin’ all this,” he says, eyes finally meeting mine. 

  My stomach does all sorts of flips from that damn look, fingers tightening around the cup. “If that’s supposed to get me to stop, it isn’t working,” I answer. I’d happily bring him meals and keep him company. It didn’t bother or annoy me to any extent, and I was secretly hoping that it might also make him feel comfortable enough to talk about his feelings. But, if that didn’t happen, then that would be okay too, because at least I’ll know he isn’t alone and he’s taken care of. I mean, how many times has he seen me crumble in front of him and every time, without fail, picked me up and held me together without me having to say a word? I never had to say anything, it’s just in his nature. It’s one of the things I love about him, he cares so much about people. So doing this is the least I can do for him, though even if he hadn’t done anything I would still do it. 

  “Wasn’t complainin’,” he shrugs, throwing the rag onto Baby. Finally, he takes the lemonade from me, his fingers brushing mine, smudging some grease he missed onto the back of my fingers. 

  “Good,” I nod, my stomach doing a flip, “Cause I’m pretty sure if I didn’t, you would starve and dehydrate out here.”

  A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, covered by the cup he brings to his mouth. His head tilts back a little, his throat bobbing as he downs the sweet liquid. “I do go inside, you know,” he answers, pulling the mostly empty cup from his lips.

  “Sure you do, grease-ball,” I tease, watching him put down the cup in the cart. He steals a big bite of the sandwich before returning to his work.

  “What? You don’t hear me stomping in at night?” he asks through the mouthful of bread and deli meat. 

  “No, ‘cause I’m sleeping soundly, which you should be doing too,” I answer, leaning my hip against the warm metal.

  “Well, Baby ain’t gonna fix herself, darlin’,” he grumbles.

  “Okay, true, but you also need to take breaks. Speaking of which, I found this family of fat raccoons living in one of the broken-down cars in the yard, and I think I hear them calling us to feed them,” I say, putting on my best convincing smile. 

  He snorts, shaking his head. “If they’re fat, then they don’t need our help.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “How’s that mean?” he retorts, lips twitching as if he were trying not to laugh.

  “They still need to eat!” I defend, crossing my arms across my chest. “And you should see them! They’re really fricking cute, and fluffy, and soft, and they use their little hands to grab stuff.”

  He pauses his work, looking over at me. “Did you touch ‘em already?”

  “No…” I mumble, face dropping.

  He gives me a knowing, pointed look, seeing right through me. “You’re not supposed to touch wild animals. ‘Could have rabies, ‘specially if you’re dealing with a raccoon in the daytime.”

  “They don’t have rabies, don’t worry,” I answer, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. This was not the first time we’ve had a conversation like this.

  “You know that for sure, or ‘you just saying that?”

  “I know for sure,” I nod. “And again, they’re really fricking cute!”

  He shakes his head, smirking. “Bobby’s gonna kill you.”

  “No, he just gets to have more friends,” I defend. “And you could too if you came with me.”

  “‘Don’t need any more friends, sweetheart,” he answers.

  “Says the man who has no raccoon friends. Frankly, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” I conclude.

  “Yeah?” he smirks, facing me. “C’mere.”

  My breath gets lodged in my throat, my stomach dropping about a hundred floors, while simultaneously doing a backflip. I take a tentative step forward, and he scuffs, closing the small distance between us. He lifts his hand, carefully cradling my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair. His other hand comes up, the rag now dangling from his fingers as he takes the cleanest corner and carefully swipes it across my cheek. 

  “So, is this a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to the raccoons?” I mumble, trying hard not to stare at his lips.

  “It’s neither,” he answers just as quietly, focused on cleaning the grease from my cheek. He pulls away, looking over his work, and I have half the mind not to follow after him. He takes my hand from my side, holding it carefully in his as he runs the rag over the smear of grease on the back of my fingers.

  It feels natural. I haven’t told him I loved him, the timing hasn’t been right, and likely wouldn’t be for a while. I mean, how can I say “Oh, I know your Dad just died and all, but did I mention how I’m totally and utterly in love with you?”

  Yeah. No. That was never going to happen. So, I can settle for whatever this is. I can. Definitely. 

  His hands fall from mine, and suddenly they’re cradling my face again. He brings my face closer, his lips pressing against my forehead. My breath hitches, my hand shooting up to his forearm, not to push him away but to touch him. My eyes flutter shut, my heart aching in my chest as if it were trying to reach him. My breath shudders in an exhale as he pulls away, my eyes slowly opening to find his. But then he’s stepping away, warm hands slipping back to his sides, as if nothing had occurred. I don’t say anything, words stuck in my throat. He goes back to silently working on Baby, and I stand there watching him for two beats before I gather enough wits to leave. I can feel the lingering press of his lips the entire walk back to the house.

 When I walk up the steps, Sam is leaning against the porch. “Get ready to leave; I found someone Dad was talking to,” he directs.

  “You cracked his phone?” I ask, knowing it was what he was working on.

  “Yeah,” he nods, silence following. “He’s still talking with you?”

  “Dean? Yeah.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m glad someone can get through to him. I don’t know how you do it.”

  I know what he’s hinting at. It’s not far from what John said in our last conversation. 

  “It’s the raccoons, Sammy. The raccoons.” 

“What?”

********

  The beat-up blue van rattles into the parking lot of the Roadhouse Saloon, where John’s contact, Eileen, stays. “This is humiliating,” Dean grumbles, “I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Unsurprisingly, he had been complaining the whole drive here. 

  “We should get you a bumper sticker,” I suggest.

  “No,” he replies sharply, shutting the idea down immediately. 

  “Well, it’s the only car Bobby had running,” Sam explains as we get out.

  The parking lot is empty, and the lights of the bar are off. “Maybe they disapprove of day drinking,” I remark, peeking through the window to see a barren bar.

  “One way to find out,” Dean answers. “Hey. You bring the, uh…”

  “Of course,” Sam replies, tossing something to him. He catches it with ease, unrolling the material to find lock-picking tools.

  “I can save us time and open the door, you know that, right?” I point out, watching as he gets to work.

  “No. No using magic around here till we know it’s safe. You’re not coming inside with us either,” Dean announces, his mind already made up.

  “What?” I exclaim. “We never discussed this.”

  “‘Didn’t have to,” he answers cooly. “If it’s someone Dad knew, then it’s probably a hunter, which means it's not safe for you.”

  “That’s not fair,” I complain. “I can take care of myself just fine. Sam, help me out here, please.”

  “I actually agree with him.”

  “Nooo,” I protest, shaking my head. “You’re not supposed to agree with him. This is like the one time you should disagree with him! And, I’m not gonna let you guys walk into some random building!”

  “This ain’t up for debate, sweetheart. You’re staying out here,” Dean orders, pushing the door open. I stand in mild shock, watching them disappear into the dark building. He gave me no chance to argue further. 

  I grumble to myself, toeing a small rock. Stupid orders, and stupidly good points made. Sure, he’s probably correct, but we could’ve at least discussed it; now I feel like a dog tied outside a store. The rock scrapes against the gravel, getting lost in the masses of little dark rocks. 

  I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen if I go in and don't use magic? Then, I’d be like any other normal person breaking into a bar. Though I suppose there is the point that somehow other hunters caught word that I was with the Winchesters, according to Bobby, which is odd because who the hell is spreading gossip? And, how did anyone know about me? About a year ago, I was flying pretty below the radar.

  But this is lame. I’m one minute away from banging my head against the car and or putting the most obnoxious bumper stickers on it. I huff, walking up to the door. “What’s really stopping me?” I contemplate, staring at the handle. 

  Frick it. I pull the door open, making sure it doesn’t slam behind me as I creep in. It’s dark in here, a single light bulb flickering dimly. I stay close to the wall, using the dark to my advantage. Dean is standing near the middle of the bar, hands raised to his face as a short blonde girl (or short compared to a “6’1 man) points a shotgun to his chest.

 Swiftly, I dip my hand behind my back and below the waistband of my shorts, pulling out the small revolver as I stalk forward, my footsteps silent. He sees me coming, though, facing my way. 

  I point the gun directly at the back of her head. “Put the gun down,” I order cooly, cocking the gun. See? No magic used. Well, that’s not totally true because that gun was definitely not in my pants a couple of minutes ago.

  Her shoulders tense slightly, “I’ll shoot him,” she threatens.

  “A revolver shoots faster than a shotgun,” I reply quickly. “Do you want to test that out?” I glance up at him, finding that he’s already staring at me, his hands at his nose. I focus back on her. She’s contemplating it, fingers adjusting on the gun. A door towards the back of the room creaks open, but I don’t risk looking up.

  “Nice for you to join us, Sam,” Dean announces, muffled by his hands cupping his nose.

  “Sorry, Dean, I got a…little tied up,” he answers, hands on his head. He’s forced to walk forward, a handgun pressed to his back, leading him forward. He nods behind him towards an older brunette woman only a little taller than the blonde.

  “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” The older woman asks. 

  “Yeah,” the boys answer in unison.

  “Son of a bitch,” the woman mutters.

  “Mom, you know these guys?” the blonde girl asks.

  “Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys,” she lowers her gun, laughing, “Hey, I’m Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo.”

  The blonde, Jo, lowers her shotgun, prompting me to do the same. I tuck the gun back into my shorts, stepping away. This was certainly a way to meet someone. “I thought I told you to stay outside,” Dean says, looking past Jo to me, completely ignoring any greetings. I guess I can’t just sneak away.

  “I got bored!” I reason rather childishly. He gives me a pointed look, somehow managing that annoyed glare of his while clutching his nose. Ellen walks over, handing him a small towel filled with ice.

  “I don’t know you, though,” she says, looking my way. 

  Okay, wow, I can’t get away with anything today. “Oh, uh, I’m Y/N…L/N. It’s nice to meet you,” I greet with an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

  “L/N?” she echoes. She has an all-knowing look to her, like with all the people she’s seen working at a bar she could figure anyone out. Maybe she could. She’s not intimidating exactly, but she has a sort of wisdom I know I shouldn’t question. 

  “Yeah, I mean, my Dad was sort of friends with John, so maybe that’s why it sounds familiar, but you probably didn’t know him; he didn't really have friends,” I say bluntly. Dean snorts, immediately huffing afterwards as he presses the ice firmly to his face. “What? It’s true, he didn’t have any friends besides John.”

  It feels weird to say his name now that he’s gone; it feels like the energy dies in the room. I shift my weight onto one foot, uncomfortable with what this has become. Death is a strange thing. I don’t feel so upset that John died, and yet that makes me feel horrible. He was a bad father. He was manipulative and abusive, but does that mean he deserved to die? I don’t know, because now the Winchesters are without a father; they no longer have any family.

  I’m grateful for what John did, Dean is alive because of him. Yet, I know he didn’t do it for Dean. He did it for himself as a last chance to prove he was a good father. But, sacrifice doesn’t erase pain; it doesn’t mean that everything that he put those boys through, put Dean through, didn’t happen, and for that I can’t miss him, or mourn him the same. More than that, though, death does not erase the pain someone inflicted on you; if anything it solidifies it, knowing that for a final time you will never get an answer as to ‘why.’ It reminds me of my Dad.

  Dean clears his throat, putting the focus on him. “You called our Dad, ‘said you could help. Help with what?” he asks, putting us back on track to the reason we came here in the first place.

  “Well, the demon, of course,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

  “What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” he mocks, growing defensive. “I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?”

  “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your Dad a long time ago. John was like family once,” she answers, seemingly unbothered by his attitude. It’s sort of what Dean had suspected. Ellen may not be a hunter herself, but she was sure as hell exposed to them.

  “Oh yeah?” he challenges bitterly. “How come he never mentioned you before?”

  “You’d have to ask him that,” she retorts.

  They go back and forth like a tennis match. “So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean bites.

  “Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she remarks, handling his attitude with ease. “But John wouldn’t have sent you if…” She pauses, something passing in her eyes. “He didn’t send you,” she realizes. “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

  “No. No, he isn’t,” Sam answers. “It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re alright,” Dean lies. He’s been lying a lot lately. He refuses to admit that he’s affected by his father's death as if he has to prove he’s stronger than that. I wish he realized no one expects him to be strong through this, but when I had brought it up, he changed the conversation, and I knew I’d have to wait for him.

  “Really? I know how close you and your Dad were,” she replies.

  “Really, lady, I’m fine,” he grumbles.

  “Dean,” I say softly. His jaw twitches, lips pressed then pursed together. He’s displacing his feelings, and it isn’t fair to Ellen.

  “So, look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get,” Sam admits, a little defeated by it all.

  “Well, we can’t. But Ash will,” she replies.

  “Who’s Ash?” I ask.

  “Ash!” she yells without looking away. 

  A figure by the pool table suddenly jolts up, flailing. “What? It’ closin’ time?” he asks, looking around through squinted eyes. He’s a southern stereotype on crack with his thick accent and absurd mullet, his arms on display with the sleeveless flannel he wears.

  “That’s Ash?” Sam remarks.

  “Mm-hmm. He’s a genius,” Jo answers, leaning against the bar top next to her mother. I almost ask if she’s joking, but decide against it.

  He bounds over to the bar, gesturing for us to gather around. We share a look of reluctance before following suit, Sam taking the bar stool next to him. I’m hesitant to take the seat on the other side of him, especially if Dean wants to take it, but as if sensing this, he places his hand on my middle back, quietly encouraging me forward. I hop up onto the bar stool, sitting sideways. Dean stands beside Ash and me, his hand leaning on the countertop by my waist, arm encircling my back as he stands at my side.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me, this guy’s no genius. He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean complains, comparing him to the guy who sings “Sweet Home Alabama.”

  “He’s also sitting right in front of you,” I point out.

  “I like you,” Ash tells Dean, a simple smile on his face. He seems too simple-minded to be considered intelligent.

  “Thanks,” Dean answers uncomfortably. 

  “Just give him a chance,” Jo intervenes, nearly laughing as she pours glasses of water. She either understands why we’re reluctant to believe them, or she gets this a lot.

  Dean reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out a brown folder. “Alright,” he says, placing it on the tabletop. “This stuff’s about a year’s worth of our Dad’s work, so uh, let’s see what you make of it.

  Ash gets right into it, rifling through the various articles of paper. Immediately, he shakes his head, “Come on. This crap ain’t real. There ain’t nobody ‘can track a demon like this.”

  “Our Dad could,” Sam reasons.

  “There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean damn! They’re signs. Omens,” he rants. Okay, maybe he is smart or at least knows what he’s talking about. “Uh, if you can track ‘em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms. You ever been struck by lightning? It ain’t fun.”   “Ha–have you?” I ask, mildly concerned. 

  “You smell good,” he remarks, turning his head to look at me. And somehow that is answer enough to the lightning question.

  “Thanks,” I chirp, taking a glimpse at Dean, but his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s too busy staring down Ash. 

  “Can you track it or not?” Sam cuts in, putting us back on track.

  “Yeah, with this, I think so. But it’s gonna take time, uh, give me…fifty-one hours,” he answers, getting up to leave.

  “That’s awfully specific,” I mumble.

  “Hey, man?” Dean calls out before Ash gets too far.

  “Yeah.”

  “I, uh, I dig the haircut,” he compliments, mostly poking fun at it.

  “All business up front, party in the back,” he smiles brightly, nodding as he walks away. He’s a little odd, but maybe that’s okay, I mean, he seems nice.

  Jo rounds the bar, passing by with a smile thrown Dean’s way. I watch his eyes drop down her frame, and my heart went with it. I don’t know what's wrong with me. It’s a look I’ve seen him give countless times before. I’m used to this. I am. But, I guess, there was a part of me that had remained in the range of hope, like maybe the way he cleaned my face and kissed my forehead had meant something. It was like a childish crush that you read into way too much. I’ve tried to give up the hope of us over and over again, and yet I’m always right back where I started. I’m an idiot, I know it. I swallow down my feelings, turning inward so that I wouldn’t have to see him walk after her. Even so, I feel his arm fall away, and I hear the scuff of his boots against the wooden floors. Of course, he would go after her. I don’t have the same confidence like the girls he went for, at least in flirting. I don’t have the balls to give him a look and sway my hips like some sort of mating call. Maybe I’d get somewhere if I did try that, or I’d embarrass myself for the next century. 

  “Hey, Ellen, what is that?” Sam asks, nodding to a shelf behind the bar. 

  “That’s a police scanner, Sammy, are you losing you’re touch?” I tease, tilting my head towards him.

  A smile breaks onto his face as he scuffs and shakes his head, “No, Y/N, I know that. I meant the folder,” he clarifies.

  “I was gonna give this to a friend of mine. But take a look, if you want,” Ellen answers, grabbing the manila folder and placing it in front of Sam. I move over a seat so that I can take a peek as well, closing the gap between us. The folder contains newspaper clippings with annotations made in a red marker. A couple was murdered in Wisconsin, but their child was kept alive.

  “We should check it out,” he suggests.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I mumble.

********

  It’s dark by the time we’ve hit the road, rain pouring down the highway. I lift my feet onto the seat, leaning on the armrest, a perk of the minivan. 

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam informs.

  “Ugh, that's so cool,” I gush. “This is so A House of a Thousand Corpses, or It, or…oh! Insane Clown Posse. I mean, not that murder is cool because it’s really sad those people died, especially in such a horrible way, but a clown? A damn carnival? Like, come on!”

  “Well, I know Sam isn’t sharing the same excitement,” Dean remarks. “‘Why did it have to be clowns?’” he mocks, putting on his best Sam impression.

  “Oh, give me a break,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes.

  Dean laughs, hard, “You didn’t think I’d remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television.”

   “Well, at least I’m not afraid of flying,” he counters.

  “Planes crash!”

  “And apparently clowns kill!”

  “You guys are so stupid,” I say with adoration.

  “Says the one afraid of sharks,” Sam remarks, lips pursed in that sassy way of his.

  “They eat people!” I argue, sitting up straight with my feet on the floor. 

  “No, they don’t. Hippos are more likely to kill someone than a shark!” Sam defends.

  “We are not having this argument again!”

  “Alright, alright nerds, calm it down,” Dean mediates. “How do we know we’re not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?” 

  “Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explains.

  “Classic,” I agree. I think I’ve lost count of all the times something real, although supernatural, was tossed aside as a trauma response. 

  “These murders ever happen before?” Dean asks. 

  “Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, in three different locations.”

  “It’s weird, though, I mean if it is a spirit it’s usually bound to a specific location, you know, a house, or a town,” Dean points out. 

  “Then it's a cursed object,” I answer. “But then I would think it would occur more often, considering how long the carnival has been around. Does it need specific conditions to, uh, I don’t know, summon? Is that even a thing?”

  “A paranormal scavenger hunt, great,” Sam sighs. 

  I laugh, “You’re just mad it might mean hanging around clowns longer than you would like. You know, clowns aren’t all that scary, you might just hate enjoyment.”

  “This is Grandma over here, of course, he hates fun,” Dean adds.

  “I can say the same thing about sharks! Oh, you’re not gonna go to the beach? You hate the sun and fun,” he mocks, turning around in the passenger seat to face me. 

  “Dude, they have sharp teeth and freaky eyes. What do clowns have, huh? Makeup?!” I argue, leaning forward in my seat, the seatbelt protesting. 

  He glares at me, ready to throw something back, when Dean forces him to sit forward. “I will pull this car over!” He lectures.

  “Okay, mom,” I mock, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms. 

  “Stop,” he groans, cringing. 

  “I guess the minivan life has really gotten to you, Dean,” I remark, digging my heels in, earning another groan and an internal eye roll.

  “I hate this damn car,” he grumbles, huffing. “By the way, this case was your idea, Sam. Why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.”

  “So?” he answers.

  “It’s just…not like you, that’s all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt,” Dean points out.

  “I don’t know, I just think, this job, it’s what Dad would have wanted us to do,” he shrugs, and it’s not very convincing. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that he’s doing this as a distraction or to get Dean out of the house. Sam can regulate his emotions pretty well, but Dean cannot. He hasn’t exactly been himself. Hell, he didn’t hook up with Jo like I thought he would. I don't think he really even flirted. A part of me is glad, but another part of me knows that that is a sign that something is wrong. When would he ever miss the opportunity to get with someone?

  “What Dad would have wanted?” Dean echoes.

  “Yeah. So?” he doubles down.

  “Nothin’.”

  Big red and white tents are pitched up around the large grass lot. “This is so awesome,” I mumble, looking around at the booths of games and rides set up like the Ferris wheel off in the distance. When do we ever get a fun job like this? 

  Detectives in grey suits disrupt the colorful image, sticking out amongst the brightly dressed carnies around them, some of them already in their makeup and costumes. Dean and I had wandered over, Sam insisting it's fine if he stayed behind with the car, which was just code for him not wanting to be anywhere near the carnies. But, as we walk back to him, a very short woman dressed as a clown walks by him, staring at him. His eyes go wide, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he gives her a nervous smile. Poor guy.

  “Did you get her number?” Dean jokes, a smug look on his face. I try not to laugh for Sam’s sake, biting back my smile.

  He glares sharply at his brother, scowling. “More murders?”

  “Yup. Another couple ripped to ribbons, and their son left untouched,” I answer.

  “Who fingered a clown?” Sam says.

  I do a double-take, blinking twice, Dean and I looking at him weirdly. “Wh–why would you say that?” I ask, confused and concerned. “What does that mean?”

  “What?” he responds.

  “Yeah, a clown, who apparently vanished into thin air,” Dean continues, moving past whatever just happened. Unfortunately, I cannot erase it from my mind because literally, what does he mean?

  “Dean, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything,” Sam points out.

  “Well, it’s bound to give off EMF, so we’ll just have to scan everything,” he answers.

  “Oh, good, that’s nice and inconspicuous,” Sam remarks.

  “With all the fun to be had here and to look at, I’m sure we won’t stick out too much,” I reason.

  “Just in case, we’ll blend right in,” Dean adds, gesturing with a nod to a ‘Help Wanted’ sign.

********

  We wander into a random tent after giving up on trying to find the boss’s office. A man nearby throws knives into a wooden board, silver flying through the air to just miss the bull's-eye. Even with the missing, it’s a cool talent, it looks like something out of a comic book.

  “Excuse me, we’re looking for a Mr. Cooper. Have you seen him around?” Dean asks the man. 

  The man turns around with a snarl on his lips. “What is that, some kind of joke?” he bites, gesturing towards his sunglasses. He’s blind. 

  “Oh. God, I’m…I’m so sorry,” Dean apologizes, his face dropping.

  “You think I wouldn’t give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?” the man rants, using the knife to point as emphasis. 

  “Wanna give me a little help here?” Dean mumbles to us, looking at either of us for help. But Sam just shakes his head, this undoubtedly being his payback for all the clown jokes. 

  “I’m sorry, sir, for his rudeness,” I start, making sure my voice sounds extra friendly. I didn’t think what Dean said was rude, considering he didn’t know the man was blind, and the fact that the man had taken the question literally. Regardless, to smooth things over, I’ll have to agree with him. “He didn’t mean any harm,” I continue. “We’re just interested in getting a job here and thought you might be someone who would know where to find Mr. Cooper.”

  “Hey man, is there a problem?” someone suddenly says. I follow the voice down to a short man in a red cape, an irritated look on his face. I guess trying to smooth things over isn’t really working. 

  “This guy hates blind people! And, she’s dating him!” The knife-throwing man declares, the last bit feeling like a random jab.

  “No, I don’t, I…”

  “We’re not…He doesn’t…”

  “Hey buddy, what’s your problem?” the man in the cape spits, sizing Dean up. 

  “Nothing, it’s just a little misunderstanding,” Dean tries to reason.

  “Little?!” the man yells. “You son of a bitch!”

  “No, no, no, no!”

  Sam laughs.

  “Oh my god, Dean, please stop talking,” I plead, his face in full panic. I step in front of him. “I am so sorry for him. He really doesn’t mean to be offensive, he’s just not thinking,” I go on, trying to clear this disaster up. “If you could pretty please show us to Mr. Cooper, we would forever be grateful and appreciative it lots.”

  The short man holds my gaze for a moment, eyes fierce with irritation. Then they drop down and slowly make their way back up. “Follow me,” he nods. “And you should really break up with that one.”

  “Oh, we’re not…we…okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

********

  “You picked a hell of a time to join up,” Mr. Cooper remarks, slouching in his chair. He’s a bigger guy wearing a charcoal grey suit jacket, a colorful plaid button-up below it. He looks rather sickly with his pale, sweaty skin, though maybe that’s the stress of everything going on. Maybe his balding is also a result of prolonged stress, with only patches on either side of his head. “Take a seat,” he orders.

  There are only two seats in front of his desk: a normal fold-out chair and a baby pink chair that has a beaming clown as its back, its arms extending to be the armrests. Dean bolts quickly to the normal chair in the least casual way possible. Sam scowls, fidgeting before he gives me a convincing smile. I mentally roll my eyes at their childish behavior, taking the clown seat, leaving Sam to stand awkwardly in the middle, but if that's what he prefers, then I guess why not? At least the chair is pink.

  “We’ve got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continues, his voice gruff.

  “What do you mean?” Dean asks.

  “Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first,” he answers. My eyebrow quirks. Why would he say it like that? They “got themselves” killed? Is he really blaming them? “So, you three ever worked the circus before?” he asks, moving on like he hadn’t said anything bizarre.

  “Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam lies.

  “Yeah,” Dean adds.

  “Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? Were you a trapeze artist, girl?” he lists out, leaning forward. The light shining off his bald spot.

  “Yeah, it’s, uh, a little bit of everything, I guess,” Sam answers, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. Whenever I think they’re good liars, they prove the opposite.

  “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?” he figures out quickly. 

  “Nope. But we really need the work,” Dean admits. “Oh, and uh, Sam here’s got a thing for the bearded lady.”

  He is so unhelpful. We’re losing Mr. Cooper here; at this rate, we aren’t going to get anything. “You know, actually,” I start, sitting at the edge of my chair in an attempt to reel him in. “I can do Tarot readings, use a crystal ball, that kind of stuff.” This is not the way I necessarily want to use my abilities, but we need an in. And it’s the truth, I can do those things, I just don’t. There’s a lot I can do that I don’t; it’s safer that way. “I come from a line of women who did that sort of thing,” I half lie, trying anything to rope him in.

  His eyebrow quirks, tongue pressing into his cheek as he stares at me as if evaluating me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, if it’s for the truth or in search of skill. “You see that picture?” he replies instead, pointing up at the wall. A black and white photo of a man standing in front of a large circus tent is framed, hanging amongst other photos and posters. “That’s my daddy,” he adds.

  “You look just like him,” Sam answers, truthfully.

  “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow ‘til they outlawed them, most places,” he explains. “Apparently, displaying the deformed isn’t dignified. So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That’s progress, I guess. You see, this place it’s a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don’t fit in nowhere else.” He looks at me directly as he continues, “Now, sure, I can take you. I see something in you. But, you and these two?” He looks between us. “You should go to school. Find a couple girls or a boy. Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

  “Sir?” Sam starts, “We don’t want to go to school. And we don’t want regular. We want this.”

********

  The sun beams down on us in a soft, warm glow as we leave the small office. We got jobs at the carnival, due to start later in the afternoon. Somehow, the disaster of the interview worked in our favor. I mean, Sam can be quite convincing. 

  “Huh,” Dean hums.

  “What?” Sam answers.

  “That whole, uh, I don’t want to go back to school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper, or were you…you know, saying it? Sam?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” Sam answers.

  Dean shoots me a weary look. “You don’t know? I thought once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State.”   “I’m having second thoughts,” he admits, shrugging.

  Dean and I share a worried look, glancing at each other as if to check we weren’t hearing wrong. “You still have time to think about it,” I encourage. “You’d make a pretty good lawyer, you know.”

  Yet, he doesn’t seem so convinced. “Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job,” he reasons.

  “No offense, but who cares what your Dad thought or wanted. Sam, you can have a life—the life you wanted, there’s nothing wrong with that,” I almost said a little too firmly. I wanted them both to understand that, and I can feel Dean's eyes on me, tracing down my face.

  “When have you ever gave a damn about what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn’t want,” Dean adds, toppling in before Sam could say anything.

  “Since he died, okay?” he answers defensively. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  We share a look for the third time in less than five minutes. But then he shakes his head, settling with an “Naw, I don’t have a problem at all.”

  Dark purple and pink velvet curtains drape around the tent's skeleton, the dome drenched in warm orange lighting. Despite the sun outside, it’s dark and cozy. Thick red, green, blue, and yellow candles are lit on every possible surface, and glass jars and animal skulls are littered around the tables. A maroon rug with gold markings lies on the floor, a dark circular table rests on top of it, a chair on either side. 

  Not a single inch of the tent isn’t busy, with star garland and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. It’s filled in a way I forgot I loved so much, reminiscent of being home. In a way, it feels like home, the soft, entrancing, melodic notes humming in the background as I shuffle the old Tarot cards. It’s an old deck from the ’70s, the edges worn, the back of the cards a light brown plaid.

  Anyone can learn how to do and read Tarot, but there's the underlying aspect of being able to do something here, and for no one to bat an eye. People come here expecting to see something strange and unusual, and that’s what I am. I can be a witch here. Admittedly, card reading is hardly a grain of sand compared to what I can do, but this is refreshing. Oddly enough, it reminds me of my Mom and the home she created, but maybe that’s the orange and pink lighting getting to my head

  I fan out the cards, spreading them on the dark wood. “Pick a card you feel most drawn to,” I guide, watching the woman across from me examine the cards. Her hair is twisted back into a bun, strings of curls hanging down like Pamela Anderson if she were a brunette. Her perfectly manicured hand drags a card from the left forward, glancing up at me with her lip between her teeth as if to see if she did it right. 

  I flip the card over, revealing The Devil, the card depicting a goatman with wings perched upon the restraints of a woman and a man. “Oh, that looks bad,” Mandy, the woman, remarks.

  A smile tugs on the corner of my lips. She's right, it is bad. She had asked if she should give the guy she brought to the fair a chance, the guy hanging outside while she gets her reading done. “You didn’t want to come to the fair with this guy, did you?” I ask.

  Her hazel eyes widen, “Oh my god, how did you know that? Yeah, we came with a big group of friends and everyone had a date, so I had to pick someone, right? To not be the odd one out.”

  I hum. “The Devil card suggests a feeling of being trapped or cornered without options,” I explain. “That can be what’s coming through. It can also be indicative of a harmful relationship, things like abuse or addiction.”

  “Wow, yeah. You know,” she leans in like it's a secret, “I was kind of thinking he may be on something, I don’t know though.” She stands, lifting her little purse off the floor, slapping a $20 bill on the table.

  “Do you want change? It’s only $5,” I ask, looking up at her.

  She presses her hand to her chest, her hip juts out a little. “No, you keep the change. You totally saved me. He is so not getting into my pants.” She twirls around, strutting out of the tent. 

  I didn’t think it was a particularly good reading, but I picked up the cash, moving to the table towards the back of the small tent, humming along to the Cher song playing. The curtain pulls open gently, and someone steps into the tent. A smile stretches onto my lips in that helpless way. “Hi Dean,” I greet, looking over my shoulder at him.

  “How’d you know it was me?” he asks.

  “I know the sound of your footsteps in a not creepy way,” I answer, spinning to face him. He looks surreal in this lighting, like it’s some kind of dream sequence. But he’s giving me this look I can’t quite place or explain. It’s the third time he’s looked at me like this since we started working here. The first time was after I left the thrift store in my new outfit, a pretty dark purple dress with black beaded flowers on it, and a black sheer, bell-sleeved shrug. Mr. Cooper had basically said my uniform was to dress more mystically, while the boys got red jackets. I can't deny that Dean looks good in it, his black shirt peeking out beneath the panels, though, when does he not look good? 

  Then, he had given me the same look when we got out of the car after arriving at the carnival again. I glance down at my outfit and then back at him, “You’re starting to make me nervous with that look,” I admit. 

  His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, taking a half step forward. He shakes his head, “No, no, no, no,” he rattles, exhaling a breathy laugh. “Ain’t nothing wrong,” he clarifies, practically reading my mind. “You just…you look…it, uh, it fits you…” He gestures vaguely at me. 

  My cheeks feel impossibly warm, my smile softening and widening until I have to bite it back. He’s so sweet. I want to kiss him, have my lip gloss stain his lips with glitter, and feel that smile beneath mine. “Thank you,” I say as softly as a breath.

  His lips curl into a smug little smirk. He takes two steps forward, his eyes trailing down my face. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he answers almost as softly. “You know you’re givin’ me a look too.”

  “No, I’m not,” I nearly laugh. I don’t think I am, anyway.

  “Mm,” he hums, stepping closer. “You are. Your eyes are all soft ‘n warm.”

  My lip twitches, my heart stuttering in my chest. “I guess, maybe I am giving you a look,” I admit softly.

  He nods, closing the distance between us until the tips of our shoes are nearly kissing. “You are.” 

I fumble for some kind of response, but his fingers twitch at his side, and he’s speaking again. “I, uh, I never said thank you for what you did at the hospital or Bobby’s.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” I echo his words.

  “I do.”

  “You don’t,” I insist. He scuffs a breathy laugh, looking down. There are words on the tip of my tongue, absurd, loving words. I want to spill them. I want to tell him. I want to love him.

 His phone rings, he curses beneath his breath, yanking his phone from his pocket. “Dude, we’ll be there in a—yeah, okay.” The phone call ended as quickly as it started. He looks at me again, “That was Sam.”

  “I figured,” I nearly laugh.

  “He, uh, got some EMF reading in the fun house. ‘Wanted me to get you and meet there,” he explains.

  “What a fun place for it to be,” I smile at my bad joke. He shakes his head and then holds his hand out to me. I take it, stepping in time with him. His hand is warm as we exit the tent, the sun shimmering on us. 

  “I know you were buying that guy out,” he remarks, nodding towards the cotton candy machine and the guy behind it. The man swirls a paper cone around and around, collecting fluffy pink sugar into a tower.

  “I did not,” I defend.

  “Yeah?” He doesn’t believe me. “How much did you eat?”

  “The normal amount,” I shrug.

  “Right,” he nods, squeezing my hand playfully. “So, is that 10?”

  I laugh, leaning into his side. “I only ate 2! It’s not my fault they happen to have the best invention in front of my place of work, and that we have a great employee discount.”

  He scuffs, “Your addiction is gonna give you a sugar crash.”

  “That sounds magical,” I tease, looking at him as he guides us ahead. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, but there’s a smile that spreads on his lips.

  Soon after we walk into the fun house, a colorful building with dim lights. It’s a classic fun house with a funky mirror maze and revolving floors. “What took you guys so long?” Sam complains the moment he sees us.

  “Long story,” Dean brushes off.

  “Mommy, look at the clown!” a little girl exclaims. We all look over at her, the girl pointing at something.

  “What clown?” the older woman beside her asks, ducking her head in an attempt to see what her daughter is seeing. I follow the girl's finger, but there is nothing there. “Come on, sweetie, come on,” the woman nudges the girl along.

  I lie curled up on the car seat, my mind feeling mushy from work and having to repeat over and over that the Death card doesn’t always mean literal death. And now, after a long day of work, we are sitting outside the house of the little girl who saw the clown in the fun house.

  “Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam shakes his head.

  “I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” he clarifies, pulling out a pistol and cocking it. Sam grabs it, pushing Dean’s hand down.

  “Did he say anything about hearing about this legend before?” I ask with my eyes closed.

  “Told you not to eat all that cotton candy,” he answers instead.

  “It was good! And pink!” I defend, eyes peaking open.

  “Anyways, I mentioned the Bunker Brothers’ Circus in ‘81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse?”

  “What?” Sam asks.

  “Before Mr.Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager,” Dean explains.   “Well someone has a clown on their tail,” I remark.

  “So, you think whatever the spirit’s attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam asks, theorizing.

  “Something like that,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we keep talking about clowns.”

  “Well, as long as it’s not like Pennywise, we have a fighting chance,” I point out helpfully.

  “That’s comforting,” Sam grumbles.

************

  My eyes shoot open, my hand going to my forehead. I look down with squinted eyes, a plastic spoon lying there. I glance up to the front of the car, “Sam, what the frick!” I pick up the spoon and throw it back at him. He raises his arm, blocking it. It titters to the floor, and he nods to the window. I glare at him before turning my gaze to where he directed. A clown with bright red hair and a filthy yellow costume stands on the porch. The door is cracked open, warm light pouring out from within.

  We practically leap out of the car, rushing towards the house. We break into the back of the house in record time, lurking by the staircase. 

The little girl with coily hair leads the clown down the hallway, her hand clasped in his. “Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They’re upstairs,” she says innocently.

  I appear behind the pair, grabbing the girl despite her screams and moving her out of the way as two rounds of gunfire go off. “Sorry, sorry,” I mumble to the girl, cringing at the piercing scream. I look over my shoulder at the clown getting up from the ground, belining to the window. It rushes past, I lift my hands, shooting energy at it before it leaps out the window. It stumbles on the grass and then vanishes. It just disappears. “What the–”   “What’s going on here? Get away from my daughter! Who the hell are you?!” The dad yells, he and his wife wrapped in bathrobes. “Get out! Get out of my house!” 

  We bolt, getting out of the house to rush to the car, speeding down the road.

  We drive for a while, getting as far from the house as physically possible. Eventually, we stop at a back road, away from prying eyes and cameras. The minivan sits on the side of the road, our belongings pulled from it as Dean unscrews the license plates and I wipe down the car of our prints. “You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t wanna take the chance. Besides, I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean answers. 

  I pull myself from the car, closing the door for the final time. “I’m fairly sure we’re totally screwed. I can’t imagine them not going to the police,” I say, slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

  “We’ll lie low,” Dean replies as we start walking down the long, empty road.

  “That’s going to be hard to do when we still have a clown to get rid of,” I point out, brushing my hair from my face. Last night was a disaster, if you could even call it last night, when dawn had just begun to break a couple of minutes ago.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure. We’re not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean explains.

  “Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggests.

  “Great, a chameleon killer clown. Way to make our lives so easy,” I remark. “Literally, what kind of creature is that?!”

  “One that dresses up like a clown for kicks, apparently. Did it say anything in Dad’s journal?” Dean asks.

  “Nope,” Sam answers.

  “We’re gonna need a library stat then, or a really good internet search,” I muse, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  Sam clears his throat, pulling out his cell phone in the least casual way possible. “Who are you calling?” Dean asks.

  “Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash’ll know something,” he answers. “Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?”

  “No way,” Dean shakes his head.

  “Then why didn’t he tell us about her?” he presses.

  “I don’t know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” Dean suggests, shrugging.

  “Or maybe it just never came up?” I add. John did like to keep his cards close to his chest.

  “Yeah, you ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?” Sam points out. It’s the statement of the century. 

  “Well, he did make it hard to like him,” I mumble, kicking along a dark rock. It probably isn’t the coolest thing to say, considering his death and all, but it was the truth.

  “Well, don’t get all maudlin on me, Dean,” Sam says, lowering his phone.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, almost bored.

  “I mean this “strong silent” thing of yours, it’s crap,” he points out, sharply. The thing is, he isn’t wrong. The other thing is that this is going to spiral into an argument.

  “Oh, god,” Dean groans, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m over it. This isn’t just anyone we’re talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”   “You know what, back off, alright?” Dean stops walking. “Just because I’m not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

  “No, no, no, that’s not what this is about, Dean, I don’t care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man,” Sam pleads. “Listen, I’m your brother, alright. I just want to make sure you’re okay. We both want you to be okay,” he gestures towards me. I frown a little, of course, I want him to be okay, but I’m not sure if a whole intervention like this is the way to go.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay, okay?” Dean answers, voice rising. My frown deepens because I know it’s a lie. “I swear, the next person who asks me if I’m okay, I’m gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Sam exclaims.

  “I just think it’s really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It’s like, “Oh, what would Dad want me to do?” Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he’s dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I’m sorry, Sam, but you can’t. It’s too little, too late.”

  “Why are you saying this to me?” Sam asks, softer this time.

  “Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I’m dealing with Dad’s death! Are you?” Dean spits.

  Sam frowns, his eyes downturned. “I’m going to call Ellen,” he announces, walking ahead.

I sigh, giving Dean a knowing look as he huffs. “What?” he bites.

  “You know what,” I answer calmly. He sulks, looking at the ground like a kid who got caught. “You know I’m always here for you, and he is too. I think sometimes you forget you aren’t alone. Just…don’t be a stubborn idiot about this.” I give him a smile before walking away.

********

  The road has felt endless, a long stretch of asphalt and tall grass on repeat. I guess we’re getting exercise, but it’s boring. “Rakshasa,” Sam announces suddenly, tucking his phone into his pocket as he walks backwards to face us. 

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Ellen’s best guess. It’s a race of ancient Hindy creatures,” Sam clarifies. “They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited.”

  “That sounds like the attribute they give to vampires,” I point out.

  He shrugs, “It’s possible all the stories got mixed.”

  “So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite ‘em in,” Dean connects. “Why don’t they just munch on the kids?”

  “No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?” Sam guesses.

  “This is a very strange way to talk about children,” I remark.

  “Well, it’s not our logic,” Dean reasons.

  “Guess that’s true.”

  “What else’d you find out?” he continues. 

  “Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects,” Sam adds.

  “Nice.”

  “Ew,” I grimace. 

  “Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years,” Sam goes on. “Slow metabolism, I guess.”

  “‘Sounds like Pennywise,” I muse. “Every twenty-seven years, nonsense.”

  “Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in ‘81,” Dean points out. 

  “Probably long before then, too,” I add.   “Who do we know that worked ‘both shows?” Dean asks.

  “Cooper?” Sam answers 

  “Cooper,” he echoes, snapping and pointing at him. 

  “You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him,” Sam murmurs.

  “You think it’s more than strong genes?” I ask. I guess it could be likely. 

  “Well, who knows how old he is?” he points out.

  “Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asks.

  “Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” Sam replies. 

  “Bro, we can get him with a trumpet or something,” I say, hitting his arm. 

  “Or something…” Dean mumbles. “I know where to get a brass dagger.”

  “Um, where? The dagger store?” I ask. I’m not sure when brass daggers were a thing, but I’m sure they’re probably a rare thing now.

  “And your plan was to what? Blow him away?” he mocks.

  My lips twitch, pulling into a smile as I point and snicker at him, “That sounds really wrong.”

  He grimaces, shaking his head despite the smile he’s clearly trying to suppress. “Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we’re going to want to make damn sure it’s him,” Sam cuts in. 

  “Oh, you’re such a stickler for details, Sammy,” Dean remarks, the two of them sharing a smile. “Alright, we’ll go round up the blade, you go check if Cooper’s got bed bugs.

  The blind man from earlier leads us down a dirt path towards a section of the large field dedicated to the trailers. The click-click of his walking stick moving back and forth fills the silence between us. “Well, I’ve got all kinds of knives,” he shares. “I don’t know if I’ve got a brass one, though.”

  “Thank you for checking for us,” I reply, sticking close to Dean’s side. The park is creepier at night, empty, like its soul got stolen with the setting sun. 

  He leads us into his trailer, tapping his walking stick against a large brown trunk. “Check the trunk,” he encourages. 

  Dean steps forward, crouching before it. With a click, the golden clasp flips up, the trunk whining as its top is stretched open. He pauses at whatever he finds inside, slowly standing. “You?” he says, watching the older man. His cane drops to the floor with a clatter as he pulls off his black sunglasses, his once normal eyes turn cloudy like fog hovering over the ocean. His wrinkled skin droops, gravity dragging it down in glops. He waves, a devilish smile on his lips, as his body disappears until it’s just his glowing, foggy eyes left. Then, even that vanishes. 

  “What the f–” I mumble, staring at where he was standing.

  Dean shimmies past me, trying the trailer door, shaking the latch quickly. A knife suddenly flies through the air, thunking into the door right by his head. I throw my hands forward, shooting a large blast of energy in the general direction from which the knife was thrown. There’s a clatter, a bang against the wooden cabinets that tells me I must have hit him. I flick my wrist in the direction of the door, flinging it open for Dean. He stumbles out, catching himself before he hits the floor and books it. I hop down after him, snapping my fingers, making a mass of thick white powder fall from the ceiling of the trailer, coating every surface with flour. Somehow, we went from It to The Invisible Man.

  “Come on!” Dean shouts. He’s some distance away, probably stopped when he realized I wasn’t following. I don’t answer, I’m waiting for him to emerge from the dust; he’ll be easy then.

  A knife swooshes through the air, appearing from the trailer, just grazing my arm. I barely register it, I was right; he is still in there. What’s brass that I can conjure? I can’t exactly beat him to death with an instrument, can I?

  There’s a thump in front of me, a white, dusted figure emerging from the mess inside, a flour footprint marking the ground. I take a couple of steps back. Brass. Brass…Instruments…Brass…Pipes—Organs. My hand closes around the cold metal taking shape. I let it slip from my hand, floating lowly at my side, and then with a slight twitch of my finger, the tube-shaped pipe flew forward with a swish, lodging itself into the center of the figure's chest. He hits the wall of his trailer with a thud, blood oozing from the hole in his chest. 

  “Bye, Invisible Man.”

  Ellen sets down a handful of beers onto the bar’s tabletop with a bright smile. “You boys did a hell of a job. Your dad’d be proud.”

  “Thanks,” Sam answers, “But we can’t really take the credit, it was all her.” 

  “Yeah, those were some moves you pulled,” Dean adds, nudging me hard, pulling a laugh from my lips.

  “You butterin’ me up, Winchesters?” I tease.

  “Only ‘cause you’re lettin’ me–us,” Dean answers, quickly taking a swig of his beer.

  “I didn’t really do anything,” I clarify for Ellen. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I was barely thinking.”

  “If that wasn’t thinkin’ I’d hate to see what is,” Dean remarks.

  “You’ve seen me think,” I point out, giving him a funny look for that silly comment.

  “It’s why I’d hate to see it,” he retorts, smirking behind the bottle he brings to his lips.

  I nudge him, laughing as he chokes on his drink. “Idiot,” I smile, almost scuffing.

  “Dork,” he responds, looking at me with that smile I want to have engraved into the grooves of my brain. My eyes dip to his lips before I can stop myself, I want to feel his lips against mine, I want to learn the curve of his smile, and the taste he carries on his tongue. 

  The back door opens, stealing my gaze away. Ash walks in, the folder we gave him tucked beneath his arm and a strange looking laptop. “Where you guys been? Been waitin’ for ya” he says.

  “We were woking a job, Ash,” Sam answers. “Clowns?”

  “Clowns? What the–”

  “You got something for us, Ash?” Dean cuts him off. He joins us at the bar, setting down his funky laptop with exposed wiring next to me. It looks like a fire hazard.

  “Did you find the demon?” Sam asks.

  “It’s nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fuguly bastard raises his head, I’ll know. I mean, I’m on it like Divine on dog dookie,” he answers. 

  “Is that code for you’ll know if the omens appear?” I ask, hoping I’m somewhat correct.

  “Yup, my rig’ll go off like a fire alarm,” he explains, a proud smile on his face. I have to admit he’s kind of growing on me.

  Dean leans over me, arm stretching in front of me to reach for Ash’s laptop. I lean back as he invades my personal space. “Do you mind…” he begins to ask as he reaches for the keyboard. Ash gives him an unamused death stare. Dean pulls back with an awkward smile, taking a nervous sip of his beer.

  “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?” Sam asks.

  “M.I.T before I got bounced for fighting,” he answers.

  I blink once. Twice. “Well look at you Mr. prestigious,” I settle on. He keeps surprising us.

  “Okay, give us a call as soon as you know something,” Dean adds, signaling our leave.

  “Si, si, compadre,” Ash answers. 

  I hop off the bar stool, waiting as the boys take their last sip of their drinks. Dean stands, missing the way Ash leans over and drinks the rest of his beer. He slugs his arm around my shoulder, putting unnecessary weight onto me. I laugh, nudging his side as we walk, but he doesn’t move away and I don’t want him to.

  “Hey!” Ellen calls out. “If you three need a place to stay I’ve got a couple beds out back.”

  Dean pauses, making me stop with him. “Thanks, but no. There’s something I gotta finish,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

  The group had mostly dispersed when they got back to Bobby’s. Y/N had headed inside to bug Bobby about whatever. The older man would grumble as she rambled, but wouldn’t tell her to go away either. Meanwhile, Dean went right back to working on Baby, his clean grey shirt getting stained with motor oil all over again. Sam lingered by his brother, pacing nearby as the blazing heat beat down on them. “You were right,” he announces.

  “About what?” Dean asks, never looking up from his work.

  “About me and Dad,” he answers. “I’m sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So you’re right,” his voice breaks, lip trembling as he holds back the tears collecting in his brown eyes. “What I’m doing right now it’s too little. It’s too late.” He pauses for a beat, “I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not alright. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know.” He pauses for the last time, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I’ll let you get back to work,” he says softly, defeated before he walks away.

  Dean stills, jaw clenched tightly. He takes a few steps away from his car, picking up a lone crowbar that lies on the dusty ground. It’s warm in his hand, the metal soaking up the heat of the sun. But he doesn’t mind the burning; he grips it tighter, swinging it at a window of a nearby rusted car. The glass shatters, and yet it is not enough. He turns, slamming it into the broken trunk of the Impala, over and over and over. His chest heaves as he throws the crowbar to the ground with a clatter, lip trembling as he stares after Sam, who is long gone.

  It’s never enough.

(Next Chapter)

Fun fact: I'm very afraid of sharks, I talk that exact way about raccoons, and I do have an addiction and love pink cotton candy. Also, my Dad was a clown once, he even went to clown school, which is not a joke or a jab at my Dad lol.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl @yasmin12312 @squishytap @i-am-fckn-sleep-deprived @wecangetlostinthepurplerain

[munsonsmixtapes]

I’ll Help You Get Over It (4)

fuckboy!eddie x fem!reader

When working on the project with Eddie, you wonder if maybe he’s not the guy that everyone thinks he is.

cw: hurt/no comfort

Living with the Buckleys is such a drastic difference from living with your parents. They all make conversation that’s not about your significant other or school. They actually seem to care about you and your interests, encouraging you to go after what you want to do. It’s so refreshing, so freeing to be able to be your own person.

You stand in the mirror in the guest room, turning this way and that as you take in your new outfit. You’re wearing a cropped t-shirt and a pair of shorts that would have definitely been deemed inappropriate. But you don’t have to worry about being stopped at the front door anymore. You can wear whatever you want now.

It’s your first day back at work since the whole incident with Eddie and Josh. Since your ex has now been banned from the premises, you don’t have to worry about running into him again. You blocked his number too so now he has no way of getting hold of you. You’re finally free of the bastard and couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

You pull up to the arcade and hold your head high as you get out of your car. You then head towards the building with a brand new attitude, actually smiling at your coworkers as you head into the break room to clock in. And why shouldn’t you? You’re a free woman now.

“There she is,” you hear a voice behind you And Steve and Robin are standing at the table, a cake sitting on it. It’s covered in chocolate frosting and the words “good riddance” are written on the top in red.

“Congrats on your break up,” they say in unison and you match their wide smiles. They know you so well.

“Thank you so much,” you say, looking down at the cake then up at your friends, deciding that you couldn’t have asked for better ones.

“Robin told me that you kicked his ass. Is that true?”

“No,” you glare at Robin then swipe your pointer finger across the letters off the cake before licking the frosting off of your finger. “I punched him in the face, which is not the same thing.”

“Still,” Steve shrugs, stepping over to stand in front of you. His hands clap your shoulders as he gives you a shake. “You stood up to him and that’s all that matters. I’m so proud of you.” He pulls you into a hug and you squeeze each other tight.

Steve has always been someone you've felt like you could confide in. Even though his familial trauma isn’t the same as yours, you still know that he can relate to having parents that don’t behave as such. He’s been there for you for so long and he’s so proud that you finally did something for yourself.

“Thanks Stevie,” you reply as you both pull away then punch in and grab your vest from the locker before heading out onto the floor. You thought you’d be more nervous to be back in the place that showed you just how much of a monster Josh is but you’re not. You’re actually so glad to be back and somehow missed this place during your few days off.

You stand behind the prize counter, scrolling through your phone when you get a text from an unknown number. You really hope that it’s not Josh because you really can’t deal with him anymore.

Hey, it’s Eddie. Are we still on to meet tonight to work on the project?

You find yourself smiling as you read his message over and over before typing out a quick response as a girl around your age comes up to the counter.

Yep! Your place, right?

Yeah. See you soon!

“Hey,” she smiles. You immediately recognize her from one of your classes and remember her being nice to you. She let you borrow her notes when you missed a day because you were sick. She’s wringing her hands as if she’s nervous and now you’re curious as to what she has to say. “I know Eddie Munson hangs out here a lot and I know you’re friends and I was wondering if you’ve seen him around. I was supposed to meet him here.”

“Oh.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Just when you think Eddie is a nice guy, he pulls this kind of shit and it immediately turns you off. You really wish he would stop stringing these poor girls along. “He’s actually sick. I just talked to him earlier and he seemed really out of it from the cold medicine.”

You don’t know why you’re covering for him. He doesn’t deserve it. Especially not after being such a pig. You can’t believe you actually fell for his bullshit. You don’t know much, but what you do know is that you’re not getting trapped in Eddie’s gross web.

“Oh, poor thing,” she pouts. “I’m gonna make him a care package.” With that, she turns on her heel and you’re quick to pick up your phone and type another message.

Your flavor of the week was just here asking for you and I covered your ass so I’m expecting you to repay me somehow

You can just see the smug smirk that’s probably playing on his pretty lips when his reply comes through.

I can think of a few ways ;)

Just kidding

Talk to me like that again and I’ll castrate you.

Kinky

It’s a wonder how you get women into your bed when you talk to them like that.

Well to be fair, we’re never doing much talking.

You’re disgusting

With that, you turn your phone on do not disturb, then set it on the counter again. You don’t know what you were thinking. For a second there, you were actually starting to like him. And now it’s like a switch flipped and he’s back to his old fuckboy ways. You guess guys like him really don’t grow up.

The way he spoke to you mixed with seeing that poor girl look so sad just makes your blood boil. It’s clear that the only person Eddie Munson cares about is Eddie Munson and you’re wondering if maybe you had him all wrong. Maybe that whole “nice guy” thing is all an act that he was using to try to get you into bed.

You feel so stupid for not seeing it sooner. He’s just like all the other guys in town and you don’t know why you thought he’d be different. And now part of you wants to delete his number and take the F in the class just so you don’t have to see him again. It sounds really inviting, but you know you can’t afford to do that. The “perfect girl” image you’re trying to maintain won’t let you. Besides, you know how stubborn you are and there’s no way that you’re going to let Eddie win. You absolutely refuse.

The rest of your shift goes by at a glacial pace since it’s weeknight and it’s not busy. But then eight o’clock rolls around and it’s time for you to clock out. And now you’re dreading going over to Eddie’s. After the way he spoke to you, you’re considering canceling and hanging out with Robin and Steve tonight. They invited you to watch a movie with them and you’re so close to changing your mind.

You mutter to yourself under your breath as you clock out then head to your car, texting Eddie that you’re on the way before pulling out of the parking lot. You feel so stupid for actually falling for his nice guy act. He just-he seemed so genuine yesterday morning when he was telling you that his apartment could be a safe space for you. Your skin crawls now when you think about what he really meant by that.

Eddie feels like such an idiot right now. He had a good thing and of course he had to go and blow it. That’s what he’s best at. He’s just so used to being flirty that he doesn’t really know how to be genuine anymore. Now he’s afraid he’s turned you off and that wasn’t his intention.

He just doesn’t know how to behave around you when he’s sober. You’re just so nice and pretty and he wonders what that jackass did to be able to get the privilege to be able to call you his girlfriend. He supposes that Josh didn’t really do a great job since he’s your ex now.

He decides that he’s gonna be on his best behavior. He’s going to be a gentleman and just be your project partner. And for the first time, he’s going to apologize for being gross. It was totally out of line and he wishes he could take it back. He’s going to keep his distance and be respectful, keeping the conversation on the project and nothing else. Even though it’s going to kill him to do so.

There’s a knock in the door and he’s quick to fix his hair in the mirror by the door. He pushes it behind his ears then shakes his head and puts it back to the way it was. He then opens the door with a wide smile which quickly drops when he sees how angry you are. You storm into the apartment and he hates how much your anger is working for him.

“You know, I really thought you were different, but it turns out that you’re exactly the kind of guy I thought you were.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, realizing how badly he messed up by seeing how angry you are. “I didn’t mean it. I just-I don’t know how to talk to you. You make me nervous.”

“Do women actually fall for this bullshit?” You’re less mad now and more amazed at how easy it is for him to trick people.

“This isn’t some game to get you into bed, y/n. I genuinely am sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“Good,” you nod. “So let’s get started. Do you have your songs?” You’re not sure that you believe him, but it’s a start.

“Yep.”

You both head into the living room and you feel nervous showing him these songs. They’re so personal to you, almost like the words were taken directly from you and put onto paper. The second you heard them, you felt so seen. For the first time in your life, you felt understood.

You sit on opposite ends of his couch and you connect your phone to the speaker that’s sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Your heart races in your chest when you hit play, wondering what he’s going to think when you show him how you actually feel.

And if I was some paint did it splatter

On a promising grown man?

And if I was a child, did it matter

If you got to wash your hands?

Eddie watches you as the song plays. Just by looking at the way you feel so connected to the lyrics, he can tell that you can relate to them. He knew the guy was older than you but now he’s wondering by how much.

Now it all makes sense. To you, Josh was some cool, older guy. That was the appeal. And he used it to his advantage. He picked you because he knew he could manipulate you. The whole thing makes Eddie sick, especially when he sees that you’re crying now.

He knew it was bad just from what he saw of the two of you on campus and now he’s beginning to think that it was actually much worse. He’s not thinking as he scoots closer, wanting to bring you some comfort even though he’s not sure how to.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts

Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

That last line seems to hit you hard and now you’re sobbing. Eddie scoots closer, your thighs touching now. He slowly wraps his arms around you and you lean into his touch as you accept his hug, burying your face into his neck.

The song ends and Eddie pauses the next one before hugging you again. His hands rub up and down your back as he whispers comforting words to you, unsure why this feels so natural to him. He’s never been good at this kind of thing.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says in a hushed tone. “You cry as much as you want.”

This is years of pent up feelings that you were never allowed to explore otherwise you were being “dramatic” and your parents never would have understood. But here? Here, you feel like you finally have the option to be yourself. You don’t have to put on a mask and hide. If you want to cry, you’re going to cry as much as you damn well please.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as you pull away, shocked by the angry look on Eddie’s face.

“You don’t ever have to be sorry for feeling your feelings. I’m here for you, you know that.”

“Why can’t you always be like this?”

“Like what, honey?” He’s trying his best to pretend like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. If he does then maybe you’ll drop it. You’re seeing right through his facade and he’s panicking. He’s spent years building up this reputation, this wall. And you’ve managed to start tearing it down in a matter of weeks.

“You’re so sweet and thoughtful. You’re so unlike the guy who was texting me earlier. I like this version of you.” He’s fighting back a smile because deep down, he likes this version too. The only other person who gets to see it is his uncle, Wayne.

“What version?” He tilts his head to the side like a little puppy and you ignore the fact that he’s trying to act all innocent.

“The real version. The real you. You don’t have to hide from me, Eddie. You don’t have to act cool around me. You’re not trying to get into my pants, remember?” You lay another brick on the coffee table and he’s close to kicking you out. He doesn’t want you to see anymore. You’ve pulled back the curtain-you’ve taken off his mask. And now he has no idea what to do.

Neither of you seem to realize how close you are to each other. Thighs pressed together. Mouths just inches apart. It’s almost like you could just lean in and-

You’re the one who starts it. It’s a little peck at first, but then your lips slot between his in a gentle kiss. He’s nothing but polite and respectful which catches you off guard. You imagined that kissing him would be all teeth and tongues and roaming hands-not that you’ve been imagining it.

He’s cradling your face so gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break as your hands are in his hair. It’s progressively getting more needy and neither of you seem to notice that you’re now straddling him.

Eddie would never tell you that this is the best kiss he’s ever had and he’s going to think about it for a long time. He’s not going to tell you how badly he wishes he could do this whenever he wants. And he’s definitely not going to tell you that he’s fallen for you. And hard.

You both seem to realize what you’re doing when you moan into Eddie’s mouth when his tongue slides past your lips. He breaks away first and you sit back on his lap, chests heaving. This is so wrong but you look so right sitting there. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He knew that as soon as it did, he’d be wrapped around your fucking finger and look where he is.

He tries to get up and you’re quick to get off of him as he stands. You sit on the couch as he paces back and forth, his hands messing up his hair even more. You’re able to ask him what’s wrong when he turns to you, like he suddenly remembers that you were there.

“You have to go home,” he says with a sudden sense of urgency. God, what has he done? He fucked everything up and now he’s not sure if he can fix it. He was afraid this would happen and now he’s going to have to do something he wishes he didn’t have to.

“Eddie-” You’re trying to get his attention in an attempt to get him to calm down, but that only seems to make it worse.

“Get out!” he yells and your eyes widen, so close to tears. It’s breaking his heart that you’re crying but this is what has to happen. You have to leave right now so he can pretend this never happened.

You rush to grab your things and hurry to the door, tears pricking your eyes again. There’s so much that you want to say but you can’t find the words. You feel like it’ll hurt more if you give him the cold shoulder. Your parents warned you not to get involved with a guy like him and you guess they were right.

The door slams as soon as you get into the hallway and you cry all the way to Robin’s house. This whole thing was a mistake and you know it. The first time you act impulsively and you get burned. As you get into your car, you promise yourself that you’re not getting involved with anyone else. Now is the time to focus on yourself and you’re not going to let anyone-not even Eddie Munson-ruin it.

part one part two part three

taglist: @walleloveseve

[deliciousangelfestival]

Senator Barnes - 1

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Summary : This is the story of how Bucky Barnes, a man who never imagined life outside the battlefield, met a bold woman from a well-known political family. One unexpected dinner later, he found himself on a path to becoming a senator.

Character : senator!Bucky barnes × female! Readers

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please leave a comment and reblog. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

New York nights had a rhythm.

Bucky Barnes knew it better than most. The hum of traffic. The hiss of steam vents. The background noise that helped him feel… almost normal.

Almost.

He kept his head down as he walked through the neighborhood. No one bothered him much here. A few nods from shop owners. A couple of kids pointing, whispering. He was that guy, but no one dared ask for a photo.

He liked it that way.

But tonight, something felt off.

As he turned onto his street, he spotted it immediately:

A black sedan, polished and out of place. Parked directly in front of his building. The kind of car that never parked here—not without a reason.

And there was a man standing by the rear passenger door.

Broad frame. Suit. Ear mic.

Security detail. Government. Private sector. Serious.

Bucky slowed, muscles tightening out of habit. Eyes scanned the street. No backup—yet. He shifted his stance slightly, just in case.

The suited man saw him and opened the back door in one fluid motion.

“Good evening, Mr. Barnes.”

The voice that answered was calm, smooth—female.

First, he saw the pointed heel step out. Then the long legs, the midnight coat tailored to perfection. And finally, you.

You stepped into the streetlight like you belonged there.

Bucky’s brows knit. He didn’t recognize you. Not from SHIELD. Not from any agency he’d worked with.

“…Hi,” he said warily, stopping a few paces back. His tone was cautious but not rude. Always assessing.

You offered a diplomatic smile. “I apologize for the hour. I know this is unexpected. But it’s urgent, and we were hoping you’d consider helping us.”

He gave a small shake of the head, uncertain. “I’m not sure what kind of help I can offer.”

His eyes flicked to your posture, your guarded presence—expensive, sharp, connected.

“You’re not SHIELD,” he added. “But you’ve got government all over you.”

You smiled again. “You’re not wrong.”

You reached into your coat and handed him a business card—matte black, clean lettering, no nonsense.

He read your name. Then the family name beneath it. One he definitely knew.

“Political royalty,” he muttered under his breath.

“My family’s been involved in public service for generations,” you said evenly. “We support General Ross’s presidential campaign. In fact, we’re one of his top sponsors.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened. “Ross and I don’t exactly send each other Christmas cards.”

“I’m aware,” you said with a calm nod. “But this isn’t about him.”

He looked at you again, slower this time.

“…Let me guess,” he said finally. “You want me to protect someone?”

You almost laughed. “That’s a logical guess, but no. I’m offering you something... different.”

There was a pause. He didn’t like open-ended offers. Not from powerful people.

You caught the hesitation. “If you’re willing, we can talk more. Somewhere else. Somewhere you're comfortable.”

He glanced down the street. Quiet. Cold. You weren’t backing down, and neither was your driver.

“You’re not gonna leave until we talk, are you?”

Your smile was quiet. “Not really.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

*****

The restaurant was upscale—too upscale for someone like Bucky Barnes, who still felt more comfortable in a tattered hoodie than a tailored shirt. The chandeliers cast a soft glow, the silverware sparkled like museum pieces, and every plate looked like it belonged in a magazine.

All eyes turned when the two of you entered. You walked with the kind of confidence that didn’t ask for permission. Bucky walked beside you, noticeably uncomfortable.

Fancy. He thought. Of course it is.

You were seated at a private table by a tall window overlooking the city. The waitress came by swiftly, placing two glasses of water down, then setting one dish in front of each of you.

Bucky blinked down at his plate. His exact favorite—roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and slaw.

He glanced up at you, squinting.

You sipped your water, a slight smile on your face. “What? You thought I didn’t come prepared?”

Bucky half-smiled. “You really do your homework.”

“I do,” you said simply. “Now, eat. It would be rude of me to start business while you’re hungry.”

He gave a small, awkward nod. He wasn’t used to this kind of treatment. Not anymore. But the food was good. And somehow, despite all this… you didn’t feel fake. That kept him at the table.

For a few moments, silence passed as you both ate. The candle flickered between you.

Then, after dabbing your lips with a napkin, you finally spoke.

“So… I assume you’ve heard that General Thaddeus Ross is running for President?”

Bucky paused mid-bite and swallowed. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You arched a brow, amused. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the table. “If that guy wins, first thing he’ll do is put a boot in my ass.”

You laughed. Not forced—genuine. Quick, dry.

Bucky blinked. Huh. He didn’t expect you to laugh at that. Most people would’ve looked uncomfortable or changed the subject.

So she’s not some stiff government mouthpiece. There was something different about you. A certain ease. Like you didn’t mind talking about things the way they were.

“Honestly,” you said, “Ross doesn’t hate you as much as you think.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “So you’re here on behalf of him?”

You shook your head. “No. This meeting isn’t about Ross. I respect him, but this is personal.”

Personal? That was new.

You straightened your posture. The air shifted—time for the pitch.

“Mr. Barnes—”

“Call me Bucky.”

You gave a nod. “Alright. Bucky... are you interested in becoming a Senator?”

He nearly choked on his water.

“—Uhk!”

He coughed once, set the glass down, and stared at you in disbelief.

“…What did you just say?”

You remained composed. “You didn’t mishear. If you’re open to it, my family is willing to back your campaign.”

Bucky blinked. Several times.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“You want me to run for office? Why?”

He scoffed lightly. “You do know who I am, right?”

“I do. You’re the Winter Soldier. You’ve been controlled, redeemed, erased, remembered. You fought in a hundred wars—some you didn’t choose. You’ve lived long enough to know what governments are capable of. That makes you... credible.”

“You forgot assassin, war criminal, damaged goods.”

You tilted your head. “I didn’t forget. I just don’t believe any of those disqualify you.”

Bucky leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as the next election cycle.”

He exhaled slowly, still stunned. “There’s no way I was your first option.”

You answer with low voice “You weren’t.”

He chuckled once. “Thought so. So what happened to Plan A?”

You took a small breath and sipped your water. “There was… a tragedy.”

Bucky’s expression sobered. “Sorry to hear that.”

You nodded once, then glanced out the window.

“He fell into another vagina.”

Bucky blinked. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…I’m sorry?”

You met his eyes calmly. “He cheated. Loudly. With a campaign intern.”

“Oh.”

“He was my fiancé.”

Now Bucky really didn’t know what to say. He just gave a stiff nod. “Right.”

It hadn’t even been 24 hours since your world tilted.

Yesterday, your ex-fiancé—once your family’s golden ticket to the Senate—was caught red-handed. Quite literally. His assistant. His office. His stupidity.

The headlines hadn’t dropped yet, but your family didn’t need to wait. The betrayal burned hotter than the scandal.

They pulled the plug immediately. All funding. All endorsements. Gone. And when the question came—Who now?—the answer practically presented itself on the flat screen in the strategy room.

The news was replaying footage of the new Captain America... and beside him, the Winter Soldier.

You pointed to the screen. “We found one.”

*****

Now here you were, sitting across from James Buchanan Barnes, in a glass-walled restaurant that practically screamed press bait.

Photographers lurked near the sidewalk. You made sure of it.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked tense—like he was waiting for someone to yell ambush.

His eyes scanned the room, jaw tight, one hand still loose near his lap as if he were expecting to reach for a weapon.

He hadn’t touched his fork yet. “What if I say no?”

You set your water glass down, fingers tapping lightly on the base.

“Then you say no. And I move to the next name on the list.” You leaned forward slightly, voice even. “But you’re here, Bucky. That already tells me something.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It means I’m hungry.”

You smiled. “Sure. But let’s not pretend this is just dinner.”

Before he could reply, a flash caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head sharply—click, click, click—paparazzi. At least four of them, snapping shots through the restaurant window.

He turned back slowly. “You planned this.”

“I did.” You adjusted the collar of your blazer with calm precision. “Because in politics, perception is leverage. Sitting down with me tonight implies interest. That’s what the media will run with. Whether you say yes or no.”

Bucky huffed a short breath, half-smirked. “You’re more prepared than Hydra.”

You chuckled dryly. “Hydra lacked finesse.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You really want me? After everything in my file?”

“That’s exactly why I want you,” you said plainly. “You have something no one else on our shortlist has—narrative. You’re a war survivor, a soldier burdened with truth. You know what it’s like to be used, to be public enemy number one, and to fight your way back to accountability.”

You paused to let your words settle.

“Bucky, you're not just a story. You’re a symbol of recovery, integrity, and the uncomfortable truths this country keeps avoiding. That’s why you’re the better option.”

He sat back, staring at you like he was trying to figure out your angle. “You say all that... but what do I get out of becoming a Senator?”

You gave a small shrug, but your tone sharpened.

“You get a seat at the table where real change happens. You get the power to protect the people you fight beside—without throwing a punch.”

That got him.

His fingers drummed slowly against the table, eyes thoughtful. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t make hobby offers.”

He looked back out the window, photographers still watching.

Then he looked at you.

You said "You could help people like Isaiah."

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Alright. I’m in.”

You smiled—smooth, quiet satisfaction. “Good. Let’s get you elected.”

Looking at you, so full of enthusiasm, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what your reaction would be if the world found out he was running for Senate.

They’d probably laugh. Reject him. No one would ever truly accept a man like him.

Little did he know what the future would bring.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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Author note: Please leave a comment besties. I want to know what are your thoughts about this one. 🙏🏻❤️

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[loveroffemmes]

jackie taylor nsfw alphabet pls pretty girl- 🤠

Jackie Taylor NSFT Headcanons/Alphabet

warning: sexual, pretty subby jackie, some light cnc (sleep)

a/n: i think i wanna do these for the rest of the yj too if y’all wanna read that (i also think that the other yj would be way freakier than my girl jackie LOL). also, i absolutely adore the pet name, anon!! <33

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Jackie is unbelievably cuddly afterwards, she loves having your arms wrapped around her and she always flings an arm and leg over you. Literally taking up the most space on the bed as possible. She’s also so whiney and sensitive, if your thigh or hand accidentally brushes on her, she’s whimpering in a second. She also makes sure to tell you how good of a job you did afterwards and always follows it with a, “You’re so hot.” 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jackie loves arms. She loves leaving bite marks and lipstick stains all along her lover’s arms. She likes a nice set of legs too and even though she won’t admit it, it’s hard for her to pry her eyes off of your cleavage. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Jackie loves tasting herself. Her favorite thing is when you make her suck the juices off of your fingers. She also loves tasting you; she was in absolute shock the first time she made you finish and tasted you, remarking for days later how sweet you tasted. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jackie loves getting off to your voice. She loves when you call her late at night to talk and your voice is all raspy and sleepy. She bites down on something and listens to you ramble as she gets off. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Jackie is somewhat experienced. She definitely has some things she has to figure out, especially when it comes to women. 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary or cowgirl. Missionary, because she likes being able to wrap her arms around your neck and pull you flush against her body. Cowgirl, because she likes the feeling of rolling her hips on the strap-on and she loves putting on a show for you. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Jackie’s pretty serious, but she’s usually pretty giggly before and after. If she notices you aren’t as relaxed as she’d like, she makes some cutesy pillow talk. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I would say Jackie’s usually clean shaven or trimmed. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Jackie is loving, she’s nonstop telling you how pretty you are and how much she loves you. Her heart is unbelievably full from getting to do anything intimate with you and it shows. When it’s a chill night in; she takes her time to undress you, to really take in all of you. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Jackie uses her pillow most of the time. She loves humping it to get off — even better if she listens to you instruct her or talk to her while she humps it. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise, Jackie gets wet at simply being called pretty. She also loves sometimes being a little rougher and getting her hair pulled or being lightly choked. She also likes spanking, but that’s something that she would not admit until way later into a relationship. She also loves being used in her sleepy, waking up and being fucked is a need for her.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Jackie’s pretty simple, she prefers a comfy bed, but she can’t help but also enjoy the public-ness of a car or in a random closet/room at a party. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Jackie wishes she wasn’t as easy as she was, but anything you do will get her going at least a little bit. What really does it for her is possessive touches; she loves when your hands linger on her hips or her waist or her ass. She also loves seeing your clothes ride up just a little bit — instantly wet.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jackie wouldn’t really be interested in hitting her partners in bed. It would make her feel too guilty. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Jackie prefers receiving, but she does do both. She’s not as good at giving, but she becomes so determined that she improves over time. She loves when you pull on her hair while she goes down on you. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Jackie is pretty fast, but tries to be as gentle as possible. She gets incredibly eager to either get you or herself off and can’t help but pick up the pace, but she always makes sure not to hurt you. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jackie loves the idea of quickies. She loves a quick locker room fuck, IN THEORY, but then she stumbles out on the field and it’s like her legs barely work and that’s how most of her quickies go. However, a quickie at a party is the exception to this rule and she will pull you into a random room at every. single. party. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Jackie does like the occasional risk, but nothing too crazy since she gets way too loud and she does have a reputation to uphold. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Jackie wishes she could go even more, but the reality is that she usually taps out after two rounds. She likes getting off at least more than once. Jackie typically lasts a normal amount of time the first round, but she finishes way too quick if there’s a second or third round. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Jackie has a pink strap-on. She usually likes you to use them on her rather than her using them. She also owns a rabbit vibrator (get it). She prefers using you to get off rather than a toy though. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jackie’s usually way too needy to tease you, but when she felt like it, she would drag it on for as long as she possibly could. She loved to see you begging to touch her. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Jackie is vocal. She whimpers, she whines, and she gets so unbelievably loud when she comes. She loves saying your name a million times over. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Jackie loves sleepy sex. She loves when she’s all tired and you eat her out. She also is a big fan of restraints, loving the feeling of being used. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

We all know what’s inside someone’s pants. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Jackie’s sex drive is insanely high; one kiss and she’s squeezing her thighs together. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jackie knocks out in an instant. She’ll sleepily mumble something about how pretty you are and then she’s usually lightly snoring (which she denies that she does). Her limbs are all over you, hogging your space and blankets.  

Masterlist

[journalsfromjupiter]

It's finally time for Upper East Side!Utahime 🤭

◃─────────────────────────────────────────▹

There’s “pretty,” and then there’s Utahime Iori.

The kind of pretty that should be painted onto porcelain. All soft edges, sleek hair, white silk bows, and that effortless, high-cheekbone elegance that makes older women nod approvingly and photographers trip over their own feet.

She’s that crisp kind of pretty. Light pretty. The kind of pretty that smells like Peony & Blush Suede, has gleaming hair pinned back with satin bows (white on weekdays, red on weekends), and a voice that can cut through dinner party chatter with one well-placed, “Excuse me?”

She's airy. Fresh linen, glass balconies, and posture so perfect it makes ballerinas jealous. Her mother made sure of it.

Speaking of her mother—picture a woman who was once the face of a luxury skincare brand, now turned CEO of her own beauty conglomerate, with her face still gracing every billboard in Midtown. Her father? Owns one of Manhattan’s most exclusive PR firms—because “image is everything, darling.” Utahime was raised on designer gowns, perfectly practiced smiles, and carefully choreographed Vanity Fair interviews about “family values” before she was even old enough to drive.

But don’t let the bows fool you. She’s got a temper sharp enough to slice glass.

She’s put-together—right up until she’s not. And God help you if you’re the reason she’s not.

She likes knowing things. Needs to, really. Not in a nosy, gossipy way (though she definitely knows everything)—but because control, order, predictability? That’s her comfort zone. When things start slipping through the cracks, so does her patience.

And unfortunately… Satoru Gojo exists.

She’d swear on her most expensive lipstick that he was put on this earth purely to test her blood pressure. The teasing. The chaos. The way he calls her “Uta-hemo” in that obnoxious sing-song voice just to piss her off. It’s a miracle she hasn’t set his thousand-dollar coat on fire.

(Though there was that one time she threatened to—and he just laughed and said, “Bet it would smell amazing.” She hasn’t emotionally recovered since.)

No matter how many charity events or friend group dinners they suffer through, Utahime has never found a volume setting on him that she can tolerate. He once cracked a joke about her bows in front of a cluster of fashion reporters, and she nearly shattered a champagne flute in her hand. These days, any time he breathes wrong in her presence (which is often), she storms off in a blur of silk and fury straight to Kento’s.

Kento, who listens with the blank patience of a man reading corporate litigation while Utahime paces and vents in Louboutins across his glass floors.

"Can you believe him?!"

Kento, halfway through a stack of legal briefs, doesn’t even look up.

“No. I can’t. Terrible.”

"You didn’t even hear what he did yet."

"I’m sure it was idiotic. Give me a second."

He’s her emotional-support-human-brick-wall. It’s a system. It works.

Despite the stress of Upper East Side society—the parties, the scrutiny, the curated chaos—Utahime holds her own. She’s fantastic at it, actually. Smiles just wide enough, laughs just a little too loud, plays the role of the perfect daughter at every gala and benefits dinner. Her parents adore her. Her social calendar is always full. Her name always spelled correctly in Page Six.

But sometimes, it gets to be too much. The noise, the eyes, the expectations. So she retreats to her private penthouse—a rare act of preemptive mercy (AKA: 20th birthday gift) from her parents. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Blackout curtains. A view of the skyline that always makes her feel a little more grounded. There’s chamomile tea in the cabinet. A backup bottle of rosé in the fridge. And a little porcelain dish that holds two red bows and one lighter.

Just in case.

And when the world really gets too loud, she does what she’s always done.

She calls you and Shoko.

The three of you have been inseparable since you were kids—bonded by cotillions, etiquette lessons, and the mutual understanding that surviving the public eye takes a little rebellion and a lot of wine. There are girls’ nights in her penthouse with takeout and scandalous gossip. Sleepovers in your childhood homes, still in the city, wrapped in designer blankets and whispers about who's getting married, who’s getting divorced, and who should definitely not be wearing Versace. Shoko brings the smokes, you bring the wine, and Utahime brings the drama.

She cares—deeply—even if she hides it under all that gloss and glamour. She likes being in control of her image, her calendar, her damn narrative, thank you very much. And when something slips through the cracks—a party she didn’t hear about, a decision made without her—she doesn’t just feel left out.

She feels betrayed.

But then, she sees you across the room, holding her favorite cocktail with a sympathetic smile, and everything softens.

Because Utahime’s not just pretty.

She’s real.

She’s loyalty and eyeliner. She’s high standards and soft mornings. She’s the kind of woman who’ll fix your outfit, decode your texts, and curse out a man on your behalf without missing a beat.

She always smells incredible.

She always knows what’s going on.

And if she doesn’t?

Well—someone’s getting their ass handed to them.

With a bow in her hair, of course.

◃─────────────────────────────────────────▹

Not Satoru being a re-occurring theme of annoyance LMAOOO he's an asshole frfr

[bravoechoes]

OP, you are incredibly correct and brave about your Bentham take. The fact that Ethan/Luther doesn't really enter most fandom conversations (even just takes on the depth of their canon relationship) endlessly frustrates me.

Anyway... What are your Luther/Ethan headcanons?

Ok to preface with some context. Nothing against Benthan I’m not starting a ship war idc about that, you do you etc. I just can only enjoy it in a way that is not the dominant mode in the fandom.

Ok now for some more context re: ur question. I think with the exception of Julia, Ethan doesn’t really have set boundaries with people re: their relationship to him. Like PERSONALLY I think you can read his open affection with Ilsa in DR as them skirting a lot of lines and being like. friends but in a weird way. like a mature mutual pining where they’re in (very silent) agreement about their feelings for one another, they both know that pursuing those feelings is entirely closed off as a possibility, and so paradoxically that opens up this space of ambiguity where they can kinda get away with doing Couple things but it’s still permissible because they aren’t ACTUALLY doing it as a capital-C Couple.

Which is all preamble to say - I think Ethan would have a very similar relationship with Luther, and especially him in particular because Luther was basically Ethan’s divorce lawyer/manager/mediator/etc. like they don’t really have the type of boundaries one would generally associate with friendship, even a long term friendship. So like for me to enjoy Luther/Ethan essentially nothing would change about their dynamic at all except one day they decided to sleep together and then afterwards they would keep randomly sleeping together and not reeeeeeally talk about it that much, it’s just a thing Ethan does with Luther sometimes and it’s fine and normal and not a big deal (it is a big deal) because I still go to the bar with him on Friday nights and talk shop with him and he tells me he heard from my ex-wife last month so she’s still alive. which is nice isn’t it? Luther is suuuuuuch a good friend idk what I’d do without him. 

so I think unlike the emotional/social changes that would happen with Ilsa, not very much would change with Luther if they got together because I get the impression that they’re both kinda fine with being mutually lowkey and not talking that much about their feelings, unless in the case of Ethan having some deep personal crisis where he kinda just falls apart and Luther has to deal with his bullshit again. Luther is basically the only constant in Ethan’s life and I think Ethan feels comfortable with not examining that too much/at all, sort of in the vein of like “if I don’t acknowledge it then no one will notice and nothing bad will happen” so Luther is just his friend that he sleeps with. I don’t even think it’s an internalised homophobia thing (noted feminist king Ethan Hunt etc although I think he’s definitely dealing with some of that baggage in MI1 re: Jim Phelps) it’s just Ethan being neurotic and Luther being low maintenance, like ok man sure if that’s what you want. Luther gets what he wants out of the relationship (especially re: his comments in MI3 about being incapable of having normal relationships, so this is the closest he’s going to get, and hysterically it’s with Ethan) and then the tax for that arrangement is dealing with Ethan cold-calling him at 2am to ask Luther to help him bury another body

[astrakim]

The Space Between Us

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

enemies to lovers | slow burn | bed-sharing | fluff, angst, emotional smut

>genre: childhood rivals to lovers,

friends-forced-to-share-a-bed, emotional tension,

slow burn

>word count: 17.9k [combined]

>summary: They started as neighbors. Then came a stupid night - and suddenly, Heeseung and Y/N were enemies. Years of rivalry, endless tension, and a thousand unspoken feelings between them.

When a group trip forces them to share a bed, everything changes. Jealousy flares. Secrets unravel. And the line between hate and desire blurs in ways neither of them expected.

What if the enemy was never really the enemy?

>series warnings: suggestive tension, mutual pining, soft vulnerability, swearing, kissing, a lot of staring, protected sex (wrap it yall), oral (f.rec), fingering, heeseung is a flirt, misunderstanding, Sunoo lowkey OR highkey being a menace matchmaker, thats all ig let me know if I should add anything.

Reblogs and likes are really appreciated!

Enjoy your read!

Day 4:

The group decides on something calmer for next day: A lakeside picnic spot about thirty minutes from the cabin. Sunoo insists it’s “aesthetic and peaceful,” but I know it's just an excuse for another million candids and stories for his socials.

The van ride is chaos again. Sunghoon tries to DJ, Jake eats half a pack of gummy worms before noon, and someone’s foot ends up on my thigh — again.

“Can we not do this every time?” I mutter, shoving Heeseung’s leg off me.

He just smirks. “You didn’t mind yesterday.”

I don’t dignify it with a response, but the flush crawling up my neck gives me away.

When we arrive, the lake shimmers under the sunlight, trees swaying, and a few boats bobbing on the water. Everyone scatters — some heading for paddle boats, some for hammocks, some to set up the food.

I think I’ve escaped into peace until I hear:

“Y/N and Heeseung — you’re on firewood duty!”

“Why us?” I groan.

“Because watching you two carry logs and not kill each other is entertainment,” Sunoo yells from his picnic blanket.

Heeseung’s already beside me, smug and ready.

“This feels like punishment,” I mutter.

He falls in step beside me as we walk into the shaded woods. Our steps are quiet. So is the air between us.

I pick up a branch. “Don’t even think about throwing leaves at me.”

Heeseung grabs one anyway. “But your hair would look good with them.”

I squint at him. “Was that a compliment?”

“Wasn’t, not a compliment.”

And just like that, we’re bantering again. But it’s lighter. The jabs don’t hit like they used to. Every teasing line is dipped in something softer, like we’re testing how much of our old friendship still exists beneath the sharp edges.

Later, back at the lake, I’m standing near the dock when Jake comes up beside me. We’re laughing at something — maybe a squirrel stealing food — when I feel it.

Eyes.

I glance over and see Heeseung across the water, sunglasses perched low on his nose, arms crossed, but he’s definitely watching. When Jake nudges my arm, Heeseung tilts his head and turns away, just a second too late.

He’s jealous.

Not the tantrum kind. The quiet, seething kind. The kind that doesn’t ask for attention but demands it anyway.

It weirdly makes me... smile.

---

We’re roasting marshmallows later— again, everyone circling the campfire. The mood is golden and warm, literal and emotional. Heeseung sits beside me this time, not across. Our knees bump once. Neither of us moves.

When I try to toast a marshmallow and it falls in the fire, he slides his perfectly roasted one onto my stick. Doesn’t say anything. Just... does it.

I turn to him. “You’re being weird.”

He shrugs. “I’m just being nice.”

“No, you’re never just nice.”

He grins, leans a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to impress someone.”

The air shifts.

My stomach flips.

I swallow. “Try harder.”

Heeseung laughs, low and real, and then — he bumps his shoulder into mine. Not hard. Just enough to make me sway.

“Cute fox looks good on your bag, by the way,” he says, pointing at the plush I’ve kept tied to the strap.

I roll my eyes. “Stop flirting.”

“I’m not,” he says, grinning wider. “You’d know if I was.”

—

That night, the bed feels too warm and not wide enough. We’re still not touching — but we’re closer than we’ve ever been.

I lie awake a while, listening to the soft rhythm of his breath.

He shifts. “Still awake?”

“Mmhm.”

“Thinking about how you stole my marshmallow?”

I smile into my pillow. “Thinking about throwing another one at your face.”

He chuckles, then after a pause: “You’re easier to talk to now.”

“Is that an insult?”

“No,” he says, softer. “It’s a relief.”

My heart does something stupid in my chest.

I keep staring at him

“What?” he asks, quirking a brow his tone suddenly teasing.

“Your hair. You look like an anime character.”

He tosses the pillow at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I grin. “You’re not the main character, Lee.”

“Right. I’m the misunderstood rival. Girls love that.”

I throw a pillow back at him. It’s playful. So is the grin he sends back.

Eventually, we settle into bed. Only one pillow between us this time. The silence is a little thicker, not with tension — but with something else. Awareness.

“I bet you dream about me,” he says suddenly.

I turn to glare at him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirks, rolling onto his side to face me. “Just a hunch. You talk in your sleep.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Last night? Mumbled something like ‘shut up, Heeseung’ in your dreams. Kind of sweet, actually.”

I stare at him. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

But the corners of my mouth betray me. I'm smiling again. He sees it, and for a beat, the room quiets.

He doesn’t break eye contact. “You’re not that hard to read anymore.”

I blink. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” he says, soft. “It’s a compliment.”

And with that, he rolls over and turns off the lamp.

I lie awake a little longer, wondering when his voice started sounding like a memory I missed.

Thinking about how her little crush on her stupid rival neighbour who also had the power of making her heart do somersaults or her nights a little intense ( which she will never agree to) when she stared at him through her window —not staking accidently grazing her eyes at him, his hands, at the way he’s……

She snaps out when she feels heeseung move in his sleep, fluster to even think about him like that when he’s right besides him close, too close.

Cursing herself she starts to fall asleep trying not to think about how good he smells besides her.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Day 5:

Sunoo’s voice was practically vibrating. “Okay, listen, I found this place online last night—it’s like a secret riverside town or something. Boats, food, a forest trail. All cute stuff. We’re going.”

No one objected, especially not Y/N, who was just glad for a distraction from the awkward energy that still lingered after last night’s shared-bed tension. She kept her eyes firmly away from Heeseung at breakfast, but she could feel him looking. Of course he was.

The riverside was annoyingly pretty. Colorful little boats bumped gently along the docks, and the air smelled like grilled shrimp and damp stone. There were tiny shops tucked between wooden cabins, and vines growing wild along hand-carved bridges.

Y/N walked with the group until someone slowed beside her. She didn’t have to look to know.

“You always stare at the water like it stole your dog?” Heeseung said casually.

“Do you always sneak up like a serial killer?” she shot back.

He just smirked. “Only when the victim’s cute.”

She blinked. “Are you—”

“Flirting? Yeah.” He turned ahead again, hands in his pockets. “Try to keep up.”

And she did. Except her thoughts kept circling. This wasn’t how it used to be. They used to bicker like it was war. Now... it felt like he was teasing her. Pulling at something soft. And she hated how her chest reacted like a traitor every single time.

The others eventually broke off to check out a bridge market while Sunghoon and Sunoo went scouting for the so-called “secret fireworks hill.” Y/N sat on the low stone wall by the river, catching her breath, watching the gold glint of water.

A shadow fell over her shoulder.

“Mind if I—” Heeseung didn’t finish the sentence, just sat beside her.

They were quiet. Long enough for her to forget they were supposed to hate each other.

“You’ve got something on your face,” he said finally, and she looked at him in time to see him reach out—slow, deliberate—and swipe a grain of sugar from the corner of her mouth.

She froze.

He didn’t pull away.

Their faces were close. Too close. That look in his eyes—Y/N had seen it before in mirrors, late at night, when she swore she’d moved on. But it was here now, right in front of her, and it made her stomach twist painfully.

Before anything else could happen, Sunoo’s voice called from a distance. “You guys coming or are you gonna have a whole moment down there?”

They jumped apart. Y/N stood too fast. “Yeah—coming! Not having a moment!”

Heeseung just laughed softly behind her, and she hated that it made her want to smile.

The sky was cotton blue with frayed white clouds hanging like lazy thoughts. The morning breeze rolled off the river, carrying a coolness that nipped pleasantly at Y/N’s skin as she stepped out of the van.

“This place is unreal,” Sunoo practically squealed, spinning in a full circle as the group filed out behind him.

It was a quiet riverside town tucked into the folds of a wooded valley. Not touristy — more like something you stumbled on by accident and didn’t tell anyone else about because it felt too precious. There were cobbled paths, floating food stalls, tiny bridges laced with vines, and the faint smell of charcoal-grilled seafood in the air. The river moved slow and wide, mirroring the sleepy rhythm of the town.

Heeseung stretched with a yawn, shirt riding just enough to make Y/N’s gaze flick away too fast. Unfortunately, she caught Sunghoon smirking at her.

“I’m fine,” she blurted before he said anything.

“Didn’t say a word,” he said, smiling knowingly.

Y/N turned to Sunoo instead, pretending she hadn’t just been caught thirsting over her mortal enemy. “What’s the plan, captain?”

Sunoo grinned, clapping his hands. “Alright, split into pairs or something. Float market’s that way. There’s a forest trail with a lookout point, and apparently fireworks happen at sunset — very spontaneous and romantic,” he added with a not-so-subtle look between her and Heeseung.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You people are exhausting.”

“You’re welcome,” Sunoo chirped. “Go fall in love or whatever.”

She slipped off toward the riverside with her hands shoved in her pockets, walking just far enough to feel alone — until a voice came up from behind, cocky and warm.

“You always stare at the water like it owes you money?”

She didn’t turn. “You always follow people like a stray?”

Heeseung stepped beside her anyway, way too comfortable in his loose cream tee and that godforsaken smirk. “Only when they look like they’re trying not to cry in public.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I said trying.”

She looked at him properly then — the sunlight catching on his lashes, hair wind-mussed, face open and unreadable all at once. He wasn’t smiling now. Just... watching her.

“What?” she said flatly.

“You’re quieter today,” he said. “Almost feels illegal.”

“Maybe I’m tired of arguing.”

“Or,” he said, angling his head, “you’re scared I’ll win.”

She snorted. “That’s generous of you.”

But still, she didn’t walk away. And neither did he.

They wandered the market with the others — or at least near enough. Heeseung always seemed to drift close whenever she stopped. They kept bickering, of course, about whether mango is a superior fruit (it is), or whether she looked weird walking with her hands behind her back (she didn’t). But the edge was missing. Somewhere, in the space between shared marshmallows and late-night pillow fights, the fight had dulled into something... tentative.

Like they weren’t enemies anymore. Just two people who didn’t know what to do with all the tension left behind.

Y/N stood near a vendor selling steamed buns when a grain of sugar got stuck at the corner of her mouth. She went to wipe it—

Heeseung’s fingers beat her to it.

She froze, eyes darting up to meet his. His hand moved slow, wiping the sugar like it was deliberate — like he wanted her to notice his touch.

She did.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, voice suddenly dry.

“You’re letting me,” he said, not moving.

“Guys!” Sunoo’s voice broke the spell like a hammer. “Come on! We found the lookout. Fireworks start in like— 3 hour! We have to have our lunch before. Move your asses!”

Heeseung stepped back. His hand fell away.

Y/N swallowed. “I wasn’t—”

“No, yeah,” he said quickly. “We should... yeah.”

They followed the others towards their lunch spot.

—

After lunch, the group decided to explore a scenic hiking trail Sunoo had found online — full of lookout spots, wildflower fields, and riverside photo ops. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, and Sunoo was already mapping out where to get the best selfies.

Y/N was chatting with Jake near the trailhead, laughing as he mimicked Sunghoon’s grumpy morning routine. “He literally walked out with one eye open and cursed the sun,” Jake said.

“It was way too early,” Y/N giggled. “You looked like a zombie, too.”

Jake gave a mock offended gasp. “Excuse you, I looked like a charming, forest-dwelling prince.”

“You looked like you needed three espressos and a reality check.”

As they laughed, Heeseung’s eyes followed them.

He had been leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, sipping water and pretending he wasn’t watching her. But his jaw tightened slightly. He wasn’t stupid — Jake was charming, easy-going, and worse, comfortable around Y/N in a way that didn’t make her roll her eyes every five seconds. She smiled differently around him. And even if it was probably nothing, Heeseung hated it.

Sunghoon called, “Let’s get moving before Sunoo turns into a GPS again.”

The group started walking, Y/N still by Jake’s side.

Heeseung casually walked faster, slipping between Jay and Sunoo until he was right beside her. He matched her pace like it was effortless.

“You really hanging around Jake all day now?” he said under his breath, just enough for her to hear.

She looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t realize there were assigned seats for trails now.”

Heeseung smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just saying. He’s not that funny.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Of Jake?” He scoffed. “Please.”

She leaned closer, taunting, “You so are.”

He turned to her fully now, walking backward with a smug grin. “If I wanted your attention, Y/N, I wouldn’t have to fight Jake for it.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow. “Confident today, are we?”

“I’m always confident,” he said, winking.

She was about to fire back something biting when a butterfly fluttered past them, and Heeseung — smug bastard — gently caught it on his palm, holding it out to her.

“See?” he said. “Even nature wants me to be your favorite.”

Jake, up ahead, yelled, “Y/N! Come take a selfie!”

Heeseung immediately stepped closer, his hand grazing hers as he brushed past. “Nah, she’s busy.”

She blinked. “I can answer for myself, you know.”

He just tilted his head. “Can you, though?”

Her heart flipped in her chest. He was so close — that familiar teasing tone back, but there was something new behind it. An edge. A silent dare. A new tension.

And when Jake looked back, confused, Y/N just waved him off and kept walking.

Heeseung smiled to himself.

Point, Lee Heeseung.

They followed the others up a stone path that led into the trees, the air turning cooler and dimmer as branches wove together overhead. The tension didn’t disappear — it wrapped tighter around them, quieter now. Like something alive between the spaces where words used to go.

—

By the time they reached the trailhead, the sun had dipped low enough to set the river ablaze in gold. The trees filtered the light into a haze, casting long shadows across the mossy path. It wasn’t steep, but the walk made everyone slow down, breath syncing with the rustle of leaves overhead.

Y/N was walking just ahead of Heeseung when she heard him mutter behind her, “You’re not gonna survive the climb in those shoes.”

She turned. “I have survived this far.”

“Barely,” he said, nudging a rock with the tip of his shoe. “Not my fault if you sprain an ankle and end up rolling back down like a dramatic rom-com montage.”

“Oh please. If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

He smirked. “Promises, promises.”

The trees around them stretched higher, the canopy thickening. The others were chatting ahead — Jay and Sunghoon deep in some debate, Sunoo yelling at Jake to stop picking wild berries unless he wanted to hallucinate in front of everyone.

Y/N slowed down, letting her fingers trail against a branch. “You flirt a lot, you know.”

Heeseung glanced sideways at her, unbothered. “You’re the only one I do it with.”

She blinked.

His eyes twinkled, smug. “What? You think I talk about people rolling down hills with Jay?”

“No, I—”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Special treatment, sweetheart.”

God, she hated how fast her cheeks warmed at that.

He didn’t say anything more. Just kept walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. They didn’t touch, but their arms brushed once or twice — accidentally, but not entirely.

The lookout was a clearing of flat stone, surrounded by a ring of pine trees. The river glittered below, the town just distant enough to look like a watercolor. Someone had already left old benches and a few foldable stools, probably for tourists who stumbled on this place.

The group dropped their bags, half sitting, half sprawled on the grass.

Jake tossed a soda to Y/N, then another to Heeseung. “You two are finally not arguing,” he said. “Weird.”

“We’re maturing,” Heeseung deadpanned.

Y/N added, “Or we’re planning each other’s assassinations. Who knows.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Just kiss already.”

“What?!” she and Heeseung said in unison, nearly choking on their drinks.

Sunoo burst into laughter. “Oh my god, that was so synchronized. I swear your mouths are always in sync except when your brains are.”

Y/N turned to glare at him, but he was already grinning like a gremlin, fully enjoying the chaos. Jay muttered something about “a decade of tension,” while Jake pretended to be a wedding officiant.

“I’m going to kill all of you,” Y/N announced, standing.

But she couldn’t shake the way Heeseung had gone quiet beside her. Not awkward — just... thoughtful.

When the group started heading toward a nearby field where the fireworks were supposed to be, Y/N got momentarily distracted reading a sign about local bird species. She was only ten seconds behind, but the trail split ahead. And when she followed the wrong fork, she didn’t realize until she looked up and saw a clearing — and no one else in it.

Just Heeseung.

He was already there, sitting at the edge of a wooden dock that jutted into the wide river.

“How are you here?” she asked.

He turned slightly. “Was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Everyone else went the other way.”

Heeseung shrugged. “Guess we took the better detour.”

The quiet settled thick again, not awkward anymore — just dense. Like neither of them could breathe the same way when they were alone like this.

He nodded to the dock. “You coming or what?”

She hesitated, then sat down beside him — feet dangling just above the water. It was still warm from the day, but the breeze had turned cooler. Distant voices echoed somewhere upstream, but here, it was just them.

The first firework cracked open the sky with a low boom — red, then silver, exploding across the clouds.

Y/N gasped, leaning forward. “I didn’t think we’d get to see them from here.”

Heeseung glanced at her — not at the sky, not at the river.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered.

“It is,” he said.

She turned to him. His eyes were already on her.

And he hadn’t been talking about the fireworks.

Her breath caught.

She knew this look. She’d seen it in flashes, stolen glances, late nights in their shared room when neither of them were asleep. But this was different. This wasn’t teasing or smugness or games.

This was bare. Open.

“You’re looking at me like I’ll disappear,” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to,” he said simply.

Her heart hammered in her chest — loud enough that she was afraid he could hear it. Or maybe he did, because he leaned closer, just a breath away now.

And when she didn’t move — didn’t stop him — he closed the gap.

His lips met hers like they’d been waiting years.

Soft at first. A question. A touch that asked, are you sure?

And her answer was in the way her hands moved to his chest, not to push, but to pull him closer.

The fireworks exploded again, louder this time — a fanfare of gold and blue behind her closed eyelids. She didn’t see them. She felt everything else.

But then she broke away.

Just slightly.

Heeseung’s breath was ragged against her cheek.

They stared at each other, too many thoughts colliding all at once. Her fingers still clutched the fabric of his shirt. His hand was still at the back of her neck.

“I—” she started.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, standing.

She blinked. “What?”

“We should go find the others,” he said, voice tight.

The fireworks continued in the background, bright and loud and completely wrong now.

“Right,” she murmured. “Yeah.”

Neither of them looked at each other the same way the rest of the walk back.

And when they returned to the group — who were too distracted by the fireworks finale to notice their shift in energy — neither of them said a word.

Jake threw an arm around Heeseung’s shoulder, saying something about sparklers and snacks.

Sunoo asked Y/N if she had fun. She said yes. Lied easily.

But when she glanced over, Heeseung was already looking at her — and then he looked away just as fast.

Something had changed.

And neither of them knew what to do about it.

—---

They didn’t walk too close on the way back.

Every time their hands accidentally brushed, one of them would flinch. Every time they tried to speak, nothing came out.

The fireworks had ended, but the tension lingered in the air like smoke—dense and unspoken.

By the time they reached the campsite, their friends were still up—laughing over card games and late-night snacks like the night hadn’t just cracked open for two people quietly falling apart.

And Heeseung—he smiled. He laughed at something Sunghoon said. He passed Jake a marshmallow like everything was fine.

It made Y/N’s stomach twist.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. Maybe for him to look at her differently. Maybe for him to pull her aside, to ask if she was okay or if she felt what he felt. Maybe for something—anything—to make that kiss make sense.

But he didn’t.

And she didn’t ask.

Instead, they ignored each other. Just enough to be obvious. Just enough for everyone to notice.

“Okay,” Sunoo whispered, brushing his teeth beside her in the bathroom later that night. “What happened?”

Y/N stared into the mirror, silent.

“You two have been walking around like you kissed and now regret existing.”

Y/N scoffed. “We didn’t— I mean… nothing happened.”

He gave her a look. “Right.”

“Talk it out with him, at least try to yeah?”

Y/n just nodded not able to say anything.

After some time Sunoo dragged everyone to go to the lake for stargazing.

The lake shimmered quietly in the moonlight. Y/N sat on the edge of the dock, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the black water that rippled with every passing breeze. She could feel Heeseung behind her, close enough to feel the weight of his silence, but not close enough to touch.

He sat down beside her without a word.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

The air was heavy.

Not just with tension — but with everything they hadn’t said for years.

“You wanted to talk,” Heeseung finally said.

Y/N exhaled. “Yeah.”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

They sat by the lake, where the moonlight shimmered on the water and the rest of the world faded into silence.

It had taken days to build up to this. Days of shared beds and near-misses. Of one kiss under fireworks and an ocean of confusion since.

Y/N drew in a breath, staring at the rippling water. “Why did you stop talking to me back then?”

Heeseung flinched like she’d slapped him. “I didn’t know how to explain it.”

She turned to him. “Try.”

Heeseung’s shoulders dropped. His voice was rough, quieter than the breeze. “That night we hung out — before high school started… the movie, the snacks, that stupid blanket fort. It felt different. Like... more.”

Y/N’s heart ached. “It did.”

He looked at her then, eyes sharp with surprise. “You thought so too?”

“Of course I did,” she said, almost angrily. “And then you ghosted me.”

He looked away again, jaw clenched. “I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought… if I stuck around, I’d ruin it. Or make it worse.”

She stared at him. “So your solution was to vanish?”

“I was fifteen and stupid,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, and then I overheard you—by the lockers.”

Her breath caught. “What did you hear?”

“You told your friend it was a weird night. That it didn’t matter.”

Y/N blinked. “Heeseung, I said it was a weird night because you ghosted me. Because I didn’t understand what I did wrong.”

He froze.

“I was hurt,” she whispered. “You were suddenly cold. Like none of it meant anything to you. I said it was weird because it was. You acted like we never meant anything.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then— “So I messed it up twice.”

Y/N gave a small, broken laugh. “Yeah. I guess we both did.”

They sat in silence again, softer this time. The space between them wasn’t angry anymore — it was filled with something that almost felt like mourning. Mourning the years lost to a misunderstanding.

Heeseung looked down at his hands. “I thought you hated me.”

“I thought you forgot me.”

Their eyes met.

And it finally made sense — the tension, the years of bickering, the careful distance that never let either of them move on.

Y/N exhaled shakily. “It was never hate.”

Heeseung’s lips twitched into a sad, crooked smile. “No. Never.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers. He didn’t move away this time.

For the first time in years, the silence felt okay.

And when they walked back to the cabin that night — still not quite holding hands, still not quite ready to say what was blooming between them — the weight between them felt lighter.

Like something old had finally healed.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

By the time they made it back to the room, the others had all gone quiet. Lights were dimmed. A few whispers and laughter trickled out from the hallway, but their room was still.

Y/N stepped inside first, the weight of their conversation still settling in her chest. Heeseung followed behind her, his movements quieter than usual.

She reached for her bag, voice barely above a murmur. “I’m gonna shower first. That okay?”

He nodded, already turning toward the bed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Her fingers paused on her towel, heart flickering. He still said things like that — softly, without thinking, like it was second nature to put her first.

In the bathroom, the hot water did nothing to settle the way her chest felt twisted. Not quite hurt, not quite healed. But lighter. They’d said the things they’d never dared to say — finally peeled back the years of silence and seen what was still there beneath it.

When she stepped back into the room, towel around her shoulders, she found him lying on the bed — this time on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

He turned his head toward her. “All yours.”

She climbed into her side of the bed — though it felt strange calling it sides now. The line between them had been crossed, erased, and redrawn so many times she didn’t know where it even existed anymore.

They lay in silence for a moment, the fan humming gently in the background.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Thanks. For talking to me earlier.”

Heeseung let out a breath. “I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

She looked over at him. “You’re not the only one who messed up, you know.”

He turned toward her now, propping himself up slightly. “Yeah. But I was the one who ran away.”

She gave him a small smile. “You’re here now.”

And for the first time in days, Heeseung smiled back — soft, hesitant, but real.

“I won’t run again,” he said quietly. “Even if it’s weird. Even if we don’t know what this is.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She nodded, pulling the blanket a little closer. “Okay.”

They lay there, facing each other, inches apart.

Neither of them said anything else.

But this time, when their hands brushed beneath the blanket, neither of them flinched.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Part 3???

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

taglist: @m3wkledreamy @chadiyuu @kittympirty @elairah

[moonamite]

Haha what a silly character I relate to on a normal level :)

I wish we’d have him in season 3 depressed and miserable and aimless. We get to see him struggling. He stood up to his abuser and he feels no sense of victory or peace. If anything, all he wants to do is go to him and apologize, and beg for forgiveness- Even if he’d probably face even worse treatment as punishment for his betrayal, which in his mind, would be deserved.

Johnny was all he’s ever had, companion-wise and motivation-wise. This new freedom is terrifying to him— How do you adapt to freedom when the cage is all you’ve ever known? He’d be confused and in shock, probably withdrawing into isolation until he physically or financially can’t.

Chet seems to be isolated— And knowing Johnny, this may have been intentional, always keeping Chet too busy to maintain any relationships, and keeping him from his old fraternity brothers, leaving him entirely reliant on him.

So now he’d be completely alone, with nobody to tell him where to go or what to do, which, for over two decades, has been the only life he’s ever known. Even when he’s gone, he can still feel Johnnys influence. Pretty much everything he’s ever done has been for or was influenced by Johnny, whether directly or indirectly, and now that’s all gone and there’s a void in his heart and he feels like he’ll die if it’s not filled.

And none of the other characters really interact with Chet, and according to his planner, the only time he meets with other monsters is for work related reasons. Since his schedule revolves around Johnny, I’m lead to believe that the “Lunch with (ROR member)” stuff is meant to mean it’s Johnny meeting up with them, not Chet- hence why he writes “Hopefully next time I’ll get to attend as well.”

The only other monster he interacts with in the show as well as the only one who’d maybe notice and/or care to help him is Tylor— Actually, pause. That could pose as a potentially interesting dynamic that can be explored; Chets’ apprehensiveness towards Tylor caused by how he’d managed to become the center of Johnnys’ attention in such a short time. That, and, well… The uncanny resemblance he holds with Johnny.

Oh, and also he’s definitely on Randall’s revenge list. So that’s fun.