#I spend half my time in a made up world because I don’t feel safe in the real one :D

[i-am-rat-soup]

crusty dusty musty old guy

Can we just admit that van richten is every traumatized queer teen’s dream father figure? He’s got all the cool dad stuff like:

Cares about his family

would punch ppl for his loved ones

probably has a goofy, weird sense of humor

cool coat

you don’t even have to be his actual kid, he’ll adopt anyone who needs a family, that’s just his thing

like half of his adopted kids are lgbtq, so he’s probably really chill (plus built in cool older siblings)

Literal monster hunter, fights vampires to make sure they can’t hurt people he cares about

[magics-neptunes-things]

I'm not jealous (I just want to crash her face)

It took time anon, but here you are! You can find the request here 😋

I hope it was what you had in mind :)

In this world, Alexia knees are perfectly fine and I want to live here.

TW : Jealousy, angst

______________________________________________________________

Despite the difficulties your teammates face because of the Spanish federation, you are still happy to find yourself in training camps. This means that, for once, you find yourself alongside your friends and not facing her, you who has been one of the pillars of Real Madrid for many years. You have done all your formation at Madrid and you feel perfectly well in this team, even if we must be honest and admit that FC Barcelona dominates you head and shoulders.

Even if you are enemies in the field, you get along perfectly well with almost everyone. So you are more than happy to find Mariona, Ona, Cata, Aitana and of course Alexia. For your part, you join the training camp with Olga, Athenea and Misa, with whom you also get along very well. It’s been a while now that social networks are seeing you as a couple with Olga and make a lot of clips and video about booth of you. And your friends tease you a lot with it. Whether it’s your teammates in Madrid or your friends in Barcelona.

In truth, you have never hidden your sexuality and the jokes and innuendo you make about it on social networks are multiple.

There’s finally only one person that this fabricated relationship doesn’t amuse, and that’s your real girlfriend. Who is no one but Alexia Putellas herself.

People are far from suspecting the nature of the feelings you share, it must be admitted that the fact that you live in Madrid and Alexia in Barcelona probably helps a lot. Even most of your teammates aren’t aware, there’s really only Ona and Aitana, who caught you in an intense kissing session against a wall supposed to be hidden from view at the last Classico. You made them swear not tell anyone, and you know your secret is safe with those two. However, this doesn’t prevent them from teasing Alexia on the subject, according to the complaints from the blonde when you call each other at night.

You are a little disappointed to learn that you share your room with Olga, secretly hoping to be with Alexia but the latter ends up with Aitana. Maybe the brunette will agree to let you change, but Olga should be given a valid explanation. Which will have to be pretty good since the latter is the one of those you are closest to in Madrid, even if she does not know the reality of the nature of your relationship with Alexia.

"Don’t make that face, Y/N" laughs Cata as you pout when you get your magnetic cards.

"I’ll never get rid of this one" you joke and give Olga a playful hip kick.

"Oi, a little respect please!"

Your answer and Olga’s make others laugh around you, but you can only see Alexia’s tense face behind the others. This expression is accentuated when Olga takes you by the arm to go and get your room at the end of the corridor. When you turn around while Olga opens the door, you no longer see Alexia.

"I think I’m going to take a nap" says Olga by dropping on her bed after you put your things away.

"You have marmot blood, Olga, I swear"

The player mumble you a vague answer in return but seems already half asleep when her face met her cushion. You take the opportunity to take out your phone and write a message to Alexia.

From You Olga's sleeping, where are you?

From Ale 💌 In my room

From You Can I come?

From Ale 💌 Why? Not enjoying your time with your girlfriend? 🙄

From You Ale please stop I miss you 😒

From Ale 💌 Jenni's here

You answer nothing, a little annoyed by this information. If Alexia can’t stand the presence of Olga at your side, you have a hard time with the idea that Alexia’s ex-girlfriend could spend more time with her than you. You throw your phone on the bedside table, waking Olga on the other bed.

"Don’t be so noisy god" mumbles Olga, before turning around and falling asleep again quickly.

You roll your eyes and sigh as you put your arm behind your head. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, you let your mind fly towards the few escapades that you had with Alexia. You didn’t post anything on social media that would suggest it, but you spent the holidays together before you had to go back to Madrid, Alexia’s family welcoming yours so you could be together.

"What are you thinking? I hear your brain smoking from here"

You take a surprised look at Olga, whom you thought was asleep. But you shrug your shoulders and sigh softly again.

"Nothing. I’ll go explore the hotel I think"

You get up and put on your tap shoes before heading for the door.

"I’m coming with you" Olga yawns as she stretches.

You wait for her to reach you patiently, before going for a walk in the corridors. You end up meeting Ona, Laia, Eva and Lucia who settled in a room with a TV and a game console. They seem to be thrown into an intense Mariokart’s Game, with Eva trying to knock Ona out of her seat to prevent her from finishing first again.

Considering that this is a great way to change your mind, you sit with them, watching them play. When Lucia arrives last for the fourth time in a row, she gives you her controller, swearing. Laia proposes to Olga to play too and you find yourself stuck between Ona and Olga, deciding to separate Eva and Ona to avoid any cheating between the two.

You are joined by several other teammates while waiting for dinner, but no sign of Alexia, Jenni or Aitana. You realize a little too late that you forgot your phone in your room, but you’re a little lazy to go back up and look for it.

At dinner, you manage to sit next to Alexia on a bench, facing Misa and Mariona. If the conversation is light and lively, you feel chills running through you when Alexia’s leg sticks against yours. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen each other and you’re still so addicted to her touch.

"Fancy to see you without Olga" mumbles Alexia, taking advantage of the absence of Misa and Mariona gone to look for a dessert.

"I could tell you the same thing about Jenni" you answer in the same tone, before finishing your glass of water.

You take a look at her, realizing she’s already watching you. She seems thoughtful and reflective, but this doesn’t prevent you from blushing and turning your eyes away under the intensity of her gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that" you sigh softly.

"Like what?"

"Like you’re gonna rip my clothes off in two seconds"

Alexia answers nothing and just smirke at you maliciously. You can’t continue this conversation for very long because your two table companions are already coming back to you.

"Meet me outside my room door at 10:30 p.m."

********

You’re on time in front of Alexia’s room, hidden under the hood of your sweater. You are nervous, the blonde seems to be late and if a member of the staff catches you outside your room at this time, you will take ten laps of the field in addition to everyone the next morning. Besides, it would mean that you couldn’t enjoy the stolen moments with Alexia, which you’re desperately waiting for.

Fortunately, the door eventually opens a few minutes later and Alexia grabs your hand to take you to another room.

"How did you get the card from another room?" you whisper watching her open it.

But Alexia just smiles and winks at you before she lets you into the room. She closes the door gently behind her before turning to you.

"Finally" you whisper against her lips when she kisses you.

You feel her smile against your lips, her muscular arms passed around your waist. After a few kisses, you put your arms around her neck to bury your face in her hair, closing your eyes, seeking to make the most of the feeling of comfort she gives you.

"Come lie down" whispers Alexia after a few minutes in this position, taking your hand back to take you to the bed.

You let yourself fall on the mattress you bounce on, laughing when Alexia decides to jump on you instead of lying next to you. Passing a leg around her thighs, you roll yourself to find yourself above her.

"Hello you" you smile maliciously, your face only a few centimeters from hers.

You lean to kiss her, but it was not knowing Alexia well to imagine that she would not try to regain the advantage. After having addressed you a mischievous smile, she makes you turn again so that you find yourself under her, your hands imprisoned in hers at the height of your face.

"Better this way"

You don’t have time to answer before her lips are on yours again and honestly, you don’t care who won or not your little game. You take advantage of this moment to exchange many kisses and discuss a little, everything and nothing. Lying face to face, you play with her fingers while admiring her, listening to her tell you the latest love adventures of her little sister.

When you find yourself lying on her, your ear on her heart, you have to struggle not to fall asleep. His heart rate lulls you and you feel your eyelids become particularly heavy.

"Don’t fall asleep mi Amor" Alexia whispers. "We have to go back to our rooms"

You moan as you hear her, burying your face against her. You have absolutely no desire to leave the comfort and warmth of her arms.

"We can stay here"

Alexia has a small sigh and you know very well that it is not possible. But what would you give to be able to sleep with her tonight. It is therefore with regret that you take off from her, not being able to mask the displeasure that it gives you.

"Don’t make that face" Alexia says, imprisoning your chin between her thumb and index finger.

"Sorry" you mumble without looking at her.

Alexia doesn’t let go until your eyes are in hers, which takes a few seconds. It gently kisses each of your cheeks, nose and lips before resuming speech.

"We’ll try to find a longer time just the two of us. Okay? I miss you too"

"Yeah"

You shiver when she lays kisses along your jaw but your breath cuts when you feel her imprisoning your skin between her lips and biting her. It’s easy for Alexia to make you lose track of things and when you realize she’s leaving a mark on your skin, it’s too late.

********

Of course your teammates notice your hickey. It didn’t last five minutes after you separated from your hoodie so that Misa and Sandra saw it, both teasing you so much that soon the whole team knows. If Alexia initially seems to find this very amusing, you see her face tense when Eva teases you again.

"We’re going to have to ask you and Olga not to be in the same room if you can’t behave yourself"

Olga, who was drinking, almost chokes with her water and it’s finally Aitana who flies to your rescue.

"Leave them alone for two seconds. You’re worse than the fans you’re complaining about."

After that, you find yourself being trained by Aitana’s arm as a training partner and you are grateful to her. On the other hand, you do not miss the inquisitive look of Olga or the withdrawn air of Alexia.

"You’re in a lot of trouble" said AItana, starting the stretching exercises.

"Don’t tell me about" you mumble

At the end of the training, as you wisely return to the changing rooms to wash a minimum before lunch, you feel that you are grabbed by the arm to train in a corner of the corridor. You were hoping to see Alexia, but you find yourself in front of Olga.

"I haven’t said anything so far Y/N, because you’re my friend and I’m trying to protect you. But I think I deserve to know who did this to you"

She puts a finger on your hickey, making you shiver with pain.

"Ouch" you grimace by pushing her hand sharply, frowning.

"Everyone thinks it’s me, but you and I know very much that it’s not me. Who is it?"

You hesitate for a split second, the guilt of what you are doing to your best friend crushing you during this time.

"I’m sorry" you sigh softly as you put a hand on her arm. "I didn’t think it would turn against you like that."

"I don’t care, I can do it for you. But I just want to know who I need to protect."

"What are you doing?"

You suddenly jump when you hear the voice of Jenni Hermoso ringing behind you, retreating a few steps away mechanically. If the brunette has an amused look at you, Alexia’s green eyes throw flames.

"Nothing" you sigh softly as you roll your eyes.

Jenni being unable to hold her tongue, most of the entire team is quickly aware that her and Alexia have supposedly surprised you two on the verge of kissing in a hallway of the stadium. At the end of the afternoon, your nerves are so tense that you want to hit your head on the ground.

"I’m not with Olga!" you end up yelling at Misa and Jenni, losing your last nerves. "Leave me alone now, that’s enough."

You cross the football field with big strides, joining Ona who welcomes you with a sorry smile. You have two advantages to being with her, to begin with she is aware of the truth of your relationship and then you know that she will not ask you any questions.

"Alexia looks tense" sighs softly Ona when you are divided into four teams for a games tournament.

Your eyes are mechanically focused on your girlfriend who seems to have avoided you all afternoon and you see that each of her muscles looks tense. Maybe because she’s on the same team as Olga. Your bestfriend seems surprised by the cold and distant behavior of your captain, even if you quickly understand why.

But Alexia finds herself talking to her badly, even refusing to pass her while she finds herself several times well placed to score. It’s as subtle as your hickey and you soon notice the surprised and questioning looks your teammates exchange.

"She will make us discover" you sigh to Ona who, like you, noticed Alexia’s behavior.

"Would that be disturbing?" asks you Ona with curiosity.

"No" you finally answer after a few seconds of hesitation.

It’s not you who wants to keep your relationship private, but Alexia. Her reasons are however perfectly understandable and if things were reversed you would probably do the same. If Alexia wants your relationship to be hidden, it’s to protect you and prevent you from getting threatening messages, messages that aren’t necessarily nice either. You appreciate being recognized for your football and not the person you love. That’s what you discreetly explain to Ona, before being interrupted by your trainers.

"Ona, Y/N, stop two seconds your flirting and please focus"

"I’m going to lose my nerve" you mumble to Ona who squeeze your Arm in a comforting gesture.

You’re particularly bad at this practice, missing goals that your grandmother would have managed to put in the back. At the end of the training, you and Alexia are caught apart by your trainers. You to refocus on the real reasons you’re here if you want to play in the next game and Alexia to behave better with Olga. Eyes down and cheeks red, you mumble excuses before heading straight to your hotel room.

"At least now, I know who it is" Olga points out when she finds you in your room.

You groan in your beard, taking your phone in your hand when you hear it vibrate on the bedside table.

Ale 💌 I can’t do this anymore…

You Do what? Us?!

Ale 💌 No! God, not us mi Amor, obviously I just can't stand people thinking you're in love with Olga It makes me sick

You Well I think she saw it today, you've been pretty mean to her 👀 And you know what I think about it, Ale. I know you meant to protect me but I am strong enough to deal with the eventual shit the fans will say about me. And you'll be there for me, no?

Ale 💌 Of course I will. Can I come to your room to talk? I hate texting

You Olga's here actually

Ale Well at least I can excuse myself for my behavior? 😅

********

Alexia actually joined you in your room, flatly apologizing to Olga who naturally accepted. She took the opportunity to ask you a few questions before leaving the room so that you can discuss your relationship in privacy. You and Alexia decided to finally stop hiding, but at the end of the camp. Your hidden couple has already caused enough incidents like this.

A few days later, you play your match against Sweden. An important match, requiring a victory on your part if you want to guaranteed qualification. You are part of the starting eleven, like is Alexia. Just like Olga, Aitana and Ona. You are as often a little nervous before the start of the game, not being able to stop yourself from jumping on the spot before enteront to the field. Irene wearing the captain’s armband for today, Alexia is standing behind you and you feel her hand resting on your shoulder.

You don’t have to exchange words when your eyes meet, you smile at her and she smiles back at you. And that’s enough. Obviously, the exchange isn’t missed by some of your teammates, but finally you don’t care. The fact that Alexia no longer wants you to hide makes you much happier than you imagined.

The match is tense, neither of the two teams managing to find the way to the nets despite your many attempts. A few yellow cards were handed out during the game to try to keep a clear mind. Sweden was on the verge of scoring several times, but fortunately Cata made some great saves. Just like Zecira Musovic in front of you.

"Come on, we’ll end up scoring!" repeats Alexia, continuing to encourage her team.

It’s in fact the team of Sweden which has the next opportunity, Lina Hurtig running towards the goal of Cata after a fault not whistled on Ona. You find yourself on the other side of the field but makes your speed speak to try to catch her. You gain ground quickly, Hurtig being at the end of the race. She manages to strike, but you throw yourself in front of the ball so that it doesn’t take the direction of the goal. You feel the ball bouncing off your back to the other side. What you hadn’t thought of was that the Swedish player’s cleats came into contact with your face.

The pain is immediate and your hands on your face when you fall on the floor.

"Y/N!"

Among all the exclamations, you only hear Alexia’s voice far away from you. However, it’s Cata who is first towards you, turning you on your back and trying to remove your hands from your face.

"Call the doctors!" scream Olga as she sees the blood blushing your fingers.

Her voice tells you that she is so close to you and you hear Hurtig apologizing at full speed in English, certifying that it was absolutely not wanted. You know that, of course.

The experienced hands of a nurse take hold of your hands so that they can see your face and the lights of the stadium partially blind you. You see Olga’s blurry face and Cata’s just behind, but they’re not the ones you want to see.

"Alexia?"

"I’m right here Bebita"

You feel her kneel next to you after a second of hesitation and take your hand.

"How’s Ona?" You ask when you remember the brunette on the floor, looking for a topic of discussion so as not to think about what the doctors are doing to you.

"I’m fine"

You turn your eyes towards the voice, smiling softly as you see that she actually seems to be fine. You then shift your attention to Alexia’s worried face and you don’t take your eyes off her, except when asked to follow the flashlight light.

"It seems to be fine. However, you must protect your face if you don’t want to have stitches"

You pout but don’t flinch. Alexia helps you stand up and insists on accompanying you to the touchline, her arm tightly tightened around your waist. You lock your eyes in hers when she gently puts her hand on your cheek before smiling. Two seconds later, she returns to the field to resume the game and you find yourself facing a smiling nurse.

"Come on, Casanova, close your eyes."

You end up winning the game thanks to a goal from Jenni in the last minutes. At the end of the Game, you find yourself in front of Hurtig who apologizes again and again, re-explaining that she never tried to hurt you.

"I know" you smile as you squeeze her shoulder with your hand in a comforting gesture. "But really, it’s okay. I won’t even have stitches apparently"

You don’t see Alexia approaching you, but that doesn’t prevent her from sliding an arm around your waist again without interrupting your discussion. You willingly let yourself go against her, gently pressing your head on her shoulder for a few moments. You don’t miss Lina’s surprised look, but she apologizes to join her teammates when Ona and Olga join you.

"Jenni is not going to be able to stop teasing you, you know that, right?" Olga laughs. "Everyone understood now"

Alexia smiles and shrugs. When you look up at her, she smiles at you. And you tell yourself that if Alexia keeps smiling at you like that to the rest of your life, you’re ready to bear all the teasing in the world.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Spaghetti Squash (The Surprise, Part 12)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, literally so much fluff, just fluff on fluff on fluff, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Emily starts to feel disconnected from the experience, sad that she can't feel what you're feeling. She tries to control what she can, but you help her see that letting go isn't the worst thing in the world.

Week 22: The Spaghetti Squash

“What about that one, Em? It’s pretty.”

You pointed to Emily’s laptop screen, at a nice, oval crib, made of natural wood. Very modern looking. 

“Honey, I don’t care if it’s pretty. I care that it’s safe.”

“Well, I care if it's pretty. Click on it and see!” you badgered her, yawning.

You leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder, trying hard to keep your eyes open. You’d been scrolling through baby site after baby site for nearly two hours now, checking things off Emily’s ridiculously extensive shopping list. Normally, you’d be interested. The problem was that Emily had to do a solid half hour of research into each and every item.

“Bossy…” Emily mumbled, lifting up her arm so you could snuggle into her chest. She scrolled through the page, looking at all of the crib’s features.

“Look!” You pointed at the screen. “It converts to a toddler bed and a kid bed. So it can grow up with her.”

“And it’s GreenGuard Gold Certified!”

“Wow.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Adorable.”

“Hey,” she protested, pinching the skin under your arm. You squirmed and giggled. “I’m keeping him safe. You can keep him cute.”

You yawned again, shutting your eyes for a moment and sinking into her.

“Y/N,” Emily cooed, cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb against it. “Stay awake, baby. You promised we’d get through five things tonight.”

You groaned, noncommittal.

“Y/N,” she prompted again, this time patting your face lightly.

“I didn’t know it was gonna take literal hours…” you grumbled.

“Here,” she said, lifting you up a bit and kissing your cheek. “You can pick what we look for next. Something fun.”

You squinted at her.

Her eyes were huge, and she had that hopeful, pleading half-smile that she knew would get you to do anything. As a final blow, she bit the corner of her lip. Fuck. She was just too irresistible, it wasn’t fair.

“Ugh. Fine.” You stretched and sat up as Emily placed the laptop in your hands.

“What do you want to look for?” she asked, looping her arm around yours and rubbing her thumb against your bare skin. She placed a quick kiss on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck.

“Crib sheets?” you suggested, perking up. “I found a brand I really like.”

“Are they–”

“Green, gold, whatever-the-fuck certified?”

She blushed a bit. “Yes,” she said softly.

At this rate, you'd spend another hour and a half with Emily deep-diving on crib sheets.

“Emily,” you sighed, turning to look at her. “You are the love of my life and the mother of my child and I love you more than breathing. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta cool it a little bit.”

Her eyes turned a little sad, a little embarrassed.

You continued, a bit softer now. “I know it’s just because you love her and you want to keep her safe. And I know it’s hard for you right now because I’m the one who’s carrying and I can feel her moving and this is the only thing you can control. But, baby, I promise you that a couple of 100% organic cotton crib sheets that might not have that super special certification aren’t gonna kill her.”

Emily was quiet. You turned to hold her face in your hands, tracing her angles, all her lines–you knew them better than you knew your own body. She smiled a little as you brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

“Maybe you should be a profiler,” she chuckled, leaning into you and looking at the website you’d pulled up. “Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” you said, drawing her to your chest and tucking her head under your chin. “That was a little harsh.”

“No, you’re right.” Emily exhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright, let’s see these sheets.”

Your stomach did a little flip, excited to share one of your finds with Emily. So far, she’d picked most of the things, and you’d let her, knowing that the lack of control was hard for her.

“Okay.” You scrolled and clicked on a crib sheet, crisp white and covered with tiny dinosaurs. “I mean, look! It’s got little brontosauruses!”

In a rare show of letting go, Emily squeezed your arm and said, “Add it to the cart.”

“Really!?” you squealed.

“Yeah, of course, honey. It's cute.”

You kept scrolling, but Emily stopped your wrist. “Oh, baby, look at that one! It’s got bananas!”

“Adding it,” you decided with a dramatic click.

After a few more minutes of looking through crib sheets, you’d placed your order and shut the laptop for the evening, proud to have made it through all five of Emily’s predetermined list items. You knew you both needed to go to bed, but you were just so comfy sprawled on the couch. Emily’s head rested on your baby bump, and you carded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so controlling about the shopping,” she whispered out of the blue.

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, softly massaging her head.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t letting you pick anything.”

“Em, I promise it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer, instead running her hands along the side of your belly, as if feeling for something, anything.

“Has he been moving tonight?” she asked, her voice almost sad.

“Mmhm.” You hated to see her sad. You wished so desperately that she could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want her to feel left out of the pregnancy. You didn’t want her to feel any less the baby’s mom than you were.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You thought for a moment. “Mm… kind of like butterflies. Or, like, when you’re nervous and your stomach does a flip.”

She was quiet again, and you pulled her face up to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, Em. You’re her mom, too.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know, I think the baby can feel you.”

“What?” She lifted her head a bit, looking at you quizzically.

“Maybe you can’t feel her yet, but I bet she can feel you. She can hear you, and I read today that babies feel their mom’s emotions.”

Emily looked up at you, her eyes shining a bit.

“I always feel happy and safe and loved when you’re with me. And that’s what she feels, too. She can hear you and she feels those things when you’re around because I feel them. So she knows you’re here. She can feel you.”

Emily blinked back a few tears and pressed her face to your stomach, planting a few kisses on your baby bump.

“I love you,” she whispered to your stomach, and you thought you might cry, too.

“Can you hear me, little one? I love you. Maman loves you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry, trying (and mostly failing) not to let your overwhelming love for this woman turn you into an absolute puddle. For neither the first time nor the last, you were utterly flabbergasted that this was your life. That there was a baby inside you, growing strong and healthy. That the baby would have two moms, something you’d never thought possible when you were growing up, imagining your future. And, best of all, that you had Emily. Sweet, strong, beautiful Emily. Who loved you so well. Who made you so happy you sometimes thought you'd explode with it. How did you get so lucky? How was it that, despite it all, despite all the tragedies, big and small, along the way, you’d somehow stumbled into a life so good that it was, quite literally, beyond your wildest dreams?

“I love you, Em,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself or stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

She looked up at you, and you could tell she was happy, truly happy. And if you could do nothing else in your entire life except make this woman happy, you’d die satisfied.

She sat up a bit, pulling on the collar of your shirt to draw you into a kiss. A soft kiss, one that you melted into, one that reminded you of your very first. All butterflies and excitement for what was to come.

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “So much.”

[chaussetteblanche]

Could you write a boyfriend!Kit Connor headcannon? Like what it's like to date kit? I just thought that would be rlly cute (^·^)

thanks so much for requesting !! kinda went off, don’t know how long this is :)

boyfriend!Kit headcannon

- right so i just think that kit would be so boyfriend

- like big sweaters

- gives amazing hugs, where you enter a soft, warm and safe world of clean cotton and sweet kisses

- would hug you so tight every time, wouldn’t ever want to let go

- definitely makes stupid jokes like

- “babe what’s this sweater made of ?”

- “i dunno, cotton ?”

- “no, it’s made of boyfriend material, babe,”

- you’d always laugh, of course

- and he’s just to caring and attentive

- had a bad day ? he’s at your door with take out, ready to spend the evening cuddling and listening to you rant

- period-related cramps ? man is RUNNING, i’m talking Usain Bolt shit, to the pharmacy and buying half the stock of pain killers, pads, tampons before getting you anything you crave

- sick ? he’s got a day off work before you know it, will not let you get out of bed, will spoon-feed you chicken broth and won’t leave your side

- he’s not afraid of you getting him sick, he’s almost never sick

- immune system is UP

- he’ll definitely get you to help him rehearse his lines for any upcoming movies or shows

- loves watching you change voices and facial expressions when you help him

- if you two live together, he’s not taking ANY of the gender roles shit

- man is cleaning up after himself and after you, everything is fair in your household

- he respects your boundaries, your work or your studies

- loves cooking with you but when you don’t, you take turns cooking and cleaning

- ain’t no way IN HELL he’s leaving you to do all the housework

- plus he thinks he looks damn good in that pink apron you have lying around in your closet

- if you’re not living together, he’s still helping out as much as he can

- he’s definitely a little scared of bugs but if you are too, he’ll take it upon himself to get them out of the house

- will NEVER kill a bug

- like sure they’re ugly and you don’t want them inside but that’s not a reason to kill then

- “you can’t just go about offing people just ‘cause they’re ugly can you ? same with bugs, innit ?”

- if you’re not scared of bugs, he’s happily hopping on a chair and waiting for you to get it out

- there have been multiple times where you both spotted a very big spider and just collectively agreed to leave the apartment and come back a few hours later, hoping it would be out of sight

- loves sleeping besides you

- will hog the covers

- like will roll up in them like a burrito

- you have to put blood, sweat and tears into every single inch of duvet you get after he’s rolled up, it’s a real struggle because my man is ASLEEP

- def snores a bit

- not like a loud, grizzly bear snore

- but more like a slightly heavy breathing

- but you don’t mind, it lulls you to sleep

- he fckin loooves the rain and the wind and the snow

- just lives for winter

- as much as he loves the summer (cause you’ll wear less clothes) his favourite is definitely the winter

- you’ll spend most of your time together laughing

- like he’s so funny and unhinged sometimes

- loooves to tease you

- about anything really

- expect anything that he notices you get insecure or vexed about, he’s really sensitive as to not hurt you in any way

- but if you mispronounce a word once, it’s coming up in every single conversation for days

- if he’s taller than you he’ll tease you about your height and will purposefully stand close to you to make you feel smaller

- if he’s smaller than you, he’ll definitely use you as something to lean on

- loves touching you all the time

- a hand on the thigh is usually his go to

- but when you’re walking maybe he’ll have his hand in your back pocket or around your shoulders

- loves kissing you, everywhere

- lips and forehead are his go to, but your temples and your nose he also likes to kiss

- he’s not too big on PDA, but will make sure people know you’re together by, as stated above, touching you in some way

- gives the most intoxicating kisses

- like you need a second to gather yourself after most of his kisses

- neck kisses omggg

- you know that scene in heartstopper when he’s “recharging” on charlie

- def does that every time he sees you + neck kisses

- doesn’t really get jealous because he trusts you more than anyone but will definitely get annoyed if someone isn’t taking the hint

- let’s say someone’s hitting on you at the bar, and you’re been very that you aren’t interested but they’re still insisting, he will come up to you, wrap his arms around you and give you the loudest, sloppiest and dirtiest kiss ever right in front of that person

- will then strike up a conversation, completely ignoring the other person, and will wait for them to leave

- is so invested in your life like everything you do is so interesting to him

- you learnt something in school ? tell him about it. you saw someone you hadn’t seen in a while ? tell him about it. started a new show or a new book ? tell him about it.

- man wants to know EVERYTHING there is to know about you

- he definitely remembers every single you thing you tell him in detail

- you’ll tell him about your favourite kind of salad one day and literal months later, he’ll come back with groceries and will have bought that specific kind of salad

- “i didn’t know you liked this kind of salad,”

- “never had it before, but it’s your favourite, so i bought it,”

- GAH melting

- also communication KING

- like we see in heartstopper, he says all the important shit and i feel like he’d be the same in real life

- you’ve been acting distant ? he’s gently asking you about it, has he done something ? he notices you’ve been stressed, are there any reasons ? he notices you’re not eating much ? is anything troubling you ? frowning at yourself in the mirror ? he’s making sure your alright and feeling beautiful

- overall i just think he’d be so sweet and attentive

- just the best boyfriend ever

- so kit if you read this and wanna correct me on anything, i’d gladly spend a few weeks (months, years, lifetimes) as your girlfriend to write a more realistic version

- i’m serious

- call me

- please

[unformula1]

Lando proposing to you with “bless the broken roads”

bless the broken roads (LN4 x gn!Reader)

lando and you don’t think you’ll find someone. liar. w/c: 1237 masterlist(read more) a/n: I tried my best lol. I'm sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. Please correct me if you wanted something else!! TW: one use of y/n

There was a running joke between Lando’s friends. “Lando will never find true love.” 

After years of being single or chasing someone to no avail, Lando’s almost beginning to accept his curse. However, as much as he joked about it, he really wanted someone. He needed someone.

It was a death cycle. Lando would find someone, they’d lead him on, then down bad Lando would take over, then he’d take his chance and fail. Then after all that work, he would be pushed back onto his broken road.

He was beginning to accept that he was really never going to find someone.

But he never gave up. He kept searching.

------

You don’t know how long it was since you felt someone loved you romantically. You missed that feeling. Spending forever just finding someone who would love you back and then getting absolutely no fruit was tiring, it was exhausting.

You know when you finally find someone, you’d give them the world and shower them with all the love you had in you. You constantly tell yourself how there’s one grand plan for you to find the one person you’ve been longing for and all you have to do is wait.

Waiting for years isn’t easy. 

You’re losing hope, walking along a broken road.

------

Lando and you met some time ago, but you two hit it off almost instantly. Both of you were made for each other, the chemistry was through the roof.

Lando never failed to make you laugh. Even on your darkest days Lando was like a beacon of light, a bundle of sunshine. He smiled a lot, which you admired whenever you could.

You never failed to make Lando feel appreciated, which Lando would never admit no matter what, but deep down you knew Lando loved that. You made time for Lando, and you stayed with him come hell or high water.

Life wasn’t easy for you. There were countless nights where you cried in his arms, you cried your eyes out with him, and you felt safe. You felt safe with Lando. There were sleepless nights where everything just got too much and right next to you was Lando, holding your hand, and that was all you needed. You felt safe with Lando. 

Life wasn’t easy for Lando either. Sometimes his busy life got a little too hectic and chaotic, he’d come find you. Lando felt protected by you, although he’d never say. Sometimes people got too far and everything felt like a crumbling mess, he’d come find you. Lando felt protected. He wanted to be next to you, whenever, wherever you were.

Then one day, everything fell together, sort of. Lando asked you to be his “other half”. Long story short, you said yes and kissed him in the sunset.

------

It had become a common occurrence for you and Lando to lie down on empty grass fields or the rooftops and look up into the skies, to talk about your lives.

You open the door to the rooftop. Lando doesn’t usually do these a night before the race. A cold blast of wind blows against you as you walk out. Lando is just standing there, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, as he looks out into the city.

You walk over to Lando and slide your hand around his waist and he giggles as you do so.

“I like the sky tonight.” You say and Lando hums an approving ‘hm’.

“I like it too. Starry night.” Lando replies, shifting on the spot slightly.

“You know in the wilderness, people would use stars to guide them.” You say, pointing at some random stars.

Lando hums.

“Especially the North Star, because it lies above Earth’s North. So they used it to guide them.” You smile while saying it.

“Everyone else before you was like a North Star.” Lando speaks.

You turn to Lando, cocking up an eyebrow.

“They guided me to find you.” Lando clears his throat, smiling widely as he looks up into the sky while speaking.

“You’re adorable.” You reply which earns you an honest chuckle from Lando.

You shift closer to Lando and he does so too. Both of you stand next to each other, bodies touching. His warm hands slide out of his pockets and around your shoulder, it makes you feel comfortable despite the cold winds blowing against you.

“I used to dream of days like these.” Lando admits, his voice is soft and just for you to hear, “Never thought they’d come true.”

“I did too.” You chuckle.

“I thought they were lost dreams.” Lando continues, “But yet here you are.”

“Yea…” You take a deep breath, “Here we are… you’re the love of my life.”

Lando shifts even closer to you, pulling you into his embrace. The hug is tight and it lasts for a while, you hear Lando’s soft sobbing which he usually doesn’t do publicly.

“Are you okay?” You ask, voice laced with concern.

Lando takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, “There have been many people I’ve tried to love before you.”

You nod.

“None of them have been as good as you. I never thought I’d meet someone who understood me, but you came.” Lando takes another deep breath, “I honestly never thought there’d be someone for me…”

“Neither did I, honestly.” You chuckle as you place your hands on Lando’s shoulder.

“When I asked you to be the love of my life, I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Lando shuffles his feet and sniffles a little, “But you did and I could not be more grateful.”

You smile at Lando and he smiles a little too.

“My entire life has been like a broken road, filled with pitfalls and traps, loss and despair. All my life I’ve wanted to just be for someone, and now I have.” Lando takes a step back.

“y/n…” 

“Lando…” 

He reaches into his pocket before getting down on one knee. The backdrop of car honking and people chattering suddenly fades into silence and the stars shine brighter than ever. All the lights shine at him and you two are in the spotlight.

“I never want to live without you again. Will you marry me?”

The world around you freezes, all you see is Lando, on one knee, holding a ring in his hand, his eyes filled with tears. 

“Yes.” You say softly.

“YES!” You repeat but louder, and admittedly, more cheerfully.

He slides the ring onto your ring finger and gets up. You take no time to rush into him, your arms swinging around him and pulling him in. 

“I’ll make you the happiest person ever, I promise, all those years of finding love, I’ll give it to you and only you.” Lando says as he lifts you off the ground, planting a kiss on your lips.

It feels like forever on the rooftop before both of you walk back down to Lando’s room, holding each other’s hands.

It was nothing special, just both of you on a silent rooftop. To you, it was everything. Every single attempt to find someone who would love you back, every lost road that both of you set on, every heartbreak you two went through, all culminating in that few seconds.

You loved Lando. Lando loved you.

Both of your broken roads, leading right into each other’s.

Bless the broken roads that let both of you to each other’s arms.

[totaly-obsessed]

Book Love

Alessia Russo x reader UNC

-> Alessia loves how different the two of you are, despite everyone's teasing

-> Special thanks to @babsisbakery for helping out with ideas

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Alessia Russo was hopelessly in love with her girlfriend. And it was no secret. But the blonde's popularity didn’t save her from the teasing she received on the daily.

She constantly heard ‘Why would you date someone like that?’

‘You could have anybody.’

A couple of times she was even asked if she dated you because of a bet or because she just wanted to use you. That was the first time that you saw the harsh captain that she could be – making her teammates run until they felt like vomiting blood.

Not all the teasing was bad though – a lot of it actually quite funny. At least to you. Lessi would still get mad, but when she saw you laughing, her problem vanished into thin air.

Whenever you would show up at their practice sessions, the blonde did not get a break. She was too busy staring at you to notice the girls throwing bibs at her. You did not notice it either, too deep into your book – not really being interested in the sport and just showing up for your girlfriend.

Lotte, the blonde’s best friend, loved that she was dating you. You felt like a safe place to her. A cozy blanket that could shut out the rest of the world. You always had an ear open for the half-brit so that she could rant about her latest book without having to explain why some things just annoyed her about it.

While she loved the two of you, Lotte could not stand hanging out with both of you at the same time. When Alessia was around you, you could hardly stand up without the footballer following you like a lost puppy. And the blonde would not stop looking at you until you left the room – so she just ignored her fellow lioness until you were gone.

Alessia’s favorite part of the week? The evening after a match. No matter if they won or lost, she would spend the evening the exact same way. You would join her in her room, curled up in her bed. The blonde's head heavy in your lap as you stroked her hair with one hand, the other holding the book that she picked.

She loved you, your touch, and your voice – so having you read to her after an exhausting game?

Jackpot.

Most of the time you made it two chapters deep before the striker fell asleep in your lap, and you did not dare to continue reading.

One time you had read just a couple of pages more until you realized that she had fallen asleep – but it was already too late. When you took out the book the next time, there was a pout on the blonde’s lip, as she immediately rolled off your lap.

“What is wrong Less? It’s our book!”

A deep sigh left her body, still ignoring you. “Baby, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

She did not forgive you.

She really did not.

At least until your hand had found its way into her hair. With a deep hum, her body relaxed into you. “What’s up, huh?”

“You read without me!” You could not really take the ‘anger’ in her voice seriously. Not when she was purring like a kitten, whining when your hand stilled for a second too long.

“Oh! I am sorry my girl. Promise I did not mean to.” But the blonde did not let up, still having her back turned to you. So you took to your last resort – back scratches and praises.

While she voiced her complaints that your hands left her head, she shut up really quick when she felt them creeping up her shirt You lightly scratched her back, whispering sweet nothings into your girlfriend’s ear, as she was on her way to dreamland.

You knew that the blonde had never really been mad at you for reading ahead, but it seemed that she just needed a little extra touch this evening.

Alessia was always open about her feelings, but she never wanted to cross boundaries when it came to physical touch – always letting you decide how much the two of you touched. If it was up to her there would not fit a single piece of paper between you.

While you wished that her teammates could see Alessia this way, so much softer than they were used to, you were glad that you could keep this side of hers to yourself. She was fiercely loyal and would shut anybody up who would make remarks about the differences between the two of you.

She wished it could stay like this forever. Being able to carry your books through the hallway. Seeing you on the bench for her. Laying in bed with you reading to her, falling asleep to your soothing voice.

But she knew that both of you had to grow up – even if she did not want to.

She wished for a love like the ones from your many books. A love so deep, it would need much more than different countries to break you apart.

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling - Chapter 1, part 1

Summary: A reserved woman, craving something different, enters a bar and meets Hank, a confident bartender. As their connection deepens, she steps out of her usual quiet self, embracing a night that changes everything.

Note: This is the first writing I’ve ever posted, but after seeing the set pictures yesterday I had to get something down.

The truth is, I don’t really know what possessed me to walk into Paul’s tonight. I’m not the kind of person who normally does things like this—spontaneous, bold, risky. That’s never been me. Or at least, it hasn’t been me in a long time.

There was a time when I was more comfortable in my own skin, when my shyness didn’t feel like a weight. It used to be a part of me, something I accepted, something I lived with rather than fought against. I could be quiet and still feel confident, blending into the background but never doubting my worth. But somewhere along the way, that shifted. The quiet I once enjoyed now feels stifling. I’m constantly second-guessing myself, overthinking every little action, every word I say, as if there’s some invisible audience keeping score.

The world feels too loud, too fast, and I feel too small in it.

Lately, the silence of my own company has become less of a comfort and more of a reminder. A reminder that I’m stuck. That life is moving forward, and I’m standing still, watching everyone else go on without me. I can’t even remember the last time I did something that made me feel...alive. Not just existing from one day to the next but really feeling like I’m part of something—part of the world instead of just a spectator.

Tonight, it feels like I’ve reached some invisible limit. I can’t take another evening of staring at the same four walls, of flicking through channels without really watching, of pretending I’m okay with the monotony. Work drained me, as it always does, leaving me too exhausted to think but somehow too restless to sleep. My mind feels like it’s stuck in a loop, clogged with the same old worries that circle endlessly, without resolution. They’re small things—most of them, at least—but they pile up, weighing me down until I can barely breathe under their collective pressure.

Normally, I’d push through it, fall back into my routine because that’s what I do. I know the safe route; I’ve perfected it over time. But tonight, the routine felt unbearable. The thought of going home, of slipping back into the same old patterns—it made my chest tighten with the kind of dread I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t that I had a plan, not really. I just knew I couldn’t face another night of nothingness.

So instead of walking home like I always do, I took a different path, literally. One foot in front of the other, the sidewalk unfamiliar beneath me as I moved further away from everything that felt safe and known. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. But the farther I walked, the more it felt like I was being pulled—by something I couldn’t name, some need inside me that I’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

And that’s how I ended up here, standing in front of Paul’s, the bar I’ve passed countless times but never once considered entering. It’s not my kind of place. Never has been. It’s gritty, loud, with an edge that feels too rough for someone like me. The kind of bar where everyone seems to know each other, where conversations are shared over sticky countertops and half-drunk glasses of whiskey. The regulars here probably have stories they’ve told a hundred times, stories about the kind of life I don’t live—the kind of life I always thought I didn’t want.

But maybe tonight, I don’t want to be the kind of person who always plays it safe, who blends into the background without ever leaving a mark. Maybe tonight, I need to be someone else. Someone who isn’t so afraid to take up space. Someone who doesn’t spend hours dissecting every interaction, every conversation, until the memory of it feels more like a mistake than a moment.

I step inside, and immediately, the atmosphere hits me like a wave. The smell of cigarette smoke clings to the air, mixing with the sharp scent of alcohol and something else I can’t quite place. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place where shadows linger in the corners, and the faces blur together unless you’re really looking. There’s a hum of conversation, the low murmur of voices blending with the occasional burst of laughter, creating a background noise that fills the space without overpowering it.

I don’t know why, but the second I cross the threshold, I feel the weight of the room shift. Not in any obvious way. It’s not like anyone stops what they’re doing to look at me—most people are too engrossed in their own lives, their own stories. But I feel it. I feel different, like I’ve stepped out of my usual world and into something unfamiliar, something that makes my nerves buzz just beneath the surface of my skin.

For a brief moment, I want to turn around, to leave before anyone even notices I’m here. That familiar urge to retreat, to go back to what I know, bubbles up inside me, threatening to overwhelm the tentative boldness that brought me here in the first place. But I don’t leave. I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and then force myself to stay. To move further into the bar, even though every part of me is screaming to turn back.

I make my way toward the bar, my steps feeling both too loud and too quiet at the same time. My eyes flick around, taking in the crowd, but not really seeing anyone. I feel exposed, out of place, but at the same time, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that no one is really paying attention to me. I can be invisible here if I want to be—and that’s fine. I’m not here to be noticed. I don’t need anyone to see me.

I just need a break—from my own head, from the endless loop of thoughts and worries that seem to follow me wherever I go. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find here, or if I’m even looking for anything at all. All I know is that tonight, I couldn’t go home. I needed to be somewhere different, somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that wasn’t the same quiet, predictable space where my thoughts would close in on me again.

That’s when I see him.

He was positioned behind the bar, leaning casually against the counter with an ease that suggested he was in his element, practically part of the furniture. His blonde hair, tousled and slightly unkempt, peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, pulled down just enough to give him a hint of mystery, shadowing his piercing blue eyes. Those eyes caught mine with an intensity that felt almost tangible, sharp and probing, as if he could peel back the layers of anyone who happened to fall under his gaze.

For a brief moment, the thought of diverting my eyes flitted through my mind, a reflex to escape the unexpected vulnerability I felt under his scrutiny. But I didn’t look away. Instead, our eyes locked, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face—a smile that seemed to see right through to the nerves I was trying so hard to mask. He held my gaze for a beat too long, creating a moment charged with an unspoken challenge before he turned his attention back to the drinks he was pouring.

A stir of something unfamiliar fluttered inside me—a cocktail of nerves, curiosity, and an exhilarating sense of daring. This wasn't typically me; I was not one to flirt openly, especially with bartenders, nor to sit alone boldly in such a buzzing place. But tonight was different. Tonight, I felt drawn to the unknown, compelled to explore whatever this could lead to.

As I approached the bar, each step seemed amplified, my awareness heightened as if every movement was a statement of intent. I slid onto a stool, feeling the coolness of the leather through my jeans, and my presence seemed to draw his attention once more. The bottles behind him caught the soft lighting of the bar, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across the polished surface. The room was steeped in the smells of smoke and aged wood, enriched with a hint of something musky, almost intoxicating.

He glanced up as I settled in, his earlier smile returning, expectant, as if he had anticipated the challenge I was about to present.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice a rough blend of warmth and rasp, perfectly echoing the raw, ambient energy of the bar.

Under normal circumstances, I’d have a standard order ready, something simple and unassuming, designed to blend in rather than stand out. But tonight, driven by a newfound audacity, I hesitated, meeting his gaze squarely. “Whatever you recommend,” I ventured, my voice more steady than I felt.

His eyebrow arched, clearly amused by my response, and his smirk widened, adding a playful edge to his already compelling demeanour. “You trust me to pick for you?”

I nodded, the gesture firm despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Yeah. Surprise me.”

He chuckled, a low sound that seemed to resonate with a hint of respect, or perhaps challenge. Shaking his head as if in disbelief at my daring, he reached for a bottle. “Alright, you asked for it.”

Watching him work was like observing a skilled artist; each movement was fluid and assured. He selected ingredients with precision, mixing them with a practiced hand that spoke of years behind the bar. As he prepared the drink, I found myself stealing glances, drawn to the confident way he navigated his domain.

He slid the drink across the bar with a smooth motion, and when his fingers brushed mine, a spark of electricity zipped through me, startling and vivid.

“Here you go,” he said, his tone light, that easy grin playing on his lips again. “Let me know what you think.”

I took a tentative sip, and the drink was a revelation—smooth with an undercurrent of complexity that mirrored the night itself. It warmed me, loosening the edges of my anxiety, coaxing a sense of openness I hadn’t felt upon walking in.

“Not bad,” I replied, my own smile a reflection of his, a silent acknowledgment of the small adventure I had embarked upon.

His eyes studied me, a flicker of intrigue passing through them. “Good to know,” he said, his voice tinged with a subtle warmth. He momentarily excused himself to attend to another customer, his movements efficient and practiced as he refilled a drink without missing a beat.

As he worked, the familiar atmosphere of the bar wrapped around us—a comfortable hum of background chatter mingled with the clink of glasses and the occasional cheer from patrons watching the baseball game on the television above. Adjusting his cap, he made his way back to where I was sitting, his approach marked by an easy, confident smile that seemed to pull the dim light of the bar towards him.

Normally, I’d be tongue-tied, fumbling for words, but here, with him, it felt different.

“So, you come here often?” I asked, aiming for light-hearted but cringing a bit at the cliché.

He chuckled, a light, engaging sound that drew a grin from me. “I guess you could say that. I work here most nights. Name’s Hank, by the way,” he introduced himself, extending a hand across the bar.

Hank. It suited him perfectly—strong, straightforward, with just the right amount of rugged charm.

“I’m—” I began, ready to offer my own name, but just then, a regular at the end of the bar caught Hank’s attention, loudly requesting help with the jukebox that was stubbornly refusing to accept their money. Hank shot me a quick, conspiratorial smile that promised he’d return, and then he was off, his stride confident as he navigated the crowded space.

I watched him as he worked, noting the way his shoulders rolled with each movement, the casual confidence in his stride. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something that drew the eye and held it. It wasn’t just his looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt—it was the way he seemed so completely at ease in his environment, as if he were as much a fixture of the bar as the shelves of liquor behind him.

As he adjusted the jukebox, his eyes occasionally flicked to the small television mounted above the bar. The San Francisco Giants were playing, and it was clear from his intermittent nods and muttered comments to another patron that he was following the game.

When he returned, the noise level in the bar had dropped a bit, and he leaned in slightly to resume our conversation. “Big Giants fan?” I asked, gesturing towards his hat and the screen above us.

"Definitely," Hank said, his smile broadening. "I played a ton in high school back in California, but a bad leg break sidelined me for good. Now, I never miss a game, it helps keep the spirit alive."

“From baseball player to master mixologist,” I observed, noting the transition from his past interests to his current profession. “Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”

He let out a soft chuckle, a hint of irony flickering in his eyes. “Something like that,” he replied with a slight shrug. “Though life always has a few surprises up its sleeve, doesn’t it?”

As the evening unfolded, the bar had thinned out, not nearly as busy as when I first arrived, but still lively enough to keep Hank moving between customers. Between sharing a laugh, or tossing a rag over his shoulder with casual grace, his eyes would inevitably return, as though drawn by some unspoken pull. Each time he approached, it felt like we were continuing a conversation that had never really stopped, even if words weren’t always exchanged. It was more about his presence—the way he leaned in slightly, his focus making it seem like nothing else in the room mattered.

The warmth of the alcohol settled into me, quieting my usual reservations. It wasn’t enough to cloud my thoughts—I was still fully aware—but it gave me a newfound confidence. With each passing moment, the initial unease melted away, replaced by a comfortable rhythm between us.

“So, what brings you to Paul’s tonight? You don’t exactly blend in with the usual crowd here,” Hank inquired after a while, his tone casual but curious, his eyes searching mine for something deeper than the surface-level chit-chat.

I hesitated, the question more profound than I had anticipated sharing with a near-stranger. Yet, something about Hank’s straightforwardness, underscored by the honest curiosity in his eyes, made me want to open up.

I shrugged, glancing around. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. This isn’t exactly my usual kind of place.”

He chuckled, leaning against the bar, his blue eyes flicking up to the TV screen for a moment where the end credits of the game were rolling. “Yeah, I kind of figured. You’ve got that look—like you’re used to being somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else like… where?” I asked, curious what he saw in me.

He paused, his gaze momentarily drifting off as if visualising the answer, then locked back onto me with a reflective expression. “I dunno. A café, maybe? Somewhere quiet. You strike me as someone who appreciates peace.”

I smiled, touched by his perceptiveness. “You’re not wrong. I’m definitely more of a coffee shop girl than a bar regular.”

Hank’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as he leaned in a bit, resting his chin on his hand, studying me as if he was putting together a puzzle. “Let me guess,” he started, his voice lowering to a warm, playful tone, “you’ve got that favourite little corner spot, don’t you? Always tucked away with a book or maybe a notebook for doodling or jotting down your thoughts. And I bet you drink your coffee black, no distractions—just you and your thoughts.”

The accuracy of his assumptions made me burst into laughter, more open and genuine than I expected in such a setting. “Okay, you’re close,” I conceded, still chuckling. “But, I do take a little sugar with my coffee—just a touch to sweeten the deal.”

His laughter joined mine, creating a light, easy atmosphere that seemed to set the tone for whatever was to come. “Noted,” he said, with a mock-serious nod. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

The lighthearted moment briefly subsided as he posed a more thoughtful question, his tone lowering to a gentle, inviting rumble. “So, what’s got you stepping out of your coffee shop comfort zone tonight?”

Glancing down at my glass, the swirl of liquid momentarily mesmerising, I acknowledged the underlying current of vulnerability. Yet, there was an ease in Hank’s presence that coaxed the words from me more freely than I expected. “I don’t know... I just didn’t want to be alone tonight. Work’s been overwhelming, I guess I just needed a break from myself for a while. From the routine, the quiet. You ever feel that way?”

Hank’s response was a nod, his eyes softening with a deep understanding. “Yeah, more than you’d think.” Curiosity piqued, I found myself more drawn to him, seeing him not only in his role here but as someone who genuinely understood the struggles people go through. “What about you? You seem like the kind of guy who’s seen it all here. What keeps you coming back?”

“The people, I guess,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes meeting mine again. “Everyone who walks in has their own story, their own reason for being here. I like that—it’s unpredictable. I can be part of the background or something more, depending on the night. Tonight feels different, though.”

“Different how?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the conversation shifting as his attention became more focused.

“Maybe it’s you,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “You stand out. You’re not trying to blend in, like most people who come in here to disappear for a bit.”

I felt a shiver run through me, even though his words were light. “I wasn’t really planning on standing out,” I admitted, my voice softer now, a little shy.

He folded his arms on the bar, leaning in just a touch closer. The subtle intimacy of the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

I felt my cheeks warm, surprised at how much I liked hearing that. “Yeah… me too,” I said, smiling just enough to let him know I meant it.

He smiled back, his voice dropping lower. “Sometimes, stepping into something unfamiliar is exactly what we need to remind ourselves what we’ve been missing.”

There was a brief pause, comfortable yet charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection forming between us. “And what do you think I’ve been missing?”

He leaned in, closing the space between us. “Maybe something real. Something that pulls you out of the everyday.”

I held his gaze, my heart racing a little faster now. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “you’re not alone in that.”

The air between us thickened, charged with an undeniable pull. Even in the quiet, there was no mistaking the connection forming between us—raw, real, and electric.

The last patrons trickled out, and the bar lights dimmed slightly, signalling the end of the night. The soft glow cast shadows that only made the space feel more intimate. A slow, soulful tune from the jukebox filled the room, amplifying the closeness between us.

Hank leaned in a little more, his hands idly wiping down the already spotless counter, though his attention was fully on me. The air around us felt thick with unspoken anticipation, a magnetic pull that neither of us could ignore.

"You’ve definitely changed the vibe in here tonight," Hank murmured, his voice a low, warm rumble that seemed to match the mood of the room. “Doesn’t happen often.”

I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks but found myself leaning in too, letting the moment take over. "Is that your way of saying you hope I come back?" I asked, my tone playful, though beneath it, there was something bolder, something daring.

A slow smile spread across his face, one that made my pulse quicken. “I’m definitely saying that. You’ve made tonight... different. And I like it.”

The room felt smaller, as though it was just the two of us, the rest of the world fading into the background. Our eyes locked, the tension between us humming with an intensity that felt almost tangible. Neither of us moved to break it.

Hank leaned a little closer. There was a question forming on his lips, one that seemed to dance in his eyes as he paused, giving the moment the weight it deserved.

His gaze flicked to the back door, then back to me, and I could see the question in his eyes before he said it. “You wanna get out of here?” His voice was low, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge.

The invitation was clear, laden with possibilities and the thrill of continuing whatever was unfolding between us outside the confines of the bar walls. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Normally, I would hesitate, tangled in self-doubt and over-analysis. But tonight felt different. It felt like a return to an older version of myself—I took a deep breath, embracing the liberating shift, and met Hank's gaze with a quiet nod.

"Yeah," I said softly, "I do."

Hank nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he moved towards the employees-only door at the far end of the bar. He gestured for me to come closer to where the bar ended, and I walked towards him, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I reached the end of the bar, I found myself separated from him by a pane of glass that partitioned off the employees’ area. Above Hank, the neon “BAR” sign bathed him in an ethereal glow, casting dramatic shadows across his features, highlighting the contours of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, and the gentle curve of his full lips. He reached up to unlock the door from his side, his eyes locked on mine.

Our hands met through the glass, fingertips aligning in a moment charged with anticipation. The cool surface couldn’t lessen the warmth that radiated from his touch. With a soft click, he swung the door open, diminishing the barrier between us.

“After you,” he said, his voice low and inviting. I moved around the partition, stepping into his world behind the bar for the first time. There was an intimate thrill to being on his side, close enough to share his space.

Together, we walked towards the back of the bar, where a heavy door led to the alley outside. As Hank pushed it open the cool night air hit my skin, but it did little to cool the fire that had been burning between us all night. The alley behind the bar was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—the way his broad shoulders moved, the way his hands flexed at his sides as if he was holding himself back.

We stopped just outside the door, and before I had time to second-guess myself, he turned to me, stepping in close. The space between us disappeared in an instant, and I felt his hand at my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him. My breath caught in my throat, and for a split second, all I could do was look up into those mesmerising blue eyes, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. His lips crashed against mine, urgent and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers instinctively finding their way to the base of his skull. His hair was soft, curling around my fingers as I tangled my hands in it, pulling him closer.

He let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of sound that sent shivers down my spine and made my knees weak. His hands slid up my back, his fingers digging into my skin as he pressed me against the brick wall behind us. The roughness of the wall was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and I arched into him, wanting—needing—to be closer.

As he kissed me deeper, the sensation was overwhelming—like a storm that obliterates everything else, leaving only a beautiful, blissful blankness in its wake. It blew my mind how everything inside me cast into darkness, every worry dissolving in the heat of his touch. What a relief it was, not having to think anymore.

My hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling him down harder as his lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the shy, quiet girl who kept to herself, who avoided risks. But right now, with Hank’s body pressed against mine, his lips on my skin, I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel—alive, bold, free.

And I wasn’t about to stop.

His breath was hot against my skin as his lips moved lower, trailing down my neck, and I could feel every nerve in my body igniting. I tugged at his hair again, just enough to pull him back to my mouth, and when our lips met, the kiss was even more intense—desperate, as if we both knew this moment was everything we had been building up to all night.

I could feel his body press harder against mine, his hands roaming over my waist, my hips, pulling me even closer as though the small space between us was unbearable. My back hit the rough surface of the brick wall again, but the discomfort only heightened the sensation. The world outside the alley faded away—there were no more sounds from the bar, no distant cars, just the pounding of our hearts and the shared heat between us.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, and he rested his forehead against mine, his blue eyes searching my face in the dim light. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.

I swallowed, my breath still catching in my throat. “I think I do,” I whispered back, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I thought I had you all figured out, but… you keep surprising me.”

“I’m surprising myself,” I admitted, my fingers still tangled in his hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath my touch. “But I like it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me fully, his gaze softening for a moment, as if he was trying to read me—trying to make sure I was still in control, still wanting this as much as he did. And I was. More than I’d ever imagined.

“What now?” His voice was a little quieter, a little less hurried, but still laced with that same intensity.

I didn’t need to think about it. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his again, this time slower, more deliberate, savouring the feel of him, the taste of his mouth. “I don’t want this to stop,” I whispered between kisses, my hands sliding down to grip his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held back.

He groaned softly against my lips, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “It doesn’t have to.”

The way he said it, so sure, made my heart race even faster. We were in an alley behind a bar, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing felt rushed or wrong. It felt like exactly where we were supposed to be. Like I had finally stepped into a part of myself I’d been avoiding for too long. And with him, it felt… right.

The intensity between us burned hotter, and soon, his hands were back on my waist, sliding under my shirt, his fingers grazing the skin there in a way that made me gasp. I could feel the roughness of the brick wall behind me, but all I could focus on was him—his touch, his breath, the way he seemed just as lost in this as I was.

But there was something else too, a sense of grounding I hadn’t expected. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting, following my lead, giving me the space to feel, to take in every second of this. And I knew, in that moment, that whatever happened next, it was because we both wanted it. Because we were both ready for it.

And as the world around us continued to disappear, the night taking over, I knew that whatever came next—whether it lasted for just this night or beyond—it would be the best decision I’d ever made.

Part 2

[yourmomxx]

Sweet Child O’ Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: It’s time for Dean to face what he has been so afraid of the entire time. Meanwhile, the monster that has already taken one young man’s life, is on its way to claim the next one

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 11,2k (whoops)

disclaimer: What I know about Group Homes is what I know from my country (and Google), so I apologize if I made any mistakes

pt1 pt2 pt3

@psycho-magnotheric-slime

Now

The cafeteria was loud. The mixed noise of talking children and clattering dishes and cutlery filled the air, creating a yet bearable loudness.

You were sat at one of the light blue tables, across from you your best friends Cassandra Claire and Finnegan Beckett.

Cass and Finn.

She was lowly cursing at the paper straw in her apple juice box and a few strands of her black bangs slipped into her view. The wolf cut, which had been so present a few months ago, was now already grown out and even the shortest strands of Cass’s hair were reaching her shoulders.

Finn seemed caught up in his own world as he carefully laid out little figures and symbols with his french fries. He still had a few, slightly red acne spots lingering on his skin, amongst freckles covering his nose and cheeks. His hair was flaming red, just as Roy’s had been, but other than him Finn usually hid the tousled locks under a cap.

Roy. The news of his death had hit the three of you hard. You had been a friendgroup of four, Roy and Finn, and Cass and you.

Almost a week ago you had been eating lunch at this exact table, the seat to your right had been taken, laughing about terrible jokes, bickering, and not even considering it all to end as soon as it did.

And especially how it did.

Roy’s body was still lying at the morgue. The authorities had kept it there for ‘further investigation purposes’ as they had said, so no funeral had been possible yet.

Of course, the adults had introduced all of you to helping hotlines and offered their own support in case anyone wanted to talk about their feelings and their grief in the safeness of a closed room.

Not that one of you took that into consideration.

The only way you three were coping with the whole situation was through joking around and pretending none of it ever happened. Which was fine.

You and Cass had sometimes talked in the darkness of your rooms, careful and short conversations while sleeping over because neither of you wanted to spend the night alone.

But other than that? Zero. And it was alright that way. The right moment would come.

Maybe.

“Aha!” Cass suddenly yelled out triumphantly, and startled Finn out of admiring his artwork.

You looked up at her from half-heartedly poking around in your own food, as she proudly held up the apple juice that was now pierced with what looked like the abused version of a thin straw.

You gave a small clap. “Bravo” and she grinned at you before turning to Finn.

Well done, Cassie,” he sarcastically said. “You won the hard fight against the opening of a box of apple juice.”

Cass pouted and took a sip. “You don’t appreciate my victories enough, Finn. And don't call me that. Cassie.” She dramatically shuddered at the nickname.

“I’m mentally unstable, not five.”

Finn examined her perfectly done eyeliner and makeup with skeptically raised eyebrows. “You don’t look mentally unstable to me,” he remarked.

Cass gasped. “Excuse me? Prejudices??” She exclaimed.

“You see that?” She asked, frantically pointing at her face. “See how perfect my makeup is today? That's not a good thing, dumbass! Perfect makeup means that I am absolutely mentally fucked!”

You nodded supportively, and Finn just raised his eyebrows, before he dedicated his attention back to poking around in his food.

“Don't you think that's kind of ironic?” He pointed out, and Cass simply ignored him, except for the tiny eye roll she gave.

“Guys, I need your help deciding what color I'm going to dye my hair next,” she changed the topic instead and desperately ran her hands through her hair.

Finn’s head whipped around, back to his friend. “You're honestly thinking about dying your hair right now?” He asked incredulously.

She groaned and threw him a look.

“No, Finnegan, I am not actively thinking about dying my hair, but I sense a mental breakdown coming and if I'm going to absolutely lose my shit and take it out on my hair, I want the result to look good. Otherwise, we are met with that weird yellow-green-combination again.” Cass let her body shudder dramatically.

“I liked the yellow-green-combination,” you interjected.

Cass reached over the table to lay her hand above yours and looked up at you with sweet eyes. “Thanks, hun.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” mumbled Finn, his mouth stuffed full of fries. “Just leave them black.”

“I don’t think you quite understood how a mental breakdown works, man,” you said.

Finn shrugged and dipped a frie into his ketchup. “Whatever.”

You looked at Cass. “I’ll go shopping with you soon and then we will choose a color together,” you promised.

“Thanks,” she said and eyed Finn, “at least someone who cares if I ruin my good looks or not.”

But Finn didn’t hear her, or maybe he just ignored what she was saying. Because he changed the topic.

“Did the FBI agents get a hold of you guys yet?” He suddenly asked.

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. “The what?”

“The FBI agents,” Finn repeated.

“Why, thank you, I got that part, but what is the FBI doing here?”

Cass just shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently they are here investigating Roy's murder.”

“What, they think someone murdered him?” You asked in disbelief.

“Well, he will not have crushed his ribs all on his own now, will he?” Finn drew a heart shape with the remaining ketchup on the plate.

“It's better than the state police,” retorted Cass, “who still think that it was some kind of ... animal attack.”

You snorted. “Yeah, right, because a bear sneaking into a castle, pushing down on someone's chest and then just leaving seems so plausible.”

Your friends raised their eyebrows in agreement.

“What did they ask you guys?” You closed your waterbottle and absentmindedly started cleaning up your plate.

Cass shrugged and leaned back in her chair with crossed arms. “Not much, the usual, I guess,” she answered, “Wanted me to tell them some things about Roy, his behavior lately, who would have wanted to hurt him…” She trailed off.

“Same here. Routine stuff,” Finn said. Then he leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice.

“To be honest, I don't really care why they're here, they are both incredibly handsome.”

“Finn!” You and Cassandra exclaimed at the same time.

“What?!” The boy widened his arms in defense. “Let me enjoy the one good thing that came from Roy's death.”

Cass shoved him in response. “God, you are a manwhore!” She grumbled.

Finn rubbed his arm with an offended pout on his lips and you giggled. “Geez, we must seem so fucked up, our best friend got murdered and here we are, joking about his death.” You shook your head lightly.

“It's what he would have wanted.” Cass scooted a bit closer on her seat and took both yours and Finn’s hand in acted solemnity.

“If I die,” she vowed, “you are now officially allowed to joke about my death as much as you want. On any occasion.”

“Sick!” You called out and Cass smirked.

“Can we please get back to the part where she said if?” Finn pointed out.

Cass rolled her eyes and pulled back.

“I'm a witch, after all,” she reminded him with a threatening silken voice that had a tone of mockery. “And one day, I will figure out the secret of necromancy, just you wait.”

Finn scoffed and grinned. “Right, you with your crystals, and your smokey sticks and your herbs and tarot cards.”

He wiggled his fingers in front of her face. “That's some real serious stuff you got there, Cass.”

She pushed him away. “Yeah, keep making fun of it. We'll see who has the last laugh when I turn immortal and outlive all of you idiots.”

Finn shook his head. He looked at you and pointed his forefinger to his temple, moving it in circles to indicate what he held of her words.

You shook your head grinning, and Cass, who noticed the interaction, promptly took Finn’s sugar-glazed donut and dumped it in his untouched mayonnaise.

"Ew! Jesus, Cass, you are disgusting!" Finn yelled as he stared at the disaster.

She just shrugged and was quick to eat her own food before he would get any ideas.

For a while, it was quiet. You continued cleaning and sorting your lunch plate, while Cass ate and Finn and her did not speak a word to each other.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, just a break from conversation.

Eventually, Cass was the one to break it.

“So, uhm, did you guys, like - I mean, have you been thinking about Roy, too? Or, like, dreaming or something?” With every word her voice got more quiet until it was only a low mumble, drifting apart in the busy noise around.

But still everything she said managed to pierce through the air and directly into your heart.

“Why would you bring that up?” Finn asked through gritted teeth, he almost sounded mad.

Cass avoided eye contact with both of you and pressed the palms of her hands against her forehead, as if to stop it from giving her incredible pain.

“I’ve been having those horrible nightmares, since it happened,” she sighed in despair.

“It’s the same thing over and over again. I see something going into his room, but when I try to open the door, it’s locked. And I hit it, and I scream, but there’s just no sound coming out of my mouth. And when the door finally opens, there he is, lying on the bed, just-”

A heavy clatter interrupted her monologue and made you flinch. Finn had thrown his fork onto his dinner plate.

“Didn’t ask about fucking details, Cassandra,” he hissed lowly, stood up and walked away with his tray in hand.

Cass looked after him as he left and put her head in her hands with a groan.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” she mumbled into the fabric of her sleeve.

“I know,” you said. She raised her head. You gave her a sympathetic smile.

“D’you think he hates me now?”

You shook your head no. “He’s just grieving. We all are. He will get himself together again, promise.”

For a second, her lips quirked up in a small smile.

“Come on,” you said then and swung your leg over the bench, standing up. “We’ve been sitting here for far too long anyways.”

You took your tray and Cass was quick to follow you and put the dirty dishes away.

“I didn’t have any, by the way.” Confused, she looked at you.

“Nightmares,” you added.

Cass nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” She shrugged. “Guess I’ll deal with this the same way I deal with everything: completely and utterly alone.”

You jokingly shoved her at her theatrics, and she grinned. “Shut up. I’ll be damned if I let you deal with any of this on your own. Got me?”

She laid a hand upon her heart and the other on your shoulder. “You’re so sweet,” she said. “And I suppose that also includes helping me study for my biology exam which I have definitely already studied for?”

You pulled back and inhaled sharply, pretending to think. “Ah ma’am, I am afraid this feature is not included in your subscription. We apologize for any discomfort this may bring.”

“It brings a great deal of discomfort!” Cass exclaimed while you two walked the hallway to your rooms.

“You can write me an email-complaint,” you joked. “No guarantees though. You’ve had like two weeks to study for that one.”

“I know, I know, but it’s so endlessly boring and complicated!” she cried.

You shrugged. “There’s a reason I didn’t take the AP class.”

“And I will forever envy you for it.”

You stopped when you reached the two doors to your bedrooms that laid right across of each other.

“Then,” you said and bowed lightly, “farewell my friend. May your head not explode while rehearsing for the terribly difficult school subject that is AP biology.”

She flipped you off and disappeared into her room. Laughing to yourself, you opened the door and slipped into your own.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2007

The past few hunting days had been rough. Sam and Dean had driven from one case to the next without a break, been beaten up by an entire pack of werewolves and hunted down a loose chupacabra outside of its usual territory.

Dean was beyond exhausted. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, and the lack of sleep was weighing his limbs down. He was practically dragging himself over the gravel path, before he swung open the door to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

The air that hit them from inside was stuffy, warm, and smelt like sweat and alcohol. Low but loud enough music fell into an uncoordinated melody with loud chatter and the clinking of glass.

Dean felt like he had never experienced something more beautiful, after the weeks he’s had.

“Deeeeeannnn!”

He heard the excited cry of his name before he saw where it came from. He spotted a bright sundress on a small girl, and out of instinct crouched down as she sped towards him.

With a grunt, Dean picked her up in his arms mid sprint and lifted her up. Behind him, Sam closed the door again as Dean made his way over to the bar with little Y/N on his hip.

“How is my favorite girl today?” He asked her and she grinned at him.

“I’m good! I missed you,” she added.

Dean’s chest clammed with how much he loved her.

“Well, I’m back now, ready to give you allllll my attention. Come on, show me those fangs.” He nodded his head at her chin at his request, and Y/N drew her lips back and bared her teeth to him.

Dean held the hand that wasn’t holding her in front of his eyes and pretended to be blinded. “Wow, those are clean! I can’t even see anything.”

With a giggle, Y/N closed her mouth again and Dean blinked hard a few times.

“I brush them extra hard. Ask Auntie Ellen.”

Dean nodded. “I totally believe you. Every werewolf would be jealous of those teeth. Oh, did I say werewolf? I meant vampire, of course.”

Dean shook his head at himself, and Y/N beamed up at him with the brightest shining eyes he had ever seen.

“Good to see you again, boys,” Ellen greeted them and pulled out two glasses. “The usual?”

Sam and Dean nodded. Ellen started pouring. When Sam took his drink, he pointed somewhere in the back of the bar and said, “I’ll go have a talk with Ash.” Then he was gone.

Dean placed Y/N on one of the bar stools and took his seat next to her.

“Dean, can you play Operation with me?” Y/N asked him, and Dean stilled in his movement to take a sip of his drink. He opened his mouth to answer her, but Ellen was faster.

“Baby, let Dean rest for a bit. I’m sure these past few days haven’t been all sugar and cakes for him. Maybe later, alright?”

Y/N pouted a bit, but then shrugged and shuffled off the barstool. “Okay,” she said, and disappeared between the people, probably to the private rooms.

Dean looked after her and then turned back to Ellen with a thankful look on his face.

“Can’t believe that game is still so popular. I mean, I used to play with that in my childhood,” he said, and took a sip from his drink. The alcohol burned a bit down his throat, but it was exactly what he needed right now. Dean closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.

“Really glad you’re back,” Ellen then told him honestly, as she opened up a beer for herself and folded her arms on the counter. “She’s been asking me nothing else than ‘When will Dean come back’ for the past few weeks. I can’t hear that sentence anymore.”

Dean chuckled and she took a sip.

“Yeah,” he dragged, and threw a look in the direction that Y/N had disappeared in. Ellen tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite read.

“You’re really good with her, ya know?” She twirled the bottle loosely on the counter. Dean avoided her inquiring gaze and looked into the liquor in his glass instead. He vaguely saw his reflection in it.

“’ve always been good with kids, I guess.” He shrugged it off.

Ellen hummed. Dean didn’t know what to make of it. He looked up at her again.

“For what it’s worth, she makes it really easy,” he said. Ellen raised her eyebrows. “To lo- to like her, I mean. She’s a great kid. You did good with her.”

Ellen sighed. “Yeah, I like to think I did. Wasn’t always easy.”

Dean nodded. A bit after they had met, Ellen had vaguely told him how she got to Y/N. How someone had just dumped the little girl, barely one year old, on her doorstep. No note, only a name and date of birth, and a blanket in the basket she had been put in.

When he had first heard the story, Dean’s hand had cramped around his beer bottle so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Stories like this about kids always got to him. But about this one? Hell, the lengths he would go to protect that little girl. She had made her way into his heart so easily, no preparation or caution, just boosted right into it with her bright smile and those happy eyes.

And Dean had never spent a day not wanting to know her.

Sometimes, when he thought about it, he thought about how easy it was. To love a kid. She wasn’t even his, but every time he had to say goodbye to her for God knows how long again, his heart broke a little more.

And he thought about how it was that easy, and how yet, somehow his father had not managed it. Had left his children alone, abandoned, in ran down motel rooms, without any contact for days and sometimes weeks. How he had felt absent, even when he was physically present, and how Dean could never do enough to feel enough for him.

It made him ache, but he had promised himself to never make anyone else feel this way. And maybe, just maybe, this little wonder he had come across was supposed to be his salvation.

“Dean, I have to tell you something.”

Somehow, the way Ellen said it, made Dean stiffen. A strange mixture of regret and hurt crossed her exes.

“It’s about your daddy,” she added.

“And about Y/N.”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

If Sam had tried to read the different emotions that were crossing his older brother’s face right now, he would have given up as soon as he had started.

But one thing was certain, they were many, and probably none of them were good.

They stood in front of the wooden door to their last room.

Your room, to be exact.

And they stood there for the second time today, to be exact.

Maria had pointed them the numbers of the bedrooms where Roy Kendall’s friends lived, they had paid each of them a visit and asked them questions about the deceased.

None of those interrogations had proven to be useful to them, though.

Also, funny enough, it turns out that Cassandra Claire and Y/N Winchester’s room happened to lay just across the hallway from each other.

But when Sam offered to move on to her after finishing Cassandra’s questioning, Dean had not-so-smoothly avoided his question and decided he was in desperate need of some lunch.

Which is why, now, they were standing here, staring at the old wooden door with filled stomachs and angel Castiel in tow - who had decided to join them after all.

Said angel now leaned in closer to Sam and not so silently whispered, “Is he- frozen? Shall I wake him?”

Dean snorted and shook his head, as if Castiel’s words had actually woken him up from the sort of trance he had been trapped in.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, still talking into the direction of the - apparently very intimidating – wooden door.

Sam raised his eyebrows, fully aware that his brother couldn’t see him. “Well then,” he said, extending his hand to the door. “Knock.”

Dean threw a murdering look over his shoulder at his little brother and took a deep breath in, shook his shoulders.

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew this had to be difficult for Dean, but he also wanted to get all of this over with. He could think of more fun things than spending his entire day in an orphanage, investigating a murder. Also, his suit was starting to get itchy.

The sound of Dean knocking at the door felt like a salvation. “Agents Shield and Stark and …” He threw Cas a look, “… Miller. We’re here to ask you some questions about the death of Roy Kendall.”

For a second, it was quiet. Then, “It’s open.”

The voice from inside made a chill run down Sam’s spine. He couldn’t imagine what his brother felt. But even if Dean was falling apart inside, he didn’t let his face show any of it.

Dean’s heart twisted with the door handle, as he pushed the door open and entered into the room. After him, Sam and Castiel entered, and Dean closed the door behind them again.

The room wasn’t big, but it had been decorated to be comfortable. In the middle of the wall to their right, a twin-sized bed with unified colors was placed, a small bedside table next to it.

To their left was a tall wardrobe that almost reached the ceiling, and under the window on the wall opposite them stood a nice desk.

And there, shuffling through some papers, stood a young teenage girl, with her back turned to them.

“Sorry about the mess, I-“ Dean’s heart skipped a beat as you turned around.

You hadn’t changed, not a bit, but had grown so much. The roundness in your features, like with all children, had gone away as you grew older. You had changed your hair, and your voice was different, but it was so unmistakably you that Dean needed a second to catch himself.

He feared his feet would buckle under him, as you looked at him with wide open eyes, those eyes that he remembered looked so much like your mother’s.

You felt your whole world tumble around you as you looked at them. At him. Your heart was speeding in your chest, a feeling spreading in your stomach as if you had been sucker punched.

This couldn’t be real, there was no way. But then again, there was no reason why it wouldn’t be. There were more epic scenarios you could have come up with to reunite with your … family. And nevertheless, you had stopped having dreams like that a long time ago. You had given up on hoping a day like this would come.

But now it was here, apparently, and it was so unspectacular, it was almost funny.

They walked in here, after years, in fancy suits and badges, wanting to know about- what exactly was it they wanted to know about?

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, gathering yourself.

“What are you doing here?” Compared to the chaos inside of you, your voice sounded calm and collected, almost devoid of any emotion, and a part of you was proud.

Sam cleared his throat. You noticed he looked older.

Well, no shit. But more … drawn, from his experience. Trauma, maybe. You hadn’t been aware of much when you were a child, but that their work took a toll on them, that had been unmistaken.

And Sam’s eyes held a story that seemed as tragic as it seemed muddled.

“We heard about Roy Kendall’s death,” he answered.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. They had heard about Roy. Did that mean they were here to-

“And we’re here to find out what killed him.”

What?

“What?”

“Yeah, we, uh-“ Sam shifted his weight awkwardly, “We don’t think it was a … natural death.”

“Well, no shit.” Roy’s chest had been cracked open. You were no coroner, but even you knew that couldn’t exactly be filed under the case of natural deaths.

Now, Dean took a small step forward, trying his best to hold eye contact with you, and your shoulders subconsciously stiffened.

“Y/N-,” he started.

“Dean,” you shot back.

And that wort was like a punch in his guts. Dean felt physically sick. But how could he expect any different really?

You noticed him stumbling slightly at the word, a look of hurt crossing over his face.

Good, you thought.

A part of you wanted to hit him in the chest, scream at him until your voice was raw, Why did you do this? Why did you leave me? When did you stop loving me?

But in the end, you didn’t.

You would rather die than give him the satisfaction of breaking down.

Why you thought he would feel satisfaction at your hurt, you didn’t know.

“So, Roy,” you simply said, something to break the pressing silence in the room.

Sam nodded. “Yes, exactly. We, uhm –“ He pointed to the third man you had never seen before, “and Castiel, we wanted to ask you a few things about him.”

You glanced at the guy in the trenchcoat, who raised his hand to do an awkward little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Too,” you said.

There was a silence again, until Dean took the floor. “So, he was one of your friends?” He asked, “That Roy kid?”

People had been doing it for days, yet something about them talking about one of your best friends in the past tense made your stomach turn with uneasiness.

You hummed in agreement.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sam said.

“Stick it,” you bit back, and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Did your friend mention anything … out of the ordinary happen, before he was killed?” The third guy, with the trenchcoat and the weird name which you had already forgotten, asked.

You clenched your jaw and something about the way Dean pressed his eyes shut in exasperation made you believe that this guy’s bluntness was something quite common.

“No,” you simply said. Trenchcoat frowned.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, taking a slight step forward.

“Yes, I am. Roy never said anything about anything strange that would be in any way valuable to your case.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dean questioned.

You shrugged. “What I said.”

“Y/N, any information you can give us about Roy’s behavior before he died is extremely important and could really help us,” Sam urged.

Something about the way your name slipped off his tongue, with that sense of familiarity and normal, made your skin itch.

You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. “Well, I mean - he just mentioned that he was having those … terrible nightmares all of a sudden.” You shrugged. “Like I said, nothing that would be worth writing down.”

Sam did it anyways.

Dean tilted his head and looked at you quizzically. “Why would you think his nightmares were unusual? I mean, everyone has bad dreams from time to time.”

You shifted your weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know, but it’s just …” You paused. This was stupid. “It’s stupid, really, but – Roy doesn’t usually dream.”

Didn’t, you corrected in your head, but the word didn’t make it past your lips.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“And it was just strange, because he was having these nightmares frequently, or rather this nightmare, because it was always the exact same,” you keep rambling on.

“What was it about?” Dean asked.

You swept your hand across your forehead. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t talk much about it. Just said that it was like the worst day of his life replaying over and over.”

Dean nodded. Sam frowned in interest.

“Do you know what that was? The worst day of his life?”

You shrugged. “The day he lost his parents, probably,” you said. “The entire house burnt down right in front of him. He made it out, they didn’t.”

Your voice was quiet and pressed, still feeling bad about sharing such an intimate part of Roy’s history with those … strangers. A nagging part in the back of your mind kept telling you he wouldn’t – couldn’t – mind anymore.

Sam’s pen kept scraping over his notebook, and Dean threw a glimpse over his brother’s shoulder. As you watched them, your gaze fell on trenchcoat-guy, who was still positioned in the corner of your room, just a few steps behind them.

He was observing you with interest, blue eyes staring back into yours as if he was looking directly at your soul. Something like a chill ran down your spine.

The man tilted his head, as you diverted your attention back to Dean and Sam. His brows were furrowed.

Cas recognized you. He didn’t know where from, but you looked so weirdly … familiar. Your features, the shape of your face. They way you talked and moved.

“Your boyfriend is staring at me weirdly,” you mentioned to Dean, as you caught the man’s gaze again.

Dean turned his head and looked at him, then back to you. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

You lifted your eyebrows and made an ‘Ah’ sound. Trenchcoat was getting weirder by the second. But at least the guy had stopped his creepy staring. For now.

“Look, I don’t want you guys here. But I understand that your presence is necessary in order to catch whatever it is that’s killing my friends. So, you just do your thing, look around a bit, kill something, and then leave. Both of you.”

With a look at the third guy in the trenchcoat, you added, “Three.”

Dean avoided your eyes, but Sam nodded jerkily and cleared his throat again. “Yeah, we uh … we understand that.”

He straightened his coat and turned to leave the room. “Thank you for your help for now, really. We’ll get in touch if we need anything else.”

You nodded simply, even though you didn’t exactly know what to make of that idea.

As Sam and trenchcoat-guy made their way to leave the room, Dean took a small step towards you and pulled something out of his suit jacket.

“And if there’s anything else you might remember or see, you can always give us a call.” You stared at the small paper he had handed to you. With dark blue pen, a phone number was sloppily scribbled on it. The edges of the paper were uneven, it had probably been ripped off a bigger sheet.

You pursed your lips and nodded.

“Yeah.” You didn’t know what else to say. Thank you wasn’t really in the cards right now. Dean cleared his throat and stepped back with a nod. Then, they left the room one by one.

“Have a nice day,” Sam said.

“You, too.” The answer came automatically. The door closed behind them with a click, and you were alone again.

The small paper suddenly felt incredibly heavy in your hand.

—

When Dean stepped through the threshold and out into the hallway, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. He took a deep breath like a man starved.

The sick feeling in his stomach still lingered.

He didn’t even wait for the click of the closing door before he started making his way to the exit, trusting that his brother and Castiel would follow.

His fast steps echoed over the hallway, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder yank him around. Dean was staring into the eyes of his younger brother. He shook his arm to let Sam’s hand harshly fall off.

“What?”

Sam didn’t say anything, and Dean just glared at him. It was Castiel who spoke up first. His head was tilted, eyebrows scrunched, and a curious tone in his voice.

“She is your … daughter.” It wasn’t a question. Cas had figured out the root of all of Dean’s hesitation – to come here, to stay here, to investigate. All because of one person, that he knew was so close to Dean Winchester, but yet way too far than two people with their natural bond should be.

“What gave it away?” Dean turned to Cas. His tone was bitter. “The attitude or the way she hates my guts?”

Castiel looked him up and down.

“She is so similar to you,” he stated matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Dean’s sarcastic response.

Dean exchanged an annoyed look with his little brother, who simply shrugged.

“All right, now that we’ve cleared that up,” Dean gruffed and made his way down the hallway again, “Let’s go.”

He trusted that the others followed him quietly.

When they reached the gravel path that led from the small castle to their car, Sam picked up his pace to catch up with his older brother. “Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

The man scoffed. “Oh, don’t hurt yourself like that, Sammy.”

“I’m serious.” Sam halted next to his brother and pulled him to a stop with a firm hand on his shoulder. “And I think, maybe… we should sit this one out.”

The way Sam said the last bit was careful, and Dean tilted his head as he turned to his younger brother. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, maybe this case is too personal for us, Dean. Maybe we should let some other hunter take care of it.”

Dean shook his head. “No way. This is the first time in years that I get to see my daughter, I will not just throw this away.” He lifted his index finger to point it at his brother.

“Well, what exactly is it that you want to do, Dean? It’s not like the two of you have the strongest father-daughter bond!” Sam scoffed and his arms in the air.

Dean started walking towards the impala again. “I know, and that’s why I want to make things right with her.”

“What for, Dean? Just so we leave her here, again?”

"I don’t know!” Dean whirled around in fury as he yelled the words. He slumped his shoulders.

“I don’t know, okay?” He said, his voice was smaller now. “Look, let’s just … let’s finish this case. Give me some time to figure things out and then we will decide.” Dean peeled himself out of his suit jacket and tossed it in the backseat of the impala. He slammed the door. “But first, let’s save some lives.”

Sam shook his head. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He matched Dean as he opened the door to the back and tossed his jacket on the leather seats.

“By the way, where’s Cas?”

Sam threw a look around them. He was right, the angel was nowhere to be found. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he zapped to the motel again.”

Dean frowned as he pulled open the front door. The hinges squealed. “We need to have a serious talk with him about that. Can’t have him disappearing on me the entire time.”

Sam frowned. Dean meant them, right? Couldn’t have him disappearing on them the entire time. Us.

Right?

Sam decided to shrug his brother’s strange comment off for now and got in the passenger’s seat.

“We have to go there anyways. Do some research,” he said.

Dean hummed and started the car. Sam could about assume what that meant. The gravel gnarled under the Impala’s tires as they drove off.

—

Back alone in your room again, you sat on your desk chair as your playlist of favorite songs blasted through your headphones. Dark ink started covering your thighs, where you were drawing on them with your pen as you had placed them on the surface of the desk.

The past few minutes, your mind had been insanely occupied with processing what the actual fuck had just happened. Because. Well. What the actual fuck had just happened?

When they had knocked on your door, you had expected the normal questioning, something that Cass and Finn had been talking about anyways.

When you turned around, just to stare at the face of Dean Winchester, your mind had gone fully devoid of every thought ever formed.

The typical “heart slipping into your pants.”

It felt as if you had worked on autopilot, not even coherently remembering what you had said to them. Had your reaction been an appropriate one? After years of imagining this exact scenario, in all ways and forms it could’ve played out, you not being able to form a simple sentence had not been one of them.

In afterthought, maybe you should’ve punched Dean.

Maybe that would’ve been the appropriate response.

The sharp sound of a knock at your door made you startle. You pulled your headphones off your ears and turned the music off. Those things were great, but in all those years they had never quite managed to overpower the sounds around you.

Maybe that was why you were still allowed to wear them all the time.

“Who’s there?” You asked loudly into the room.

“Me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck? How was there not a single normal person knocking on your bedroom door today?

“Who is me?” You asked again.

The door opened just the tiniest bit, creaking in the process, and through peeked the head of the third man that had accompanied Sam and Dean earlier.

Trenchcoat guy.

“It’s me,” he repeated.

You frowned. “Uhm - come in?” You invited him and lifted your feet off the table.

Trenchcoat guy carefully shuffled in through the gap in the door until he stood in your room, awkwardly, and his stiff posture made him look so out of place, it was almost funny.

When he didn’t seem to plan on doing anything more than eyeing the bookshelf on the other wall, you decided to speak up.

“I’m sorry, but I think I forgot your name.”

Slowly, he turned his attention back to you, as if he had now just remembered that you were there. “I’m Castiel,” he answered in a deep, gravelly voice.

You raised your eyebrows. “Ah. Right.” Another beat of silence. “Are you, like - Dean’s boyfriend or something?” You asked.

Castiel frowned and tilted his head. “Me and your father are not romantically involved in any way whatsoever,” he reassured you.

“Ah,” you said again. Then, “Did Dean send you?”

Castiel shook his head, almost offended at the implication. “After our … conversation, earlier, he figured you were not too enthusiastic to see him. That is why only I am here.”

You swallowed hard. No, that wasn’t true.

“He’s damn right.”

Castiel nodded.

Then it was quiet again. “Is there … anything you need?” You dragged out, unsure of what he was planning to do in here exactly.

“Well, no, not specifically, I just - wanted to talk to you,” Castiel said, though he seemed not too secure about his purpose himself. “About your father.”

“Dean,” you corrected, but were sure Castiel didn’t miss how your shoulders stiffened at it. The man in the trenchcoat frowned and dipped his head lightly.

“Yes, your father.” He repeated.

You shook your head. “He’s not my father. He’s just Dean.”

“As I understand it, you were conceived through him and your mother having sexual intercourse, therefore-“

“Okay! Thank you,” you interrupted him and raised your hand to sign stop. “What do you want?”

Castiel took a few steps closer to you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor as he seemed to look for the right words.

“I fear your father- Dean,” he corrected himself with a look in your direction, “does feel very bad about what happened between you and him.”

You pursed your lips. “So? Did he tell you that?”

Castiel looked sheepish. “No,” he answered honestly, “But I know your- him. Just because he does not like to talk about his feelings does not mean that he does not feel them.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me ask you something, Castiel,” you said. He nodded. “Anything.”

“Do you know at all what happened? Between me and him?”

Again, Castiel looked away. You did not know this man. You did not know what his history with Dean was, or with Sam. But you knew that he knew nothing.

“No.” That one word confirmed it.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Then - excuse my choice of words - but you have no room to talk. And if Dean wants to tell me something, he can always do that himself. In person. He’s here anyway.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright.”

It was silent again, between you and him, until Castiel took in a sharp breath and leaned forward into something close to a bow.

“I’m sure they await me,” he explained. “Goodbye, Y/N.” He then turned around to open the door, but paused mid his action.

“You do look a lot like him, you know?” He said.

That’s it.

“Out,” you ordered him harshly and Castiel walked through the door, closing it behind him.

—

You had, in fact, ended up helping Cass study for her upcoming exam. Well, what means help, you had asked her questions and she had to answer them correctly - which worked expectedly not so well.

“I can just play the dead friend card,” she had joked, but you knew that she was actually actively considering it.

In that moment though, you had just skipped over her remark and continued asking her about the digestive system of a Baird’s beaked whale.

It was already late at night when the two of you finally hugged goodbye.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You helped a lot. I’ll forget it all until tomorrow morning, but I do appreciate your effort.”

You smiled at her. “Don’t worry, you’ll nail it. Or at least not fail.”

She laughed. “You think too highly of me, Y/N.”

For a few moments, nobody said a word. “I never asked you,” Cass eventually started, “are you okay?”

You took a deep breath and shifted your weight. “Considering the circumstances, I guess. You?”

“Same thing,” she said. You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling. “It still feels weird only being three people,” you realized.

“Yeah,” Cass agreed quietly.

A few beats of silence passed, until you got yourself back together and shook your body as if to shake off your grief.

“But whatever,” you sighed. “Can’t change that now, can we?”

You looked at Cass and she hummed with a dull shrug, seeming lost in her own thoughts.

She absentmindedly opened her bedroom door, but just as she wanted to disappear into the room, you grabbed her arm to stop her for a second.

“By the way, about your nightmares,” you said, “maybe you can take some pills against that, if it gets too much. Unregulated sleep is probably worse than no sleep.”

Cass managed a tired smile. “Will try, thanks. Goodnight babes, love you,” she threw you a kiss.

“Love you too, good night,” you said back and smiled at her, waiting until she closed the door to enter your own room.

—

You didn’t know what woke you up. The glowing numbers of the digital clock on your nightstand showed it to be somewhere around half past three. Really not your usual wake-up time.

Just as you rolled around in your sheets to get your missing hours of sleep in, you heard strange shuffling outside your door. Perking up, you realized it sounded like the overlapping chatter of voices, and shoes pounding over the smooth floor.

Yeah, no way you would be going back to sleep now.

Especially not with the uncomfortable feeling that had settled into your stomach.

Stumbling a bit, your joints not quite awake yet, you trutted over to your door and creaked it open slightly.

The white light burned your eyes at the start, as you slipped out of your room and were met with the sight of multiple people fussing around not that far away.

The uneasy feeling only got worse, as you realized two things at once: The people were first responders, firefighters, to be exact. And they were all gathered around the open door across the hallway to yours.

Cass.

You moved on autopilot, as your feet carried you closer to the scene, eyes not leaving the gaping black hole that was the entrance to your best friend’s room.

“What happened?” You asked the closest paramedic next to you, a young man with brown hair and dark gear. It didn’t help much, because his voice faded out into the back of your head, as movement began to settle over the group.

The paramedic gestured his hands, as he talked to you, though that was not at all what had grabbed your attention.

You could only look at her, as she was lying sprawled out on the stretcher that was being wheeled out of her bedroom.

Cass.

But it wasn’t Cass, it couldn’t be. Dark grey plastic was wrapped around her body, covering her features as one of the firefighters that pushed the gurney zipped the material closed.

A body bag.

You felt bile rise into your throat.

Who put a seventeen-year-old in a body bag?

She wasn’t supposed to be there. What was she doing in there.

She had a biology exam tomorrow. She was supposed to join you at breakfast. In just a few hours. She was supposed to still lay in her bed and sleep, fast and sound.

Lay in her bed. Not on a moving gurney. Her bed.

You had laid in that bed. Just a few hours before.

The exam.

Breakfast.

Dark grey plastic.

Body Bag. A body. Dead. A dead body.

Dead. Dead. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Dead.

Like a distant echo, you still vaguely registered the young paramedic talking to you; he came to an abrupt stop when you bent over and threw up on his shoes.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Sioux Falls 2009

The soft music that sounded through Grandpa Bobby’s old house reminded you of Auntie Ellen’s Roadhouse.

It made you a bit homesick, but for a while now, whenever you asked Dad if you could go there again, he just shook his head and said that it wasn’t possible.

That’s also the reason why you’d been living with Grandpa Bobby for very long now, he had told you.

Auntie Ellen and Jo came to visit sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. But you saw Dad much more often, and you liked that. You missed him whenever he went out and saved people.

Grandpa Bobby had told you that it was very important, what Dad and Uncle Sam did. That’s why you never complained when they stayed away for long.

Grandpa Bobby said they saved lives. Like firemen, he said. Or Sheriff Jody.

Auntie Ellen and Jo came over for a visit today. Dad had said that they were here to help him and Uncle Sam take care of something, that’s why they had to leave later.

Jo was playing your favorite boardgame with you. You had missed her. She was still very pretty. You knew your Dad thought that too.

“Alright,” Dad said, walking through the threshold that connected Grandpa Bobby’s workroom and the dinner table where you and Jo were currently playing. “It’s time to get this little Lady to sleep.”

You pouted at him.

“But Dad, I still want to stay up and play with Jo!”

Dad raised his eyebrows and threw a pointing look at his watch.

“It is already way past your bedtime, kiddo. And I heard tomorrow is a big school day?”

He was right. Tomorrow, you started your first singing lessons with all your bestest friends. Not all of them as best friends as Jo was, though.

Your shoulders slumped.

“Can I at least say Goodbye to you?”

Dean’s gaze went soft as he looked at you. He knew how hard this was for you, how he left all the time and came back for only such short periods. But he wanted to make this a better world for you to grow up in. And when all of this was over, and it would be tonight, hopefully, then he would allow himself to settle down and spend all the time he could give with you.

“Of course you can, my little love.”

Dad crouched down and lifted you up into his arms.

“Dean, Jo!” Came Auntie Ellen’s voice from the study, “We’re ready!”

Dad threw you a mysterious look as he stepped into Grandpa Bobby’s workspace, where he and Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam already stood lined up.

You noticed the camera set up on a strange construction.

Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam smiled when they saw you.

“You don’t mind a small addition, do you, Ellen?” Dad asked, and Auntie Ellen shook her head.

“Of course not!” She smiled, and made space for you and Dad to stand next to her. He was still carrying you in his arms, supporting your weight with his hip.

“Alright, on the count of three, all smile in the camera!” Uncle Sam said.

“One, two, three!”

You giggled when Dad tickled your stomach. You wanted to see the picture right now, but Grandpa Bobby had told you it would take a while to develop.

Enveloped in bear hugs from Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam and Dad, to say goodbye to them, you finally agreed to go to bed.

“Dad?” You asked him, as he went to close the door behind him. Dad turned around and looked at you, snuggled into the warm blanket with your favorite stuffed animal under your arm.

“You’ll come back soon, right?”

Dad smiled at your words. “Of course I will, sweetheart. And Uncle Sam, and Auntie Ellen, and Jo. All of us.”

“You promise?”

Dad pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Don’t worry about that, baby. Sleep well.”

Even years later, Dean Winchester still carried an old photograph in his wallet, of a brunette mother, a blonde daughter, a father figure, and two brothers.

Though, one of them wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather at the small child he held on his side, his hand on her stomach as she blindingly smiled a carefree smile into the camera.

His own was dreamy as he watched her, and yes, for that moment, he dared to say, maybe even carefree as well.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

Cass’s room was never quiet. Whether she was blasting music or playing guitar, singing her soul out in the shower or watching a move obnoxiously louder than it had to be.

Cass’s room was never quiet. Especially not as it was now.

The silver streams of light reaching through the window made her bedroom almost look so soft and inviting, as you stood there, observing, not quite in the hallway but not exactly in the room either.

It was macabre, what you saw. Not because the room looked so terrible, no, because it looked so … normal.

None of the bookshelves were tumbled over, or paper sprawled all across the floor.

The loose decoration items weren’t lying disheveled everywhere. No signs of a fight. A physical one.

The bed wasn’t made. Cass never did that.

The room looked so normal.

It looked so right.

So why wasn’t she?

“Y/N, sweetheart,” The sound of the familiar, comforting voice of Maria Whitlock reached your ears and made you slowly turn around.

Even through the blur of unshed tears in your eyes, you could make out the two familiar figures standing behind her.

“There’s someone here to talk to you.”

You blinked away the tears and caught Dean’s gaze, and for the first time since you had seen him again, his features looked so soft and merciful, towards you, it had the power to almost shatter your heart.

And you hated yourself for how much you wanted to be comforted by him, be held in his arms like the small child that once had been, only seeking safety with her-

“What are you doing here?” The question came out harsher than you had expected it to, almost an accusation. But neither Sam nor Dean did flinch at your tone.

“We wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” It was obvious why. They knew, you knew, they knew you knew.

“I think you know about what,” Sam said, the softness in his voice grazing your stuttering heartbeat like a soft breeze.

Dean gestured in the direction of your room.

“In private.”

You didn’t want to speak alone to them. Then again, for the past almost-decade, it had been everything you could’ve wished for.

As you settled onto your bed, both Sam and Dean taking it upon themselves to find chairs to be comfortable, you felt like a small child again.

Looking at Dean, there was a familiarity that you needed, it was grounding, and you hated that it was. His presence, which had felt like home, and like safety for so long, being everything that you craved these past few days made your skin itch, because he still felt so right.

And you still felt so safe with him.

In a matter of seconds, you stood there and turned from a young woman into a small child, that wanted to throw herself in his arms and let him tell her that everything would turn out to be alright, because he was there, and he would look out for you. No matter what happened between the two of you, that had not changed, and you didn’t know what to think about it.

Sam was the first one to clear his throat. Of course he was.

“How are you feeling?”

Half-heartedly, because that was all you could muster right now, you raised an eyebrow at him. At least he had the decency to look a bit ashamed of his question.

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

Surprised, you turned your head to look at Dean. His green eyes were soft with sincerity.

“I don’t know how much she meant to you.” He glanced at Sam. “But I can imagine.”

You swallowed hard and looked back at your fumbling fingers again.

“Yeah, she was – she was great.” Your voice broke mid-sentence and you sniffled.

You cleared your throat. “Uhm, but – anyways, that’s not why you’re here. Am I right?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, that could be regret as much as it could be pity, and then turned back to you.

“We’re sorry. But if we want to catch whatever is doing this, we need to have all the information,” Sam apologized.

You nodded. You already knew what they were going to ask, so you saved their time and jumped straight to the answers.

“There was nothing – unusual.” You rubbed your eyes. “She was okay just yesterday, she was- I helped her studying biology, we-“ You interrupted yourself.

Sam threw you another pitying look.

“Is there a chance she might’ve had nightmares too? You know, like Roy,” Dean asked you.

You threw your hand in the air. “Yeah, I guess,” you said. “Didn’t really think that much into it. You know, considering what happened.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheeks and gulped. “Right.”

It was quiet again. The brothers looked at each other one last time, before Sam stood up and fixed his suit jacket.

“Alright. We’re gonna leave you now.”

Please don’t.

You nodded.

Sam stretched his hand out to reach for you, but hesitated mid-air and pulled his arm back again.

“Whenever you need something,” Dean said meaningfully, before he stepped out the door, “Call us.” Call me.

You hummed absently.

The click of the lock drowned the bedroom in a deafening silence again.

—

Night came sooner than you thought it would. Sleep didn’t.

You thought, with the exhaustion that had been dragging down your bones all day long, it would only be a matter of time until exhaustion claimed you.

Without thinking about it, you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and opened up your chat with Finn.

With a sting in your heart, you realized that the last text conversation the two of you had had, had been more than a week ago.

Before all of this started.

Your keyboard clicked as you typed out the message.

hey

The answer came almost instantly.

Hey

can’t sleep either?

No

Your thumbs hovered over the buttons as you thought of what to type next.

I’m sorry we didn’t talk the entire day

It’s okay

It’s not like I came to see you either

would it be terrible to ask how you’re feeling?

Everyone’s been asking that

Oh, how you knew.

But to be honest

I don’t know

First Roy now Cass

Hasn’t reached my brain tbh

Feels more like a dream and I could wake up any second

I know what you mean

You paused for a moment, before you decided to send out the next text.

I’m still waiting for her to waltz into my room at 6 in the morning because she wants to get some mini donuts at breakfast before they’re all gone

You could practically hear the snickering laugh of Finn’s, as the icon told you he was typing out his next message.

Or letting my Alexa play the most random songs

I swear to God I’ve heard less sexual content in actual porn than that one Nicki Minaj song

first of all, it was cardi b, you pig, and

second that song is legendary

she was right to show it to you

A short while, you didn’t get an answer and you were almost afraid that Finn had either fallen asleep or that you had said something inappropriate, when the familiar ding made your screen light up.

We can catch up tomorrow

You know, maybe it would help us both

I know we haven’t been the same since all of this started, but I would really like us to be

Now more than ever

A heavy tug clamped around your heart at his words

you’re right

let’s talk tomorrow

Alright

Goodnight Y/N

good night finn

Sleep didn’t come in the first second after you plugged your phone on the charger, or even after you turned around to face the other wall.

But, as you laid on your back and felt the comforting arms of exhaustion grab after you, you had a feeling that it would’ve been worse if you had not talked to Finn.

—

Meanwhile, in the motel, Dean was slamming his third book this evening shut and tossed it onto the ever-growing pile of “absolute useless crap that nobody needed and was a total waste of time”. The name had been his idea.

Sam didn’t even look up as his brother stood up with a screeching from the wooden floor as he slid the chair back, and started pacing around the room.

“I hate this,” he mumbled under his breath.

“How is it even possible that, everywhere we look, there isn’t even the smallest hint at what we might be chasing?”

Demonstratively, he picks up a book from the pile they brought back from the library, and lets it fall on the desk again.

“Not to mention that we’re completely wasting our time here reading through this absolute crap, and we’ve got jack squat!”

The paper rustled as Sam turned another page.

“I already told you, Dean,” he muttered, eyes still concentrated on the faded ink of the book. “There was nothing online, so we had to go old-school.”

Dean kept muttering under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”

Sam rolled his eyes and placed a new book where his brother had been sitting a few minutes ago.

“If you want it to go faster and we can catch this thing, sit down and get to reading. Research doesn’t do itself.”

Dean was still cursing under his breath when he reached the second chapter.

—

The loud chatter of multiple conversations, accompanied by faint music playing in the background and the occasional clinking of glasses or beer bottles was an all too familiar mix of noises for you.

The light in the Roadhouse bar was still a warm-toned white, and the men and women all towered over you in lengths. Immediately, the feeling of home engulfed you.

You were looking around, searching for the familiar set of colorful crayons, where had your Auntie Ellen put them? You were bored and wanted to draw a pretty picture of the horse you had seen this morning.

Squeezing through the people, they all made way for you when they realized who wanted to get past them, you tried calling out for Auntie Ellen or Jo, but no tone left your throat.

A panicked feeling settled in your stomach.

Then, you spotted a tall figure just a few feet away from you. They were wearing a cool leather jacket and had their back turned to you.

You made your way over to them. You didn’t know why, but somehow you knew that this stranger could help you.

When you had almost reached them, they suddenly started moving and walked away. You wanted to cry after them, but you still couldn’t speak.

You moved your legs as fast as you could, running after them, but the people in the bar suddenly got more and more, always shoving and not making room for you anymore.

The person still hadn’t shown you their face, you could only see their back as you fought to get to them. Then, they walked through the door out of the Roadhouse.

With one last push, and a protesting yell that didn’t leave your throat, you rushed after them into the light.

With a creak, the Impala’s door swung open, and you shuffled your feet out of the car until they hit the gravel.

Dad had offered to open the door for you, but you were a big girl already, you could get out of the car on your own.

When you turned around to ask him what you were doing here, you faltered.

The Impala was gone. So was Dad. And Uncle Sam. You looked around, but they were nowhere to be found. Your breathing quickened as you realized that you were alone, somewhere you didn’t know, on stoney ground with only your bunny slippers. You didn’t even have your favorite stuffed animal with you!

“Hey, let’s go,” you suddenly heard a voice say, and turned around to see a girl with black hair stand in front of you.

Suddenly, as you had just been looking up to her, the two of you were now eye to eye. She just stared at you.

A name popped into your head.

Cass.

That’s weird. You knew a Cass. And then it hit you.

Your best friend. Roy, Finn, Cassandra. Sam and Dean.

But Cass was dead. She couldn’t be here. Looking around, you noticed that the scenery around you was blurry by the edges.

Weren’t you standing on a pathway just now? Why were you in a cafeteria?

This wasn’t real, none of it. It was a dream.

Harsh dread clawed itself into your heart like iced water. You had to get out of here. How did you get out of a dream?

You knew it, you had done this before, with your nightmares. You had to die.

You moved your feet, tried running away, but the floor wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried, you didn’t move an inch, it’s like you were stuck.

You began to panic. This couldn’t be, there had to be a way for you to get out.

The next thing you knew, you lost the ground beneath your feet, and everything was black. You were falling.

You felt your organs being lifted by the air pressing you up, felt your heart pump so hard you were afraid it would jump out of your chest.

There was nothing around, only darkness, only empty.

No, no, no.

You wanted to scream, but your vocal cords were cut. Not a sound escaped your lips.

You had to get out, if there was nothing around you, how could you die?

You screamed without a sound.

If this was your dream, why couldn’t you just shape it the way you wanted?

The next thing you knew, there was light around you, and you were running again.

“Dean, look at this.” Sam slammed a massive book under Dean’s nose, dangerously close to Dean’s freshly filled coffee. Reflexive, Dean pulled the cup a few inches away.

Sam placed his finger on one of the open pages of the book. “Here,” he said. “I think this could be it.” Dean leaned forward to read.

You had landed on a road, a highway, judging by the many cars around you. This time, you actually managed to run somewhere, even if a lot slower than you usually would. Like treading through water.

It felt like you were chasing something, but you didn’t know what it was.

“If this is really it,” Dean said, when he finished reading, “Then we have a big problem.”

You did your best to remember your original plan. Right now, you were on a stripe of green next to the busy road. You had to change that.

Sam nodded heavily. “We need to get to Saint George’s immediately.”

Sam grabbed his jacket, but Dean didn’t move an inch, still staring at the handwritten words on the old paper in front of him.

You used all your strength to tread to the left, where cars were rushing from both sides over the street.

“This thing basically feeds off of bad experiences, right?”

Sam nods.

It was a red car that did it. You saw it coming as you made a beeline over the highway. As you noticed the headlights speeding towards you, for a split second you asked yourself, “What if this isn’t a dream. What if this is real.” You didn’t feel the impact when the car hit you.

“Then that means-“ Dean’s head shot up so fast Sam feared his brother would get whiplash.

“Y/N,” Dean breathed out.

Your heart was still beating rapidly in your chest when you officially woke up. The memory of the nightmare was still rushing through your minds, pictures playing behind your eyelids.

You had a hard time breathing, your chest felt as if it was carrying a hard weight that caged in your lungs.

You forced open your eyes to get yourself a glass of water. You were met with two yellow glowing orbs staring right back at you, merely inches away from your face in the darkness of the room.

You couldn’t stop the terrified scream that erupted from your throat.

oooh guys, only one chapter to go! what are we thinking? do you have any ideas on what the monster could be? and what do we think about cass and finn? comments & reblogs are always appreciated, see y’all in the next part!

[johnwickb1tsch]

Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

Imagine you are the love of John Wick's life...

You meet in Paris when he’s a young man. You spend a mind-blowing night together, and watch the sun rise from Sacré-Coeur. He disappears, and you’re devastated because no one has ever made you feel that way, and you’re certain you’ll never see him again. But throughout the years he keeps finding you as you travel for work. He kisses you silly in the Gamla Stan of Stockholm, makes you cum on his fingers in a dark club in London, and when he leaves you utterly wrecked in Rome you know that you’re in love with this man. You don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but you’re not stupid. You’ve memorized every inch of his body, and you notice as his collection of scars multiplies over the years. You are half convinced he's a spy, but then there are the tattoos...ominous as they are captivating, they suggest membership in a darker world than the shadows of international espionage. You cannot reconcile it. How can this sweet man, this man who makes you laugh, who brings you joy and such exquisite pleasure, be a part of such a violent occupation? When you finally get up the courage to ask him he just shakes his head, and says it’s better you don’t know before kissing you in that way that utterly scrambles your brain cells.

-It all started in Paris with a broken heel... You nearly fell into traffic, but a strong arm around your waist snatched you back from death.

You hid against his chest for a long moment, even though he was a total stranger, because he felt so safe. You were in Paris for your first Fashion Week—and you were so lost. It’s the 1990s, a dark age in which we didn’t have handheld computers to pleasantly tell us where to go, and we used archaic documents to find our way known as paper maps...And you’d left yours in your hotel accidentally.  

You look up to see kind brown eyes fixed down on you. “Are you alright?” You hate to think it, but you are so relieved to hear an American accent. You have been yelled at no less than three times in French that day, and even if you totally deserved it, you're a bit gun shy now.

“Yes. Thank you. Jesus, I...” You look at the traffic barreling by at breakneck speed, a chill running down your spine. “Thank you,” you say again. You look up at him, really look at him, and realize you're in the arms of the most handsome man you've ever seen—and you work in fashion. 

“You're welcome.” 

He seems as taken by you as you are by him, and for a stretch of long moments you just stand there staring at each other like moon-eyed idiots. He looks down, suddenly shy. It's totally endearing. “Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing you slowly. You teeter on your broken heel, and you can tell he is ready to grab you again if he has to. This protectiveness makes a surprising warmth bloom in your heart.

“Do you...need help getting somewhere?” he asks. You wonder if it’s that obvious you’re lost. Usually you'd be wary of that question from a stranger. You've dealt with so many creeps throughout your life. But somehow you sense that he’s sincere. 

“I guess I'd better get back to my hotel.” 

Sebastiano was going to kill you. You broke a $600 pair of heels...well maybe Gucci should have made them better, the lazy bastards. 

“Can I get you a cab?” 

With your broken heel, you guess you’re not hoofing it back. “Sure.” He hails one down, and you’re delighted when he climbs in with you, speaking to the driver in perfect French, bless him.

“Where are we headed?” You give him the name of your hotel, and he repeats it the way it’s supposed to be said. Oh. No wonder the previous drivers gave you such contemptuous looks… You took Spanish in high school, ok? You can read French but have zero experience speaking it.

When you arrive at the hotel your savior thrusts a wad of Francs through the window before you have a chance to even open your purse, and helps you out of the cab. You are totally leaning against his arm more than you have to. You can feel the hard curve of his bicep beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and it makes you a little giddy. Only once you’re safe in the lobby does he seem willing to release you, though somehow your hand has ended up in his, and you find you don’t really want to let go. “Are you doing anything later?” you ask boldly, before he can disappear back into the bustle of Paris and you’ll never find him again.

He pays you a melancholy smile that squeezes your heart for some reason. “Unfortunately, I have to work,” he says. You make a pouty face that draws his attention to your lips. The intensity in those dark eyes is thrilling. “Maybe if I finish early…I could join you?”

You know you grin like an idiot at this suggestion. “I’ll be at the Versace afterparty. I could…have your name put on the list?”

This seems to amuse him for some reason, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “I can find you,” he says, and your heart flutters. In fact, when he presses his lips to your knuckles, your heart attempts to flutter right out of your chest.

He turns to go but you call, “Wait!” He pauses. “What’s your name?”

The smile he pays you is heart stopping. “Jardani,” he answers quietly. “But everyone calls me John.” You bite your lip, nodding, very pleased with this new bit of information, sensing that maybe he’s told you something just for you. “I hope I get to see you later.”

He nods too, touching your cheek lightly. “You will.”

It sounds like a promise.

-You should be beside yourself with excitement because you’re walking your first runway in Paris, and this could be the moment that makes or breaks your career, but the real reason for your nerves is the hope that you’ll see him again.

-The show goes great. You kill it. Sebastiano, your friend and the designer you’d modeled for, can hardly contain himself. But you find you’re just watching the clock ticking down the seconds until later.  

-John does find you later. You have a drink, and you dance, and from the adoring way he looks at you, you feel brave enough to ask if he wants to go someplace quieter. You go for a little walk, and even though it’s the wee hours of the morning you feel perfectly safe with this man. He kisses you on the Pont Alexandre, his hands in your hair, and your fingers curl in the lapels of his jacket to hold him to you. You ask if he wants to go back to your hotel, and he agrees. This man looks at you like you are something irreplaceably precious, and you don’t know how you’ll let him go.

-He is strong. In your hotel room he picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall, kissing you senseless before carrying you to the bed. His hands are calloused, but he’s so gentle with you. He touches you like you were made for him, like he was born knowing how to make you see stars. He claims you with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful cock deep inside you, and you know you’ll never be the same after this. You’ve been disappointed so many times that you almost don’t know how to handle an encounter going this well.

-When he stirs in the blue light of pre-dawn your arms tighten around him. You’re not even awake yet, but you don’t want him to leave. He kisses you behind the ear and you practically purr. “Want to see the second most beautiful sight in Paris?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Bring your camera.” You’d told him about your interest in photography. Maybe modeling was paying the bills, but you’d actually majored in fine art, and minored in literature. Naturally, your interests make for shit at paying bills.  

Sleepily you get dressed. It takes a little longer than usual because you can’t stop kissing each other between pulling on garments. Soft, slow kisses that curl your toes. You sense deep down that every one of them is infused with apology, and goodbye. It breaks your heart, but greedily you’ll take every second with him you can get.He takes you to Sacré-Coeur in the heart of Montmartre, the very roof of Paris. You sit on the steps and watch the sun rise over the city, fiery oranges and pinks painting the sky and rendering the buildings aglow. It truly is beautiful, but you don’t lift your lens to try to capture it. You sit with your arm linked with his, and experience this moment with him as fully as you can. You want to remember everything.

“You didn’t take a picture,” he teases once the sun has cheerfully risen above the horizon.

You pull out the camera and frame him in your lens, his sleepy smile and bed-mussed hair. You feel something shift in your heart as your finger depresses the button. Click. You’re not sure if it’s the camera in your hand, or something settling into place in your heart that has always belonged there.

“Now I have the first most beautiful sight in Paris,” you say.

He laughs at that. “I meant that was you,” he insists, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing the back of your hand. He takes you to breakfast, and you enjoy dark coffee and delectably crafted pastries with your legs tangled together under the table. Afterwards he takes you back to your hotel, and in the gilt-appointed lobby somehow you know what’s coming.

“I have to go,” he says sadly. You actually believe his regret isn’t an act.

You nod, leaning into his large hand on your cheek.

“I’ll never forget you, y/n.”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you close your eyes. You are not going to cry.

“Likewise, I promise you.”

You don’t exchange any further information. You know that if it was possible to see him again, he would have offered it to you. There is something mysterious about this man. Something almost…forbidden, and a part of you knows that the little time you stole together was a precious gift.

He kisses you one last time, a passionate, soul-rending thing that leaves you utterly weak in the knees. He says nothing more, pressing his forehead to yours one final time before turning to go. You watch his tall, dark form exit the hotel into the Paris morning, and you know he’s taking a piece of your heart with him as he goes.   

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

tbc because goddamn this got long...

part deux >>

[vodika-vibes]

After a very thoroughly singling out my favorite smut prompts, I'd like to request: Either 20. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.” or 5. “I can’t pull out when you wrap your legs around me like that.” (or maybe both? 👀) With a feral Hunter Sorry I couldn't decide 🫣 - I'm just down bad for him. Have a nice day

I'll Take Care of You

Summary: Hunter takes care of you when you fall apart.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x Reader

Word Count: 1492

Warnings: Smut, Reader has an abusive boyfriend, infidelity

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I don't know if I like this one. I think I might be to critical, but Hunter feels hard to write for me. Almost as hard as Tech. Dos it saw something about me that I have the easiest time writing about Crosshair? And now I actually do have to go, lol. My husband took a nap so I could write this.

You’ve been friends, or at least friendly, with Hunter for ages now. Since he moved with his brothers and younger sister to Pabu, actually. He’s always happy to offer his help around your house, though you’ve never actually asked for his help.

You like to joke that he has a sixth sense that’s directed towards knowing when you need help around your house.

He likes to joke that it’s called “big brother” senses, and that he just knows when the people closest to him need help.

And while Hunter is very attractive, and you kind of hoped for more than just friendship, his comment makes you think that you’re solidly in the kid sibling category in his mind. So you mentally shrug, and turn your attention elsewhere.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem, except when you did find a boyfriend, Hunter would scrunch up his nose whenever he came around you. Quietly, he admitted that you smell like your new boyfriend and it’s not exactly a pleasant odor to be exposed to.

And you felt so bad at the time, that you made sure that you showered whenever Hunter was going to come over, and you also made sure that your boyfriend never came over to your house. Should you have put Hunter over your boyfriend? Probably not, but you did.

It seemed to help, for a time. Hunter smiled a little more, and didn’t scrunch up his nose quite so much when he was around you. And it was going well…for a bit.

Until your boyfriend starts making demands. 

“Spend less time with the clones.”

“Spend more time with me.”

“If you loved me, you would let me move in with you.”

“If you loved me you would give me half of your paycheck.”

“Since you won’t let me live with you, it’s only right that you pay my rent.”

“I can’t believe you spend so much time with other men. Stop being such a whore.”

It’s…a lot. Too much, really.

And it all comes to a head late one afternoon, when Hunter’s helping you repair your broken sink. You’re putting your clean dishes away, and you drop a plate, and it shatters into pieces.

And you stare at the broken plate while Hunter moves to get a broom and tells you to stay put so you don’t get hurt, and you just fall apart. Hunter, being the godsend that he is, manages to pull you somewhere safe, and then he proceeds to ignore the broken plate in favor of comforting you.

And as he holds you and strokes your hair and tells you that it’s just a plate, that it’s not the end of the world-

You spill everything. Every cruel word. Every demand. Every little thing your boyfriend does that makes you feel worthless. And his hands stop moving. His hands rest gently on the top of your head, and your face is pressed against his neck, and you want nothing more than to hide in him, because Hunter has always been you’re safe place to land, but he’s not yours-

And then Hunter’s hands are on your shoulders, and he pushes you back, just enough that he’s able to see your face. You have tears in your eyes, and on your cheeks, and he’s so furious that his lips are pressed into a thin line.

But his touch is so, so gentle when he brushes a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

He scans your face for a moment, “Stars, I’m fucked.” Hunter mumbles, and then his hand slides to the back of your neck and he crashes his lips against yours. 

You’re surprised, but Hunter has always been your first choice, so it takes very little time for you to curl your hands in his shirt, and to kiss him back. 

He releases a noise that can only be called a growl and he walks you backwards until your back bumps into your bedroom door. Hunter uses his lips and teeth and tongue to devastating effect, and it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before you’re whimpering and whining for him. 

He pulls away from you just long enough to open your bedroom door, and then his lips are on your neck, biting and sucking marks onto your skin, as he walks you backwards to your bed.

You squeak as you fall back on your bed, and you blink up at Hunter as he doesn’t follow you to the bed. Instead he stands over you, his gaze dark with desire, as he pulls his shirt off and throws it to the side. “We should stop,” He rumbles low in his chest.

You reach out for him, “Probably,” You agree.

He climbs over you, and crashes his lips against yours, his hands sliding under your thin shirt, his fingers gently exploring your body, “Wanted to do this for ages,” Hunter mumbles against your lips, “Thought you were happy.”

You tangle one of your hands in his hair, “You were always my first choice.” You admit quietly.

He closes the distance between you, short as it is. The next time he pulls away, it’s only for long enough to peel your shirt off, and toss it somewhere in the room, before attaching his lips to your collar, intent to leave marks everywhere you allow it.

“My perfect beautiful cyare,” He groans against you as he slides down your body, removing your clothes as he does so, “I’m going to fuck you so good, you forget all about that bastard.”

You release a quiet whine, and you lightly tug on his hair to pull him back up so you’re able to kiss him, something that he’s more than happy to go along with, based on how he curls an arm around you, and impatiently kicks how own pants off his legs, leaving them sitting on the edge of the bed rather than fully tossing them out of the way.

He grinds his hard length against you and a quiet moan falls from you, “Hunter, please.” Your voice is soft.

He rains feather light kisses all across your face, “I have you cyare.” Hunter promises, one of his hands sliding down your body to lazily slide between your folds, “You’re so wet, mesh’la.”

You press your face against his neck at his words, feeling a flush of embarrassment, and Hunter lets you for a moment, “Don’t hide from me, cyare.” he coos, “Love it. Love how wet I make you. Wanna spend the rest of my life making you feel amazing-” He murmurs into your ear, and then he lightly pats your hip, “Lift up a little, cyare. Need to remove these,” He lightly snaps the elastic to your underwear against your skin.

You squeak, but do as he asks, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your legs and toss them to the side. 

The moment you’re both bare, he sits back on his heels and just stares down at your body. Hunter uses his hands to trail over the newly exposed skin, exploring you with his fingers and his eyes, and then he leans in to explore your body with his lips and tongue.

“I wonder,” He murmurs as his lips trail to your nipples, “Can I make you fall apart just like this.” It’s an absent comment, more to himself than you, and then his gaze meets yours, and you note the glimmer of mischief on his face. “I bet I can.”

And then his lips are around your nipple, and he takes his sweet time. Licking, sucking, and gently nips, paired with feather light touches across your thighs, and ghosting touches over where you need him the most-

It doesn’t take long for him to push you over the edge, his hair tight in your fingers and his name a prayer on your lips. 

But it’s not enough. And a sly smile crosses his face when you, breathlessly, tell him so. “Don’t worry, angel. I’m nowhere close to being done with you.”

**********

The following day, there’s a knock on your door. And you, too exhausted from your night with Hunter, don’t even stir. Hunter, however, does.

So he pulls on his pants, and he saunters to the door. And when he opens the door, he leans against the frame and smirks at your now ex. He doesn’t even bother to try and hide the marks you left on his body.

Hunter’s voice is very pleasant, even if it’s a little rough, “I suggest you walk away.” The ex flushes, and opens his mouth to say something, only to get cut off by Hunter, “You made her cry. You made her feel worthless. You’re lucky I haven’t shot you. Leave.”

Hunter watches him stalk away, and then shuts the door. Only to hear your soft voice from the bedroom, “Hunter?”

A slow smirk crosses his face, “I’ll be right back, mesh’la.” He calls to you.

[formulalfc]

an-the highly requested part 2 of Walls Around My Heart, I hope you like it!! <3

Part 1

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Walls Around My Heart

tw-swearing

You had sat in the toilet of the bar for around half an hour before you decided you had had enough of feeling sorry for yourself and ordered an uber to take you back to the hotel you and Charles were staying in.

You were in two minds about going back, you didn’t want to see Charles tonight, but you were in a city you didn’t know and didn’t feel safe enough to figure out finding your own place to stay.

Your fear overtook your sadness and anger, and you shuffled your way through the crowded club, making sure to avoid anyone you recognised.

You managed to find your way out through the exit, and you stood out front, arms wrapped around yourself to keep you warm. You were quickly regretting wearing the little red dress you had put on because you knew how much Charles loved seeing you in red.

Your uber pulled up and you slid in, politely greeting the driver before you looked out the window and enjoyed the quite sounds of the radio as you replayed the course of the evening in your head.

It wasn’t long before your uber had arrived outside your hotel and you thanked your driver before stepping out the car and pushing through the revolving door of the hotel.

You kept your head down as you walked, knowing that the whole team was here and not wanting to bump into anyone that would tell Charles you were here.

You rushed over to the elevator, pressing the button of your floor and watching as the door started to slide shut, but just before they closed a body hurtled full speed through the gap and stopped just in front of where you were stood.

It took you a moment to realise just who had stumbled into the elevator with you, a scoff coming out of your mouth at the sight of your dishevelled boyfriend.

He looked at you, taking in the redness of your eyes and the remnants of the mascara you had been wearing smeared down your cheeks before he slammed his hand against the emergency stop button causing the elevator to come screeching to a halt.

He ran a hand through his hair before he spoke, “I fucked up. I fucked up bad and I’m so sorry baby. I should have noticed that you were uncomfortable and more importantly I should have listened to you when you told me and done something about it. I know the team can be closed off to new people, we spend so much time together that we’ve become a family but that is no excuse for anyone to make you feel as though you don’t belong there. You’re my girlfriend, the love of my life, my best friend in the whole world and you are always going to be the most important person in any room we are in. I’m so ashamed that I made you feel like you weren’t and I’m going to make it up for you in any way I can if you’ll let me?”

You looked at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes, saw the way his chest heaved up and down from running to catch up to you in the elevator and knew in your heart he was already forgiven.

You said nothing to him just hit the emergency button again as you smirked, “you cant start your apology by ordering me room service, I’m starving.”

He laughed as he pulled you into his chest and placed a kiss on your head mumbling, “anything for you, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[cerebralinvasion]

yandere february event day 4

“My life is so bleak without you.”

dazai looked down at you, his hand stroking your head. you looked half asleep, he couldn’t exactly see your face because of your position with your head on his lap, but he was decently sure your eyes were closed. how someone could trust him of all people enough to fall asleep to fall asleep right by him was entirely beyond him.

the two of you casually exchanged words, the time between each comment growing longer as you progressed into the night. and as the two of you grew closer and closer to falling asleep, dazai found his guard beginning to slip. his facade melting away and his true feelings shining through. 

“my life is so bleak without you.”

it came out suddenly. the last time either of you spoke up had to be at least five minutes ago, on the subject of ice cream flavors or something or other. even still, despite being on the brink of unconsciousness you could hear how empty dazai’s voice sounded. dead, cold, and entirely devoid of any humanness. you peeked your eyes open, shifting yourself slightly so you could look him in the face. his expression read the same as his tone, staring at you back with dull brown eyes. if you didn’t know better you might’ve actually feared he was a corpse. the silence stretched on for a little as your drowsy mind struggled to find the right words.

“i… i know you feel that way, but i’m sure you’ll be able to find more that bring you happi-”

“no. you don’t understand. everything else in this world… it means nothing to me. you are the only thing that makes me feel complete. the only thing that makes me feel like an actual person.”

you felt as though you were seeing a dazai you’d never seen before. maybe one that no one had ever seen before. it was strange, terrifying even. so entirely devoid of life or any of the things you’d usually associate with him. so serious. the unwavering eye contact, and blank expression. you weren’t sure what to make of it. part of you wanted to feel happy, to be honored he felt safe enough with you to be willing to be himself. but the rest of you couldn’t help but be genuinely unnerved.

you paused, awkward in the thick silence that had settled over the once peaceful room. he had to have noticed it. the way you didn’t know how to respond. your sudden nervousness. the pressure you felt in that moment, hearing that dazai considered you his only lifeline. dazai’s so smart, he had to know all of what was going through your head. but he didn’t help ease your worries. he didn’t find the words for you or end the conversation there. it was then that you realized you really were trapped in the situation. stuck looking up at him from his lap, unable to even tilt your head away due to his hold. but he didn’t let it end, he kept you with the responsibility of responding, despite your clear discomfort. perhaps he enjoyed it, maybe he even relished in the feeling. of knowing he was the one that made you nervous. knowing he was the one you felt you needed to be there for. knowing that he was the only thing running through your mind at the moment. he savored the few seconds of your panicked silence.

“hah just kidding!” and just like that his cheery voice had fully returned. gone was the dead expression, though his eyes still felt devoid of any of the excitement his smile showed. “i can’t believe you took me so seriously! annnnyways it’s getting late, let’s head to bed, yeah?” 

he scooted you off his lap and walked you to the bedroom. of course, despite your hesitant ‘right’ in acknowledgement of his statement, you didn’t write off the things he had said earlier. but maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. for you to spend your time analyzing his words. trying to decipher his mind. dazai always had a habit of using underhanded tactics. and if confusion and worry was what it took you to stay up late at night thinking only of him? then so be it.

[ofduskanddreams]

Truth or Dare, Azriel?

For @panicatthenightcourt :) The request: Gwynriel and Elucien. Tipsy truth or dare and maybe things get a little bit messy? I chose to make this a modern AU since it wasn't specified hehe.

A/N: It's implied that they've been drinking but let me assure everyone that they're still fully in control of themselves. There is no infidelity in this fic, everything is consented to by all parties involved.

Gwynriel & Elucien ✦ Rated M ✦ 1.3k words ✦ on AO3

Azriel dropped his head onto Gwyn’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scents of sunscreen and lavender shampoo.

The bonfire was crackling merrily and carving a pool of orange out of the deep violet night. Crickets chirped, frogs trilled, and the lake water lapped gently at the sand.

He was tipsy.

Gwyn smelled fucking amazing.

There were still four days left of their vacation.

He was at his favorite place with his favorite people.

It was too….

No. 

Azriel sat up, blinking against the firelight and reminding himself that he was allowed to have this without the constant fear of it being stripped away.  

Some things were truly good. Other shoes didn’t always drop.

“Everything alright, Az?” Elain asked. She was curled into Lucien’s side across the fire from them.

“Yeah, fine. I just spaced out.” He hoped his face betrayed nothing. The last thing he needed was for Lucien to spend the rest of their vacation calling him Sadzriel again. 

“Okay,” Gwyn exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “We are going to play a game because it’s too early for us to be getting tired. Besides, we need to give them—” she jerked her head toward the house on the hill “—more time before the cabin will be safe.”

Half an hour earlier, Nesta had dragged Cassian away from the fire claiming she was “tired.” Rhys and Feyre made their excuses not long after.

Gwyn had a point. Even if they wanted to go to bed right now, Azriel knew none of them would be able to fall asleep due to the volume of the others' activities. It was the one downside of this pine-sheltered haven on the lake. 

“What kind of game?” Lucien asked.

Azriel turned to his right. The flames danced tangerine in the teal reflection of Gwyn’s eyes making them gleam with a devilish light. 

His girlfriend shot him a sly smile. “Truth or Dare.”

Elain grinned, “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Lucien said with a huff of laughter. 

“Az?”

His past experiences of Truth or Dare weren’t what Azriel would call fond memories. Then again, maybe that was an unavoidable consequence of playing with Rhys and Cassian instead of being the fault of the game itself. And the way Gwyn was looking up at him all wide-eyed and lower lip caught between her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy….

“Fine, I’m in too.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lucien chuckled and Azriel threw an empty beer can at his head.

“If you had my memories of Truth or Dare, you wouldn’t be so psyched about it either,” Azriel grumbled. 

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral in the direction that Azriel had been dreading. They made it once around the circle and then it was Elain’s turn again. He knew it was going to be bad no matter which option he chose. The world may think Elain Archeron the epitome of sweet kindness, but those close to her knew better than to fall to that facade. Elain Archeron could be the devil in disguise.

“Truth or dare, Azriel?” she asked, her tone intentionally disarming.

Knowing Elain for as long as he had, he knew she knew things about him that few did—that Gwyn didn’t. Not yet, at least. They’d been together for a year but some things he wanted to share were so weighty that a year might not be strong enough to hold them. To choose “truth” would be too risky.

“Dare.” Azriel leaned back, leveling Elain with a look of challenge to belie his fear of her next words.

“I dare you to kiss Lucien. For at least five seconds. With feeling.”

And Elain looked so smug at that, Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Lucien was very attractive. Had they met in a bar and weren’t attached, he’d waste no time. “What do you say, Lucien?”

Lucien wore a smirk as he pushed off the log to stand. “If the ladies want a show, and you are willing, who am I to deny them?”

Azriel rose, moving until they were standing nearly chest to chest. “Oh, if it’s what the ladies want, I’m all in.” 

He shot a questioning glance toward Gwyn over his shoulder. It was only a fun game if everyone thought so, if she didn’t want him to do this he wouldn’t. But Gwyn was smiling, and she waved her hands as if to say by all means, please continue.

So, Azriel reached and tangled his fingers in the thick red hair at Lucien’s nape. He winked at Gwyn. “I always have had a thing for redheads,” and then he stepped into Lucien’s space.

Lucien was slightly taller than him. Azriel had forgotten until he had to tilt his chin at the last second. The kiss started out questioning: hi there, hello—drawing back, a second chaste brush and press—we’re doing this, yes we are.

Then it turned exploratory: how good of a kisser are you?—adding pressure—very good I’ll have you know—Lucien’s hands on either side of his jaw, tipping Azriel’s head as he took control. Azriel nipped Lucien’s lower lip in response to the challenge.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Gwyn. Azriel took that as his cue to slow, and Lucien did the same.

The kiss ended sincerely: that was rather nice—a strong press—it was, wasn’t it—parting, then coming back for one last peck, featherlight and lingering.

They stepped away from each other, smiling. Lucien offered Azriel his hand, “Nice work.”

Azriel shook it, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to sit beside Elain. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

Elain, whose red cheeks (though not as red as Gwyn’s when Azriel looked) were answer enough, but she huffed a laugh, “And then some. I don’t know what I expected but that was… something.” 

Lucien arched an eyebrow, glancing between Azriel and Gwyn with a silent question. Azriel couldn’t deny that the idea intrigued him, but that was something to think about for another night. Now he needed revenge.

“Elain—Truth or dare?” Azriel already knew which one she would choose, but they had to play the game. 

“Dare.” 

Just as he had hoped.

“I dare you to ask Gwyn to go skinny dipping in the lake with you right now.”

“Oh,” Elain feigned surprise. “So that’s how it’s going to be? What do you say, Gwyn, should we give the boys a taste of their own medicine?”

“Now hold on. That wasn’t—” Azriel’s half-hearted protest was interrupted when Gwyn stood up and tugged off her (it was actually his, but she’d stolen it) hoodie.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Gwyn replied with a wicked-looking grin aimed at Azriel. 

Elain and Gwyn walked down the beach, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the lakeshore. 

Slowly, Azriel and Lucien rose and turned as one, as if there were little more than puppets on strings. 

Inky water swallowed pale limbs and soft curves as they walked further out. The two women seemed to glow in the light of the nearly full moon reflecting off the breeze wrinkled surface of the lake. They were ethereal, otherworldly, like nymphs or sirens.

Azriel glanced at Lucien to find the man already looking at him. They exchanged nods, starting to follow the trail their girlfriends had left behind.

Gwyn and Elain stopped when the water was just below their shoulders. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew their hands were in each other's wet hair and they were kissing. 

“Fuck me.” The words sounded like they’d been punched out of Lucien’s gut.

“Yeah,” Azriel breathed. He shared the sentiment.

“Well boys,” Gwyn’s voice carried over the water. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff @iftheshoef1tz @thelovelymadone @mmiscbutterflies @shadowriel @foundress0fnothing @sunshinebingo @octobers-veryown @areyoudreaminof @moonpatroclus @separatist-apologist @kingofsummer93 @velidewrites @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @itsthedoodle @sv0430

[honourablejester]

I’m watching Pathfinder lore videos, because I just enjoy looking at other people’s worldbuilding, and a tiny little nugget stuck with me. I was watching this video on the demon lords of the Abyss, and it came to Angazhan, the great ape demon of jungles, apes and tyranny. And it just mentions that his realm, Ahvoth-Kor, is formed in a great ravine in the Abyss, with jungles on either wall, but gravity pulls towards the walls, so as you stand on the ‘ground’ in one jungle on one wall, you can see the other above you. Trees and rope bridges cross the gap, which must be fascinating as you cross the halfway point and gravity abruptly reverses itself. And I just. I mean, Angazhan doesn’t do much for me as himself, but his realm caught my attention the most in the entire video, just for that one detail. Because it’s so cool. He lives in a folded realm. You can climb a pillar to the sky and then fall up the top half of it to the ground on the far side.

And it just made me realise that I love the Abyss, or rather the potential of the Abyss, in both its D&D and Pathfinder incarnations. Because chaos gets all the cool world states. Because chaos feels free to break the rules and get weird, and therefore give you fantastic landscapes like Ahvoth-Kor. Which is actually quite normal, aside from the fact that it’s folded double on itself. You could go so much weirder.

But, at the same time, I also hate the Abyss, just slightly. Because you can’t get weird, apparently, without also getting evil. Because, while I have seen the chaotic good and chaotic neutral planes mentioned, they don’t get anywhere near as much attention. How many people even know the names of the good-aligned chaotic planes? And, yes, Limbo and the Maelstrom are more of a thing, and the Maelstrom at least is fantastically cool, but they’re not focused on really either. Because they don’t have cool themed villains hanging out in them. Which is, granted, another excellent selling point of the Abyss. Demon lords are a lot more idiosyncratic than archdevils, more, again, weird and wonderful. On the D&D side, which I’m more familiar with, I do adore Juiblex, Zuggtmoy and Fraz-Urb’luu. When you are shaping your realm out of raw chaos to match your personality, it gives you a degree of wild customisation that more lawful, rigid planes just don’t allow. The demon lords are exciting, in a way archdevils just aren’t for me.

But. It means that if you want really cool fantastic landscapes and batshit world states, you have to go to an evil plane where everything is trying to kill slash torture you. The good aligned chaotic planes of the respective ttrpgs, Elysium and Arborea and the Beastlands, are to a large extent just ‘unchecked nature’, the extremely pastoral idea of untouched wilderness. If you want to see truly cool and alien and fantastic things, you have to get tortured for it.

Or, granted, try the Maelstrom in Pathfinder. The Maelstrom is really cool.

Like. If they’re both formed from raw chaos, why can’t good be equally as batshit? Why can’t you have, I don’t know, a chaotic good sea god whose ship sails upside down on the surface of a vast ocean of air, and whose sea sprite petitioners venture down in diving bells to marvel at the stars? (Sidenote: there could also be more good-aligned sea gods, just as a general note). Why isn’t there a heaven for the souls of subterranean travellers and explorers where they get to spend eternity spelunking absolutely mind-boggling and impossible caves that open out into the raw foam of chaos? Why couldn’t the chaotic good plane also be a nested stew of personalised bubble worlds shaped from raw fundament by strong-willed but mildly-to-majorly batshit themed entities, that are just in this case also friendly and unlikely to torture you out of hand?

Why is good so tame? Even at its wildest, it’s so tame compared to how batshit and weird evil gets to be. Like, yes, good means safety, but safe doesn’t have to mean ‘bounded’. It could mean ‘I will touch my grace upon you so we can witness wonders together’. It could mean ‘let me make a place where fire does not burn so I can turn a sun inside out and let you experience the strange geometries of its interior’.

I just. The Abyss is really, really cool, this strange bubble realm of nested psychoses written onto reality by larger than life beings. I do love it. But. You could have that, and not have it built on suffering. Not instead of, but as well. With equal weight.

Let good be weird too. Let chaos in general just be the place where both horrors and wonders beyond imagining are explored.

As another, related complaint, I know it's to do with game balance and player capabilities, but it's also a bummer that the outer planes in general are something most PCs will never experience first hand, owing to being in general fantastically lethal and/or hard to get to. I just wanna wander Zuggtmoy's fungal fields, and climb rope bridges across the gravity line in Ahvoth-Kor!

Anyway. Carry on.

[drarrytm]

I listened to Sk8er Boi this morning and have done nothing but think of this wolfstar au. ITS A RIFF off the song not a direct interpretation. Ps: they all live in NY

Skater Remus had a fling with a ballet dancer and he fucked him up cause he was like “you’re not good enough for me” when Remus wanted more because he is all scarred from skating . So he’s like got a terrible view of himself now. About everything and about his scars esp the one from a fall that almost ruined his career that runs through his face across his nose and eyebrow. But he stuck through it went on to be big in the skating world even making it to the summer Olympics in skateboarding.

He’s bffs with James who’s an Olympic snowboarder and he’s married to Regulus who used to do ballet full time but now he’s an instructor because they’re going to have a baby. Remus always goes to support James at the Winter Olympics. And he always hangs with Reg when James is competing or practicing. This year Regulus brings his brother who Remus has not met.

And there is Sirius Black and Remus is like “this is the prettiest person I’ve ever seen ever in my whole life”. Sirius still does Ballet full time at the most prestigious ballet company in America the NYCB. And Sirius is obv immediately obsessed with Remus and is like “I’m obsessed with you” and Remus is like…. “Ummm it’ll pass.” (It doesn’t)

James and Reg have Harry the summer after James won the Gold in snowboarding. They make Sirius and Remus the godfathers so they start interacting much more. They become close and they kind of start dating at the beginning of the next year when Harry is 7 months old and Remus is like *internal monologue* he’s gonna leave me I just have to take what I can get.

So they’re dating and spending all their time together. He watches Sirius’ performances and practice and Sirius goes with him to the skate parks and watches him and tells him how much he likes certain tricks. They babysit Harry together at one of their apartments. Usually Sirius’ cause his is definitely more baby safe. He honestly spends most of his time there anyway. Remus is falling in love but doesn’t want to scare Sirius off. Sirius of course loves him but he doesn’t want to spook Remus after it took him so long to convince him that he actually wanted to date him.

A year and a half flies by and it’s time for the summer Olympics Remus made the team and everyone comes to support him. Remus falls hard on the half pipe at a practice and is carried away bleeding. Sirius finds him in the medic tent and Remus is cleared of a concussion or serious injury. But he can feel his scar on his face has opened and gotten bigger and longer. And his face is wrapped up in bandages. Sirius is crying.

So Remus thinks he’s going to break up with him “I understand if you want to stop seeing me I know I’m hideous with these scars”

Sirius is like ??? “What??? I don’t care about that I care that you’re okay?? I love you!! I was scared to death when you fell because I didn’t get to tell you!”

Remus is shocked “You love me?”

Sirius sighs “You don’t have to say it back”

Remus kisses him even though it hurts and says “I love you so much I just didn’t think you would love me back.”

And then they’re both crying and then James and Reg and Harry are there. They got his Remus’ injury update from the nurse Poppy so they know he’s cleared. After making sure Remus really is okay James goes “Who said it first?”

They share a look before Sirius raises his hand. And James pumps his fist and says to Regulus “you owe me 10 bucks!!” Cue an eye roll from everyone except Harry who pumps his little fist like his dad.

Remus goes on the win the gold medal and dedicates the award to his family and the love of his life Sirius.

When they get back to New York and Sirius gets back to work with a shiny gold band on his left ring finger complete with a tiny diamond in the middle of an engraving of a star.

One of the lower level dancers that had never made it onto a performance. And was just around cause of family connections came up to him. “You know I used to date your skater boy.” He sneered.

Sirius took a deep breath and held his hand out to admire his ring he turns his nose up at the man “You mean my Olympic gold medalist husband?” He clarifies “Hmm he’s never mentioned you.” And turns away.

[fluentmoviequoter]

to being ghosts.

Chapter 3 - Treason Unordinary

Chapter Warnings: angst with a tiny sliver of fluff, mentions of death (fem!r) and executions, world-building. 5.1k+ words.

Your initial reaction upon entering Victor Vale’s safehouse outside of San Francisco was like an interruption. He, Sydney, Mitch, and Dol had grown comfortable in a domestic pattern on the run but made a sense of home wherever they went because of their unique bond. Then, when they decided to stay in one place and wait for you, there was an opportunity to settle into a routine, to be content and alone with one another, forgetting the world outside and all the changes everyone else went through.

When you walked in, it upset the domesticity, if only for a moment. As Victor learned to trust you, he kept Sydney at arm’s length, unwilling to let you get too close.

Now, you have fallen into the trap of alluring domesticity, too. Victor trusts you, Sydney feels safe beside you, and Mitch has been more help than you ever dreamed of having. The feeling of belonging, the sense that you finally found a place where you fit, living alongside other ghosts, threatens to blind you to your mission.

“What are you doing?” Victor asks.

“Mitch looked around online to see if I’d been reported missing or anything,” you answer softly.

“And?”

“There’s nothing. I’d bet that Daniels is lying to Smoak, pretending that he left me somewhere to protect me from your charms.”

Victor steps into your room, his brows raised as he repeats, “My charms?”

Sighing, you admit, “When Smoak told us about you for the first time, he said that Eli could charm women pretty easily, and he and Daniels warned me not to let you do the same to me. Smoak didn’t even know for sure what your powers were but told me not to let you get to me.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Was that a joke?” you ask excitedly. “Did Victor Vale just make a joke about using his charms to win me over?”

 “No. Did Smoak say anything else? Something that could help us take the NWA and the charter down, for good?”

“Not really. He gave us assignments, and even then, we got the bare minimum. Finding you was a stroke of luck.”

“My name’s pronounced Mitch,” Mitch calls from across the hall. “And you’re welcome!”

“What do we do now?” Victor asks.

“Truthfully, I have no idea, Victor. I’ve been running on adrenaline, hope, and a half-cocked plan to get all of the EOs in one place.”

Victor looks over his shoulder before closing your door and walking to the foot of your bed.

“You’ve shared a lot,” he begins.

“It’s the least I can do, given everything you’re doing to help me and other EOs.”

Victor sighs, lowering to sit on your bed. “Do you still want to hear about midnight?”

Sitting up to lean toward Victor, you nod.

“Then I guess we should start at Lockland, where I met Eli Cardale…”

✯✯✯✯✯

Sitting on one end of the couch, with Sydney beside you and Victor on the other side of her, you feel like part of a family. It’s been years since you felt anything like this, and you wish this moment would last forever.

“How many doctors are in the NWA?” Victor asks. “I can’t imagine spending all that time and money on med school just to be forced into a genocidal army.”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “But don’t worry, you wouldn’t have been they’re type anyway.”

“As if I would have let them find me.”

“Why are we staying hidden?” Sydney interjects. “I understood at first, while you figured out what to do, but it’s been a while now, and we’re still completely alone. No more EOs, no plan to save the world, just… waiting.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of getting the world back, Syd,” you explain. “And I’m not just saying this because I don’t have a plan, which I don’t. But we should not go outside until we are prepared to deal with anything and everything that the NWA could throw at us. Daniels will be looking for Victor, and maybe for me, I don’t know. When or if he finds him, Smoak will call in backup, and with Victor gone, it’ll be open season for EOs.”

“You make it sound like Vic is keeping EOs safe,” Sydney murmurs.

“In a way, he is.”

“How so?” Victor asks, closing the book in his lap. “Most people don’t even know I exist.”

“Maybe not, but they know someone out there defeated EON, and that there is an EO important enough to keep most of the heat away from the ones that hide their powers or kept living like nothing changed.”

“How do they do that; live like nothing changed?”

“There’s no way to spot an EO just by looking at them,” Victor answers.

“Right,” you agree. “And people have accidents, brain tumors, loads of things that result in death, and then they get brought back. My first year as a cop, I died for nearly a minute before they brought me back, but nothing happened, and I kept doing my job.”

“You died?” Victor and Sydney ask together.

“Barely,” you reply playfully. “But my point is that finding EOs is harder than it seems. So as long as there’s someone like Victor, a known EO, for the NWA to focus on, the unknown EOs have some hope, a sense of safety they can rely on.”

“What about the ones your NWA friends are killing?” Sydney inquires.

“I hate that it’s happening, but there’s nothing I can do right now, Syd. When our time is right, we’re going to save as many as we can, but for now we need to focus on staying alive to create a plan to do that.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“Well, not everyone has atom bombs,” Victor mutters.

“Was that another joke?” you ask, turning toward him.

“No.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Vic, Dol needs a walk,” Sydney says, looking at the book you found between two rafters in the attic. “He’s asking for a change, so he wants you to take him.”

“You can raise the dead, not talk to animals,” Victor argues, reading the last unaltered page of his parents’ second book.

“You don’t know everything about me. I know my dog, and he wants you to take him outside.”

“I’ll go,” you offer, chuckling at their antics.

You open the door for Dol, and follow him outside into the California forest. The trees are thick and green, and the new lack of pollution and population did wonders for the wildlife and scenery. Dol barks as he circles a tree, and you smile as you watch him run around, using up the energy he stored sitting beside Sydney.

When Dol is finished, he runs back in the open front door. Enjoying the fresh air and feeling completely hidden, you look up toward the light coming through the trees. The New World Charter headquarters feels like one of the floating cities from an old sci-fi movie: sterile with overbearing leaders; here, you can take a deep breath and be in nature again.

“What’s it like where you’re from?” Victor asks, joining your side.

“It was beautiful. Being outside, patrolling, was one of my favorite parts of being a cop, too. There’s nothing like this.”

“And the rest of the world?”

“The beauty is still there, it’s just nothing like it was before. Vic… I’m scared that even if we succeed, if the EOs take out Smoak and the New World Charter is dissolved, that nothing will really change. People will still be scared of what’s different, and the peace will be short-lived before another dictator slides into the opening left by Smoak. We can’t fight this fight forever.”

“You need a break. Thinking about it, the world and the future, every minute of every day is going to drive you crazy.”

“Which is something you know well, right?”

“Very funny.”

Victor looks up, following your line of sight through the green treetops. He’s enjoying the domesticity nearly as much as you are, but he knows the safety won’t last forever.

“Care for a break from saving the world?”

Smiling as you look down, turning your attention to the NWA’s most wanted ExtraOrdinary, you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

“Syd has been asking to see San Francisco.”

“Shame she didn’t get to experience the crowds and the smell of the wharf when it was actually in use,” you muse.

“A real shame,” Victor agrees sarcastically. “Get your jacket, and I’ll get Syd. Getting some air may even do you some good; maybe you’ll have a plan by the time we get back.”

“You’re the nerd here,” you remind him as you follow him inside. “You start brainstorming and I’ll procrastinate until the night before the due date.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise considering how many lives hang in the balance. An entire race is completely reliant on your ability to find a weakness in the NWA.”

“Haven’t failed a project yet, of ye of little faith.”

“Sydney, get your jacket. We’re going to see San Francisco... what it looks like when it’s completely deserted.”

“I don’t get an invitation?” Mitch asks.

“Someone has to watch Dol,” Victor replies.

“Do you want to go?” you ask.

“Not a bit. Have fun. Bring me a t-shirt or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll look for one that says, ‘I survived the San Francisco evacuation’ or something.”

“Perfect.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where’s the bridge? No, wait, the wharf! Ooh, or should we go to the square first?” Sydney rambles as you walk through the woods.

“The square?” Victor asks, glancing at you.

“Ghirardelli Square. You’re going to hate it, so if we find any leftover product, Sydney and I should handle it,” you answer with a wink toward Sydney.

“I’m an EO, not an alien, I know what Ghirardelli is.”

“Guys, focus!” Sydney calls. “Where should we go first?”

“Where are we from the bridge? If we get to the bridge and enter San Francisco that way, we can hit everything within a few hours of walking,” you reply. “But, Syd… it’s not the San Francisco you saw on tv or anything. It’s a ghost town.”

“Good thing we’re ghosts, then,” Victor adds.

“You’re telling me there’s no George of the Jungle here now?” Sydney pouts.

“Never should have told her about that movie,” Victor says to himself.

“Syd, just- just be alert, okay? We’re here to have fun, take a break, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t other people here. This is The Stand or The Last of Us, not-“

“Planet of the Apes?” Victor offers.

“Not at all the direction I was going, but sure. My point is that there may be people here, people who are hiding for one reason or another, or just got left behind and couldn’t get anywhere alone.”

“I understand,” Sydney responds, several steps ahead of you.

“Hey,” Victor murmurs, tapping your arm. He pulls his hand away at the sting of your skin on his. “Relax. We’re going to be fine. Then, when we get back to the house, we come up with a plan to take the world back.”

“And you said this wasn’t a movie,” you say, smiling before jogging toward Sydney.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s huge!” Sydney exclaims when San Francisco comes into view.

The Golden Gate Bridge is beginning to become visible in the dissipating fog, and the dark metropolis laid out below it seems larger than life. Most people now live in NWC zones, which are big and overbearing in their own way but nothing like the wonders that San Francisco and the likes used to be. NWC zones are locked down, have strict curfews, and are packed with more people than used to be legal.

“Thank you, Vic,” you say as you continue walking toward the bridge. “I needed this, and Sydney did too.”

 “We all did.”

“What are the chances we can actually find Mitch a souvenir?”

“In a city like this? I’d say pretty good; even picked over, there’s got to be a keychain or something around here.”

“So, this is what a first date with you was like?” you tease. “Walking around and talking about the mathematical likelihood of finding something worth doing?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Wait, Vic,” you say, grabbing the sleeve of his trench coat to stop him. “You didn’t go on dates? Are you kidding me?”

“Didn’t meet the right person, I suppose. At least not until-“

“Angie, right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Syd is halfway to Canada, though.”

You look up quickly, sighing as you see Sydney looking around a few paces ahead of you.

“Since the mathematical likelihood of me surviving this battle of ghosts and goblins,” you begin.

“Ghosts and what?” Victor repeats incredulously.

“Care to make this my last first date? I mean, my dating record isn’t stellar, but if I have to go out with one good date, I think this could be it.”

“Did you inhale a toxic fungus in the woods or something?”

“I already told Sydney this isn’t The Last of Us. Seriously, Vic, you said this little trip is supposed to be a break, a distraction from what we’re about to do, what we’re up against. So, what do you say?”

“You want to go on a date with me, an EO, and Sydney, an EO I found on the side of the road, in an abandoned city? I thought you said your dating record wasn’t stellar, but if the bar is this low it’s completely dismal.”

“Could’ve just said no, Vic,” you answer, chuckling as you move toward Sydney.

“I- life would have been a lot different if we had met in the old world,” Victor replies. “If this is what you want to remember if this doesn’t go our way, who am I to stop you from actually enjoying part of being a ghost?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Will you stop talking if I do?”

You nod, and Victor points his chin toward Sydney and the growing distance between you and her. Rushing up the hill, you catch up with her and walk beside her, smiling over your shoulder at Victor as you walk across the Golden Gate Bridge into the heart of San Francisco.

“Where to after we cross it?” Sydney asks.

“We’ll turn left onto Beach Street, which will take us straight to Ghirardelli and then Fisherman’s Wharf,” you answer. Victor raises his eyebrows, and you add, “I looked at a map of San Francisco for fourteen hours straight while I was trying to find you. If it’s on a map, I can probably get you there.”

Victor shakes his head, and you fall into a comfortable silence as you walk. Sydney stops to look at Alcatraz, and you return to Victor’s side, smiling as you silently thank him for everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you walk out of Fisherman’s Wharf, with an ‘I <3 San Francisco’ keychain tucked in your pocket for Mitch, you ask Sydney what her favorite part was. Victor tries to listen to her answer but feels the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He slows, looking around but coming up empty. The city seems dead, and he hasn’t even seen an animal in the few hours you have spent in San Francisco. When you slow, though, Victor rushes toward you.

You feel it, too, but you recognize the eyes on you. They’re the same eyes you felt after faking EO deaths and the ones you missed after sending Rock away.

“Vic,” you whisper when he comes into view.

“I know. I can’t see anyone though,” Victor answers.

“What’s going on?” Sydney interjects, whispering to match your volume.

“Get her out of here, Vic,” you demand, moving your hand to the gun on your waistband.

“We’re not leaving you!” Sydney replies.

“Syd, this is my part of the fight. It doesn’t have to be yours. Vic.”

Victor nods, grabbing Sydney’s shoulders and steering her away from you. They disappear around a corner, out of sight, and you take a deep breath as you accept that you may never see them again. Tapping the keychain in your pocket, you hope Mitch can forgive you for not giving his souvenir to him.

“I got Vic and Syd back,” you remind yourself softly.

Turning slowly, you stop abruptly when someone steps out of the shadows. He says your name, and you immediately come to terms with dying in San Francisco. Sydney and Victor are safe and can create a plan to save the world, so you succeeded in helping one person.

“Daniels,” you reply. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Not like I’ve been looking for you and the monsters you are so comfortable around,” he says darkly.

“What do you want, Daniels? You will never find Victor Vale, and he will take every single one of you out to protect himself and the other EOs.”

“I’d like to see him try. But, I’m not here for him right now. I’m sure you sent him away, running like a hamster on a wheel, stalled in one place.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

 “No.”

“Why’d you leave the Army to join a team of dictators, Brian?”

Daniels chuckles, pulling his gun from its holster before leveling it on you. “You are guilty of treason, punishable by execution at the order of the New World Agency.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for, Brian Daniels, retired U.S. Army Ranger-“

“Stop!” Daniels screams.

Smiling, you know you’re under his skin, getting to him by showing him that you know more about him than he knows about you. While he’s distracted by your comments, you pull your gun, holding it between your legs and the crate before you.

“You are under arrest,” Daniels yells.

“I’d like a lawyer,” you reply sarcastically.

Daniels steps toward you, and you lower as you hear footsteps in an alley. Victor is still close, and he needs help getting out unnoticed.

“Go!” you yell as you begin shooting.

Giving cover fire, you keep Daniels distracted as Victor and Sydney disappear into the shadows, where they feel most comfortable. Daniels ducks out of sight, and when the last shot’s echo dies away, he begins laughing.

“You’re a stupid, stupid girl!” he yells. “And you can’t take us!”

You don’t ask, but you wonder who ‘us’ is. Before you can think much about it, several NWA helicopters begin circling. When ropes drop from the helicopters and soldiers descend into San Francisco, you move backward toward an alley opening. If you can keep the army before you, you have an escape route and a chance of surviving. Your chances will never be good again, but the idea that you can run helps keep your hopes up, if only for a moment. Remembering that Victor and Sydney have a head start and plan to leave rips your hope away again. You’re alone, one woman with a half-empty ammo magazine against an army of trained killers.

Pushing your back against a wall, unwilling to be taken out from the back, you smile. You saved one, and that was always the goal. Knowing that Sydney is the one you saved and you were lucky enough to spend time with her, get to know her, and care for her makes what happens next easier.

A soldier rushes toward you, and you fire a single shot, watching as he crumples to the ground. His body armor should have protected him; yes, he would’ve fallen from the velocity of the bullet, but he shouldn’t have folded in pain like that. Raising slowly, you hear a few pained screams and rush to look out over Daniels’ reinforcements.

Every single soldier is on the ground. Most are unconscious, but others are screaming or crying, clearly in pain. You know what causes pain like this, but you also know that he could have done it from a distance if he saw them lower from the helicopter.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We can’t leave her, Vic!” Sydney argues as he pushes her into an alley.

“We’re not, Syd, I promise. But we need to regroup, I need a plan. If we run out there blind, we’ll all get killed.”

“Just hurt him, Vic! He’s going to kill her if you don’t!”

Your voice is barely audible, but Victor catches your taunt, “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for?”

“He wouldn’t have come alone. He’s misogynistic, not blind. Daniels knows what she’s capable of, just as well as we do.”

“He’s hiding something?” Sydney clarifies.

“A big something, presumably.”

Victor begins to speak, but his words are drowned out by helicopters overhead.

“There’s his backup,” he hums to himself.

Sydney pulls Victor’s sleeve, pointing to the end of the alley. A soldier is approaching, and as Victor turns the pain dial, a bullet makes contact with his chest plate. Victor hides his smile, glad you’re not going down without a fight.

Rushing to the end of the alley, Victor extends his pain radius, turning the dial as high as it goes with no warning. Men scream, though most of them lose consciousness before the pain registers.

“Where is she?” Sydney whispers.

Victor weighs his options quickly before pushing the dial again and yelling your name.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Victor yells your name, you don’t hesitate to turn away from the NWA troops and rush to him and Sydney. You run into him, wrapping your arms around him as you hug him tightly.

“Yeah, yeah, glad you’re okay, too, but we need to go,” he replies, awkwardly patting your back.

You nod as you pull back, taking Sydney’s hand and running behind Victor. As you near the bridge, you call Victor’s name.

“We’re going to be visible the entire way across. Those helos are coming back,” you remind him.

“Then tell me what to do,” he replies. “Take a chance and go the fastest route, or stay here longer to find another way?”

“Can you do what you did back there to the helo pilots?”

“Of course, I can.”

“Then let’s go.”

You pull Sydney with you, apologizing as you run across the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog has rolled back in, and Alcatraz looks far more menacing than it did a few hours ago when you came into the city.

“Are you okay?” Sydney asks between short breaths.

“I’m fine,” you promise. “And I’m sorry I brought you into that.”

“That’s on me,” Victor adds, running ahead of you. “But now we have an idea of what we’re up against!”

“Vic died after using his powers for a while,” Sydney tells you. “I was worried it would happen again.”

“That hasn’t happened in months!”

“But it could? Vic, you can’t use your powers if it puts your life at stake!” you argue.

“It’s already at stake! I’ll die if I don’t, but I might die if I do. Besides, I came back every time.”

“That’s not comforting!”

When you reach the tree line, entering the forest, you slow, still moving but taking the chance to catch your breath.

“You didn’t tell me that, Victor,” you say. “I never would have asked for your help.”

“I’m not incapable of fighting for myself and Sydney and Mitch,” he replies, his voice dark and even, not unlike the night you met. “And clearly I can save you at a moment’s notice.”

“That is not the problem!”

“Then what is?”

“I can’t let you die fighting my fight!”

Your chest is heaving, partly from the exertion of running miles without a break and partly from your anger at Victor. He should have told you so that you could find a way to work around it. If he dies trying to save you, then you lose an EO regardless. Worse, you lose an EO that you care about.

“It’s my fight, too.”

“Move, Vic.”

“We’re not done.”

“We’re not moving and there are people hunting us! Move!”

Victor clenches his jaw before breaking into another run. Sydney runs behind him, and you bring up the rear of your team of misfits. Part of you wants to get them to safety and leave, but you know you can’t do this without Victor Vale, not the fight against the New World or living life after. You need Victor far more than he needs you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mitch,” Victor says as he walks in. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“What happened to you three?” Mitch asks, his eyes wide as he looks you over.

“Got into a fight for this,” you reply, passing him the keychain.

“I- thank you?”

“Daniels found me. He brought an army to bring me in for treason, but Victor saved me.”

“You saved me first,” Victor grumbles, clearly mad at you.

Mitch raises his brows, silently asking what you did. You shake your head before entering the room you’ve grown comfortable in. All your stuff fits in a backpack you found in a nearby storage shed. Once you’re packed, you sit at the foot of the bed and consider running.

Victor opens your door, steps inside, and closes it again.

“Do you knock?” you ask softly.

“I want you to tell me what that was back there. If you don’t trust me, there’s no reason for you to stay and keep putting Sydney and Mitch in danger.”

“Trust? You want to talk about trust, Victor? When you told me how your powers work, you might have mentioned ‘oh, and sometimes I die for a few minutes after using them.’ Was I just supposed to find out when you collapsed in the middle of saving someone?”

“I didn’t tell you because it’s getting better. Sydney found a fix.”

“A temporary fix from the sound of things.”

“Why does it matter? If it is fixed long enough to survive this war, it doesn’t matter. Either I die fighting or I survive and we find a better option after. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“I understand perfectly, Victor.”

“This is a weird way to thank me for saving your life.”

“I am thankful for that. But if saving my life is going to cost you yours…” You stand from the bed and step toward Victor, only a few inches between your chests. “Then let me die.”

Victor’s eyes remain on yours, pale, intense, and unblinking. “The question was about you.”

“What?” you ask, blinking at the sudden change in topic.

“That night that you asked if I’d use my powers on a good person for a better reason. You were asking if I’d let you die, or kill you, to win this fight against the New World.”

Licking your lips, you avoid replying.

“I apologize for not telling you. But if you want complete transparency from me, I’m going to need the same in return.”

“Vic?” Sydney calls from the hallway. “We’re ready.”

“And we’re ghosts again,” you hum, turning to pick up your backpack. “Thanks for the date, Victor. Sorry I ruined it.”

“Still the best date I’ve been on in a while,” he murmurs.

“And you said my dating record is dismal.”

Victor shakes his head as he opens the door for you. He’s grown attached to the domesticity, though he’d refuse to admit it. As he closes the door, separating himself from one of the few things that brought him comfort, Victor sighs.

You can tell that this fight will weigh on him, and worrying about you, Mitch, and Sydney will wear him down before the fight even begins. Laying a hand between his shoulder blades, you ask him to hang back with you.

“I need you to know that I appreciate you for saving me, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” you explain quietly, walking behind Sydney, Dol, and Mitch.

“You expect me to just stand by and watch you die? That’s not going to happen,” he argues.

“Vic, I’m a soldier. I made my peace with dying a long time ago.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Victor snaps. “I’m not going to let another innocent person die for this EO debate. I have lost friends and enemies alike, and I refuse to lose another.”

“Friend or enemy?”

Victor glances over his shoulder at you. “Equal.”

“Sounds like a friend to me.”

Victor sighs, internally glad that your personality is returning. He’s sure that you were worried, most likely about Sydney.

Boise. The sudden thought is unwelcome, and clearly not yours.

“Vic, if I told you we needed to go to Boise, what would you say?” you ask.

“I’d ask how you came up with Boise, Idaho.”

“What if I told you a ghost told me?”

Victor puts an arm out to stop you. “Is there a voice in your head? One that tells you where to go?”

“You have it too?”

Victor looks between your eyes and the crease between your brows.

“I thought it was just my intuition or something,” you murmur.

“My turn to ask a hypothetical,” Victor says. “If you noticed a pattern, that the voice was leading you into dangerous situations that somehow turned out alright… would you think they were related?”

“Are you asking me if I think the ghost is leading us where we need to be to win this fight? Putting us in trouble to get out of more trouble?”

“If I was?”

“Vic, I’m with you in this. Drop the hypotheticals and say what you want to say.”

“Whatever this voice is – a ghost, a shared intuition, common mission, however you want to define it – it is helping us. I don’t think our question should be about what it is though.”

“You want to know why.”

“You don’t?”

“That voice has led me straight to you, away from a life that I hated, so I- I guess I trust it. For now, at least. But, yeah, I’d like to know why. You’re forgetting a big one, though.”

“Being?”

“Vic, who is it?”

Sydney yells your name, and you tap Victor’s shoulder before passing him to talk to Sydney. Mitch trades spots with you, moving to Victor’s side.

“I told you that she was trustworthy,” Mitch says.

“You did. One of these days I’ll start trusting you, too,” Victor answers.

“Vic, this isn’t going to be easy. The pain and sacrifice we’ve experienced is only a fraction of what lies ahead of us.”

“I can accept that. I can accept a lot of things, but I refuse to let anything happen to the four of you.”

“And she wants you to?”

 “I don’t know what she wants. Besides the old world and freedom for EOs.”

“I’ve got an idea of what she wants,” Mitch teases.

“That you won’t share, right?”

“Right.”

As Sydney talks, you realize that the life you lost in the transition to the New World made way for this one. While it isn’t perfect, you like where you are. Being by Victor’s side, with Sydney, Dol, and Mitch, it’s good, even if it isn’t safe. When the fight is over, though, what happens then?