#It's been three years and still pisses me off that i allowed him to do that to me

[justwinginglife]

The New Normal

Once again, my adhd is not allowing me the motivation to finish getting through my request box so here- have an original fic because this is the best my brain can do at the current moment. Also, how ironic is it that I'm a Hoshina girlie but I swear my longest fics have been Narumi fics and I DON'T know why. Anyway, hope yall like this- it's been awhile since I've written Narumi but I've had this prompt in the back of my head for awhile. @ryzheling please come take your man back, why's he in my head?

Synopsis: You and Narumi meet again after having been broken up for years. And not only do you meet, you're now working together. Shit's gonna be awkward either way so you have the (not so) brilliant idea to fuck each other out of your systems and then go back to being professional. Approx Word Count: 7200 Tags: Angst w/ happy ending, smut, fingering, p in v, handcuffs make an appearance, dacryphilia Warning: NSFW

“Alright, come on. Might as well get it out of the way now. Let’s fuck.”

Gen Narumi sat at his desk (because standing wasn’t an option at the moment) with his knees weak, hands trembling, and jaw clenched, the minute you strode through his office doors, blunt as always. 

He’d seen your request to transfer to his Division, he’d denied it at least three times, and yet here you were, lively as ever. He knew the higher up’s favored you, he knew they wanted you in the First Division, and he knew they’d do almost anything to have you, but he didn’t know that his say as the Captain of the First Division was so insignificant. He was the strongest member of the JADKF and yet he couldn’t even deny a transfer request from his ex-girlfriend. How pathetic was that? And now he’d have to see you every single day, because you were his new Vice Captain. What a cruel twist of fate. 

He wasn’t even sure why you’d accepted the job in the first place. Weren’t you worried it’d be awkward? Weren’t you worried he’d hold a grudge and retaliate, make your life miserable? Or even worse, weren’t you worried he might still harbor romantic feelings for you? Weren’t you worried you might sink back into old patterns, fall in love again, and end disastrously again? Or was he so undesirable that you weren’t concerned you’d fall in love with him in the slightest?

“Did you hear me? I said we should fuck.”

“W-why?” He sputtered, half aggravated and half tormented.

“Because you’re looking at me with a face that says you’re worried we’ll end up hooking up -like I knew you would- so I figure we may as well get it out of our systems now. And then, with all distractions out of the way, you can let me do my job, I’ll let you do yours, and the First Division can properly make its mark on the history books. Deal?” You stuck your hand out for him to shake, like participating in the most intimate of acts together was nothing more than a contract between business partners. Like he hadn’t been dreaming of the day when he could touch you and kiss you again. Like it was nothing more than a basic, primal instinct. And he couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off or more heartbroken.

He slapped your hand away. “You’re a dumbass, you’ve always been a dumbass, and you always will be a dumbass. Get out of my Division if you’re going to keep spouting bullshit.” 

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Unless you’d like to argue with every single one of our superiors who approved my transfer.”

He grit his teeth. “And why did you transfer here anyway? To make me miserable?”

“Contrary to popular belief, my world does not revolve around you Gen Narumi. I’m going to change the world, and for that, I need to be at the very top. Your Division just so happens to be the best, and I need the best. That is all.”

Some small part of him knew you weren’t here for him. He knew you’d always been ambitious. He’d always loved your ambition. But it just killed him that you were treating him as nothing more than a stepping stone for that ambition. He was just some rung on a ladder that you needed to climb over. Someone you once cared for and couldn’t spare the time to care for ever again. So now, he had a choice: to be seething or to be sorrowful, and he chose seething. 

“Well too bad for you, Ms. ‘High and Mighty’. I’m still the Captain of this Division and what I say goes. If I say you don’t participate in the next mission, then you don’t participate. If I say you sit your ass down and shut up, then you sit your ass down and shut up. Matter of fact, if I say you don’t step one foot outside of this office, you don’t see the light of day ever again. So you can tell your career plans they’re on hold until I decide to have mercy on you.”

You smiled and it killed him. “I missed you too, Gen. Offer still stands. I’m setting up my office next door, thinking of introducing myself to the officers afterwards. Feel free to stop by when you want.” You blew him a kiss and strode off.

He scowled at your back. What the fuck just happened??

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shinonome, right? Can I just call you Rin? I have a feeling we’re going to be such good friends.”

Narumi’s brow twitched as he watched you giddily befriend every single one of his officers like they were all under your command and not his. And they all seem to love having a commander who was as cheerful as you were. Cheerful. What a lie that was. You were anything but cheerful when you ripped his heart out and left him. He didn’t dare to recall the way he’d also ripped your heart out too. It was easier when you were the bad guy.

“I say, beers on me tonight. Whoever is off duty tonight can join in and whoever is on duty tonight can have a beer on me tomorrow. Who’s in?”

Everyone responded to your proposal with a rousing cheer. 

Narumi hated it. Regardless, somehow, he found himself trailing behind the crowd like he was a lost puppy. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to join, but it seemed his feet weren’t going to provide him with any answers anytime soon.

You’d noticed his presence but did your best to ignore it, to allow him his peace and his dignity. You made your rounds, chatting up every officer, asking what they needed from you as their Vice Captain, asking what could be better. 

Narumi was sure you couldn’t care for him less, until a server handed him a cider instead of a beer and he questioned it, saying it must’ve been a mistake as you’d ordered beers for the whole lot. She whispered in his ear, “The Vice Captain said you hated beer but loved cider. Even said to put it in a beer mug so your particular preferences don’t draw attention.” He was shocked you’d remembered. He’d been prepared to swallow his pride along with the stupid drink, but you’d saved him from a whole night of pretending not to gag. Just what was going on in your mind? Would he ever know?

When you saw him receive his drink, you lifted your glass to him from across the room. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. And then that moment ended when you gulped down your drink and turned back to your conversation with some eager officers. 

That was the only interaction you had with him all night and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Were you mocking his tastes? But then, if you were, you would’ve made sure everyone knew he was a picky drinker. You would’ve had them deliver it to him in a different cup and you would’ve pointed out the difference to everyone. Did you…care for him? But you didn’t talk to him one bit the entire night. So it couldn’t be that. Was this what it was like being platonic coworkers? Was this the new normal? If so, he hated it more than when you weren’t in his life at all. When you were here, you were both too close for comfort and not close enough. When you were here, he regretted all the times you weren’t. When you were here, he wanted you to stay. And when he wanted you to stay, it killed him.

Maybe that idea of fucking you out of his system wasn’t half bad, but he’d never admit it to you. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And that, ladies and gentleman, is what not to do in a fight.” You laughed as you pulled yourself off the ground. 

Since you’d started working in the First Division, you’d been making so many changes left and right -all for the benefit of the team- that it almost gave Narumi whiplash, and your most recent “brilliant idea” was to spar with him in front of the rookies, both to give them a learning opportunity and to see how you stacked up against him. As it turned out, after all these years, you still couldn’t beat him. But you came pretty close and, if anything, your loss boosted the team’s confidence in their Captain, so you felt it was a win either way.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is why you don’t challenge the Captain to a duel.” He snorted, mocking your previous tone.  

“Would it make me a rather bad influence if I declared a rematch then?” You grinned, dust and grime smeared across your brow.

He was always amazed how undaunted you appeared, even in the face of a humiliating loss. If he’d lost like that, in front of all these impressionable rookies, he’d sulk in his room for at least a week. But you, you simply wiped the dirt from your cheeks and hoisted yourself back onto your feet, ready for round two. If he wasn’t actively trying to dislike you, he might love you. 

“No, but it does make you a bad influence that you’ve been keeping all these rookies from their lunch. Everyone- go eat now, or you’re benched on the next mission.” He waved them away and began to trudge off. He hated that he could hear you following behind him. 

You stayed silent the whole walk, and he could almost believe that maybe you were just going in the same direction as him, and maybe it had nothing to do with him. But when he turned into his office, you turned right behind him.

“What do you want?” He snapped, turning to face you.

“You do realize that when you said everyone has to eat, that includes you, right?”

He scowled. “I’m going to eat.”

You raised a skeptical brow at him. Then you peered over at his desk where bags of potato chips and gummy worms were strewn across its surface. “Junk food does not count.”

He snorted. “And what about you? I don’t see you eating.” 

You gave him a wide grin. “As a matter of fact, I just so happen to have two bento boxes. I was thinking you’d like one.” You pulled open your bag and procured two boxes for his viewing pleasure.

“I don’t want your stupid bento box, now get out of my office before I make you.” He grumbled, arms crossed.

“Mmm. Even if it has…sausages?”

He shifted his weight. “Okay, but did you-”

“Cut them up like octopuses? Yeah. I did.”

“I’m not a child, you know. I don’t like them because they look like octopuses.”

“I know. You like them because it makes the-” 

“-Makes the flavor taste better!” 

You bit back a laugh when he interrupted. You knew he’d never forgive you if you laughed. But ever since you’d started dating, you’d notice he’d only eat sausages if they were cut in a particular way, and every time you asked, he always insisted that somehow it made the flavor taste better. You didn’t understand it, but you never cooked sausages again without cutting them the way he liked. And even after you broke up, it was a force of habit. Sometimes you’d catch yourself cutting them and think of him, think of the old normal. Smile a little before the tears came. Sometimes you wouldn’t even realize you’d done it until the very next day when you’d open up your lunch and see them sitting pretty on top of your rice. And then you’d cry again. Eventually, you stopped buying sausage. 

Of course, when you started working with him again, you’d invested in a whole pack of sausages because you figured you’d need to bribe him someday. Apparently today was that day. You just didn’t think you’d be bribing him to eat.

You munched on your lunch quietly as you watched him. Part of you just wanted to make sure he was actually eating, but part of you couldn’t help but be curious if he still liked your cooking after all this time. When he didn’t say anything, you started to sulk. “Soooo…how’s the food?”

“Fine.” He continued to chew.

You inched closer. “But like…how’s it taste?”

“Again, fine.” More chewing.

“Damnit, Narumi. Is it good or is it not?”

The edge of his lip twitched and, for a minute, you swore you saw a hint of a smile before it vanished, like it never appeared. “It’s not good, it’s not bad, like I said- it’s fine.”

“Oh, okay. So if it’s not good, maybe I should take my sausages back then.” You reached for his bento but he quickly turned away from you, holding it out of reach.

“Hey! What kinda shitty manners is it to offer someone a lunch and then try and take it back from them? Barbarian, I swear.” He grumbled, munching more quickly on his food now.

You burst into laughter. “So you do like it, you little asshole.”

“Hey, I’m not a-”

“I’ll bring more tomorrow then.”

“Okay.”

You sat in silence again, but this time it was different. This time you weren’t his ex or his Vice Captain. This time, you were just a girl who brought him lunch. And he liked it. And for now, it was enough for the both of you. But ‘now’ doesn’t last forever.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, I’ve been thinking, maybe we should fuck after all.”

You almost fell out of your chair. “What? Why the change in heart?”

He shrugged as though it were simple, but didn’t dare to meet your eyes. “The team likes you. Much as I hate to admit it, you do good work. You’re not a half bad Vice Captain. So maybe we should fuck and get it over with. Do what you said. Get it out of our system. And then just be coworkers.”

Your heart sank when he said that. You knew it was your idea and you knew it was somewhat logical albeit unconventional, but you didn’t expect him to agree to it. You expected him to be the same old Gen that he always was. You expected him to be the man that didn’t have sex unless the sex meant something. But maybe that version of him died when the relationship did. Maybe this was all of him that you had left. Maybe you had to get him out of your system too. 

So you agreed.

He kissed you first, but it was so hesitant that you could barely call it a kiss. 

You sighed loudly. “Gen, can you maybe kiss me like I’m not your ex girlfriend? How are we supposed to fuck if you’re acting like a virgin?”

He glared at you before wrapping his hands around your waist and yanking you towards him, slamming his lips down on yours again. 

Now you were getting somewhere.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and you gave his locks a tug, smirking against his lips when he let out a slight whine. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and he accepted your invasion, flicking his own tongue out hungrily to greet you. He backed you into a wall as he continued his pursuit of you, swallowing down every noise of pleasure that escaped your lips. 

“You…do…realize-” You panted as he began to grind his hips against yours, head arching back, “Fuuuck…that you literally…have a…couch and a desk…in your office. And we’re…fucking against…the wall.”

He smirked against your lips. “Mmm couch fucking is for girlfriends. You’re just some slut that wants her fill, yeah?”

“Asshole.” You bit down on his lip hard. “If anyone’s the slut here, it’s you. Who’s the one that begged me to fuck him?”

He scoffed. “And who’s the one who proposed it in the first place?”

He tore your shirt open, palm coming up to cup your breast. He touched you greedily, squeezing your plushness in his hands as he flicked his tongue rapidly against your hardened nipple. He’d never been like this before. No, when you’d had sex in the past, he’d taken his time to caress every inch of you so softly and sweetly. He’d tease you so incessantly that you had to beg for even just his tip. And he’d make you feel loved like you’d never known love before. But not today. Today, you were just some stranger trying to get off, same as him. 

“If you’re going to be so impatient, why don’t you just put it in already?” You complained. 

He laughed darkly.  “If you insist.” 

You didn’t even have time to whine about how this was your favorite pair of pants before he yanked them off of you, buttons flying to who knows where. You made a mental note to order a new uniform and put it on his tab, but before you could sulk further, he hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and positioned himself at your entrance. 

Shit, wait, you weren’t sure you were ready yet-

“Ah, f-fuck! G-Gen!” You cried out as he speared his way through your slick folds. It had been so long since you’d last had sex that you were feeling completely overwhelmed by the way he slammed into your cervix with no remorse. “Shit, why are you so tight?” He groaned. “Don’t you want it?” 

“I want it, I want it, I just…fuuuuck, maybe slower?”

He rolled his eyes but decreased his speed slightly. “If you can’t take the heat-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up and kiss me.”

He buried himself in your lips like he was chasing a high that only your taste could give him. And he tried to forget how familiar this all was. Tried to forget the days when he got lost in the taste of you. Tried to forget the quick pecks you’d exchange before heading off to work in the mornings, tried to forget the long, drawn out kisses when he’d returned home, lips finding yours ever so eagerly. Because he missed you. Because he loved you. 

But the years came and went, and your lips still slotted against his perfectly, and you still made his favorite sounds, and you still remembered what he liked as much as he remembered what you liked, and it was like no time had passed at all. 

“Gen,” You sighed against his lips like you had a thousand times before. 

He wanted to treat you like a one night stand, like some stranger on the street. He desperately wanted to use you like you were using him right now and forget he’d ever loved you. But it wasn’t some stranger sighing his name the way he’d dreamed about on repeat; it was you. And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he missed this all too much. He missed the old normal. He missed the way you fit in his arms, the way you used to never leave his arms. So he decided that, just for today (as he would never -and could never- let it happen again), he’d give in and imagine you were his again. He’d imagine that you were simply returning home from work, ready to show him how much you wanted him, how much you needed him, how much you’d thought about him all day. You didn’t have to ever know that he was thinking these thoughts. For all you knew, he was just doing as you’d proposed and fucking you out of his system. But he knew that he was secretly holding onto every moment of intimacy that he was allowed because, in the end, he’d have only these memories to keep him warm at night. 

So he kissed you deeper, kissed you harder, kissed you longer. His hands wandered the expanse of your breathtaking body until he was sure the feeling would engrave itself into his skin, into his soul. He lavished his attention on every sweet spot that made you squeal and squirm for him, the way he’d always loved. And his pace began to slow, as if he were begging time to simply stop. He hoped you wouldn’t notice that he was drawing this moment out but you did. 

“Stamina run out or something?” You teased.

His heart rate quickened as he frantically began to rack his brain for some way to explain this to you. That’s when he realized that he could make use of the situation. “Just thinking that I’ve been doing all the work and you should pull your weight.” He played it off like he was just making some witty remark, but inside, he was praying you’d take his bait. 

You did. You snorted, “And how am I supposed to pull my weight?”

“Ride me.” He said the words a little too quickly and he was hoping you wouldn’t notice that he was simply using this opportunity to live out a fantasy he’d been dreaming about ever since you broke up. 

“Well I can’t very well ride you when I’m hung up on a wall, now can I?” You tried to sound inconvenienced, but you couldn’t help the familiar fluttering in your chest when you heard his request. It was just like old times. It couldn’t be considered your fault for reliving the past if he was the one who brought it up, now could it? “Well? Are you going to sit down for me then?”

He took his sweet time sauntering over to his office chair to counter the hasty manner in which he’d proposed this endeavor in the first place. He couldn’t appear too eager, after all. 

But how he wanted to appear did not matter in the slightest once you’d straddled him and sunk down on his length. Because now, now he was a pussy drunk idiot who couldn’t help the moans that tumbled from his lips when he felt you clenching around his cock as you thrust down on him mercilessly. Now, he couldn’t help the way he cried out your name like he was simultaneously pleading for you to go easy on him and yet also begging you not to stop for anything. Even if the world ended right at this very minute, he hoped he could stay sheathed within your velvety depths until his last breath. 

You were just so perfect, the way you bounced up and down on his cock, the way you took every inch of him, the way you played with your breasts as they swayed, the way you gasped and groaned with each overstimulating sensation. And, finally, the way you fell apart on his cock, squirting and squirming, orgasm ripping through you the way it only did when you were with him. 

Of course, it was that perfect image of you, on full display for him, that sent him barreling over the edge as well, and soon, his cum was sloshing up against yours as he filled you to the brim, biting down on his lip the whole way, to avoid sounding as pathetic as he felt. 

And he felt even more pathetic when you pulled away from him shortly after, reminding him that he’d only ever be chasing the aftertaste of you. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had thought that fucking each other out of your systems would make it easier to work together. You thought wrong. 

Now, Narumi barely wanted to be around you at all. If he spotted you coming towards him, he’d change directions. If he needed something, he’d ask a Platoon Leader or he’d figure it out himself. 

As hurt as you were (and you hadn’t realized just how overwhelmingly painful it would actually be), you kept up with your chipper self because you didn’t dare to damage troop morale just because you had a dumb idea and ran with it like an idiot. Of course, you being your usual happy self only made things worse with Narumi. 

He knew that it was his own conscious choice to imagine your little affair as something more, as something precious, but even with him keeping his own feelings close to his heart, he didn’t think you were cold enough to simply flip the switch and go back to the way things were with such ease. He had expected even some semblance of hesitancy from you, some desire to continue to pursue him, instead of dooming yourselves to return to your previously grim lives, and he was severely disappointed when you proved him wrong. 

You thought he’d just go on ignoring you forever, and you did your best to respect his space and privacy, but that all changed when a Daikaiju infiltrated the nearby town. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Take it off.”

Narumi’s eyes narrowed at you. “We are not doing this now.”

“Yes, we are, take it off.”

He yanked you into his office. “You do not get to tell me what to do-”

“Gen Narumi, I said take it off!”

He slammed his hand down on his desk. “Damnit! Why do you have to be such a stubborn pain in my ass???”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn one? Who’s the one refusing to take off his suit, ready to head into battle, even though his suit is malfunctioning? You take off the goddamn suit or I will rip it off of you myself. It is my job as your Vice Captain to make sure you don’t get killed.” Your hands sat firmly on your hips as you blocked the only exit in his office. He could hate you for this, but at least he’d be alive to hate you. 

“Oh, it’s your job, is it? It’s always your fucking job. It’s never just because you care about me.” He snapped, eyes wild and rageful. 

You sighed, exasperated. “Of course, I care about you, stupid. Now would you please sit down?”

“No, dammit. I’m the Captain of the First Division. What I say goes. If I say I’m clear for battle then I am.” He snarled.

“Narumi.” You hesitated. “Gen. If you intend on going out there with a broken suit, then I will just have to stay here and make sure you never leave, and then the First Division will be short a Captain and a Vice Captain. Do you really want that? Do you want your soldiers to be without backup?” You spoke firmly but your words were gentler than they’d ever been before. You took a cautious step forward before finally setting your hands on his shoulders. “Please. Stay here. You can hole up in the command center, give orders, boss me around, yell into my comms so loud it shatters my eardrums, do whatever you want, just please. Stay here. I’m begging you.”

His fists clenched and unclenched.

“Gen, please. I do care about you. Please. I don’t want to bury you.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and punched the wall. “FUCK, fine! But I’m in control. I give the orders. No one breathes without my say so.”

“Thank you. I promise, I’ll get everyone home safe.” 

That includes you. He thought it, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t want to think about how self sacrificing you were. How it frustrated him to no end to not be on the battlefield, and how it frustrated him even more to not be by your side to make sure you didn’t do something stupid and selfless, like you always did. He didn’t want to think about how he could lose you for good this time. He didn’t want to think about it so he didn’t.

He sat at command and barked out orders left and right. He sent supplies where supplies were needed and made sure the team never ran out. He did yell into your comms and you did have to mute him at one point. He even made a mental note to bitch at you later for it. But things were going well, so he just didn’t allow himself to think about anything else besides how well it was going. It wasn’t until you murmured so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, “I’m sorry, Gen,” before shooting down the drone that was following you that he felt his heart drop. What the hell were you doing? And why wasn’t he by your side? Why did he let you convince him to stay behind? Why did you think he wasn’t good enough without a suit to fight with you? Why was he never good enough for you? Why did you feel like you had to change the world alone? To take on the world alone? Why had he let you be alone? Why? Why? Why?

He threw on his jacket. “On route to site, be there in five.”

He could hear his Platoon Leaders protesting over the comms -probably on orders from you- but he didn’t care anymore. He only cared about you. Maybe this was what he’d been the most afraid of all along. Not that you’d find it awkward working with him, not that you’d hate him or that he’d hate you, not that you might fall in love again or hurt each other again, but that he’d have to watch you die. Or worse, not be there when you died. Not see your smile one more time. Not hear your laugh one more time. Not hear the way you whined his name when you were lecturing him. Not hear the way you whined his name when you were intimate with him. 

Please. Please be alive. He’d never prayed in his entire life, never relied on anyone but himself, but now he found himself praying to a God he wasn’t even sure existed, all because he was terrified of what he’d see when he arrived. 

When he landed -he’d commandeered a copter because a car wasn’t fast enough- the battle had already come to its conclusion. Everyone seemed to be accounted for, with all their limbs and lives intact. Everyone, except you. Where the hell were you? He hoped to God it wasn’t under the rubble. Why was there so much damn rubble? 

A noise cut through the heavy air and it was the most beautiful noise he’d ever heard in his entire life. It was your laugh. Or half of it, at least. You’d coughed up blood at the end of it.

“This is nothing, soldiers. Think of it like a papercut.” You laughed through the pain as you began to stitch up your own abdomen, trying to reassure your concerned cohort. “Just remember, we don’t-”

“-We don’t tell the Captain about this.” They repeated back to you.

“Well, well, well. That’s some papercut, Vice Captain. I’m not sure the Captain is dumb enough to miss it even if you don’t tell him.”

Narumi’s voice boomed across the battlefield as he stomped his way towards you and the soldiers that had been surrounding you tensed up immediately. 

You sighed. “Gen-”

“Don’t ‘Gen’ me.” He snapped. Then he turned to face the soldiers who’d been standing nervously nearby. “The Vice Captain and I need to have a little chat; everyone has ten seconds to leave.”

The crowd dispersed in an instant. 

“Gen-” You started to sit up straight.

“I said- don’t call me that. You only get to call me that when you haven’t been a huge jackass.”

You winced. “Sorry. I knew you’d be mad. It’s not…it’s not that bad. I’m still breathing.” You offered up a weak argument, knowing full well it wouldn’t satisfy him. 

“Still breathing?? You think that’s what I want to hear after I literally stole a helicopter to rush here?? You think THIS-” He gestured emphatically to your wounds, “-is what I want to see when I arrive??” 

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry’s not enough. What if I lost you?”

“You’ve already done it once before, you can do it aga-”

“No. No, I can’t.” His voice was firm, but perhaps you were the only one who could discern the slight hitch in his breath, the slight crack in his tone. 

“But I…I thought you were still upset at me… about the…” You didn’t have to say it. He immediately knew you meant that night in his office.

“I am still upset. But I…I’m not heartless. I don’t…I don’t want to lose you. I still-” He swallowed as if the words physically pained him, “I still care about you.”

And it was in that moment that you realized that he was still yours. He’d always been yours. And you were his. And before you knew it, you were kissing him. 

He was shocked, at first, but then he was kissing you back, desperately, longingly. 

“I’m sorry,” You murmured in between kisses, “I shouldn’t,” You kissed him harder, “Have made you worry.” 

His arms hooked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Damn right, you shouldn’t have.” And then he was burying his lips into yours again and again.

The two of you might’ve continued on like this forever, grasping onto each other tightly, vying for each other’s air, consuming one another, if Shinonome didn’t clear her throat.

“So, are we clear to roll out, Vice Captain, Captain?”

You pulled apart awkwardly, cheeks burning bright. “Right. Yes. Carry on.” Somehow, you’d completely forgotten that you were still in the middle of a battlefield and that you were injured. But after she’d called your attention back to the present, you realized that you were, in fact, in a lot of pain. Like, a lot. 

Your legs caved beneath you.

Narumi scooped you up in one smooth motion. “Easy. I’ve got you. Told you not to go overboard, didn’t I? You never listen.”

“Um, actually, you didn’t tell me anything. Someone was busy ignoring me.” You stuck your tongue out at him, but you were grateful to him for catching you.

He snorted. “Well, someone was busy pretending like that moment we shared never existed.”

“I- that’s… that’s because it meant something to me. I just didn’t…didn’t know if it’d mean something to you. So I brushed it off. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You reached out to weakly stroke his cheek. 

He said nothing for a moment, he just leaned into your touch. Then he finally spoke, “It meant more than you could know.” 

“I know, Gen. Trust me, I know. It meant a lot to me too. I…I really missed you. I still do.”

He sucked in a breath, but kept marching forward with you in his arms.

“Please say something. Anything. Do you miss me too?”

He rolled his eyes. “What are you, dense? Of course I miss you. I… I love you.”

You smiled at him and it was like the clouds parted, the sun shining through. “I love you too.”

He said nothing in response, but you could tell his eyes were lighter, brighter. 

Maybe everything would be okay now. Maybe you still had a chance to patch things up, pick up where you left off. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took you several months to fully heal, but Gen checked up on you everyday, and it made the recovery process somewhat less agonizing.

You officially got back together, after having a minor spat about who was supposed to ask who out (Gen thought that he’d already done enough by confessing his love and you were the one who had scared him half to death and therefore owed him this; you thought Gen was the one who had already gotten the ball rolling with his little love confession and he should’ve just sealed the deal and officially asked you to be his again), but eventually all was as it should be once again. 

You made him the same bento boxes, he made the same butterflies appear in your stomach. You snuggled him to sleep, he hogged the blankets, but he never let go of you ever again. You fell into your familiar routine like you’d never left in the first place.

And when you were all healed up, Gen cuffed you to the bed. 

“Doctor said,” Gen’s fingers began to trail teasing paths up your thighs, “That since you’re all better,” He pressed a hot kiss against your neck, his feather-light touch running across the rim of your slicked entrance, “You can go back to your…regular activities. So why don’t we make this the regular?” 

You’d barely squeaked out, “Yes,” before his fingers were parting your folds and delving into your welcoming depths. He swirled his fingers around inside you, collecting your every drop of arousal. You whimpered as he ignited every bundle of nerves within your shuddering walls, attempting to reacquaint himself with every inch of you that he’d been missing these last few years. Every inch of you that squirmed for him, every inch of you that yearned for his touch, every inch was his for the taking and he intended to collect. 

His lips crashed into yours, drawing your attention to the sudden, heavy barrage of kisses he’d begun to rain down upon you. Your tongues intertwined themselves, exchanging saliva and salvation with every passionate collision, and he thought to himself that he could’ve kept kissing you forever. Could’ve kept losing himself in the taste of you. And maybe he would’ve… if he wasn’t so tremendously and egregiously rock-hard at the moment. 

As if it would sate his unyielding thirst for you, his fingers jolted forward, burying themselves as deep as they could possibly go. When you cried out for him, voice dipped in ecstasy and slight surprise, he felt his pants tighten to a painful degree. He began to rock his hips forward, reveling in the delicious friction that your thigh provided him while he continued to pleasure you. Of course, humping your leg was only satisfying until the tears began to roll down your cheeks. He accidentally caught a taste of your tears while he’d been devouring your lips and suddenly his previously sizeable appetite turned ravenous before he knew it. Unable to stop himself, he dared to lick a stripe up your cheek. The salt simmered on his tongue and boiled the blood in his veins. 

Hissing under his breath, he ripped his belt off, impatient to free his aching cock from its restrictive confines. If curling his fingers was all it took to get tears skipping down your cheeks, he wondered just how much you’d cry for him when he split you open on his dick. 

He yanked his fingers out of you, resulting in a whine on your part. 

“Shh, shh. ‘Mm gonna make ya feel real good, kay, baby?” His thumb ran across your lower lip soothingly. “Just be good for me, yeah?”

You nodded your obedience.

The bed shifted beneath you as he adjusted himself on top of you, lining up his cock to your entrance. “My beautiful, perfect girl. Want you to say my name for me. Can you do that?”

He hadn’t even given you the time to nod again. He was already buried balls deep by the time you’d even exhaled.

Your cuffs clanged pathetically against the bed frame as your body surged forward to meet his every (increasingly) persistent thrust. “Gen!” Euphoria flooded through you, every wave of pleasure increasing as he buried himself deeper and deeper. Every sharp plunge of his cock made more tears spill down your cheeks and he lapped up every single one, eyes glazed over with lust. 

“C’mon, love. Think you can do better than that. Give me more.” He growled, nipping at your flesh here and there. 

“G-Gen…t-too…too much! G-gonna…”

“Gonna what? Tell me, baby.”

“C-come for you!” You gasped out. 

He kissed you harshly. “So come for me then.”

When your orgasm came, it crashed into you, full force. You arched against him, body stuttering, lips quivering, ecstasy all-consuming. Every sweet, seductive inch of you became unraveled beneath him, and it sent sparks soaring through him.

With a slight, satisfied smirk, he buried himself deep into your cervix and allowed himself release at last. His hot, milky cum flooded past your clenching walls, spilling evidence of his satisfaction out of your entrance. 

Once the initial euphoria wore off, he uncuffed you, and you collapsed into his arms. He welcomed you, pulling you tightly against him. 

“You know,” He began to trail a hand up and down your back, “I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.” He murmured.

Your brows furrowed and you tilted your chin up to look at him. “Don’t you?”

“Didn’t know you looked so pretty when you cry.”

You pinched his cheeks and he laughed.

“Hey, hey! It was a compliment! And I didn’t know what it was gonna do to me, seeing you like that. My sweet, oversensitized lil baby,” He cooed, teasing in his tone.

You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance.  “So is this the new normal now? You torture me and then get off on torturing me?”

He nipped your ear playfully. “If I recall, you were having just as good of a time. After all…who was the one straining against their cuffs just to get a piece of this dick?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Don’t have to put it so crudely.” 

He grinned from ear to ear. “I’m just sayin- I think I like the new normal. Could get used to it.”

“Well…I seem to remember someone saying in the past that he didn’t wanna try handcuffs because he was too scared he’d lose the key. So I guess, even after all those years together, there’s still new things for us to try.”

He huffed, withdrawing his arms from you so he could cross them in a show of indignation. “I never said I was scared!”

This time, you couldn’t help the laughter from bubbling up. “I think we’re remembering things differently, Gen,” You teased. “But I just meant that, I think I like the new normal too. I wanna make more memories with you. Better ones. Ones that are so unbelievably amazing that we forget we ever broke up.”

He cocked a brow at you. “That’s quite the declaration.”

You shrugged. “I think we can do it. After all, we’re the Captain and Vice Captain of the strongest division in Japan. I don’t think there’s much we can’t do.”

Sighing contentedly for the first time in years, he wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close. “I’m in agreement.” 

And so you settled into your familiar place by his side, under the familiar roof you once shared, the familiar beat of his heart keeping time to yours, and together drifted off into dreams of brighter days to come, both holding tight to a silent vow to never again let the new normal become a thing of the past.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[snootchie-bootchies]

I can't believe I allowed myself to get played by a musty dusty and broken dude 😭😩🤬

[ctrlhope]

The Pitfalls of Silk (m)

synopsis: The winter gods are out to get you. That could be the only possible explanation for the series of bad luck tumbling before you— tropical vacation cancelled, snow locking you inside. Hell, even your shovel broken in half has got to be the gods playing some sort of trick on you. Pulling you along, making decisions for you as they guide you along the red string of fate. Guide you towards the very spider that found his way into your basement. Allowing him to fall into your heart all the same. -> apart of the rest, relax, reserve series

p.jimin x f.reader

⋆𐙚┊: wc: 20.0k

⋆𐙚┊: genre: hybrid au, soft yandere, soulmate au, romance, fluff, smut, v light angst

⋆𐙚┊: content: spider hybrid!jimin (cobalt blue tarantula), human!reader, soft yandere jimin, dom!jimin, power imbalances, blood, blood kink, injury, mates / mating, stupid misunderstandings, reader is rlly bad at feelings, heat/rut cycles, jealousy, biting/marking, jimin has fangs, brat taming, light subspace, bondage, fingering, breeding / breeding kink, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, manipulation, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of venom, honestly rlly soft- jimin is just a little off his rocker, so many mentions of the word silk, jimin is soft for reader but also a little perverted freak <\3

⋆𐙚┊: notes: AHHH it’s finally here!!! I’ve had such a bad crush on spider jimin for such a long time. Creating his character over the years in my head— how exactly this type of hybrid would function was so fun for me. This fic (& the others that follow) has been spurred on by my special interest in arthropods so I hope you end up loving this jimin as much as I do <33 mwah I kiss u guys

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The weather has grown cold, too harsh for anyone to live outside— survive. Burly temperatures tumbling through the air in icicles, the entire world painted in white.

While the city was still busy, your quaint neighbourhood had gone completely quiet. Everyone huddled inside, trying to keep warm while they sipped on cocoa. The worst blizzard in generations deciding to tumble through on the exact weekend you were meant to go out of town. Meant to be enjoying a tropical beach with the best of your friends!

But nooo, all of the planes had to stay grounded and you had to be stuck in your house with nothing but chilly embers decorating your fireplace.

You were pissed about it all, to say the least. Annoyed that your vacation had to be cancelled, annoyed at the fact you couldn’t stay warm in the slightest, annoyed that you had to be shovelling snow out of your driveway right now.

Well, attempting to shovel snow would be a better way to put it. In theory it seemed like the right thing to do– try and get your car out just in case, start to clear a path for when you’d finally be able to greet the outside world, triumph over whatever winter gods are trying to keep you locked in your home.

In reality, you could hardly move– three layers of pants, two coats keeping all of your joints locked down. God, and the snow. It was coming down way too hard, piling up faster than you could brush it away. Hurting your cheeks with the freezing temperatures, making your bones throb with want to go back inside.

It is safe to say that you did not succeed. That was an easy enough conclusion to come to with the two halves of your snow shovel in your hands. Eyes staring blankly at the object with utter… you don’t even know the word.

Cheeks flushed red with cold, head lifting to the sky as you blink. What the fuck! How shitty can your shovel be! What the fuck is wrong with the snow!

Okay, maybe you did buy it at the dollar store. But that isn’t the point! Where has quality gone in our nation! Caring about the consumer! Yeah, that was never there to begin with! But still! You like to think that there's a point in that somewhere!

The snow falling on your skin feels like the sky is laughing at you, mocking you. It probably is. Cancelling your trip, forcing you to stay at home into the lonely confines of your small neighbourhood.

Yeah, the world is out to get you, you’ve decided it.

A grumble leaves your throat in annoyance, quiet cusses leaving your lips as your legs try to waddle themselves inside. Layers of clothing restricting every movement you make, joints feeling stiff and bones feeling cold. You are no more than a penguin, are you?

“Stupid fuckin’ shovel, stupid fuckin’ snow…” You huff, slamming the thick oak door behind you. Hoping, in a way, that you could pretend none of the frost was there in the first place.

It’s not that you hate snow– of course not. You don’t like to hate much of anything. But when it’s this deep, this thick, you can’t help the sour mood you fall into. Can’t help the sickly feeling in your gut that it has somehow wronged you simply for existing.

Whatever, not that it matters much. You aren’t mother nature. You can’t change it or your now cancelled– most likely non-refundable plans.

What you can change? A nice warm pizza in your tummy.

You hum to yourself, tapping off your boots before ridding yourself of them entirely. Soon follows your jackets, puddles of water quickly forming on the floor where it falls. Snow melting much too fast now that it is in the warmth of your home.

You stare at it in spite, another way mother nature has wronged you today.

You know what? No, not your problem right now. That is a problem for you later today! The wood would be fine. And if it isn’t?

…

You groan, throwing your head back as you move to the bathroom. The battle of opposing forces inside of your head has won again– being responsible, doing the right thing.

Your hand snatches a towel, “Stupid shovel… stupid snow…” You huff, kneeling on the ground to wipe away the liquid that pooled.

You hang the towel back in the bathroom for it to dry before finally making your way to the kitchen. To finally make the frozen pizza you want– no deserve! Yeah, you’ve had a hard day today, being an adult is too hard sometimes. You deserve a little treat don't you?

Feet scuffling against the floor, fluffy socks dragging along the surface allowing you to quickly slip against the tiled floor. Your hips sway, a quiet hum leaving your lips as your hands move diligently, efficiently. Placing the pizza in the oven, setting the timer, flipping the switch on on the kettle.

Everything happens with practised ease. With movements that leave no room for error. Careful, efficient, the way your parents always taught you. The right way.

If you do everything correctly, things will never go wrong. You’ll never have to worry. When everything is in your control, everything is perfect and content.

It’s too bad the right way never accounts for things out of your control. When the world causes you to tense and get annoyed– when it doesn’t behave the way it's supposed to, like you want it to. Just like stupid shovels and a winter storm no one predicted.

But hey, at least you still have power. Your backup generator is there if you need it. Can still watch your dramas and eat warm food. Keep yourself sane while the insane persits just outside of your door.

Lonely, lonely, lonely winter storm~ whatever shall you do~

Your head begins to sing to itself while you wait. Maybe you already were going insa–

Bang.

What the fuck was that?

Your eyes instantly dart to the basement door wide with fear– the source of the sound.

A crash, a quiet cry, a scurry all sound in quick succession. Too loud to miss. Too loud to ignore. Too distinct to place on anything else.

You know winter noises. The crash of shutters against the window, the influx of snow on glass. The beating of hail against the roof or the creaking of pipes chilled from the cold. The noises you just heard? None of the above. They couldn’t possibly be. They weren’t. They were too… too…

Human.

Shit, shit. Is someone in your basement?! Oh god, oh fuck.

The room, it freezes over.

Your pulse starts to race– hairs raise, stand on end. Breath filtering through your nose as you start to panic. Fingers grip the countertop as you try to ground yourself. Try to figure out a way to escape this.

If horror movies have taught you anything– it’s how to run. Grab everything you can, high tail it out before you become victim to the unknown lurking just below the surface of your floorboards. Before you can be possessed or worse, chased down by some mass murdering clown.

That would be the smart thing to do– the wise thing. To get out of your house as quickly as possible, call the police to investigate it for you before you have to become the ‘final girl’ of a movie franchise of your own.

But the storm, the storm would never allow for the right thing.

The police would never make it in time, the roads far too hazardous to truly reach you. If they did, you would already have frostbite from the cold outside by the time they made it. You might be worse off than before–

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The reasoning formulated in your head as you grab a broom from the closet, slowly make your way to the basement door. Completely ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that you actually want to travel down the stairs. A string tugging you along a path predetermined, forcing you to forego anything you had thought before.

No, your line of reasoning had to be the object pulling you down those stairs, creaking with every slow, nagging step that you take. It could never be curiosity, a want to understand the unknown guide leading you astray from the dirt road you’ve taken time and time again.

The right road that would lead to the right solution is all but forgotten in this moment. Only adrenaline spurring you on, fingers clenching and unclenching around the broom handle in your grip. Fingers tied so tight around the metal that your knuckles may as well be white.

You're terrified– scared out of your mind. The only noise passing through the drums of your ears is your own pulse, the accelerated beat of your heart as you try to clear the fog that dances over your brain. Fear must be clouding your judgement, making you follow it blindly into the light; well, dark.

Your breath leaps from your chest in short pants, eyes haphazardly harding around your form as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Something is keeping your legs moving when all your brain wants to do is turn back and run. Call the authorities like you should be doing instead of risking everything to satiate the incessant need pulling at the back of your skull. Acting on instincts alone, allowing the string of fate to tug you around the corner. The urge to investigate is stronger than anything you had ever felt before. Anything you’ve ever wanted to feel before.

He sees you before you see him.

“P-please..” The quiet, almost non-existent voice sends a chill down your spine. One you were not expecting in the slightest.

Terrified, panicked. Shaking like a leaf, eyes welled with tears. It’s almost like he knew you were coming down all along, just… didn’t know what to do about it. Too scared to move, too scared to hide. Too scared to do anything but sit there and wait.

Just as petrified as you.

Nothing about the scene before you is making much sense at all. Not to you, at least. Why is he so scared? Why is he in your home? Why isn’t he doing anything but sitting there with pleading, helpless eyes? You try to take everything in, try to fit the pieces of the picture together.

Basement window opened slightly, just enough to allow the man— was he a man? To climb inside. Pretty blonde hair completely dishevelled on his head, grime coating what you know would be such pretty locks. Eyes with double pupils brimmed with tears threatening to spill at any second. Pink plush lips quivering with worry, fangs biting into them so hard you fear they may bleed. No, they are bleeding.

He is definitely not a man. Nor is he a beast. An intoxicating swirl of the two combined into a species of hybrid you’ve never seen before.

The first thought in your head is one it shouldn’t be. One that makes your heart stop for entirely different reasons than before. Makes you drop the broom in your hands, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Defences dropped completely in the face of the stranger before you.

He only flinches at the noise, blood covered hands reaching in panic to cover his all too sensitive ears.

Any worries have left you– something seeded deep within your soul tells you he isn’t a threat in the slightest. Not to you, at least. Never to you. Maybe it is the same string as before pulling you along. Pulling you to what destiny has provided.

He is absolutely gorgeous. Even with the grime and his pale complexion from the cold you can tell that easily. He might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you find lost in yourself what to do about it.

What is anyone meant to do when a drop dead gorgeous hybrid enters their home in the middle of a blizzard? Just as scared as you were moments before? Looking like he might freeze to death if you don’t–

Holy shit he must be frozen solid.

It’s only then that you come to your senses, your eyes racking over him once more as you take in all of him for more than just the beauty he brings.

His clothes are thin– far too thin for this weather at least. Tattered on the edges, few stains spotting the fabric, though its clear effort was spent trying to get them out. Your mind wants to wonder why he would worry about that, worry about making himself appear presentable, but raking your vision down you know there is no time for it. Not with the blood on his palms or the red of his flesh.

Your body moves quicker than your brain can think, crouching down in front of him. Noticing the way he flinches once more, the fear in his eyes more palpable, hurting worse than a gunshot wound.

The constriction of your chest is dumb, or at least it should be. Feels almost benign, unfounded. You just met him, you're scaring him, but for an unexplainable reason you wish you could take all of his worry away just for that moment. Make him feel a little better, a little warm. A little safe.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Your voice mumbles, trying to soothe him or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

“I-I’m sorry… pl-please don’t.. It’s just so cold… Please…” He begs, though neither of you are sure what for. Not to hurt him, not to send him back outside. All you know is the tears that now flow from his eyes, cresting along his cheeks, dripping to the floor.

“Not going anywhere…” You hope your voice sounds stronger than you feel, hope he can’t hear the way the strings of your heart break, hope he hears how much you care in your tone all along, “Trust me a little okay…?”

You know your words mean nothing, that it might have been an impossible task for him to do so. But you had to try. Had to hope.

It should be hard for you to trust him too, it should be hard to rectify your fear in the face of the one who had caused it. It isn’t the right thing– none of this is the right thing, but it all just comes too easily. Compassion, caring takes over the anxiety too easily. Too brilliantly to do anything else other than care for this hybrid that has wound up at your door.

He was just a scared hybrid doing whatever he needed to to survive. Terrified out of his mind that he would freeze or starve out there– probably had no burrow or… you’re not sure, honestly, what his home might be like. But no home nevertheless. You could never just send another person out there to die.

He stiffens as you reach out for him, gently take his hands in your own. They feel like ice, frozen solid. You don't want to acknowledge what could have happened to them if he was out there any longer.

Without thinking you raise them to your lips, blowing on them as best you can. Trying to do anything to get the blood flowing again before you take him upstairs. Warm him up properly. Make him feel like more than a snowman once again.

You don’t notice the way his form completely loses all stress as you touch him for the first time, speak to him the first time. He feels transfixed on your voice– it had to be too sweet to be real. But you were too focused on your mission. Too focused on making sure the man who has broken into your home is okay to notice the way his lips part slightly at your tone.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches, the way all of his hair stands on edge as a current runs through his body, breathing life into every pore he possesses. Nor the way his eyes widen, losing their will to cry as he stares at you.

Don’t notice the recognition on his face.

You don’t notice a lot of things he does that day. Too focused on getting him into a warm shower– one he was very confused by, you might add. Too focused on getting a warm meal in his belly. Too focused on getting him in nice, clean clothes. A set that will properly keep him warm.

You could worry about other things later. But this felt right. This felt like something you were always meant to do. Or maybe that was just the size of your heart talking– you could never be too sure. But you liked to think it was the former. Liked to hope that Jimin, who you later learned was a spider hybrid, was always meant to come tumbling through your window, into your life for good.

The days that follow are easy– falling into a rhythm with him, taking care of him is just too simple. As basic as breathing, maybe.

Though, it hasn’t exactly been hard with how much he sleeps. How deep he’s nestled in your bed, blankets piled on top of him to drown out any chills that may attempt to slip into his bones. It’s almost like hibernation– if you could describe it. Re-building his energy, making himself feel strong again before he faces the world.

You can’t blame him, honestly. Not after everything he’s been through. Only god knows how long he had been out there. How long he had to brave the snowstorm, the cold weather that previewed it as well. You would probably do the same thing. Hide yourself from everything that hurt you.

Most days you wish you could be doing the exact same thing as him. Hide under a pile of blankets and forget the rest of the world exists. But the voice of your parents would always nag you out of it, force you to be human with the rest of society because it's the right thing.

You humph, gently placing a plate of food on the bedside table. Let him occupy your room for as long as he needs, preparing meals for him even though he never touches a bit of it. It’s the least you can do with his condition.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to stop someone's pain so badly. You hope you can by just doing small things like this. You sigh, heading for the door once again. Another day on the couch.

“Human…?” His voice is quiet, almost non-existent as he calls for you. Cracking slightly, the first time he's spoken in days.

You quickly turn to face him and almost want to fall to your knees at the sight. Fluffy blonde hair peeking from just below the covers, doll eyes peering at you while the rest of him stays hidden beneath the surface. Does he know how destructive he is?

Wait, no. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. He’s letting his defences down, actually talking to you. Stop it.

“Hmm?” You gently call back, glued to your spot in the doorway. You don’t know what he would do if you moved, how startled he may be because of it. You want to talk to him– to find answers.

“What time is it…?” He slowly asks, pacing his question. You notice a slight lisp behind his words– how much of an effort he puts to cover it up.

“Mmm.. about 1? I made myself some lunch so I was just stopping by.” You explain, trying to justify your presence in the room.

“Oh.” He looks beneath the blankets, eyes darting around the room, “Okay. Thank you.”

It seems neither of you are great conversationalists, awkward air passing between the space left between your bodies. You don’t blame him. You don’t know what you would be thinking, feeling if you were in the same place as him. If you didn’t really know what your fate was going to be.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, playing with your fingers to distract from the nerves that you feel. As much as you want to jump, pin him down and ask every single thing your heart begs for, you know that isn't the right thing to do. You know you should be slow, careful with this. At least, that's what the articles online have told you.

“Better…” His voice comes out smoother this time, finally coming out of sleep as he sits up in the bed. Gently taking the plate into his lap, scrunching his nose. “It’s not cold in here like out there.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. Not scared in the slightest of you or what you may do. You forget all about the fact that you should probably be scared of him too.

“Not really,” You smile gently, eyes glancing at the window as he starts to eat, “I was really worried about you, scared me bad.”

You don’t see the flush that covers his cheeks.

“I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to… your window was the first one I could get through and I knew I couldn’t take the storm anymore so I–”

“Hey, It’s fine.” You turn your attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re okay, yeah? It must’ve been terrifying out there.”

“It was.” He doesn’t hesitate in answering in the slightest, eyes serious as they focus on you. They’re beautiful, really. His eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault human, I left the reserve. My fault.” He tells you in earnest, wanting you to believe it with every piece of your soul that you could never do anything to hurt him, “Come sit?”

The question is quiet, but you oblige nonetheless. Legs moving you slowly, perching at the end of the bed to face him. Kicking your legs slightly as you stare at the pattern of your sweats.

“The reserve?” You ask, turning slightly to face him. His face is suddenly smiling, nodding at your question. He must like the place a lot, see it as home for him to become so excited.

“Yeah! Where I live,” He explains, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he speaks, “They say humans can't hurt you there, you get to hunt like in the wild too.”

He hums, content in talking about the one place he has ever found comfort in, found friends in. You can’t help but smile as he speaks, too.

“Yeah? It sounds really nice.” He’s nodding his head once again, as quickly as he can.

“There are lots of other arthropods to play with there. Lot’s of food. Sometimes the humans that visit will give you some too, but they’re normally scared of me.” He suddenly looks serious, eyes coming to meet yours once again, “You’re not scared of me, right?”

You jerk your head back, brows furrowing together in confusion. How could someone be scared of someone like Jimin? You’ve only known him for a matter of days and you doubt that you could ever be.

“Of course not.” You tell him, gently reaching a hand over to place on his knee. He doesn’t flinch away like you expect him to. “You just needed some help, we all need help sometimes.”

He smiles, the serious demeanour retracting from his face in an instant. Back to smiling down at his food happily. The silence doesn’t feel as awkward anymore, at least you don't think it does. It makes you happy, stretching on as he continues to eat like a man starved. He probably is, days of not eating and only sleeping.

“Why did you leave it?” You tilt your head, staring out the window once more. Few snowflakes trickle against the blue sky, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I figure if we’re going to be together through the storm–”

“You’re not gonna kick me out?” His face is awestruck, fork dropping to the plate in surprise. What is he talking about? Kick him out? In this weather?

You quickly shake your head, hand slowly pulling itself back from your knee. He whines in protest, quickly trying to force himself back under your heat. The touch of your hand warmed him up more than anything else in this room– more than the blankets, more than the heater or the warm towels.

His hand tangles itself with your own, pulls you back to his covered knee. Keeps your hand in place with his own while he uses the other to eat. Good. This is better. He likes it when you touch him. The way your small hand feels wrapped in his own.

Makes the tips of his fingers tingle, warmth spread throughout his skin. This is right. This is good.

“Why would I kick you out?” You ask in disbelief, either unnoticing or uncaring to the way he holds your hand– he’s unsure. Not that it matters much! “It’s too cold for anyone out there. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He smiles, the pit of his stomach only warming more at your words, “Good.”

“We have to wait for the snow to melt to drive you ba–” He cuts you off once again, not wanting to think about going back. At least not without you.

“My friend Taehyung leaves a lot,” He begins to explain, fingers squeezing your own as his palm lays heavy against the back of your hand, “He always talks about how fun it is. All the cool things he gets to see, you know?”

He places his plate to the side while he talks, licking one of his fangs gently. You don’t want to think about how handsome he looks while he does such an action.

“So I wanted to try it out, but we’re not really supposed to leave, you know? ‘Cause then we’re not protected.” You nod along, “And I don’t really have wings to fly out so… I had to wait until they weren’t really paying attention.”

“And that just happened to line up right before the snowstorm was supposed to hit.” You finish for him and he nods, looking down at his lap, “That has gotta be such shitty luck, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, you just wanted to go out and experience new things and you almost ended up dead.” You frown at him, trying to get the man to understand the gravity of what may have happened. He simply shakes his head, plush lips tilted into a small smile just for you.

“I said it’s okay.” He tries to make you believe it, leaning closer. Feeling nothing like the stranger he was only days before. “I got to meet you, so it was all worth it.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Jimin has a mate that he’s going to be with someday. Someone he’s going to fall in love with. Someone he’s meant to be with, be happy with for the rest of his life. Someone that isn’t you. You really need to accept that and move on from this stupid fucking crush you’ve developed. One that will amount to nothing but heartbreak.

All hybrids have them– Jimin is not excluded from that. You know it’s true. Know it’s so true that you can hardly breathe but he just makes it so easy, too fucking easy to fall for him.

He takes care of the house, cleans it for you whenever there is a mess. Does the dishes after dinner. Takes out the trash. Tells the spiders in the yard not to mess with you– okay, you’re not entirely sure he does that last one. But he is adamant he can speak to them, and who are you to rain on his little spidey parade.

As the seasons change and the months pass, he only makes it easier and easier. Fitting into your life like he was the only piece missing. Filling in all of the bits and pieces you never knew you needed, wrapping silk around your heart and pulling it tight before you could ever think about letting him go.

Even as the months heat and his deep blue roots grow out from his bleached hair, he has no desire to the place he once called home. The reserve quickly pushed aside every time you try to bring it up. Saying he likes it better here, that this is now his home.

To be honest, nothing makes you more happy. Nothing in the world could possibly make you feel better than Jimin. His little webs he places in the corners, the soft way he clings to you when he becomes needy, the way he likes to show you any bugs he catches before he eats them. You’re not sure you could continue in your life without it.

Yet still, still. You’re not sure if this is right. The right thing, the right way to go about it all.

You often fear that you’re keeping him from what he really wants, if he actually wants to go back but feels indebted to you in some way. If that’s the only reason he actually sticks around.

You worry you’re being selfish in that regard. And then once again you find yourself spiralling into the void of questions you could never have answered. Feelings that will always be unaccounted for because Jimin has a mate.

Or at least, will have one. Someday. And you’re not sure if you could handle that day coming. Not in the warm heat of spring, flowers blooming alongside feelings for an arachnid that has entered your life.

One that has no intention of leaving your side anytime soon, if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing, nothing in the world could prepare you for this. What could prepare the thrum of your heart or the butterflies in your tummy? You never expected him to hold you this close, keep your body pressed against his own in the small space of the coat closet. Keep his face tucked away in your neck, whining in pain at something you could never think to discern.

So quickly you were pulled away, without a second to waste you were dragged onto his lap. One second kicking off your shoes, covered in mud from gardening, the next a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the dark confines. Only Jimin there to cover up your scream, lips delicately pressed to your ear uttering a quiet please. Voiced laced with a whine so pained you couldn’t help but join him without a second to spare.

A thought to think– a debate on whether this is right to do or not, for yourself and your own heart.

“Min? Min, what’s wrong?” It’s the only thing you can think to ask, pulling him away from your neck, making his head face your own. Hands gently cupping either cheek as your eyes attempt to make out the features of his face.

It’s too dark, you can’t see anything. The only answer he gives is in the form of a pained groan, not even his eyes reaching you through the darkness. You start to panic, feel the nerves along your spine light up in trepidation.

He’s hurt. He has to be. What happened? Is he okay? He’s never acted like this before. Not with you. Never before has he seemed so hurt, so dishevelled save for the night you first met him.

Just before this the two of you were gardening, mid-morning sun shining bright overhead. A light breeze passing through the trees keeping the two of you cool. That was it! He only went inside a few minutes before you, a few minutes alone and he was already hurt this bad.

Oh god, you never want him to hurt. To be in pain. It hurts your heart just as bad as it hurts him, if not worse.

You’ve fallen a lot farther than you thought.

“Min, let me just turn on the lights okay? Let me see what’s wrong.” You try to coax him, try to kneel from his lap to reach the string above you. Panic flooding through you as he keeps you snug, keeps you from helping him.

You stop your struggle, veins running cold as he lets out a sharp, violent hiss. A sound he’s never made before, never dare uttered towards you– around you in general. It leaves you nervous, scared for entirely different reasons than before.

But one thing is clear from the way his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist almost painfully. The same wrist that was reaching for the string. He doesn’t want you to turn on the light.

“Okay…okay I won’t…” You tell the arachnid, slowly lowering yourself back onto his lap. Letting go of the struggle, letting go of the resistance. It isn’t what he needs right now, isn’t what he wants.

His grip loosens, arms returning to their place around your waist. Holding you close. Keeping you in his arms. His face nuzzles back into your neck, inhaling deeply with every breath he takes. Smelling you. Imprinting the memory of it in his brain.

“What if I use my flashlight…? Would that be okay?” Once again, the response is a much short, quieter hiss. A lot less defensive, angry than the first. Just a sign of dismissal.

“Okay…” You say quietly, bringing one arm behind him to gently run through his hair. Scratching his scalp in a way that always has him preening, “Can you please tell me what's wrong? So I can help…? Please…”

Your voice is quiet, almost a beg as you ask him. He squeezes your body tighter in response. Would’ve basked in the tone you gave him if not for the pounding behind his eyelids. Still, he knows if he’s going to get you to stay, he has to talk. No matter how much it hurts.

A whine leaves his lips, nose running along the column of your neck as he tries to scent you, “Hurts.”

He answered, his voice shaky and quiet, but it gives you nothing.

“I know Min, I know…” You hush quietly, trying to consol something that you do not have the answer to. Your other hand slowly starts to soothe up and down his back, trying to relax the poor boy enough to speak.

“The light. Hurt eyes. Head Hurts.” He gruffs out, burying his face into your skin to block out any other source that he could.

Your lips part in a soft ‘o’ as the picture becomes clear to you. Staying outside too long, helping you in the garden had come at a cost to the poor spider in the form of a splitting headache.

How could you have been so dumb to let him help you? The articles you’ve read, the pieces you’ve tried to put together to understand the man in your life– they told you as much. How delicate some species' eyes could be but… Jimin never seemed to have that issue before. Never mentioned it, anyway. He doesn’t mention a lot about himself.

You frown.

“Min, I’m so sorry…”

He only grumbles in reply, blunt nails digging into the back of your shirt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head from pounding any louder.

“Let me– Let me go get you some Ibuprofen, yeah?” You hope the sound of your voice isn’t making everything worse. If it does, he doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head, burrowing it further under your hair.

“Just… stay.” He sighs in defeat, shoulders relaxing as he holds you close. He doesn’t need medicine. He doesn’t need anything else. He just needs you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I’ll–” You breathe, trying to force the flush of your cheeks to disappear. He can see in the dark, you know that much. You wouldn’t want him seeing this. The effect he has over you. Doesn’t he know how dangerous he is?

“I’ll stay.”You sigh in defeat, unaware to the pride that blooms in his chest at the battle won. The quiet chirp from his throat that he has you here, with him. Where you’re meant to be.

Hours pass just like that, just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. No words spoken but quiet requests to know the other is okay. That the other is safe. Even as your muscles begin to cramp, bones start to become sore you don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to do a thing when you are the only one that matters to him right now.

Jimin makes it so easy to pretend.

Especially as his migraine begins to lift, as the conversation between two souls becomes more frequent. As he moves your body to the side so your head can rest against his chest. As his fingers smoothe over the skin of your thigh, rubbing gentle, comforting circles into your flesh.

“And then Namjoon, you know how bad a flyer he is, ran straight into the director of the park. Made her spill her whole coffee all over.” He smiles to himself as he tells the story of the bee hybrid, eyes heavy as he looks down at your form. So cute and small, “and you know what he said?”

You shake your head, “what?”

“‘You need some honey?’” He recites, dipping his voice in a deeper octave to mimic what you can only assume to be Namjoon’s. His voice falling into quiet giggles, you quickly follow suit. Laughing at stories of friends, feeling at home in the dark closet.

You don’t care how long the two of you have been in there. Only that he isn’t in pain anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” You tell him, eyes feeling heavy, the soothing tremor of his voice vibrating in his chest making your head start to fog. Inklings of sleep slipping into your frame. Head lulling back against him, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He nods, his throat constricting at just how perfect you look there, fingers teetering on the brink of digging into your skin once more. “Feeling a lot better… my vision is still a little spotty but it's okay.”

You pout. He has to hold back a coo. Too cute. Do you even know how cute you are when you get like this? Probably not.

“No, it’s not okay. I should have known. Told you to go back inside so you don’t get hurt. I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

His heart pounds once, twice before he releases a shaky exhale. Do you know what you do to him when you talk like that? When you show him just how much you care?

The level of restraint he has, it has to be impressive. If he was Taehyung, he would have taken you right there. Wrapped your arms in webs so you couldn’t move. Mate you without a second thought.

Seriously, what did you think you were doing? Talking to him like that? Making him feel like he’s going insane, a few short strings from breaking free and just taking you to his nest. Keeping you there.

You can’t say things like that to him. Not with how innocent you look, with how terribly he already wants you.

A harsh breath comes out of his nose as he forces the thoughts away. He’s not Taehyung. He’s not going to take you for his own selfish desires alone. No, he’s going to keep lulling you into his web like he knows you want. Knows you need. Keep being a good little spider for you.

“I should have told you.” He says quietly, lips coming down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Couldn’t have known my species is sensitive like that.”

You hum in quiet annoyance, “Still… read online about some glasses that can help some insects manage light… should have bought them.”

A courting gift? No no, you don’t know what that is. No matter what his spider screams he knows that isn’t true.

He sighs, he needs a distraction. Something to calm the voice in his head screaming at him to kiss you.

Your leg kicks out gently as he starts, feeling like nothing but a feather tickling across your skin. Gentle silks laying across the surface from his wrists, spinnerets hard at work to produce the webbing he places on your thigh.

He huffs quietly, a smirk of a laugh coming out as he moves your leg back, “Tickles?” He asks, an amused lilt present in his voice. Oh god, he’s going to start teasing you again. He loves teasing you.

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, eyes glancing down to where his fingers move expertly. Thread after thread moving through his fingers, decorating your skin as he draws pictures. Paints flowers, sunsets, anything he can think of really across the canvas of your thigh.

“Just drawing… calms me down.” Marking you, claiming you. Showing every other arthropod that this one is his, this one is Jimins’. Well, at least for the next 3 days when the stick wears off. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tingle runs through your spine as he works, eyes not able to leave his hands for even a second. Your stomach swarms with what has to be a hive of bees, your core bubbling with something you don’t want to describe or think about.

You just hope he can’t smell you. Can’t hear the race of your heart, the increase in breath. The flush on your cheeks that travels all the way to your ears.

He can.

“N-no… It’s okay. I want you to feel better so… do what you need to do.” You mumble, trying to get your feelings to calm down before you fully lose it.

You have to buy those glasses.

Being a spider is just too difficult!

At least that’s what Jimin has told you time and time again over the past 8 months you’ve spent with him. Cold, icy months blossoming into the summer heat with him by your side. With him making residence in your home, cementing his place in your life without any regards for going back to his original home.

It’s too hard for him out there anyway! People at the park think you’re scary so they won’t give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape. Something about having to “give other spiders a chance” and them “taking up too much space.”

Can you believe them?! All the time and effort he put into his pretty webs, gone in a flash! The strain the sun caused his eyes, the pounding headaches he endured stringing up pieces of silk along the trees, creating a beautiful orchestra of white to claim his territory.

Thank god he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, at least. Ever since you bought him those sunglasses, making webs outside has never been easier. Catching prey so much easier than ever before.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him eating the bugs he catches, but who are you to yuck his yum? You know all of the things he’s had to endure as a spider. Everything he’s convinced the world hates him for simply based on his breed alone. The least you can do is show kindness around his diet.

That’s how you end up rubbing his back in soothing circles time and time again, fangs piercing a stuffed animal or piece of fruit– anything he can get his hands on really, as he whines, flinches as he spits out all of his venom.

His venom is one of the worst things he’s had to deal with, you’ve learned. It builds up behind his teeth, waiting to be used on a waiting victim when there is no such thing. No exit point for the liquid to flow.

His fangs begin to ache, begging to pierce something just to release all of the pent up tension in his gums. It hurts too bad, too much to just keep it inside. So once a month, you find yourself in the same position, trying to help him relieve the aggression with soothing, gentle words as he spits the venom out in a way you can only imagine is unsatisfying. Leaving his fangs sensitive and achy for days to come.

In general, his fangs seem to be a point of special contention within the hybrid. They’re too pointy, cause too many issues. The extended canines digging into his plush lower lip just a little too hard making every movement just a little too uncomfortable. God, and he has to worry about brushing them to perfection– keep them pretty for his mate.

At least, that’s what he tells you.

The rest of the world hurts him. You don’t.

Today especially. At least that's what you can assume by the stretch of his arms, the whine bubbling from the back of his throat. His arms reaching for your form, beckoning you, calling you to join him on the couch. All worked up, acting like a wounded puppy that needs nursing just to get your attention.

It always works. Always will.

Some would say he’s become more pushy— more desperate for your attention, forcing it from your grasp without realizing it yourself. That’s what your friends have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand with no more than a simple gesture coaxing you forward into his sweet embrace, never noticing the glares he sends others who enter your home.

No, you would deny all of it. Listen when he tells you that you don’t need your friends anyway. It just feels so good to be needed by him, wanted by him in a way you can never have him. In whatever way he’s willing to give.

r weakness than ever before. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid it, how much you’ve tried to do the right thing and shove the stupid, pesky feelings down, he’s managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart. Filling a deep hole inside with his pretty silks and crooked little teeth. Takes up a lot more space then you’d ever be willing to admit. Not to him, anyway. Not when he could find his mate any day now.

You’ve been thinking about it more and more lately– the prospect of his mate. It’s difficult not to when he treats you so kindly. When he creeps in your bed at night to cold you, when he reaches out for your comfort alone. When he graces your neck with his fangs his lips–

You drop the dishes back in the sink, shoving your thoughts back into the deep dark recesses of your mind. Maybe if you can be his comfort for now, that will be enough. Even if it isn’t right.

Maybe that’s just how far you’ve fallen, how much he’s tangled you in his embrace. Not that it matters much, you smile all the same. Abandoning your task on only his third whine and fourth dramatic roll of the night. Giving in is so easy when it’s him.

But! It’s a new record for how long you’ve held out! Even got two stomps out of him. You should be proud of yourself.

Maybe you are, though it's for different reasons entirely as Jimin grabs at your wrists, pulling you down beside him. Nudging his face into the crook of your neck with a quiet, pained whine.

You like to ignore those other reasons. They’ll only hurt more if you face them head on. But it's hard to, so hard when he’s this close. When he’s holding you like you may just be the very thing from shattering his world apart.

Or maybe you’re over thinking things.

Yeah. It’s probably that.

“Y/n…” You feel his lips ghost your neck as he whines, wiggling slightly in discomfort.

His duality is always impressive, has been making your brain go a little haywire since he first moved in, since he became more comfortable in your presence. Letting you see him for what he really is. Always playing so cute, so pliant when he needs something– attention, food, for you to just give in and give him what he wants.

Other times he acts as if he could be the reincarnation of Arachne herself. Beautiful, deceptive. Terrifyingly aware of how attractive he is to the human eye. You think he does it on purpose. Likes to see your head spin as you try to keep up with which apparition of Jimin you will experience that day.

He doesn’t know how dangerous it can be, especially for you. How easy it can be to believe that it's real and not just the flirt of his personality. At least you have cute Jimin for now. It’s a little easier to manage.

“You okay Minnie? Something happen?” Your arm reaches up for where he clings to it, fingers gently petting through his fluffy blonde hair. The action seems to soothe him, make him almost pur from the feeling of your fingers alone. Make him feel the slightest bit better from whatever might be irritating him.

He forces his wrists onto your lap, nuzzles his face further into your neck. Inhale all the scents you have to offer. Let you see the issue of spiders.

The tiny holes of his spinnerets come into view, red and inflamed. Shit. They have to be hurting. The skin jutting out slightly more than it should be. Pretty strings of silk hanging in a messy manner. Clogged glands always hurt. Always make for issues.

You frown at the sight, delicately taking his wrist into your hand, looking at it closer. No, not too bad you have to take him to the doctor… you can handle it fine. But it won’t feel good, it never does. Dummy must’ve gotten too excited while webbing up the basement again, got his poor spinnerets working too hard. Overproducing silk to the point it has nowhere to go.

“Min!” You whine, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the side-table– you’ve learned it’s always good to have a pair on-hand. “I told you that you gotta be more careful!”

“I know!” He hisses almost pathetically, “Just got ahead of myself!”

His voice is no more than a grumble, turning his head away from you yet not pulling away in the slightest. Pretending he hates when you scold him, when you show just how much you care about him.

You pretend it isn’t cute in much the same way.

“Always end up getting ahead of yourself,” You sigh dramatically, acting as if having to take care of the arachnid bothers you more than it actually does. Truth be told, you don’t care in the slightest. Who knows, maybe it even makes you preen in delight.

Feeling wanted as your fingers try to be as gentle as possible while removing the silk. Pulling out the little pieces strand by strand, work out the knot it's made under the skin to try and bring him some relief.

Though, no matter how careful you may be, he still flinches in pain all the same. Trying to cover it up like it was nothing, like every poke and prod doesn’t hurt. Like he can be tough under your gentle hands and pained gaze. He knows it has to be done and no matter how much you hate to see him in pain, you do too.

The dull ache will grow worse and worse, could even turn into an infection if you don't handle it as fast as possible. Worst case? He may have to have his spinnerets removed completely. A fate that feels worse than death to a spider hybrid– or so you’ve read at least.

Soon after he came into your life you did everything in your power to learn as much about his species as possible. Scoured webpage upon webpage, blog post on blog post, youtube video after youtube video. Even went down the sticky threads of a reddit rabbithole to try and learn everything about him.

The only thing you found: how horrible arthropod hybrids are treated in your society. Either sold at auction for absurd prices or cast aside completely depending on how “inhuman” they look. How they are used as tools to show wealth or are discarded from the rest of the world completely. The notion alone had pissed you off to no end.

Jimin was a member of the latter group– or at least that’s what you assumed. From behind no one would be able to tell he was any less than human. His lack of multiple limbs or fluttering wings left him to the devices of the reserve. Probably cast aside, dropped off by the people that raised him for not providing anything that went along with their definition of ‘value’.

Your eyes pinch into a quiet glare. They’re just fucking stupid. Anyone could see that Jimin is perfect. Anyone could see that he did not deserve the treatment he's received, nor deserved to be in the state he was in when you first found him.

And while you’re glad he didn’t end up with anyone else, still didn’t end up in an auction house like many others had, you hate them for thinking they could define his value. That they could define him for more than what he lacked. He still has beautiful fangs. Still has beautiful eyes and his natural cobalt-blue hair. He is still perfect to you.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, arm attempting to jerk back from your hold as your grip tightens just a hair too hard. As you accidentally tug on a far too sensitive part of the knot. Getting a little too lost in your head while your fingers pick away diligently. Trying to ease the pain as fast as you can.

“Human!” He whines, quickly shushed by a flurry of apologies leaving your mouth. Face flushed, panic in your eyes as he admonishes you.

Once again you’re reminded all too well of how far you’ve fallen for him. Heart racing, brain yelling at itself for hurting him.

It’s dumb, you know that. Everything about the schoolgirl crush you’ve formed on him is. But it doesn’t stop the frown on your lips, the gentle rub of your fingers into his skin as you try to make it up to him.

A quiet grumble leaves his lips, heart hurting at the little dejected expression you wear. He forgives better than he forgets, moving his arms back to the pillow propped on your lap, allowing you to continue your work.

A pout stays on his lips as he watches your hands move. Watches the way the tweezers move under the thin layer of skin. Watches the way you move softer now, taking your time with him. Trying your utmost to not hurt him again.

To you it feels far too intimate. To him, it leaves him almost feral.

“Been working really hard on them lately, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds, trying to distract him or yourself from wandering thoughts– you’re not sure. He’s almost clean– almost all better so you can stop playing nurse. Get a warm washcloth to soothe the skin, take away any ache that lasts from the overused glands.

He nods, “Autumn is coming up…” He mumbles, the words leaving his lips in almost a shy fashion. Like it’s a secret that isn’t a secret at all in the coy fashion he knows you adore.

He knows all too well all of the things that make your stomach flutter. Listens to your heart beat like it’s his favourite song, the flush of your cheeks his favourite painting. Every little twitch of your lip or tap of your feet he catches with ease. You are his favourite everything.

You’ve become far more interesting than any book, far more gorgeous than any actress. Learned to read you better than yourself.But he supposes that would happen to any hybrid who had to wait as long as him, endure as much as he has.

Humans are tricky things, you know? You have to wait and wait and wait just for them to finally give into what they really want. Play the long game to win a prize at the end like he wants, deserves.

He’ll win it soon. August.

“Mmm? Having a contest with the house spiders or something?” You giggle, an effort to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible. Try to distract from any pain he may be feeling at the moment.

Jimin is convinced he can speak to them– the house spiders that you allow to stay in the corners of your house. Another one of Jimin’s pitfalls that you couldn’t help but wonder into. He claims that they’re his friends, that he talks to them all the time. You, on the other hand, are unconvinced. They probably just use him for food!

“How did you know?! Who told you!” He gasps in mock surprise, head dipping low to rest on your shoulder before he continues, “No, not this time…they all know I would win anyway.”

“I know you would,” He doesn’t allow you in the basement to look at them, at least he hasn’t in the last month, but you’ve seen plenty strung around the house. Dotted in the corners of each room, his way of claiming territory. “You’ve always got such pretty silk.”

His face flushes– he knows you can’t see it. It’s good if you don’t, better if you have no clue how much your words affect him. Exactly how much those words mean to him.

Hopefully you will soon enough. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, you’ll know a lot of things. But right now you just need to stay a little clueless. Just for a little longer.

That’s what he promises to himself.

“What’s happening in autumn then?” You ask, finally pulling the last bit of silk from his left wrist. Both finally clean, finally working like they should be.

Taking each wrist into one of your hands, your thumbs find the openings to the spinnerets. Fingers rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the flesh. Your version of a little makeshift massage. One that always causes him to fall apart under. Spine slumping, mouth parting slightly as he watches your fingers work. His brain going a little empty along with the soothing motion of your fingertips.

Another thing that you don’t understand the intimacy of. The extent of what your touch means to him. How terribly it makes him want to bite you.

His voice is a pitch lower than before. You can’t help but notice the way his breath stutters in his throat at the gentle movement of your thumbs. The way his pupils expand ever so slightly. The way he leans into your touch, avoids eye contact at all costs.

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, the flutter of your ribcage. The way you keep going just because you know it’s making him feel good.

Stop it! You’re thinking in a bad way again! It isn't right! It’s just from the massage, the relief after his spinnerets are cleared! God, you can’t think about him like this. Can’t do this to yourself! Calm down, seriously. None of this is a big deal.

You know he can hear fast your heart is beating regardless of the argument going on inside of your brain.

“Autumn is mating season.” Your thumbs stutter.

Oh. That is something all of the articles definitely neglected to tell you. They didn’t tell you anything about… that aspect of spiders. Not that they explained much to begin with but certainly nothing about breeding.

You can’t help the way your grip tightens, trying to find purchase– stability at the revelation. Heart thrumming in your chest faster, more aggravated than before. The chill that travels down your spine with the hum of his voice so close to your ear.

Can’t help the sinch of jealousy that finds you either.

Fuck, you hate that he’s smirking– without even looking at his face you can tell! You know he can hear the exact pitter-patter of your heart, any little sound or smell you let out he can easily pick up. Knows your exact emotions before you know them yourself.

“Ah… I see.” This topic really shouldn’t make you so embarrassed! Pull yourself together!

You know that all hybrids have a cycle they go through. Heats, ruts, anything in between. You knew that when Jimin came into your life he would be the same! Knew there would be a time when he’d have to lock himself in the basement, body flooded with hormones. The pretty sounds you’d have to block out filling the house.

But still, because it’s him, you can’t help the nerves that arise from your core. The realisation that it would be coming sometime soon.

If you’re going to make it through you’d have to invest in some soundproof headphones. For your own sanity.

“Mmm?” He smiles, voice sweet and saccharine. Away with the pain of existing also left cute Jimin, leaving a deadly predator in its wake. One that likes to taunt and tease you while acting as innocent as an angel.

Leaves your brain confused, floundering trying to keep up with his deceptively sweet tongue. Doing it all just to get a cute little reaction out of you.

Guess he picked up on the exact little whirlwind of your mind, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed…”

“Shut up!” You whine, trying to stand from the couch so you can retrieve a washcloth. Try to avoid the way your heart is going to pound out of your chest, the way you know you’ll fall farther into his clutches.

His arms lock on firm, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck to rub his cheeks against your skin. Scent you just like he does a million times a day claiming that it's necessary. Spiders smell so much less than other hybrids– he has to do it or else.

Or at least that’s what he says– you think that it’s another lie.

“What!” He laughs, “Not like I’m saying anything dirty, it’s only natural.” He chides, sliding back against the couch, pulling you into his side with ease. Slotting you in like you’re meant to fit there, not whatever mate he meets in the future.

Your brain yells at itself. You know how dangerous that line of thinking is.

“Unless you want me to be dirty? I could if I wanted, you know.” He smiles as innocently as a wolf, fangs oozing with confidence behind them.

“Oh my god!” You sigh dramatically, putting on the front you always do when your heart feels like it may just explode. When you feel like digging an early grave because Jimin knows exactly what he’s doing.

You simply roll your eyes, “And I could punch you in the dick if I wanted to, you know?”

His laugh is always so pretty, boisterous yet still as light as air. Head tilting back, his neck on display as he chastises you for the empty threat. One you both know won’t come true, at least not right now.

He smiles, a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead as he urges you to stay. Promising he’ll be a ‘good little spider’ so you don’t have to worry about him. The implication of snacks and movies making you stay. The way he pouts when you tell him you’re not buying anymore BugBitez™ until the end of the week confirming that this is where you need to be right now. That it’s right.

It’s almost too easy for him too. Everything is too easy for you when it comes to Jimin. He claims the exact same.

Or at least, that’s what he mumbles in your ear now. Arms wrapped around you as tight as he can manage. Movie nearing its end with Jimin on the cusp of consciousness, you having lost the plot of it a long time ago.

Something about Aliens? Cowboys? Mothman? You couldn’t even hope to guess. Not when his breath is in your ear.

It’s hard to focus when he’s so close like this. When he’s saying pretty words that could get you lost in your fantasy over and over again. Making him harder and harder to give him up every moment that passes you by.

“Got lucky with my human.” He mumbles, half asleep, face buried in your hair, “Really good human.”

His lips move so lazily when they speak. Fangs running across the surface your skin like they have a mind of their own. Never daring to pierce the surface. Never daring to bite you for real. No matter how bad he really, really wants to.

How bad he wants to mate you. Make you his pliant little prey– see if the rumours about what his venom does to humans is real.

Your breath stutters but you pay it no mind. Trying, begging your eyes to remain focused on the movie. To ignore how deceptive sleepy Jimin is. Tomorrow, he will act as normal. His words will carry no weight.

He isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t his mate. You two are just friends sharing a house.

Feelings you have no right to have are forced down over and over again. It seems like it's become a daily occurrence– a pattern of habit you have no hope in breaking. The love piling behind your eyelids means nothing when the person he is meant to be with could be around any corner.

But it’s getting harder. Too hard to hold them back and restrain yourself. Especially on nights like this when it feels like fate that the two of you met.

Thinking back on that fateful day now, all of those months ago, you’re sure it had to have been. Maybe the winter gods (if such a thing existed) decided to shine their light on you; to make the blizzard a little less lonely. Make your life filled with long days and even longer nights just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe they hated you and wanted you to suffer.

Wanted you to live a life knowing your affections will never be reciprocated, knowing that Jimin has a fated one out there somewhere just waiting for him. Knowing that it isn’t you. Cursing you to a life of watching Jimin fall for another.

Thinking becomes so hard when it’s about Jimin. When it’s about the man who made you so far into the pits of hell that you don’t think you’ll ever crawl out.

So instead your fingers simply squeeze his hand. Rub gentle, soothing circles into the skin. Care for him like you’re meant to instead of thinking about what the future may hold. What will happen when he does find his mate. What they might be like, what they might dress like, if they’ll have to move in here, if you’ll have to watch him fall in love over and over again every single day.

You think you might hate them.

You sigh.

No, that wouldn’t be fair. Could never be fair to Min. He deserves happiness. He deserves the world whether or not you’re a part of it.

You hope he isn’t able to pick up on the changes in your scent.

“Mmm mm, got lucky with you Min.”

August 11th.

A beautiful dream shattered by the incoherent nightmare that is your spider pacing around your room. A pillow pulled to either side of your head, doing everything in their power to drown out the noise as an audible groan leaves your lips. His nervous prattling too early in the morning for your liking.

Any other day it would be fine, you would think that it’s cute. The way he worries his lip between his teeth. The way he gently bites down on the pad of his thumb, one arm crossed while the other soothes the skin of his chin.

Any other day you’d sit in bed, listen to him. Mock him slightly with how much worry runs through his body.

But he isn’t talking about his mate any other day, is he? No, it seems that the occasion has been saved for this morning. His head running a mile a minute, losing all composure he once had before. Losing his very sense of self as anxiety courses through his veins.

“What if it isn’t good enough? I need to present it to her soon. Need to make sure everything is perfect for her.” Apparently he had met her. When? You have not a single clue. Jimin hasn’t left the house in weeks other than to go hunt bugs and to go to the grocery store with you.

“What if the web isn’t big enough? She might not like the style either…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the carpet as he moves back and forth across your room, “God and what if she hates the food… No, no you know what she likes.”

“Jimin, she’ll like everything. It will be fine.” You groan, sitting up in bed to face him, voice gruff with morning air.. You don’t want him to be in here, talking about this. Talking to you about this. Shattering your heart every second that passes by.

You knew it would happen someday, you really did. You tried to do everything right. Tried to pretend reality wasn’t creeping through your windows with every second that passes by. Try to ignore the impending sense of doom that covered your skin.

Did everything right only to end up failing once again due to the rations of Park Jimin.

You try to look at him through the fuzz in your eyes, sleep still trying to force you back into its clutches with everything that it has. Try to see what he is doing– understand what he is saying. His voice continuing to speak yet not fluent enough for you to actually understand. His body twitches ever so slightly, head jerking as his teeth dig deeper and deeper into his thumb. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room– not to him at least. Lost within the tangles of his brain.

Pulling himself deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind, spiralling out of control of everything that seems rational, everything that he is meant to do or meant to say. It’s almost like he isn’t in the room at all. Isn’t pacing along your floor, surrounded by your scent. Comforting his inner spider before it loses control entirely with the hormones that rush through his veins.

August 11th. The date was circled 5 times on his calendar– red exclamation points, doodles scattered across the stupid day. Yet now, for the life of him he can’t seem to remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything though, so that isn’t a surprise. Only his web. The gifts he’s prepared for this day. Yeah. Those are the only things he can seem to think about.

A hand lands on his shoulder– one that isn’t his own. Who’s touching him? He isn’t sure. Isn’t sure of much other than the smell combing through the room that becomes sweeter and sweeter by the second. Honey he is unable to resist.

Especially with how soft the hand is that touches him. How gentle it is on his shoulder, his pace back and forth falling just so he can revel in it. Understand it.

“Hey Min.” Oh. It’s you. Your voice coming through the fog. Your voice startling him from the dream.

Gorgeous, gorgeous you.

Mate.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah?” Why do you sound sad? No, maybe it’s distressed. His face falls.

No, no, no. You shouldn’t be sad. You should never be sad. You should always be happy with him. You should love him. His love should make you whole. Your love makes him whole.

Wait, does he have your love yet?

Now he isn’t sure.

All he knows is that he should. You should. He should wrap you up in his nest, hold you close until you feel nothing but him. Don’t think about anybody else. Look at anybody else. You should always be happy and safe. Happy and safe with him just like he feels with you. Has always felt with you.

More than that stupid reserve. More than his webs back there. It was fate that brought the two of you together, right? Right? So he should be allowed to indulge just a little. He should be allowed to let go of this stupid, fucked up play he’s been putting on for so long. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

The reserve always taught him he was a wild spider, you know?

Wait, spider.

Spider.

His rut. That’s what’s coming today. That’s why the day was circled. That’s why Jimin isn’t acting like himself. That’s why his spider is itching, clawing to come out to play. Why he so desperately wants all of you to himself.

He hasn’t even presented his web yet.

He tilts his head at you, blank eyes staring down into bright ones. Ones that hold his entire world at your fingertips.

“There he is.” Your smile is almost blinding. Makes his head pound just like the sun's rays.

That’s right. That’s why he needs to keep his composure. To keep that smile on your lips. To keep you happy. To keep you falling in love with him slowly the human way. The way he knows you’d prefer. Knows you adore every second of.

He isn’t Taehyung. He isn’t Taehyung.

The human way is better. Better at keeping you pliant. Better at keeping you happy. Better at keeping you unafraid.

He hates when people are scared of him. Hates when people flinch with every movement he makes. Hates when people can’t just love him like he so craves. He’s still a hybrid. He still wants love. He was bred for it just like the rest of them.

So when you came into his life, so gentle and caring despite the palpable fear that scented the air– weighed it heavily, it sparked light behind his eyes. When he felt you touch him, felt the sparks dance across his flesh and allowed himself to inhale once more. When there were no traces of fear within you, only the scent of his mate. His eternity.

He knew he had to do the right thing. Had to make you love him the human way. Had to make you fall for him, endure the wait. Endure the daily struggles of his instincts just so you would never be afraid of him. The end would be worth it.

He would never let you fear him even at the cost of his own sanity.

Because he isn’t Taehyung. He’s Jimin. He’s a good spider.

“You need to be careful Min…” You tell him quietly. Your voice is the only anchor to his shaky world. The light brought him back from the edge over and over again today.

He needs to leave your room before all of his planning goes to waste. Calm himself down. Present to you his web and all of his gifts so you can accept him properly.

“Your thumb… it’s bleeding honey…” He tilts his head again, inspects your hands as they move closer. Tries to force lucid thought from behind his heavy eyelids as you touch his skin directly.

Tries to ignore the throb deep inside as you gently remove the finger from his lips. Pull it away from the fang that was piercing him. The sting of the bite.

He hadn’t even noticed it.

He watches as a single drop spills from the abrasion. Slipping down his finger. Feels the way your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

The way your thumb comes to his lips, worry etched across your features as you swipe away any remaining blood from his lower lip.

Leave. He needs to leave.

He isn’t sure how your finger ends up in his mouth. His plush lips wrapping around the digit, tongue curling around your flesh as he licks away the red spilled. Sucking on it gently as heat curls in his stomach. His eyes half-lidded, staring into the recesses of your very soul.

A groan passes through him at the taste of your skin. How sweet you are against his tongue. Do you even know what a vixen you are? What a tease you’ve come to be over the past 9 months?

No. Of course you don’t. Not with the blush that rushes to your cheeks. The stutter of his name that passes through his lips. The questions that you ask– what are you doing? Wh-why?

He wants you to be quiet. To enjoy you for all it’s worth. Enjoy everything you have to offer.

The command is silent– no more than the press of his bleeding thumb to your lips. The demand that you part them for him. To clean that wound that you unknowingly caused.

A hand on your cheek directing your head back. He’s been a good little spider, you can be a good little girl too, can’t you?

You are.

“J-Jimi–” He slips it inside, resting the pad against your tongue. Holding it in place. Asking, begging for this one little thing from you. You don’t mind, do you? You’ve always made him feel better before. This is no different, is it?

And so you do.

He watches the way your eyelids fall, your lips close as you begin to gently suck against it like he so craves. Like he desires down to the very cells that make up his body.

To imagine it’s his cock instead. Gently fucking into you over and over again, teaching you how to take his it how he likes. How he knows you’ll like. You’ll love everything about him. You’re meant to. It’s in the fabric of your DNA and soon it will all be his. Right after he shows you his–

Shit.

He needs to leave.

Got carried away in his fantasy. In pretending again.

His rut is coming too fast, too strong now that he finally has his mate in his grasp. He needs to leave. He needs to calm down so he can go this properly.

He leaves you on the bed, more confused and distressed than when he first entered. Annoyance hovering over your entire wake in a blanket of unrest. One that you know will not ease your soul for the rest of the day.

The spider has locked himself away. Hiding from you. Keeping himself in the basement, door locked, shutters drawn to drown out any sense of you that may be persisting.

You, on the other hand, have had nothing to do but stew in your own emotions. Think about every little decrepit detail that occurred hours prior. Edicting yourself to only address him by spider even in your thoughts.

It’s spiteful, sure. But it’s the least he deserves, you know? After everything he’s put you though– pulling you along like a little puppet on a string. Making you sit idly by for him to give you any lick of affection he’s willing to part with. Making you feel special, like you're worth something every second that he gets only for him to remind you with too much familiarity that he isn’t yours to have.

He woke you up, told you about his mate, looked at you like he was going to fuck you, and made you suck on his finger only for him to leave? The sheer fucking audacity of this man.

You’re sick of it.

Sick of having to force everything down because you know it isn’t what he wants. Sick of falling in love with him every day. Sick of having to play house. Sick of not having him. Sick of being playing the lovesick fool.

So, into the novels you fall. Into alternate worlds that are far better than your own. Displacing yourself into new habitats, new environments to escape the confines of the four stuffy walls that surround your body, head, and heart.

Into a world where it’s okay to fall in love with whoever you want. Where it’s okay to feel wanted. Where reality can be shut away by your headphones and a good snack. Where you can ignore the body approaching behind you. The tap on your shoulder.

You try to, honestly. And a good attempt it was.

Keeping your grip firm on the pages, nails digging into the paper below. Breath in your lungs held as if doing so would keep him away. Eyes tracing the pages over and over again though reading nothing. Attempting to appear as if you didn’t notice him at all.

Maybe he would leave, that was your biggest hope. Take the headphones placed firmly over your ears as a loud, obnoxious hint. That he would see you’re not interested and retreat to his basement layer to plot on the next way to torture your heart.

He doesn’t. He never would.

His frame comes to kneel in front of you. To stare up at you with those big brown doe eyes that you know you could never escape. Placing a gentle hand on your knee, trying to get you to see that he is there. That he wants to see you.

You see his lips move, though ignore entirely what they say. Letting out a huff, turning your body away from his own. Continuing to mindlessly stare at the pages even though their contents holds no meaning in this moment. No real value.

His forehead drops to your leg, a sigh leaving his throat. Words mumbled from his lips you’re unable to make out– not that you would want to hear them anyway.

Maybe it’s a temper tantrum of sorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine. To feel even a pinch of what you do. He probably never does.

Your fight is a good one. It truly is– at least you think so. But it all comes tumbling down the second his lips press against your knee. His hands reaching past your iron grip on the book to hold your own.

You will always fall to the likes of Jimin.

Especially when you see his lips mouth the word please. His brows crested with worry, his lower lip quivering in worry. Fangs biting the surface to try and soothe the nerves he feels.

Any sense of foreboding he held earlier, gone. The tick of his shoulders, the cold, blank stare of his eyes vanished. Your Jimin, the one you’re used to, in love with, rising to the surface again.

You’re unable to fight against the plea, no matter how much you want to. Unable to fight against him.

“What is it.” Your voice is harsh as you remove your headphones, setting the book to the side. Much more than it appears he’d like it to be if the flinch of his neck is anything to go by.

“I…” Words feel lost in his throat, but he forces himself to continue forward, “I have something I need to show you, human…”

Why is he acting so weird? Acting like earlier never happened? He seems nervous, almost petrified at your reaction. As if anything you say could break him entirely.

You don’t understand it at all. Anything about this situation, really.

“Okay…?” You watch his face carefully, trying to reason. To figure out why exactly the air seems so heavy. Why this situation feels so tense. “Show me then?”

“I…You have to come with me?” It sounds like a question, his face flinching at his own words. He’s meant to do this perfectly. Why can’t he seem to get it right? Why can’t his instincts help him with this? “Like, I can’t bring it up here… I need you to follow me?”

“Huh?” The quiet breath leaves your throat as your features pinch.

He quickly tries to explain further, trying to help you see through the worry on your face, “Not far I promise. Just to the basement, yeah?”

Your head jerks back in surprise, “You never let me go down there.”

“Yeah but…it’s special this time.” Oh.

It’s almost as if the pieces click together on their own. Your brain drawing conclusions, making decisions for you despite the obvious staring right in your face. His mate is probably down there. Wants you to meet her.

You can only sigh, accept your fate for what it is. Follow the boy with the string to the basement once again, just like the first night he came tumbling into your life.

“Okay.”

He holds your hand as you walk.

Holds it as if his life depends on it. As if it’s the red string of fate that has tied your two bodies together for the rest of eternity. As if he might die the second you two part. As if you might run away the second he lets go.

You never do, never try to run away from him. You’ve tried to run away from your feelings for so long. The least you can do is see through to the end of them, right? That would be the right thing to do. The dignified thing instead of trying to throw a tantrum on the floor.

The walk to the basement feels like the longest in your life. A marathon you have no training for, no experience with tugging you along. Silence extended for miles along each creak of the floorboards, each set of the dim stairs.

Jimin left the lights off, dusk settling along the horizon not long ago. Only distant flickers from the basement coming through as you make your way down. Candle light in the distance lighting the way.

He doesn’t say a thing as your feet reach the bottom of the stairs, toes cushioned by soft silk lining the floors. He doesn’t have to.

It’s beautiful. That’s the only way you can describe what he’s turned the basement into.

Beautiful silks cover every waking surface– the floors, the walls, the ceiling all lined in brilliant patterns of white dancing across the surface. Creating stories as if they were living themselves.

You wish you could stare at them. Admire them for the rest of your life. Decipher each piece laying, coating the surface. Envisioning the world through the eyes of Jimin. Through the world around him.

Webs cross from floor to ceiling, taking space over the room. Intricately laid in patterns you are more accustomed to with spiders. Webbed hatching sectioning off parts of the space, acting as furniture for the bug to rest on.

As your eyes scan the room, you finally find what you think has to be the most gorgeous web in the world. Sitting in the far right corner of the room stands a nest that takes up the entire corner. The effort it took to make it clear in its craft. So soft, so comfortable.

You almost want to curl up in it yourself.

Illuminated by only the glow of candle light, Jimin does nothing but watch as you take everything in. Watch as your face changes into that of euphoria. Mesmerised by everything he has worked so hard on, everything he’s done just to impress you.

You turn to face him, staring at him with nothing but wonder in your eyes.

“Jimin, this is– fuck this is incredible,” Your voice is breathless, cut off by how overwhelmed you are with everything. With him. “This must’ve taken you so long, it’s so beautiful. Oh my god, how did you–”

He can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it now that he has you here, has you in his web. Now that he can keep you in it forever. Complimenting him. Completing him. He needs to finish with the rest of this fast. Before he does something he’ll regret. Before he finishes showing you how good a mate he will be to you properly.

He tugs you forward, practically puzzling as he tugs you deeper into his room of webs. Expertly guiding you through each one without a second to spare.

Jittery, excited. Feeting rocking themselves back and forth as he sits you on a blanket placed on the ground.

He isn't going to last much longer. Not before his heat takes over. Before he loses his mind at you in the sight of his nest. His mate in his nest. Waiting to be bred. Waiting for–

No, no Jimin. Stop it. Stop acting like a spiderling that doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he has his mate in his nest.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, voice shaky as he tries to calm himself down, “I made us a picnic… I hope you like it.”

His spider hisses at the words, hating having to describe it as something stupid like a picnic. No, it's a nuptial gift. Evidence that he’s a good enough mate. That he’s good enough for you. That he deserves you.

You watch him, watch as he pushes the basket filled to the brim with food over to you. Watch as his frame shakes slightly as he stares at you, fingers tapping against strings of webs closest to your leg.

You can’t help but feel lost. Overwhelmed with affection, but utterly, entirely, hopelessly lost all the same. What is he doing? Why is he presenting all of this for you? Shouldn’t he be doing this for his mate? Isn’t all of this some type of courting ritual?

Oh.

It appears the puzzle you constructed– pieces matched together haphazardly stuck together with glue isn’t the solution after all. Isn’t the reality presented before you know.

You’re… you’re Jimin’s mate?

Your eyes widen, head jerking to meet Jimin’s gaze. His pupils shaky, not daring to leave the surface of the basket. Not daring to move an inch until you accept him.

You’re an idiot.

“J-Jimin a-are we…?” You hesitate to ask, hesitate to break the gentle balance residing over the entire basement.

His head snaps to face your own, eyes plagued with the same blank, predatory look as before.

“Mate.” Deep, harsh, scratchy. His voice makes you feel like he’s going to devour you whole. Like he is the monster waiting in the deepest recesses of your nightmares when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. When in reality he is the very being your soul yearns for stronger than any other.

The revelation, the– everything leaves you overwhelmed. Emotions strung up for the stars, casting aside any comets that tried to hurdle towards the perfect glass encasing this moment. This eternity you wish to live in forever as you finally understand that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You can’t help but grab his cheeks– ignore how venomous he looks, and press your lips against his own. Can’t help the explosion behind your eyelids, the sparks that travel across your skins in euphoric waves. The way your heart swells like a balloon, racing in your chest so fast you fear you may die.

Every emotion you’ve felt that day, every nagging, creeping sensation finding its way into the back of your skull vanishes in an instant. No going back. No orchestra or chorus reprise. No thoughts of not being his mate. You are his mate.

Only him.

Only Jimin.

He doesn’t part with you, not for a second. Not when he finally has you against him. When you so easily rise into his lap. When his natural instincts finally stop screaming at him and take over completely. Kiss you with everything he’s worth. Devour you whole.

His hands find purchase on your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin. Mocking him for not doing this in the closet with you all those months ago. Allowing him to truly understand how good it would’ve felt then. How good it will feel every second that follows.

He thinks you have to be the prettiest thing in the world.

His spider thinks that you need to be bred full of his spiderlings. Fucked so hard that you wont be able to walk– wont be able to leave his nest. That he’ll be able to tie you up nice and pretty, stuff you with his cum over and over again until you’d never even think about leaving.

His spider is winning.

“Min…” Your voice is breathless, trying to keep up with the flurry of kisses he presses against your lips, your face– anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s addicted to the feeling, like he’s making up for lost time.

“Min, I love you.” And just like that, any sanity he has left vanishes.

His spider has won.

Without a second thought you’re lifted from your place on his lap, thrown carelessly into his nest. His nest where you will stay. His nest where he’ll keep you. All thoughts vanished from that pretty little head of yours. Just like it should be.

His hands find the back of his collar, shirt discarded without a second thought on the floor. He doesn’t need it anymore. Not when he has you. When he wants to feel you fully.

You can only stare– fawn at his tan skin. The gentle muscles on display for you. For your eyes only while he crawls towards you. Stalks you just like they might a pretty little butterfly caught in their web. Wrapped in webs and killed without a second thought.

His lips find yours once again. Slotting together, filling the other to make them whole. Dazed in lust and passion, neither soul hoping there would ever be a way out for the other.

Well, there won’t be for you. But that’s okay. You’ll love it. Love every second of it.

He knows it as his fingers dance against your skin. Sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, running with skilled ease up your sides. The chill that racks through your body is evidence enough. The way you so easily allow him to draw your shirt over your head solidifies it. Your shorts follow, making it set in stone.

Your breath comes out in short pants, every slight touch, every little movement sends fire burning through your skin. Igniting you, setting your core ablaze with heat that only he can extinguish.

Fingers gently sliding over your ribs, thumbs coming just blow your breasts to rub circles into the skin while his fangs nip gently into your lower lip. He can’t bite you now. No, after he mates you he can bite you all he wants.

He groans at the thought, hips rocking themselves against your clothed cunt. Allowing you to feel all of him– the press of his cock, the motion of his need allowing you to fall higher and higher into a heaven you did not think possible.

You whine at him to do something, anything. Too impatient to wait any longer. Too impatient to live a second more without something, anything buried inside of you.

His smile is sick, twisted as he reclines back on his heels. Allows himself to get a good look at you.

“Shh, Shh…” His hand cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb against your lips. Pressing it inside with more ease than before. More compliance than before. There’s a good little girl.

“Poor thing is having a hard time, huh?” He mocks gently, hips pressed firm against your own allowing you to feel every inch of him, “Pretty lips all swollen, pussy a little mess from just kissing… mm mm…”

He groans, hand slipping between your legs. What he finds is no more than a mess of a girl. Hips bucking upwards. Slick dripping from your center, panties coated in arousal. Puffy little clit begging for any attention he’s willing to give it.

Without any hesitation his thumb finds your clit, pressing against it without any thought of reprieve. Without any thought to give you any of the relief you crave. You’ve made him wait this long, you can wait a second, no?

He groans high as you buck against his hand, mewl leaving your lips as some sort of plea. Ah~ how cute. Such a little thing so desperate for something, anything that you’re willing to give up your very head in return? How cute! How adorable!

His spider preens. Is almost so belated he doesn’t notice the hands that come down to grip his wrist. Hold him in place all so you can circle your hips against his thumb. Rub adorable little rings into your clit without any help from him. Use him to make yourself feel good.

A coo leaves his lips. Who is he to deny such a pretty little human?

“Ah pretty baby wants to feel good, does she?” He almost giggles at how pathetic you look. How adorably you cling to him. How hard you try.

His arm is ripped from your grasp, pulling back from the very place you desire him most. Where your arousal soaks the cotton of cotton, so palpable he can practically taste it in the air.

“It’s okay baby…” He sees the annoyance in your face, the battiness you hold in your heart coming to light. Excited to tame it. Excited to quell the pretty little devil in his web.

Tie you up. Breed full.

Breed you.

His fingers work fast. Arms are pulled over your head, silks quickly pinning them to the surface. Strings wrapping and wrapping until he’s sure you’re secure. Sure you can’t move.

His hips gently rock against your own, clothes cock pressing against your core. Watching as your hips buck, as you try to urge him closer with a pathetic whine.

See exactly how you struggle against the strings.

Perfect, perfect girl. How did he get so lucky, huh? Can never be sure.

You’re unable to stop the cry that leaves your throat as his hands pull your panties aside, finger thrusting into your wet heat. Filling you up, making you feel a little more whole.

“Min~” The moan of his name is shaky. Every sense you have in overdrive as he works his finger against your walls. Every push inside deeper, harder. Curling against your walls in the exact way you craved.

Pleasure coils in your stomach faster than you thought possible. A second finger joining the first, pumping in and out as he prepares you for his cock. Prepared you to take all of him and nothing less.

He knows you can do it. You can, can’t you?

“Mhmm baby, I know… head a little clearer now, huh?” He chuckles, chastising, “Can only think when you’re full. It’s so cute.”

You whimper at his words, head rolling back as the coil pulls tighter and tighter within your gut. Urging you to just let it snap, feel everything you’ve been waiting for.

“F-feels good…” You mutter quietly, unable to see the haze cloud his vision. The way his amused expression drops into that of a wild animal.

Without any warning his fingers pull out of your heat, body leaving your own entirely as he stands. Grabbing your hips, dragging them closer. Flipping your body over. Setting you pretty on your knees, arms uncomfortable crossed in front of you.

He quickly rids himself of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free from their confines. Head red and messy as it hits his stomach. Angry at how neglected you’ve left him. How desperately he wants this.

You have no way of preparing yourself for the drag of his cock through your lips. The gentle nudge against your clit. Thick head dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Mixing it with his pre-cum.

Making you messy. Making you dirty just for him. Making you belong to him.

“Gonna fill my mate.” All humour is gone from the man behind you, as if he is someone else entirely. It’s really too bad your head has a few too many screws loose to care. Care about anything other than the way his firm head presses against your hole. The way his blunt nails dig into your flesh.

“Gonna breed her. Mate her. Make her mine.” It’s almost as if his word is a command. The very sentences he utters become law.

You can only nod your head. Give yourself to the very man that fate led you to all those months ago. “Want~”

The thrust of his hips into your walls is almost too much to bear. A cry leaving your lips as he fucks himself inside in a single thrust. Forcing you to take him to the hilt, to feel all of him stretch your walls. No break. No waiting around.

You’ve both done enough waiting.

It hurts— the burn, as he stretches you full. Presses his cock against your walls making sure your cunt remembers no one but him.

The way he gives no reprieve, fucking into you like an animal starved. Pulling back until only the tip remains inside before fucking himself fully inside once more.

“Min!” You cry, waves of pain and pleasure boiling all the same within your bones. All the same inside of your blurred head, nothing but static and thoughts of him behind the line of your eyes. Slipping off into space as you let cunt clenched pathetically around his cock.

“Good mate, taking me so well. Such a good human.” He groans, hips pulling back and thrusting into you over and over again. Making you fall apart with his pace. Pumping his cock into your pathetic little hole fast and hard. Ruining you for any other man.

Making sure he will be the only one you allow to enter heaven.

Your moans come out wanton, pleaing. Hips start to move back against him, trying to keep up with his pace despite the burn you begin to feel in your tied arms. Desperate to let him know just how good he’s filling you. Just how good he’s making you feel.

“My mate.” His pants come out harsh, breath on your neck as he hovers close. The sound of skin and against skin is the only thing you’re able to hear. The pressure of Jimin’s lips against your neck makes you feel like you’re about to go insane.

He’s desperate to make you fall apart on his cock alone. Pleasure building and building, the coil tight. Ready to snap at any moment. Ready to fall apart at his command.

“Gonna make you mine forever pretty.” His voice is featherlight once more. The switches have you reeling, your brain spinning. “Want that, don’t you? For me to bite you? Mark you up? Breed you full of my spiderlings? Ruin that pretty little head for anything else.”

He sighs, nails digging into your hips where they’re sure to leave bruises. You nod your head in agreement, moans spilling past your lips as his hips change their angle. His cock hitting the spot that leaves you seeing stars on every thrust.

“Say the word and you’re mine.” You feel his fangs against your skin. The harsh drag across your delicate skin. “Forever.”

You can’t take it anymore, pleasure burning through you. Blinding you. Unable to think about anything else other than the rough thrusts of his cock against your walls.

“Please.” It’s no more than a whimper, but he swears it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

His teeth clamp into your flesh— the final thing needed to push you over the edge into bliss. Your body stutters, walls a vice around his cock as the coil finally snaps. Heat flowing through every cell you possess. The only thing in your soul is Jimin.

Your back arches, eyes dotting with black as you allow it to overtake you. Jimin rocking you against him, groaning as he fills you with his cum, painting your walls white. Allowing you to ride out your high with him. Finally allowing the rut to rid his brain for only a moment.

He slowly pulls out of you, panting. Quickly moving to cover your center back up with your underwear. Make sure all of his cum stays tucked away in your pretty little pussy to get you nice and pregnant.

You can only whimper, body twitching at every movement he makes. Worn down your bones— energy sucked so dry you can’t even feel the throb of your neck. Don’t even notice the blood that drips from where he marked you— claimed you in the way only a hybrid can.

All you're sure of is the need to be close to him. Need to feel him.

Is this what he had been feeling all along? Marks were known to do that, to allow you to feel what your mate does. If he had to endure what you’re feeling right now, it had to have been hell for him.

“Min…” you calm his name. Pull him from where he stares between your legs. Where his fingers rub circles into the surface of your underwear, spreading any cum that leaks from your twitching hole.

Within a second he’s at attention, staring at you with all of the love in the world. You’re not sure how you missed it before. How you could have deluded yourself into believing any less.

He pouts as you wiggle at your restraints, silk holding your arms in place all this time. He gently shakes his head, slowly flipping your body back over onto its back. Crawling over you to look at your face properly. Take in your fucked out expression. Ruined his pretty little human. Made her perfect.

“Don’t want to.” His lower lip juts out at you, eyes wide just like a begging dog. “Look pretty tied up in my web. Should stay like this. Forever.”

“I don’t think my job would like that very much.” You giggle, lip pouting out to match his own. He leans down, quickly capturing your mouth in a quick kiss.

Something hard pressed against your leg once more. His hand comes down to guide it against your heat. Rub against you despite the oversensitivity and cum leaking from your hole.

“Then we move to the woods together… I’ll hunt for us…” He grumbles, pushing your underwear to the side once more. Collecting any cum that has spilled out with his cock, gently fucking it back into your cunt with the head.

A whine rips from your lips due to oversensitivity. Pussy sore, aching from what he just put you though. What you aptly begged for. Yet you can’t deny him. Don’t want to deny him with how good it feels to be filled. How addicted you’ve become. Cock drunk.

“Wh-what?” You try to breathe, walls fluttering around his length as he slowly thrusts back inside. Filling you to the brim once again. “W-we can’t do that, Minnie…”

His thrusts are slow, languid. Almost like he’s making love. Treating you with utmost care despite how wrecked your entire frame is.

He is entirely unaffected. His rut leaves him wanting for more and more until you have nothing left to give. Face twisting into confusion at your words.

“Why can’t we? Make you up a nice pretty web… keep you full all the time” He hums against your neck, gently licking at his mark, “treat you like a real good mate, yeah? Fill you up over and over. Will look so pretty with my spiderlings.”

He moans the words, hips speeding up ever so slightly at the thought. It dawns on you that this must be his rut talking. Filling his head with nonsense he knows can’t come true. In a few days when he wakes up from it, he’ll probably pretend he never said anything about taking you to the woods. Keeping you there.

No harm in agreeing, is there? Especially when he makes you feel so good. So happy and full. When it makes him feel just as good. When your head starts to feel fuzzy, the exhaustion weighs heavily on your consciousness. You’re on birth control anyway, it's fine.

“Mmhmm… sounds nice..” You moan quietly, already feeling your second orgasm approaching. Allowing yourself to become lost in the same dream as him. Allowing yourself to fall victim to pretty words and false promises. Ones that he intends to make true.

“Gonna take such good care of my mate.” He groans, face buried in your neck. He feels your walls clamp around him, pulling him in over and over again. Cunt never wanting him to leave.

His hand draws between your thighs, fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Neither of you are going to last long. Both too sensitive to do anything but fall into the pleasure of each other.

Pussy fluttering against his cock, head rolling back as your high runs through you once more. White clouding your vision, ears ringing as you are overcome with fire. Drowning in the feeling of his cock fucking you full of his cum once again.

He lets out a harsh groan as he fills you. Breeds you just like a good spider would. Makes you feel complete as he helps you through both of your highs.

Your eyes feel heavy— too heavy to stay open even a second longer. Too tired to stay awake as he pulls your underwear back over your center. As he pulls your body close to his own.

He doesn’t blame you, never could. It must be hard having to keep up with a hybrid during their rut. But he knows you can do it. Knows you’ll do it for him. Especially with the promises you made. The ones you made only to him.

The last words you hear before falling under the veil of consciousness is a simple declaration. One you’ve waited months to hear.

“I love you.”

“Y/n! Hurry up!”

The whine of Jimin’s voice is louder than any car, highway, hell— aeroplane you’ve ever heard, you’re sure of it. The grip of his hand around your own is like iron, tugging you along the worn trail path, trying to urge you faster than your feet will allow.

“I’m going! I’m goin!” You chide with him, giggle leaving your lips at his hurried nature. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the spider more excited. Maybe even more so than when he strokes the bite mark scarred into your shoulder– your permanent reminder that you are his and he is yours.

“Not fast enough!” He groans, head rolling back in annoyance, “The best spot is going to get taken!”

He’s told you about this spot time and time again– excitement palpable with every mention. A beautiful clearing back at the reserve, one that the trees shine perfectly through. The best spot for basking in the whole park, as well as for begging humans for snacks.

You smile at the thought. Following as close behind him as your feet will manage. Blanket and bags of food tight in your grip. After months of paperwork, he can finally return to this place without fear they’ll take you away from him. The mate licence in your wallet proof enough of it.

He finally gets to take you to the reserve– the place he called home for so long before he met you. The place where he first learned how to be a proper spider. The first place he learned to make friends. He’s most excited about the latter part, getting to show off his shiny new mate to all of his friends. The one he caught the human way.

He’s been talking about it for days, since you first brought up the idea of visiting. Of wanting to see where he lived before he met you. Prattling on and on about everything he’s going to show you, how he’s going to introduce you to Jungkook if he can. About the waterfall over the cove that you two can swim in without anyone finding out.

All of it is a dream come true for your little spider. Your mate.

You smile at the thought– how excited he is as he helps you set up the blanket on the ground. As he helps spread food all around you. Body jittery, head twitching at every little sound.

It’s clear he’s going a little crazy with joy. Entirely ecstatic to have you here with him. Sitting across from him on the ground in a way that almost mocks the picnic you had in his basement that night months ago.

Ah, sorry. Nuptial gift ceremony. He liked it a lot better when you called it that.

“Oh! And then, after we eat, I can introduce you to the head of the park! She’s Namjoon’s mate, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He talks to himself, chatting idly about nothing as he presses another strawberry to your lips. You eagerly take it, biting down on the fruit without a second thought.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Really? It must be difficult to confess to her, then.”

He nods his head, overexcited as he looks past you into the trees. Nose twitching as he tries to pick up a scent. Yellow tinted sunglasses high on his nose to block any light from hurting his delicate pupils.

You can’t help but think about how beautiful he is. How lucky you are to have him.

His hair has grown out since that fateful day months ago, blonde replaced by a deep blue that puts the night sky to shame. How his frame has bulked out ever so slightly. Pretty tan skin looking more healthy than ever. His head off in the clouds, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t pick you up and drag you off into the woods.

The human way is never easy for him.

“Mhmm… he’s trying but he isn’t very good at it. Doesn’t understand how humans like it to be done…” He mumbles.

“Hybrid’s do it different?”

“Yeah,” He seems a little lost in space, nose twitching harsher as he tries to recognise the exact scent he knows will be coming soon. Jungkook can never hold himself back from a picnic, no matter how far. He just wishes his nose was stronger.

“Hybrids just take their mate right away. Prove they’re a good mate and then it’s done. But human’s you have to teach.” Your shoulders drop slightly, and maybe if it wasn’t for the love you felt for him or the mate mark pressing against your neck, you would have understood the severity of his words. Of teaching a human, tricking them into making them fall.

“Oh…” You pout, head coming down to rest against his shoulder. None the wiser to the meaning behind his words, “I’m sorry… it must’ve been hard for you.”

He only shakes his head, “It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to ever be scared.”

Suddenly, Jimin is standing. Eyes darting across the underbrush that surrounds the treeline. You follow his vision, squinting slightly to try and make out exactly what he is looking at when two antennae pop over the other side of a bush. Twitching, pointing in your direction. Hunting down food as they move closer.

The insect moves close, tilting his head as he finally moves within your line of vision. Mop of brown floppy hair on his head, wide bunny eyes. Twitching nose all the same. If it wasn’t for the lack of ears and black antennae jolting from his head, you would’ve thought he was a rodent.

“Kook!” Jimin’s voice is loud as he quickly run’s to meet the boy. The other looks just as excited, eyes lighting up with stars as his legs take off in the same direction. The two fall into a puddle of laughter and play fighting as they fall to the ground in greeting.

The infamous Jungkook, an ant hybrid– the biggest ant hybrid you’ve seen, mind you. Jimin’s best friend is finally revealed. And you have to say, seeing them together. Watching as your mate attempts to playfully tie him up silks has to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my god, Min!” You laugh as Jimin struggles, the giant ant hybrid easily breaking free from the others strings. Instantly the attention is on you. Jimin leaning back to his heels, head thrown back as he whines.

“Shut up! He’s gotten stronger! My webs hold you good enough!” You continue to laugh, unaware of the ant sneaking closer. His antenna tickling your shoulder as he stares at the food in front of you. Begging for just a little taste to bring home to his colony, a little bit to make the queen happy.

You happily oblige, making room for the two of them to join you once again after their little scuffle. A reunion too cute to not try and remember forever. And just like that, conversation begins to flow easily between the three of you. Almost as if Jimin never left in the first place.

The two of them spend all afternoon catching up– Jimin reciting the story of how you two met, Jungkook opening up about the cute human that’s started to come by the park every saturday. Pulling his antennae down as he speaks, clearly embarrassed. Telling you all about how they met, about the reserve.

“Ah~ don’t mind him. Kookie’s just embarrassed cause he doesn’t know how to talk to girls.” Jimin teases, leaning over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. His arm tightly wrapped around your frame, holding you close. “Not every day that an ant hybrid has a mate outside of their colony, you know?”

“Hyung! Shut up!” He quickly whines, eyes shooting a subtle glare towards the other. Legs kicking slightly underneath his frame. “You… know what it means… especially cause she’s human…”

“I know.” His fangs shimmer as his hand reaches out to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry. She’ll wanna be your queen in no time.”

You nod your head in agreement, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it into your mouth. Nothing much to add to the conversation– you’ll never really understand the intricacy of hybrids and how they work. Especially those like Jungkook and Jimin.

Yet, you can’t help but feel at peace with that. At peace with them and this moment. Content with your life, content with your mate and the life you’ve built together. You hope that Jungkook can do the same with his own someday. Build a nice little colony or whatever it is that ants do.

“Mhmm, anyone would want someone as cute as you.” You smile, watching as the ant’s eyes go wide. Blush covering his cheek as he tries to pull his antenna down to cover them. Jimin instantly pounces on the other, starting a new round of play fighting. Laughing about having to defend his mates honour. That she isn’t allowed to look at any other hybrid. No one but him.

You giggle along with them, leaning back from your spot. Taking a mental picture of the scene in front of you. Jimin happy, playing. The sunset over the horizon as the three of you laugh in the woods. As Jimin no longer looks anything like that spider all those months ago.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe you did fall into his trap lined with silk. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when you wake up in the middle of the woods. When you wake up in a cabin decorated in pretty webbing. When you come to find society is far behind you. When you discover no one else other than Jimin telling you that this is exactly what you asked for.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[nathaslosthershit]

Oh Brother(s)! (LS2) (Leclerc!Reader)

Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Part 2 to Red, White, and Williams' Blue but can be read as a standalone) Summary: All Logan Sargeant wanted was a nice and productive conversation with the love of his life’s three annoyingly protective older brothers, was that too much to ask for? Request: Hi Natalia! Finished reading: Red, White, and Williams' Blue (LS2) (Note to self: my official comfort fic🥹), is it okay if I could request a part 2 to it? (If you do part 2’s)? Nothing specific just maybe seeing how they’re relationship is going? (You can add whatever you want to it, but that’s my idea as of now) Thank you!!! A/N: Its my fic and I get to do whatever I want with it so I say Logan Sargeant is happy and employed. I miss him so bad. This was also such a sweet request because I too really like that fic. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Charles asked his brothers, keeping his eyes on their victim sister’s boyfriend. The three Leclerc brothers were standing menacingly with their arms crossed in the living room.

Logan sat in a chair placed right in front of them. They said he wasn’t allowed to stand, and they weren’t going to sit. They didn’t want Logan thinking there was equal power between him and the brothers.

What family was he trying to marry into?

Right, that's why he was here, he came to ask Enzo, Arthur, and Charles for their sister’s hand in marriage. It felt so medieval but they were fiercely protective of her and he didn’t want to give them reason to object at the wedding. 

“Can we at least turn the lights on?” Logan begged.

“If the lights are on you won’t be scared.” Arthur replied.

“No, I think as long as it's the three of you I am talking to, I'll be frightened.” Logan didn’t actually think this, he had plenty of normal, stress free, calm conversations with them but he knew they would get an ego boost at hearing ‘how scared he was’. 

“So, you want to marry our baby sister?” Enzo asked. 

They keep asking that question as if they don’t know thats exactly why he is there.

“Considering I started this conversation off with ‘I want to ask your sister to marry me’ I think that is a safe assumption to make.”

“And you haven’t asked our maman? Why would we say yes when you don’t have the decency to go to the matriarch?” Questioned Arthur.

Logan had to come up with a good excuse for that.

“I had… I wanted to ask you all first, you are her brothers and she respects and cares what you all think. Plus I knew I’d have an easier time asking Pascale than you three.”

“Drop the attitude and maybe we will say yes.” Charles commented.

This was ridiculous, he had been there 45 minutes and still had not gotten an answer. 

“How can we trust someone who doesn’t understand why we are protective of our sister?” Enzo spoke up.

“Of course I understand but this is-”

“A perfectly reasonable response to the question you asked us.” Arthur stuck up his nose as he said this, pissing off Logan even more. All he wanted to do was marry this girl.

“But if you guys keep speaking over me than-”

“Now you are trying to silence us? We are only looking out for our baby sister and you are getting mad?” He could tell that the brothers were mostly teasing him, but he had officially run out of patience. 

“Okay! Thats enough. All three of you sit down on the couch so I can say my speech.” Logan commanded, getting up from his chair as he pointed to where he wanted the brothers to go.

Surprised, and a little intrigued at the outburst, the three sat down with nothing more than a few angry huffs.

“You all have known me as the man who is dating your sister for three years. In all of that time, was I ever rude or disrespectful to any of you?” 

The three monegasques shook their heads.

“Was I ever rude to your sister? Did I ever treat her with anything but the utmost love and care?” 

The brothers shook their heads again.

“So, I have always been nothing but kind and respectful. I have never given any of you a reason to not like nor trust me. I have been faithful and nothing but loving towards your sister. I have a career and a well paying job so you all have no reason to think she wouldn’t be taken care of. What can I do to just have you give me a simple answer?” Logan finally took a breath. He had a better speech prepared, one that had less yelling, but he didn’t have the patience anymore.

The three Leclercs stayed silent. Logan began to sweat. Maybe the yelling wasn’t the most helpful method of asking them for their permission.

He then let out a breath as the three in front of him began to smile.

It was a ‘we are totally fucking with you and are amused by your outburst’ smile.

Fucking hell, he knew it and still let them get in his head.

“Sorry Logan, we couldn’t resist. Had to see where your patience ran out for future reference now that you are a part of the family” Charles laughed while standing up to pat Logan on the back. 

It took a second to register what he said.

“So- so you all agree?” Logan asked, not sure if they were still fucking with him.

“Yes, mate, we knew you were here to ask our permission to marry her the moment you asked to meet up with us.” Enzo replied.

Behind the American, he heard feet approaching and based on the fact he saw all the color drain from the brothers’ face, he knew who it was.

All of the brothers felt their stomach drop as their sister walked into the room. She had heard everything! They had ruined their baby sister’s proposal.

The three boys began to freak out, their made up excuses overlapping with each other making it hard to hear a single word. 

Logan ran up to go hug her, spinning her around in excitement. This made everyone else go still. Why was he not upset? They had just ruined his big moment by being overprotective idiots.

At the confusion clearly displayed on their faces, their sister spoke up, “Logan may have already asked me a month ago, we just couldn’t see you in person until now so we waited to say anything.”

“I also just needed a little confirmation that you three wouldn’t kill me for proposing before I got permission from you guys. Although, to be fair, I did ask Pascale before I did anything.” Logan said

“So it was all a lie? You didn’t want to ask us first because we are the most important people?” Arthur asked.

“Are you guys serious? He has no reason to ask you three idiots first. Or at all! You are overprotective babies.” Their sister answered. 

As the Leclerc boys all spoke over each other for the second time, arguing with their sister's comment, Logan kissed his fiancé, the two blissfully unaware of what the brothers were screaming about.

And far too in love to care.

Part 3 (the wedding episode) coming soon!

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Quinn pleaseeee 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'm gonna put a warning on this because I like it so I don't feel like rewriting it. Warning: shitty relationship with father.

Drabble Masterlist

"Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn didn't seem to care that you were pissed. But pissed didn't even describe the soreness in your jaw from clenching it so tight or the fact that your body temperature was elevated or that all you wanted to do was scream. Glancing over as he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his face was as it always was calm, his thoughts were probably collected while your brain was firing off things to add to the fire if needed, he looked like he was in control of his body while yours was being controlled by the rage inside you. Looking at Quinn only pissed you off more so you just looked away.

After a minute, you decided it was best to walk away and cool off before you said something you'd regret. Quinn on the other hand, wasn't done fighting he wanted you to understand his point of view and he didn't wanna wait till morning. As you made your way down the hall you could hear Quinn's footsteps behind you.

"Wait Y/N, Let me explain." He went to gently touch your arm in hopes that you would stop walking away from him.

He got his wish, you turned around talking through your teeth you grunted. "Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn has never pulled away from you so quickly before. Even with how angry you were at him it still hurt you how fast he pulled away. Quinn was looking at the floor, for the first time showing emotion since your fight started. "I was just trying to help."

All you could do is sigh. "By telling my father off?" you question defeat clear in your voice. "Quinn I've been over this with you, my family isn't like your family. You can't just voice your opinions to my dad, especially if it's you disagreeing with him or his choices."

Quinn looked up at you finally, he frowned his eyebrows in annoyance but you knew it wasn't at you. "Well I am mad at him. He shouldn't be allowed to talk down to you and blame you for not getting along with your stepmom when all she does is talk down to you. I couldn't sit there and let her talk down to you at dinner. Okay. And I guess I'm sorry for how it came up, but I am not sorry for standing up for you."

"Quinn I know you were trying to stand up for me. But I don't need you or anyone to stand up for me, especially against my family. Okay?" you ask waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"No. I'm sorry because how can you let them tell you that you aren't as far in your career as you should be as if they helped at all with the cost of college. Or the fact that all they did all dinner was telling you everything you were doing wrong with your life?" His tone was accusing and you found yourself taking a step back, your body was exhausted and all you wanted to was get out of this ichy dress and go to bed.

"I don't wanna have this conversation tonight." you begged.

"I just don't understand why do you even keep him around Y/N!"

"Okay since you seem to not be able to understand why I let them talk that way to you let me explain it to you so we never have to talk about this again got it?" you ask waiting for Quinn to nod his head before you continue. "Look my dad might be a piece of shit, but guess what he's my piece of shit father not anyone else's. Everyone always ask me for years 'Y/N if I were you, I'd cut him off why don't you.' For a long time I didn't have an answer for them but as I got older I do and it's this. Because he might be a piece of shit but without him I wouldn't be standing here physically because he is physically half of me. And I know you have lovely parents Quinn and brothers. But not everyone does and I am terrifed that if I do cut him out all the way vs seeing him three times a year like I do now. That one day I will get a call and he will be dead and I will have regret for not at least having him in some capactiy in my life. So because of that fear of regret because I know many people who have it now since their parents passed. I keep him around and if you can't understand that fine, not everyone does."

Taking a step closer to Quinn you add, "but whether you agree or not, you don't get to judge me for the choices I've made when it comes to the relationship between my father and I. Because that is exactly what it is." Pointing to yourself. "It's MY relationship not yours and you also don't get to make it more shaky then it already is by yelling at him in the middle of the steakhouse."

Quinn and you aren't sure how long you stood in your apartment hallway, it could of been seconds it could of been minutes. At some point Quinn looked at you and said "agree to disagree." All you did was nod and you both said true to your word you never talked about your father and your relationship ever again.

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Good Enough | Jisung [NSFW]

Park Jisung - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~6.1k [more than half is smut btw]

Pairing: Jisung x AFAB!Older!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Friends/Roommates-to-Lovers, Absolute Filth

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Summary: Jisung is tired of his noona treating him like her little sweet baby.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Noona, Sweetheart), Swearing, Very Dirty Talk, Kissing, Lots of Tongue, One Spank, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Rimming (Just a tad), Size Difference, Size Kink, Soft-Dom! Jisung (oof), Sub! Reader, Breeding/Creampie Kink, Overstimulation, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: I had a mental breakdown while writing this lol. This might not acutally be the filthiest thing I have written, but it feels like it because of who it's for…for some reason. It's hard for me to believe that Jisung got so fucking hot, because I remember him sitting on Taeyong's lap, but he's a MAN now. i'll sit on his lap

P.S. FUCK

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

“He’s my precious.”

“Your roommate…is your precious?” Jisung hears voices creeping in from the living room. Groggily, he glances at the clock on his nightstand, head peeking out of his blanket cocoon. He’s still jet lagged after getting back from Korea, so it’s about 3 pm.

“Yes. And he’s not just my roommate-“

“He’s your precious?”

“Yes. But! I was going to say he’s my best friend… and my precious baby boy.

“Seriously? Isn’t he only like two or three years younger?”

“My precious baby Jisung.” He huffs at your coo, dropping his head back on his pillow in annoyance. For some reason his summer trip back home to see his parents triggered something in him. He missed you horribly and you were pretty much the only thing he talked about. Once he was informed by his mother that he’s likely fallen in love with you, he’s…upset. More with himself at first for not realizing it, but then looking at how you two interact, he got cranky. He is not your precious baby Jisung, he’s a man dammit, has been for nearly four years. Do you see him that way though? Not even remotely. He’s a step above a puppy, at least you accept he’s human. But you constantly go on about how cute he is, and sweet, and ‘a bean’; whatever that means. You’d even called him your son on a few occasions, and ever though they’re mostly in jest and unserious, now they really piss him off. Jisung doesn’t want you to see him as your son (maybe give you one) but what really is bugging him barely makes sense. He’s only heard you say it once, but it sticks in his mind…

“You realize half of the people on campus want to fuck him, right?”

He’s in his final year of college, and the only reason you’re still in college is because you stuck around to work for the IT department. Your friend’s question is not news to him, but he’s much too shy to go for any of the advances he’s received. He’s also much too in love with you, but he hadn’t known that till literally last month, but it makes sense.

“Not allowed.”

“Why?”

“Precious baby.”

“He’s not a baby, (Y/N). Not even close.” You don’t reply for a bit, and he can vividly picture your distasteful expression.

“He might not actually be one, but he’s my baby. My baby Jisung.”

“(Y/N).”

Your friend’s annoyed tone is not nearly strong enough to match the level he’s feeling. Definitely not able to continue his nap, he sits up aggressively from his bed, kicking at his blankets before wrangling his comforter and throwing it to the floor. Resting his elbow on his knee, he then rests his forehead on his hand, trying to breathe out his ire so he can leave his room without being visibly grumpy.

“My sister wants to ask him out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No one is good enough.”

“No one?”

“Nope, not even me.”

That’s it. You said it. That simple thought is what really sets him over the edge. You’re the only one good enough, no one else can even be close to you in his eyes. Finally, the anger boils over and he climbs off his bed, putting a sweatshirt on so quickly that he has to wrestle it in his haste. You keep the apartment so freaking cold… You must hear him wrench his door open because your conversation immediately stops. He storms down the hall, even his socked feet are heavy on the laminate wood floor, so much so that when he comes to the mouth of the hallway, you’re looking at him with a shocked expression. You’re sitting at the coffee table with your friend Yuna, various papers spread on the surface while your friend studies for her graduate classes. Your green snake Squishmallow sits on your lap, and he wants to grab it and throw it across the room, suddenly jealous with how close it’s pressed to your chest.

“Ji?” It’s clear you don’t think he heard your conversation, but Yuna immediately realizes, starting to gather her homework.

“I’m gonna go.” She nearly shoves the papers into her folder and throws everything else in her bag.

“What? Why?” You turn back to her, and he then realizes what you’re wearing. Your slightly damp hair has moved out of the way, revealing the design on the back of your baggy t-shirt. It’s his.

“Wait, Yuna?!” You try to get up and go after her as she dashes from your apartment, shooting Jisung a look as she shuts the door. You have to shove the table to get up quicker, and even as you stand, you still clutch the plushie to you. Jisung exhales harshly, storming forward and grabbing your Squishmallow and yeeting her onto the floor.

“Woah?! What’d she do to you?” You motion to her with your hand, giving him a questioning look. You start to bend to pick her up, but his hand grabs your wrist, pulling you back up and toward him, making your balance falter. Your bewildered eyes scan over his face, but you still have no anger in them; not even annoyance. You can’t get mad at your baby boy.

“Ji?” His big hand easily holds your wrist, and you squeak when he drags you even closer to him, so much that you can feel his breath flutter your hair over your forehead. His brow is furrowed, lips pressed tight to each other, but he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” Your other hand comes up to brush some of your hair away from your face, only leaving it down so it can dry. Your fingers then move to his face, trying to brush his bangs out of his eyes. Having you so close and seeing how far you have to reach makes him realize just how small you are. He’s well over half a foot taller than you and he wonders how small you’d look under him… When your fingers brush his cheek, his other hand grabs yours, easily swallowing it in his grip. Jisung holds your hand, pulling closer, and lays your linked hands over his heart. With his other, he yanks you the last little bit closer, so you’re pressed to him, wide eyes rapidly scanning his face. Your head’s tilted back, almost painfully so, still not recognizing what’s happening. The hand around your wrist moves so his thumb can rub your skin till it presses against your palm. Your gaze goes to your hand then, shocked at how small it is compared to his, and you seem to be registering how small you are compared to him in general. Had he really grown so much since you’d met him four years before? Your gaze goes back to his face, finally seeming to notice that his face has changed as well. Yes, he’s still cute, but he’s become devastatingly handsome, maturing into a…man. No, he isn’t a baby anymore, but you’re in denial. Even now, pressed against him, even able to feel his toned muscles through his sweatshirt, you keep trying to convince yourself he's still your baby Jisung.

“Jisung?” You exhale his name, so quiet that if he wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard. Your eyes follow his when they flick down to watch your lips move when you whisper his name.

“What makes you think you’re not good enough for me?” His voice rumbles through you, its deepness shocking you for some reason. When did that happen? You’re so thrown off by the pitch of his voice, you barely register his question.

“Huh?”

“No one else is good enough for me…because they’re not you.” His hand drops your wrist so his arm can wrap around you, and he presses his cheek to the side of your head. He nuzzles your soft hair, the familiar scent of your shampoo soothing his anger some.

“What?” You stand still, stiff even, trying to process what’s happening.

“I don’t want to be your baby Jisung anymore, noona. I just want to be yours.” He’s a bit surprised with his sudden eloquence, but he just chocks it up to all his upset burning away any shyness he as in the moment. The anger’s faded, and he’s just upset, tired again, praying in his head that you’ll get the fucking hint. Your hand, the one he lets go, has rested on his chest for balance, then he feels your fingers clutch the fabric of his sweatshirt. With his fingers wrapped around your right hand still, he can feel that your pulse has quickened, and you’re minutely shaking.

“Y-you…?” You swallow hard, tongue running over your lips, mouth feeling dry.

“I thought I just had a crush on you. I don’t. I love you.” His softened voice floats right into your ear with how his head rests on yours. The back of your nose and throat burn as you swallow hard, tears sparking in the corners of your eyes. When you hiccup, snigging, he flinches, pulling back from you. It’s only just enough that he can see your face, his arm still around you, hand still in his over his heart.

“Noona.” He sighs softly, dipping and kissing the corner of your eye where a tear has slipped down your cheek. Nope, that makes it worse. You burst into tears, chest heaving, and he pulls you back into him. You’re…dramatic sometimes, cry easily…too easily, even. Jisung loves to tease you for crying at a commercial where a little girl brings a quilt out to her sheep in the barn close to Christmas. You also tend to cry around puppies.

“I-I…I-!” Your breath is heaving too much for you to really talk. His nose nuzzles your hair, and he kisses the crown of your head. You sniff, taking a few deep breaths.

“I love you too…” You whisper, if you were to speak any loud, your sobs would take back over. He doesn’t know, but while he was gone you had been in a much similar situation. You went to visit your parents as well, but it’s just an hour or so drive, not practically across the world. You missed him so much, and wouldn’t shut up about him, but your mother knows you well enough to read between the lines. Because it startled you, having romantic feelings for Jisung, you became even more dramatic with the ‘baby Jisung’ talk. He is your best friend, and so of course you love him, but you can’t admit you’re in love with him. You’re so worried about ruining your friendship that you just ignore your logical thoughts and pretend you haven’t fallen for him. Nearly fighting him when he pulls back from the hug again, you stay pressed to him, not wanting him to see your face. Not only is it red from your blush, but it’s also blotchy from your crying and your nose is close to running.

“Noona.” He huffs a laugh, trying to get you off of him. You grip his sweatshirt tighter.

“(Y/N).” Jisung is fully laughing at that point, partially from your actions and partially from how ecstatic he is that you love him back.

“No.”

“Noona.”

“No.” Finally, with a bit more force, he pulls back so you can see each other’s faces. The warmest smile you’ve ever seen is on his face and you freeze when he leans in closer. His forehead bumps your and his nose crinkles, cringing a bit at his own actions, but it makes you giggle; which makes it all worth it.

“Since when?” you ask. He laughs bashfully, lips pursing.

“I didn’t realize how bad it is till a few weeks ago when I was still in Korea. But…I knew before that. Something made me realize…”

“What?” You’re shocked when his giddy but shy face falls into one of panic.

“W-what?” His face blooms red, all the way to the tips of his ears and he tries to bow his head to avoid your gaze, but you can just look up into his eyes.

“Uh, well…” He clears his throat, trying to pull back further but he doesn’t let your hand go.

“Jisung?” You press with a fake stern tone.

“I…had a dream.” He fakes a cough to try and hide his voice crack.

“Yeah?” You’re clearly not understanding that he’s so reluctant to say what it was, because it was filthy. It even had made Jaemin blush. The extreme embarrassment in his eyes when they finally meet yours clues you in better. You step closer, a coy look spreading over your own face, and he takes a step back. His hand is still holding yours though, so he isn’t that desperate to get away. He clenches his other hand into a fist, bringing it up and pressing his mouth to his forearm to hide his face.

“Was it something bad?”

“No! Uh…” With each step you try to get closer, he backs up, till his back hits the wall.

“Was it naughty?” You tease, and he sneers at the cringey word. Your eyes, still a bit puffy from crying, are creased with amusement.

“Uh, I mean…”

“Did we do something dirty?” Your head tilts up to look at his face as he tries to hide, fingers clenching yours jerkily, the digits desperate to wiggle.

“M-maybe.”

“What?” You smirk, trying not to giggle. You’re always more open about sex stuff, not quite like Jaemin or even Donghyuck, but still more than him.

“No.” He’s throwing your method of deflection back at you.

“You know,” you get up on your tip toes so you can whisper into his ear, “if you tell me, we can do it~?” Your suggestion makes his whole body freeze, blood turning to ice. He nearly gasps when his blood then rapidly heats, the sound of his pulse whooshing in his ears.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, needing to make sure because even just the slightest detail would reveal too much if you aren’t. You nod with a hum, then gasp when he switches your places, hand cupping the back of your head, so it doesn’t thud into the wall as he pins you to it, his other forearm holding him up over you’re your head. You can only blink in response, looking at the conflicted expression on his face.

"I don’t want to hurt you.” What the hell had he dreamt? You’re dying to know…

“You won’t.” Jisung’s eyes meet yours, brow furrowed in worry.

“I could.”

“You could, but you won’t. Plus…” Your hands come up to mess with the strings of his hoodie.

"Sometimes a little pain can feel good." Jisung searches your face and sees the determination in your eyes. The hand on the back of your head buries harshly into your hair, tugging at your scalp as you gasp when his mouth seals against yours. Your teeth clack against his with the force of the kiss and you whine, trying to match his fervor. You can’t. His leg nestles between yours, pressing close and against your core, and you have to rise up onto your tip toes. The fingers in your hair twist the strands around them and he tugs harder, tipping your head back more, compensating for him looming over you. His knee hits the wall, his leg literally hitching you up an inch and you moan at the pressure. Jisung sneaks his tongue into your mouth then and your breath is rough out of your nose, saliva drooling from the corner of your mouth. Panting hard, he pulls back, eyes searching yours. His arm against the wall moves down to your side, still holding him up but also pressing into your waist. The hand in your hair leaves, the tips of his fingers soothing the slight sting he left on your scalp, then cups your jaw. Your face looks so small cupped in his palm and something carnal -feral- rises in him.

“You’re so little, noona.” Jisung’s tone is nothing like you’d even heard from him. His hooded gaze focuses on your mouth when his thumb easily reaches to press against your lips, his fingers still stroking the back of your head. You watch his brow quick up when you take his thumb between your lips, sucking on it. You expect a blush to erupt, for his voice to sputter, or for him to pull back. No. He smirks.

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” Your head has to tilt up once again when he presses even closer, chest to chest, leg still wedged between yours. You wonder if you’d soaked through your panties and thin shorts, and if he could feel it. Then again, he’s in sweatpants, but you can feel the fabric clinging to your folds and he’s only kissed you. Yes, his thigh is pressing against your covered cunt, be he isn’t moving you on it.

“Tell me?” you whisper when he removes his thumb, eyes focusing on the shine of drool left on it. If you didn’t know him better, you would take his intense expression for anger, but even with knowing him so well, you can’t read his face. Jisung slips his hand off your jaw, fingers pressing to the back of your neck, thumb resting under your chin. His face comes close once more, so close his lips brush slightly over yours as he speaks.

“I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk for the next three days. I want to fuck you so stupid you can’t even speak, just whine, and beg for more. I want to make you cum so much that your cute little pussy stings. I want you to swallow my cock and I want to cum down your throat.” You’re going to pass out, you’re sure of it. With how quickly the blood rushes to your core, your head swims. Where’s your sweet little Jisung gone? How long has he been thinking like that? He can’t even meet anyone’s eyes if sex stuff gets brought up around friends. But his words are thick with lust, and they swim into your ears and fog your brain like a drug. Your thighs twitch, body shuddering when a devilish grin spreads over his gorgeous face. He isn’t cute right now; he’s destructively sexy, and it takes your breath away. You don’t think you can ever see him as your sweet little friend again…

“What do you want, noona?” The pet-name even comes out different, he says it with near reverence, the single word a one-eighty from the four words preceding it.

“I want… I need you to do anything you want to me.” His grin falls, he groans, and his tongue is back in your mouth. He can taste the candy you’d been eating while you spoke those fateful words, eagerly circling your tongue with his. You keen a whining moan when the hand at your neck tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into your windpipe. Your breath hitches, somehow where he grips it gives the same heady feeling without actually restricting your breathing. What steals your air is the pleasure you’re feeling just from his kiss. Your hips jump, desperate for some friction, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Helpfully he presses into you more, lifting you against the wall more, the weight of gravity pulling you onto him harder. The arm at your side that’s been holding him up moves -he's just using his knee now for balance- and his fingers tease along the waistband of your shorts. You whimper when his hand continues, sneaking its way into the back of your shorts and panties, the hot pads of his fingers meeting your slick folds. You shiver and take heaving breaths when he removes himself from the kiss. His other hand’s still at your throat, but he releases the light pressure, making your heavy breaths easier to control.

“You’re soaked, noona. For me?”

“Fuck, yes, Jisung.” Expecting a kiss when he moves closer once more, he grips your jaw, tilting your head back, thumb hooking your bottom lip. You let him move your jaw, holding your mouth open, waiting for his next move. His grin breaks when he lets a glob of spit fall from his lip and into your awaiting mouth. Without needing a prompt, when his thumb leaves your mouth, you swallow.

“Good girl, noona.” Slowly, he pulls away from you and the wall, stepping back only enough that he can take his hoodie off. He goes ahead and lets his shirt underneath go along with it and your heart leaps.

“Fucking hell.” You gasp, reaching forward to eagerly run your fingers over him. While he isn’t necessarily to the level of Jeno or even Jaemin, for having a dancer’s body he still has muscle. When had that gotten there? He barely wears anything tight, let alone without sleeves, so you had no idea. He feels a wave of bashfulness rising, so he takes control once again, pulling your small hands from his skin.

“Off.” He prompts and you grab the hem of his shirt you’re wearing, and he finishes the job, tossing it down the hall. Clicking his tongue at your bra, you start to reach around your back to undo it, but he beats you to it. With an easy flick, it snaps open, and you let it drop, wide eyes staring at him. Where the fucking hell had he learned to do that?

“Jaemin.” He must’ve read your mind and that makes plenty of sense. Not able to even process your next move, he scoops you up easily, pressing you back into the wall. You squeak, wrapping your mostly bare legs around his waist, fingers digging into his shoulders. He’s more or less eye-level with you now. He drops you a bit, preferring you under him more, and his nose nuzzles under your ear. He feels the goose bumps rising on your skin against his, his top just as bare as yours. His hands once again bury under the waist band of your shorts, fingers so long that the tips slip out of the leg holes of your panties, cupping your ass perfectly.

“God, Jisung~!” Your body twitches when his light nuzzles immediately turn into open mouth kisses, then he sucks hard, working the skin with his lips and teeth. Popping off of your neck, his tongue runs over the flesh, blood rising and pooling at the surface. The fingers on his shoulder tighten, the blunt edges of your nails digging into his skin, and his own hips jump then. You’ve been trying to ignore the tent in his pants, but he grinds his hardened cock against your cunt, only a few layers of fabric between. Jisung seems to be big in every way…

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes, why?” You shudder once more as he licks at the third hickey he’s left, this one on your collarbone.

“I need to fuck you raw.” He groans as your cunt throbs, easily feeling it against his cock even with the clothing barrier.

“Want to pump you so full, my cums dripping out of you for hours.” Your eyes roll back as you whine, throwing your head back. You squeak when he jostles you up higher, those beautiful and surprisingly sinful lips sucking in a nipple. Sighing at the feeling, he isn’t pleased with the gentle noise, and so he nibbles your peak instead. You yipe like a dog -ironic since he’s planning on fucking you like one- a little dazed by how high up the wall he has you. Despite the altitude, he seems to be easily holding you up, though he’s able to use the wall for help. When his mouth moves to your other breast, he smirks at the red and swollen nipple he leaves. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you both still have your pants on.

“Can I fuck you raw, noona? Feel your pussy cling to my cock?” His mouth is at your ear again, having dropped you back down to an easier level. His dick hasn’t even entered you and you feel too stupid to talk.

“Please~” You mewl, and your submissive tone makes him groan. Jisung’s hands leave your shorts, shoving them down off of you as he partially lets you go. Your feet dangle slightly as you toe off the last of your clothes, then you yelp as he slings you over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“J-Jisung-?!” You yelp as his hand smacks your ass, most likely leaving a big red print on your skin. The sting of the spank sends tendrils of fire right to your cunt as he storms down the hall toward your room, your bed is bigger than his. You flinch at the slam of your door as he closes it, huffing as he practically drops you.

“Knees.” He prompts -orders- and your body easily obeys. Going down the rest of the way to the floor, you sit with your knees in an ‘M’, gazing up at him with big glossy eyes. You’re trying hard not to gape at the bulge in his sweatpants, or to run your gaze hungrily over his bare torso.

“Go ahead, noona.” He nearly laughs at your eagerness, quickly reaching for the waistband of his pants and pull them off, his hard cock bobbing in the air before you. Your wide, enraptured state on his dick gives him a rush of nerves and pride all at once. While you come to terms with your fate, he shoves his sweatpants to the side, and you shuffle forward. Whimpering, your hand wraps around the base of his cock, big and pretty like him. Swallowing, your eyes meet his.

“C-Can I get something?” Your request throws him off, but he nods, and you scramble up and to your nightstand. Trotting back over, you stand demurely before him, holding the item out with both palms up. He takes the little bottle from you, looking at it.

“Throat numbing spray?” His brow crooks and he looks at you, biting your lip with a giddy glaze over your eyes. It still has plastic wrap on the nozzle. Nodding once, you sink back to your knees, and he groans low when you open your mouth wide, tongue out.

“Why do you have this, noona?” His tone is slightly patronizing as he tears the plastic off, then spritzes the watermelon flavored spray into your mouth. Swallowing a few times, the dull sensation you could even register before fades, leaving a very minute feeling in your throat.

“Guess.” You giggle, hand wrapping back around his cock. Jisung buries his hand in your hair again, tugging hard to make you look back up at him.

“You’ve used it before?”

“I’m not a virgin, Ji.” Your normal, casual tone doesn’t sit right with him in the moment, and he twists your hair again, the stinging twinge makes you moan softly.

“One for me now?”

“Yes~” You nod to further emphasize your point, and his grip loosens. With a much softer hold on your head, he presses you closer, letting you take over. Swallowing a buildup of saliva, your tongue swirls around the head of his dick, eagerly lapping at the salty taste of his precum. He’s barely half-way in your mouth when the head hits your numbed throat, your jaw protesting some already. His eyes shut as he groans, only fluttering open to watch you take his cock even deeper down your throat. The spray helps you not to gag, and you swallow over and over, holding your breath, your nose pressing to his groin. Your hand falls, landing next to your other one as you press your hands to the floor. Pulling back enough that you can breathe, you twist your head like a curious dog, eyes searing into his.

“Ready?” You moan and his hands are back in your hair, hips jumping, burying his cock back inside your throat. Despite the numbing, tears spring to your eyes, a slight gag leaving you. Holding still like a good girl, Jisung pumps his fat cock into your mouth and down your throat, breathing harshly through your nose when you can.

“Fuck, you feel so good, noona~” He sighs, head thrown back, making sure not to use full force as he rolls his hips. Even with him holding back, you can feel the strength of his movements and you feel a puddle of wet forming on the laminate floor under you, cunt clenching around nothing.

“You better swallow it all, (Y/N).” He tries not to whimper, but he can’t help it, letting you inhale deeply before burying his cock all the way down your gullet, pumping thick strands of hot cum down your throat. Your core spasms, eyes fluttering as you eagerly swallow over and over, the heat of his release warming through you. When you woke up this morning, you never dreamed you’d be eagerly swallowing Jisung’s cock as he cums buckets down your throat. As the last little wave dies, he quickly removes his still half-hard cock, brow furrowing with worry as you gasp for air. Tears are flowing down your cheeks, face red and messy, but you open up, tongue out, to show him you obediently swallowed every drop.

“You’re so fucking good, sweetheart.” You gasp softly, the pet-name going straight to your needy cunt. Jisung uses his index finger to gather the saliva and pre that dripped down your chin, letting you lick it off.

“Get on the bed, it’s my turn.” As soon as his fingers retracts, you stand quickly, albeit shakily and go to stand by the bed.

“W-which way?” His hands on your shoulders turn you to face the bed, back to him. With a shove, you fall onto the mattress, chest pressing to the surface, hips bumping the end of the bed. You then hear a light thumb, and his hands are back on your ass-

“Fuck!” You gasp as his thumbs spread your soaking folds, blowing a stream of air against your fluttering core.

“Did you cum when I did, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl~” You can hear his smirk, then you cry out as you bury your hands into the sheets, his tongue burrowing into your hot cunt. Jisung easily holds your hips still, his arm wrapping around the front of your legs, his free hand splayed over the small of your back. When his tongue leaves your pussy, it swirls over your clit, and he sucks it in once before running through the slit of your folds and wiggling back inside. He does this a few more times, eagerly drinking your slick.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" You shudder, not even able to warn him as you next orgasm hits, much stronger than the small one you had not even five minutes prior. He holds you down as your body shakes, gummy walls fluttering and throbbing around his tongue.

“You taste so good, noona.” You barely hear him lick his lips, pulse still whooshing in your ears.

“A-ah?!” You squeal when his hands part your ass cheeks, his tongue moving up from your soaking cunt and swirling over your pucker.

“J-Jisung!?” You gasp harder, not sure hot to feel about the sensation. Grateful you took a shower not even two hours ago, you still aren’t really expecting his tongue to go from your pussy to your ass.

“Don’t worry, noona, I just wanna taste today.” He laps over your pucker once more, then pulls back, huffing in amusement at your still twitching thighs. You’re already tired, he can tell, but he’s painfully hard again. Jisung’s thoughts run rampant as he tries to decide how he wants you as he fucks you first. Your pose will do just fine…

“Hm, so wet, sweetheart.” He stands so he can lean over you on the bed, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other hand leading his cock to run through your folds. You know it was big in your mouth, but feeling him at your entrance makes you shiver. As the head of his cock starts to breach your walls, the burning sting makes you sigh in delight, the heat of his skin scorching through you. Breathing hard, trying to relax, your cunt flutters still as he buries deeper, slowly. His deep, low groan fades into a chuckle as he watches your pussy suck in his cock. At the last inch, he snaps his hips, filling you fully, head pressing against your cervix.

“Ah, fuck~!” You white-knuckle the sheets, toes curling, forcing you to tip-toe, his pelvis presses against your hips. You breath raggedly, getting used to not just the burn his fat cock forces from your walls, but the stinging pleasure the same burn forces through you. You haven’t been fucked in way too long, and you’re already sure no one will ever feel as good as Jisung does right now. You’d needed him, not just any guy, but him. That’s why you haven’t tried looking for a date, your subconscious knowing you need your sweet friend to rail you stupid. Jisung breathes hard as well, trying to let you get at least a little used to the stretch, but your sticky, wet heat feels too good.

“I need to move, (Y/N).”

“Please~” You whine, squealing with delight as he pulls back no more than halfway, then slowly back in. It’s like he’s sucked the air out of you, then forced it back in, but his next thrust makes you see stars. As he leans over you, hips battering your ass with hard, shallow thrusts, his hands lie over yours, weaving his fingers through yours. The sweet move is overshadowed by his animal pace, your whimpers and squeaks just as feral. He’s still trying to hold back some, but when he can’t hold back a hard snap, he feels the same flutter as before and grinds his cock into you as you cum, spurts of slick coating his groin and balls as you squirt around him. Your shudders and pulses last nearly twice as long and when you finally lie still, he starts back up himself. Your cunt stings slightly, not ready for the friction once more, but the pain just fuels the pleasure. Without the bed underneath you, you’d have melted onto the floor, not strength left. Wanting to protests when he unweaves your fingers, he falls forward, his chest to your back. Not too tightly, he wraps his arm under you, across your collar bone, then down to your chest, pulling you up just enough that the arm around you restricts you, forcing your elbows to stay at your hips. Your nails dig into the fabric under your lower stomach, Jisung easily holding you up just a bit from the bed. His other arm also snakes around you, his hand splaying over your lower stomach. You’re sensitive there, more than most people, and just the pressure alone makes you mewl. Jisung presses harder, able to feel the bulge of his cock below your skin and as he settles into position, you realize why he’s holding you so tight: he’s holding you in place. His next thrust starts with only the head of his cock inside, then he barrels his dick back into you, fucking you with abandon. You gasp, not able to even squeak or moan, mouth open in a silent scream, drool dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“Ji-Jisung~! Please, fuck-!” You breathe out, your next orgasm washing over you, leaving the friction painful. The pain crests hard and fast as he continues to pound into you, fading back into pleasure. So much of your release and wet spill from your fluttering cunt that it drips onto the floor, down both of your thighs.

“I’m going to cum, noona. Full you up, yeah?” He whimpers deeply, almost groaning, hips faltering slightly.

“Yes, yes~! Jisung~!” He drops both of you to the bed then, pressing you down into the mattress, gouging his cock as deep as he can, and pumping your protected womb and cunt full of his hot cum. It spurts out in globs with your own cum, dripping a bigger puddle onto the floor, the hard pulse of his cock even stronger as he fills you. Your vision blurs, ears ringing as you cum once more, grateful that he stills, actually really hurting at that point. Reveling in his full weight on your back, he then registers he’s laying on you like that and pulls up just a bit.

“You okay?” He nuzzles the back of your ear.

“S-stings…” You get out hoarsely.

“Ah…” He winces with you as he pulls his still half-hard length from you, more globs of jizz and slick leaving your cunt.

“I don’t think I’ll walk for four days…” You mutter. It takes him a second to register what you mean before her bursts into laughter, pressing his sweaty forehead to your shaking shoulder.

“Good enough?” You ask and he hums.

“Fucking perfect.

Master-List

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were. 

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn���t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands. 

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out. 

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not. 

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word. 

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her. 

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-“ Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that. 

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her. 

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense. 

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her. 

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala. 

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself. 

And he never knew when to stop. 

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven. 

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body. 

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go. 

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him. 

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself. 

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane. 

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her. 

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with. 

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried. 

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good. 

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to. 

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight. 

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped. 

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm. 

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour. 

The extra thirty was mostly for safety. 

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left—not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care. 

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all. 

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time. 

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” 

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care. 

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before. 

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it. 

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.” 

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine. 

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that. 

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked. 

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick. 

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her. 

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him. 

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he- 

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew. 

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs. 

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books. 

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first. 

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to- 

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom. 

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her. 

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone. 

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him. 

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to. 

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed. 

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way. 

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade. 

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic. 

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again. 

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well. 

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious. 

But you have to do this. 

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.” 

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here. 

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body. 

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together. 

Knowing still really doesn’t matter. 

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. “It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost. 

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse. 

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone. 

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision. 

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last. 

None of this place has. 

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom. 

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but-  No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.” 

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door. 

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still. 

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static. 

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were. 

Like Lilith. 

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror. 

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel. 

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book. 

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time. 

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole. 

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up. 

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore. 

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting. 

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching. 

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone. 

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross. 

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party. 

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here. 

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.” 

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky. 

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you- 

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t- 

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings. 

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea. 

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning. 

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice. 

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse. 

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean. 

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[scary-grace]

#61 for man door hand hook car door

Hi Scarlett! Thank you so much for the prompt from this list (I'm still taking these!). This one took me a bit but I hope you like it! No quirks AU, fluff, sickfic, totally not inspired by anything happening in real life. 2.3k words.

61) “I’ll pick it up after work.”

Your phone rings while you’re on your lunch break, and you pick it up without looking. “Hey, this is –”

“Kill me.”

It’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend never calls – only texts, because he needs to edit himself before he sends anything. “Hey, Tomura. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Tomura’s usually raspy voice sounds distinctly nasal. “I was mouth-breathing on you all night. How did you not smother me?”

“Would you have smothered me?”

“No,” Tomura groans. “It wouldn’t be any different than your snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes, you do. I like it. It’s cheaper than buying a white-noise machine.” Tomura coughs. It sounds like he’s making an effort not to cough into the phone, but it’s not much of one. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m really sorry. You wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t made us go to that party.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Tomura coughs again. “But we agreed. Rules are rules.”

You knew when you and Tomura started dating that he wasn’t much for parties, but he was also able to admit that the occasional party is necessary, and you used one of the three parties you’re allowed to drag him to per year on bringing him to your friend’s engagement party. Said engagement party got a little messy. A little rowdy. A little drink-sharey, which you’re pretty sure is what got Tomura – during some horrible round of mystery cocktail hot potato, he somehow got stuck finishing almost every drink. You helped him out with most of them, but your immune system is bombproof. If one of you was going to get sick, it was always going to be him.

He went to work yesterday, but stayed home today. He was worse this morning than he was last night. “Rules are rules, but I still feel bad,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Come home and kill me.”

“Other than that,” you say, and Tomura grumbles. “Seriously. Is there something?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” Tomura admits. “If you’re not going to kill me –”

“I’m not.”

“Can you grab my stupid prescription? I went to the urgent care and they sent it to the wrong pharmacy.” Tomura’s coughing gets louder, then softer, while you try to avoid saying something dumb out of sheer shock that he’d go to the doctor at all. “It’s far away and I’m tired. Can you grab it?”

“Which pharmacy?” You put your phone on speaker and look up the address. “That’s on the other side of the city. How did they mess it up that bad?”

“Maybe I said it wrong. I forgot my address for a second when I was checking in,” Tomura mumbles. “It sucked in there. It took forever to get seen because there were a bunch of kids ahead of me with marbles stuck up their noses.”

“With – what?”

“Marbles. Up their noses. At a sleepover. It was a dare,” Tomura says. You can hear just how pissed he is about it – or how pissed he would be, if he wasn’t too fatigued to be pissed. “I don’t know why they got to be seen first. My breathing was more obstructed than theirs.”

You try to imagine this – your sick, crabby boyfriend sharing a waiting room with a birthday party’s worth of kids with marbles jammed up their nostrils. It’s hard to picture. “Did you have to wait a while?”

“It felt like a while,” Tomura says. “Wish you’d been there. It would have sucked less.”

If he’d told you he was going, you’d probably have taken off work to go with him. “I wish I’d been there, too,” you say. You lean back against the wall. “I’ll pick it up after work. Is there anything else you need?”

“A cyanide capsule.”

“I don’t think they sell those at the convenience store,” you say. Tomura grumbles again, and you pause for a moment. “Promise me something. Before you kill yourself, at least let me go on a quest to far distant lands to retrieve the cure.”

“I asked you to get the antibiotics, didn’t I?” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “Problem solved.”

“Not just this time. Any time, Tomura,” you say. You and he have had this conversation before, and you’ve gotten better at talking about it. You know his jokes about killing himself are jokes, but you also know they’re a habit, and it’s not a good habit to be in. “Always give me a shot at the quest first.”

“Yeah.” Tomura’s voice is quieter. “You’re busy, right? Go do something or they’ll make you stay later.”

You don’t want to get off the phone, but you do need to eat. And then you need to race through the rest of your work for the day – or do you? Either way, you need to get off the phone. You check the address for the pharmacy one more time. “Okay. I have to go. Just try to rest.”

“I should have gotten you sick, too.” Tomura sounds incredibly mopey, which is what you’d be, if you had the symptoms he’s having. “Then you’d have to stay home with me.”

“Okay, but if I was sick, who would take care of you?”

“Me.”

“You’re also sick.”

“Shit.” Tomura’s hitting his head against the pillow. You can tell by the rustling. “I’m hanging up before I say anything else stupid. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say. You hang up the phone. Then you go back inside to talk to your boss.

_________________________________________________________

Tomura shouldn’t have gone to the stupid urgent care. He got the prescription, sure, but it came at the cost of an hour in a packed waiting room, three separate lectures about getting a primary care provider, a cotton swab down the back of his throat to check for strep even though he doesn’t have a sore throat, and a bunch of questions that weren’t even sort of relevant to why he was there. It sapped all his energy and probably exposed him to twenty more diseases than he already has, and he didn’t even get the antibiotics. He had to ask you to get them, and that means it’ll be even longer before you get home.

Tomura’s not an idiot. He knows you don’t have some kind of magical healing powers that can make his headache and cough and congestion go away just by touching him, but he feels better when you’re here, no matter what you’re doing, no matter what’s wrong with him. Tomura’s not an idiot, but he’s also not naïve. He knows he was shooting for the moon when he slid into your DMs. He never expected it to work.

And part of him is still convinced it hasn’t worked, even though you’ve been together for two years and living together for one. It’s not his low self-esteem telling him you’re too good for him – it’s observable fact. You’re smart and hardworking but sneaky about it, so you never have to do more work than you have to, and you’re pretty and cute but you’re also hot, which are things that should go together but don’t go together in real life, and Tomura knows that whenever people look at the two of you together they’re asking themselves the same question. What are you doing? What are you doing with him?

Tomura asks himself that same question every week or so. He still hasn’t worked it out. But he has a feeling it has to do with the fact that he’s able to pull his weight, which he hasn’t been doing since Sunday morning, when he woke up the morning after your stupid friend’s engagement party with an itch in the back of his throat. And then he piled on by making you pick up his prescription. You must be pissed. So what if you didn’t sound pissed on the phone? You must be. Tomura would – no, Tomura wouldn’t. He likes when he can do stuff for you, because it makes you happy, and he wants you to be happy, because he loves you. What is he thinking?

Nothing that makes any sense, so he should probably stop. Tomura brushes the piles of wadded-up tissues into the wastebasket by the bed, then curls up under the blankets on your side. He should get some sleep. It’s just past noon. You’re not going to be home until six. Maybe he’ll feel a little better on the other side of a six-hour nap.

Tomura falls asleep facing your digital alarm clock, so when he hears the apartment door unlock itself and opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the time. It’s not six. It’s two. Why are you home so early? He can tell that you’re trying to be quiet as you take off your shoes. Maybe you’re trying not to wake him, but he’s already awake. He should let you know

“You –” Tomura starts, then coughs. His voice still sounds like shit, so he coughs again, which turns into a coughing fit, and by then you’re in the doorway. He peers at you through eyes that feel blurrier than they should. “You came back early.”

“I really shouldn’t have gone in at all today,” you say. “When I told my boss your symptoms, she sent me home. Apparently I could be contagious.”

You’re smirking a little bit. Tomura has a feeling you did more than just tell your boss his symptoms, but he doesn’t give a shit. You’re home. “I got your prescription,” you continue, shaking a paper bag, “and I got frozen yogurt instead of a probiotic so you don’t have to take an extra pill. I also got fancy tissues – and ingredients for real ramen if you want that and instant ramen if you don’t – and –”

All of that was one bag. Tomura recognizes the other one instantly – it’s from his favorite game store. “What did you do?”

“New headset,” you say. “You keep saying the one you have hurts your head. If it hurts your head on a regular basis, it probably hurts it even more now – and I know the one you want, so I figured I’d get it. In case you felt like gaming at all.”

Tomura should probably say something. Thank you would probably be a good start, but all he can do is stare at you and cough a little bit. You don’t seem worried about it. You duck out of the bedroom, then come back with a glass of water, a cup of frozen yogurt, and a spoon. You set the antibiotics down next to it and head over to the closet to change out of your work clothes.

Tomura tries to pay attention to the frozen yogurt – using a spoon feels like it requires all of his concentration right now – but he can’t stop glancing over at you. You look good in your work clothes, but Tomura likes it best when you’re comfortable, because you always look good to him and when you’re comfortable you don’t waste time worrying about it. It doesn’t hurt that most of your comfortable clothes were Tomura’s clothes at some point. The pajamas you settle on are half-yours, half-his. Your shorts, which Tomura likes because the elastic waistband is easier to get through than a drawstring is, and his shirt, which he likes because you stole it from him within the first month the two of you were dating and never gave it back.

It takes a spoonful of yogurt nearly sliding off the spoon and into his lap for Tomura to remember what he’s supposed to be doing. He shovels in a few more bites of yogurt, then downs the pill and flops back on the bed, just as you get into bed on what’s usually his side. “You stole my spot,” you say. “What’s that about?”

“Your side is better.”

“That’s not what you said when we moved in,” you point out. “You talked a lot of shit about my side being the worst one.”

“It is. Usually.” Tomura doesn’t want to admit this. He feels like a dumbass. “It smells like you.”

You look surprised. “You can smell stuff right now?”

“Only on one side,” Tomura says, and you laugh. You come closer, too, settling down in bed next to him, and wrapping your arms carefully around him. “You sure you want to do this? What if you get sick?”

“You’ll be done being sick by the time I get it, if I get it,” you say. You kiss Tomura’s cheek, then test his forehead with the back of your hand before brushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t think I will. But if I do get it, then you can take care of me.”

Tomura thinks he could do that. He wouldn’t be as good at it as you are, but you’re giving him a really good tutorial right now. He’s paying attention. Sort of. “I’d say I’m looking forward to it, but you’d have to get sick, so I’m not. Because I don’t want you to be sick. But I would take care of you. I want to, but I don’t want to have to, if that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. I just – fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re smiling at him. “Just get some rest. I could use a nap, too.”

“Yeah.” Tomura wants to talk to you more, wants to hear how your day was going before he ruined it, but now that you’re here, all he wants is to sleep. He sleeps better when you’re here. “Okay.”

The coughing’s not as bad when he isn’t trying to talk. Tomura closes his eyes and slumps against you. “Love you,” he mumbles, and he stays awake just long enough to hear you say it back.

[rvlse]

Greetings and happy new year! 🎉

Could I request an one-shot with TFOne Sentinel Prime, please? Write any scenario you want. I'm so thirsty to read about him 🥲

(It's okay if you don't want to take this request)

HII! Happy new year, I'd be more than happy to take this request <3 I hope you enjoy it!

Tbh I hope nobody already did this yet lol I've had this idea in my head for a few weeks..

ALSO for everyone who sent me asks, I'm working on them all!

(SENTINEL TFO X GN! READER)

WARNINGS: not too bad, does get a little suggestive tho 😉

Oh, you were going to kill Orion. What had he been thinking? Joining the Iacon 5000? What was wrong with him?

You, Orion, and D-16 had absolutely embarrassed yourselves out in the race. There was a reason miners weren’t allowed to participate, and of course Orion needed to find out why. 

“I just wanna know what your thought process was. I mean, seriously?” You scolded the red and blue bot, who was finding the floor extremely interesting. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, Dee, but I just wanted to-” 

“You always want to do everything! You can’t ever just stay in your place!” You interrupted him. You were absolutely fuming. Shocker that no one could see the smoke coming out of your audials right now.

Orion didn’t reply, so you just crossed your arms and looked the other way. Dee hadn’t said anything, either.

Just as you were about to open your intake to spit a bunch of curses at Pax (again), four thin black cybertronian legs appeared in the doorway of the medbay, followed by heavy footsteps.

It was pretty obvious who was about to appear. Arachnid, the four legged cybertronian bodyguard, was the only hint you needed. Sentinel Prime. Wonderful. You could only hope he wouldn’t demote you for the stunt the three of you- Orion had pulled… or worse.

Arachnid’s many optics deep scanned you and your friends’ frames, giving all three of you a suspicious glare up and down.

“All clear,” she finally spoke, backing up as the one and only Sentinel Prime stomped into the room to take her place. You wouldn’t lie, he was quite the sight. Blue and gold was a gorgeous color combination, and he wore it perfectly. But… he was pissed. 

His optic ridges were furrowed together, his lips pulled taught, and the glare he held in his optics would offline bots if it could.

“D-16, Orion Pax,” he started, bringing his servos to his shiny hips as he gave your friends a firm once over.

“Y/N…” his dominating gaze narrowed on you. You suddenly felt a bit tense, straightening your backstrut and holding your helm up a bit more. 

Sentinel’s curious optics scanned your frame from your helm to your pedes, and then slowly… too slowly, back up to your optics. Your digits fidgeted with themselves as you tried to make sense of the situation. 

“What you three did today was one of the craziest things I’ve ever seen,” he started off, servos still on his hips.

Orion Pax got up off the medical berth and opened his intake, “sir, this was all my idea and we’re so sorry-” 

“I loved it!” Sentinel interrupted, his servos going up into the air. The three of you gave him a blank, confused stare. 

“You did?” Orion questioned, not believing the Prime’s words.

“How could anyone not love it? You gave my best racers a real run for their money,” Sentinel continued, getting down on one knee to be optic level with the three of you. 

You weren’t too certain of the mech in front of you. He seemed… too animated. Too excited. Too friendly. 

“So… we’re not getting demoted?” Dee spoke up, his voice soft and hopeful.

“Demoted?” the Prime repeated, shocked at his suggestion. Then, Sentinel let out a thick, hearty laugh, the type of laugh that just screamed arrogance.

Uncomfortably, Dee and Orion tried to laugh along, unsure of what the joke was. You just sat there on the medical berth with your arms crossed. You weren’t buying whatever show Sentinel was putting on.

After another few awkward moments of chatter, Arachnid finally let the Prime know his time was up and that he had places to be.

“I’m sorry, my friends, we’re preparing our next trip to the surface,” Sentinel told the three of you, his apologizing gaze travelling over your frames. But then, for the second time today, the Prime’s optics fell on you, his optics half lidded and dark.

“But in the meantime, I’ve got a treat for you,” he continued, letting his vision trail across your body.

“Arachnid, have someone escort these heroes-” he turned to his assistant and gestured to your friends, Orion and Dee, “-to my personal service facilities. The best care in Iacon,” the Prime congratulated the two mechs.

And then he turned his helm to you, and raised his servo. Confused, you opened your intake to ask questions, but Sentinel’s digits touched the bottom of your jaw, and closed your intake for you.

“As for them,” the blue mech addressed you, moving his thumb up so it was just barely grazing your lips, pushing your helm up as if he was inspecting you.

“Take them to my quarters. I want a word with them,” he finished, letting go of your face and standing up to his full height. It was worth mentioning that he absolutely towered over all three of you.

Arachnid didn’t ask questions, just nodded and called someone up on her comm link as Sentinel Prime gave you one last look before he turned and left the medbay. 

What the frag just happened? 

Your helm turned, bewildered, to your friends.

“What was that? Why was he so touchy-feely? Why am I going somewhere else?” you panicked, your servos in the air as you interrogated the two miner bots, faceplates burning hot.

Dee raised his own servos to try and calm you down. 

“Woah, woah, I’m sure it’s fine! He’s a Prime, he wouldn’t hurt anybody. You’re fine,” Dee tried to comfort you, smiling. Orion nodded enthusiastically behind him.

“Yeah, Y/N, you’ll be okay. I’m sure whatever he has planned, it’s go-” Pax tried to say.

“URGH… MINERS!” Darkwing bellowed from the hallway, clearly infuriated. 

“Well. That’s unfortunate,” you stated upon seeing him, raising an optic ridge. 

And just like that, Orion and D-16 were taken away, and you didn’t think they were getting the ‘best care in Iacon’ anymore.

Another pair of footsteps sounded in the hallway, this time lighter and more friendly seeming. Prepared for whatever it was that was about to appear, you sat stoically on the med berth.

Closer, and closer… 

“Hi!” the mystery figure spoke, popping out from behind the wall. 

“I was instructed to bring you to Sentinel’s quarters… so c’mon!” the pink and white bot exclaimed, grabbing your arm and dragging you off the berth. 

“Uhm.. okay,” you complied, not wanting to get in any more trouble than you might already be in. 

About five minutes later, you stood outside of two humongous gold doors. The cheery bot that had brought you here knocked three times on them, and then retreated behind you, putting their servos on your shoulders. 

You swallowed nervously when you heard the same heavy footsteps as you did earlier, and after another second, those golden gates flung open, revealing Sentinel’s daunting frame. 

The pink and white bot shoved you rather harshly forward, gave you a pat on your back, and then turned and left. Great. So it was just you and the Prime. 

“Please, come in…” Sentinel started, a cunning, attractive smile on his features. You gave him an untrusting glare, and hesitantly, warily, stepped inside his abode. 

“What do you want?” you questioned him the second you entered his quarters, turning around to face him. Bad idea, that height difference really was extreme. 

“Oho, straight to the point, are you?” he chuckled, putting his servos behind his back as he took a couple steps closer to you. His optics were doing that stupid attractive stare again. Frag. It would be bad if you were actually getting horny right now. Which you were. Frag again. 

You didn’t answer him, just clenched your servos into fists and glared defiantly up at him. 

“Okay, then. I can play that way, too…” he murmured.

“I saw you out there. In the race. You’re… frag, you’re gorgeous,” he scoffed, laughed, as if it were obvious why he had called you here.

Your optics narrowed, your glare only getting harsher. 

“So, I decided I just had to have you, princess,” he confessed, bending his upper half down so that he could see you optic to optic. Which, his were still half lidded and his gaze was extremely intense. 

At his pet name, you reeled back, the density of your situation finally weighing on you. Ohhh slag. The Sentinel Prime wanted you. YOU. 

You swallowed again, your optics going wide. 

“Pshh- you’re kidding, right?” you fake laughed, heat rising to your face.

The Prime’s cursingly hot smile only widened, and that only made you hornier.

His torturously tall frame took one, two, three steps closer to you, close enough so that his face was inches from yours. 

“Of course not. Why would I go through the trouble of calling you up here?” he chuckled again, closing his optics for a second.

“Listen… I’m giving you two options,” Sentinel’s smile suddenly fell, and his optics narrowed to glare down at you.

“Since you like it straight forward, I’ll keep it short,” his tone was low. Honestly, it scared you. Whatever he was about to say, it wasn’t about to be good.

“Either I get to bend you over that desk right there-” he gestured to what you could only assume was his work desk, as papers and data pads were strewn everywhere on its surface, “-and frag you until you start to see stars…” he spoke carefully, tentatively, as if he was spelling something out for you.

“Or, you become my sparkmate, and I get to screw you anyway,” he finished sourly, searching your expression.

Well, wasn’t this a turn of events. Clearly, he wasn’t giving you much of a choice right now. No matter what you did, he would get what he wanted. You couldn’t run, there were way too many guards who would offline you without a second thought. And you didn’t even want to think about fighting. 

Now, if you really thought about it, he wasn’t giving you bad options. You thought about the first one. You wouldn’t mind getting fragged senseless by him, in all truths. The question, though, was what he would do with you after he was finished with you. 

You didn’t want to know.

Being his sparkmate would be quite the honor. For slag’s sake, he was a Prime, and you just a miner bot. He must really like you… 

“I’ll be your sparkmate,” you told him slowly, carefully, your tone low, matching his. 

Sentinel’s lips curled up into another one of his cunning, unnecessarily attractive smiles. 

“Good girl.”

SOOOOO... I realized this was getting a little long for a one shot.

Anybody up for a part two where they get freaky?

Have an amazing day/night!

[lestappen3]

Crashing Down | Part 2

pairing: Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader x Lando Norris

word count: +/- 2500

plot: Where reader had a terrible crash two years ago, Lando broke up with her, Toto is back into his scheming ways and Max is just there.

note: thank you for all the love in part 1. I took me a little time to write part 2 and it was supposed to be longer but I felt that the end of this part was a suitable ending so it'd be split into two (lol)

I am not sure of taglists are still a thing but let me know if you want to be updated <3

part 1

masterlist

Unsurprisingly, Max won the first race of the season again. Unfortunately for you, your father kept bothering you about your little scheme on a daily basis. You had hoped he would forget about it, or more cruelly, you secretly hoped the Red Bull car to blow up or turn into a shit car overnight.

But no. Max had to do his thing and win confidently by over 20 seconds. Seeing how he almost flew across the track past you ignited a spark you forgot existed for a split second. As much as you had settled into your new role, position, or whatever you were doing alongside your father, it didn’t quite ease the itch you were having, your need for speed. Your old life as a driver felt like such a lifetime ago. A fever dream. The crash not only shattered your leg but also crushed the dreams that fueled your motivation ever since you were a little girl. You sat in silence, realising that you would never experience the thrill of being behind the wheel again. At the same time, you weren’t sure if you would ever dare to do so. It was a constant emotional battle, one that would keep you up at night.

You turned your attention back to the track when you heard the loud engine noise disrupt your late afternoon contemplation. Lando Norris raced past in his orange-coloured McLaren, skillfully following the racing line around the corner where you were seated. Your attention was fixed on his car. You were watching him become one and the same with his car, which made you feel proud. You had always believed in the McLaren driver’s talent since he entered the grid three years after you did. He approached his racing craft differently. It felt natural to you, like another limb attached to your body. You didn’t need to think, maybe that was your problem. Lando was a lot more precise. Everything needed to be perfect. Perhaps that was his flaw as well.

As you watched him carve through the empty track, you couldn’t help but feel proud of how far Lando had come. But that pride was enlaced with a deep sadness that haunted those feelings every time you stole a glance at him. Every time you locked eyes, it was a reminder of the life you had once been a part of, and now it was a world, a life, you psychically couldn’t touch anymore. And you had to watch from a distance as Lando Norris chased his dreams.

It had been two years since the last time you raced together. The last time you both held the title of Formula 1 drivers, did shoots, did press, and sometimes even pissed off your PR managers. You shared the same dreams, the same thoughts and the same annoyances. You had been partners on and off the track, creating a tough bond to break. It made things easy and challenging at the same time. Your relationship was good. It was still a secret, but you spent the rest of the time together at the race weekends and the days after. You were talking about strategy, which you actually weren’t allowed to, laughing about inside jokes, and being there for one another whenever one of you had a terrible weekend. It felt like Lando and you were invincible until everything suddenly stopped.

No matter how much you tried to deny it, to shake it off like it didn’t matter, there would always be this ache or emptiness of seeing Lando, the boy you once loved, live the life you had imagined for each other. Moments like this, where the roaring sound of a car’s engine at full speed on an empty track where the sun was slowly setting, made you doubt if you could ever adjust to the life you were forced to live.

You were supposed to compete at the highest level, pushing each other to your limits. Win races, perhaps even championships. Go public…

Now, Lando was still competing in races around the world, living the dream you shared from a young age. Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck watching from the sidelines, longing to be out on the same track, the deafening sound of the engine in your ears, but held back by the broken leg, the most significant consequence of your crash.

And then there were the off-track part of your feelings, quite a bit more complicated. Even though you both had agreed to move on, in Lando’s case, pretend like nothing had happened in the first place, you still felt connected to the young McLaren driver. But he was with someone else now. Her name was Hailey. About five-three, just his type. And in contrast to your relationship, where he’d only kept you for his eyes only, she was all over his Instagram story.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, pulling you from your deep thoughts. It was a text from your father: “Meeting in five. Don’t be late.”

You grunted as you struggled to stand up, your hand supporting your knee that had taken a hard blow during the crash. Based on the grunts you were making, people would have assumed you were reaching your forties or worse. It was time to focus. There was no need to dwell on something beyond your control when there was something else you could make a difference in, which was recruiting Max Verstappen to Mercedes. At least this was achievable, you thought, but it wouldn’t be easy.

From being karting friends to training buddies and eventually your biggest competitor, Max has always played an essential role in your career. Regardless of his role on the track, he’d always been a friend off the track. However, lately, it feels like something had changed. Whenever the two of you were together, there was a tension that wasn’t there before, and it was becoming harder to ignore. Perhaps it was because you were starting to feel uncomfortable whenever he was around. After all, you were hiding a secret from him, which was never the case before. Your father had become even pushier since Max won so dominantly in Bahrein. You understood why. It made sense strategically. He was one of the strongest, most driven drivers on the grid, and it would definitely help secure Mercedes’ chances for new trophies in the upcoming years. However, it wasn’t that black and white for you.

As you entered the Mercedes motorhome, you spotted Max in conversation with your father. Max’s tall figure appeared relaxed, his arms casually crossed as he listened to Toto. You paused in the doorway, your heart beating, and you tried to catch your breath. It felt like the clock had stopped ticking, and everything except for Max and you had stopped moving. And then the clock moved at triple speed, but you stood frozen while your hand tried to search for something close by to hold on to. Your hand successfully reached the doorpost of one of the first rooms in the motorhome. Before Max could turn and see you, you took a small step back, pressing yourself against the wall, hiding from the Red Bull boy and your father. A part of you wanted to leave entirely before either of them could notice you so you wouldn’t have to deal with the awkward situation you were about to enter. After everything, the crash, the breakup with Lando, you didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this ‘will they, won’t they’ situation with Max and your father.

On the other hand, you wanted to close the distance and join their conversation since they were the people you felt most comfortable with. You knew Max would understand if you explained what was happening, he always did. But you couldn’t lie to yourself, and you had doubts this time. You tried to sneakily look past the wall to the place where both men were still deeply in conversation with each other. Your fingers clenched in a fist as your pulse was quickening again.

As you tried to calm yourself down, you didn’t notice Max glanced up and found you almost instantly. His blue eyes locked into yours a little longer than necessary.

“What are you doing?” Max called to you, an easy smile on his face.

You felt caught as your cheeks turned slightly pink. “I- I-” Before you could answer Max, your father came to the rescue and said, “I asked her to join us.”

Sheepishly, you emerged from your hiding spot, your cheeks even redder than before. You motioned a silent ‘thank you’ to your father for helping you recover from this slightly embarrassing manoeuvre. “What were you talking about?” you asked both men, but your gaze stuck on Max.

“I was just telling Toto how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow. The car felt good today, but I had some suggestions for improvements,” Max explained.

“It’s never good enough, is it,” you teased lightly, trying to ignore the underlying tension.

“Never,” Max replied, his eyes sparkling.

Your father began walking towards one of the conference rooms in the motorhome. Max and you followed him like two lost puppies. When you reached the room, Toto asked you both to sit down.

“As much as I am happy to discuss the upcoming race, I have invited you, Max, to discuss important matters. Particularly for next season,” your father said, his voice firm and his figure straight, serious, and businesslike. Your gaze continued to switch between the two men in the room. Your heart was racing, and your palms started to sweat so much you had to hide them underneath the seat of the chair you were sitting on.

“Max, I know you have been very vocal about staying at Red Bull until the end of your contract. I respect your loyalty towards Helmut Marko, but I think there’s an opportunity that could benefit both of us.” Your pulse quickened even faster as your father explained his plans towards the Red Bull Racing driver. “One of my biggest regrets in my career is not having given you a better deal when I had the chance to. I wish to make it up to you.”

You had to hand it to your father. He knew how to persuade someone to accept a deal. It would have worked for you as well. If you were in Max’s shoes, you wouldn’t have known how quickly to make the switch. However, you were also impulsive and didn’t take the time for important decisions as you probably should at times.

While your mind raced to other places, you could see a flicker of hesitation in Max’s eyes. Mercedes and Toto were prepared to drop their plans for Max and meet his needs wherever they could. The deal and the opportunity were more tempting than anything you had encountered before in your years as a Formula 1 driver. Not that anyone had the guts ever to recruit you as a driver since your future was set ever since you were a little girl. Nonetheless, your father was prepared to lay all his cards on the table. Your father’s plan for Mercedes and Max could change the course of Max’s career.

But for Max, it was more than money or prestige. Of course, he wanted the best car on the grid, but so did the 19 other drivers. Who wouldn’t? For him, loyalty was also crucial, possibly the most important thing. Since his Formula 1 debut, Max has been loyal to Helmut Marko, director and head of Red Bull’s driver development programme. You knew how much that man meant to Max, and convincing him to leave wouldn’t be easy. It seemed nearly impossible, you thought after contemplating it.

As you drifted off again, your father finished his pitch and leaned back into his chair, his sharp eyes on the younger boy opposite him. “Think about it,” he said. “Mercedes is your future.”

Max shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between you and your father. “I’m not going to lie. It’s a tempting offer, Toto,” he muttered. “But-” You heard him release a deep sigh before he continued, “It’s not an easy decision,” he admitted, confirming your previous thoughts.

You squinted your eyes as you were looking at Max. His conflict was noticeable. You couldn’t read a definitive ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on his face. And you knew him well enough that his loyalty wasn’t the only factor weighing on him. There was something more, something he wasn’t telling you.

“I-” you stuttered, trying to fill the silence in the room that made you heavily uncomfortable.

“It’s as much news to her as it is to you,” your father intervened, “I apologise for bursting in like this, but it couldn’t wait any longer.”

You looked at your father in disbelief. It felt as if your eyes were about to fall out of their sockets, your mouth wide open, and your face red as a tomato. What was he talking about? What was he doing? Who did he think he was, completely disregarding you in this situation and leaving you in an uncomfortable predicament?

Before you could say anything else, your father announced the meeting would end. He explained he had another one to attend. One, you weren’t required to attend with him. Max and you stayed behind as your father left the room. It was silent for a few minutes as both of you contemplated what to say. “Do you want me to leave Red Bull and come to Mercedes?” Max asked, turning to you. His voice was softer than usual.

You swallowed as you nervously played with the sleeve of your shirt. “I don’t know, Max. I don’t think I can make this decision for you,” you replied to him in the same soft tone. “I mean, my loyalties lie to the team. My history was set in stone, and then it all changed. I- I think it’s time to do what you want, damn whatever anyone else is thinking.”

Max rolled his chair a little closer, his eyes searching yours in desperation. “Whatever I want, huh?” His words hung in the air, making it impossible to look away. It felt like your eyes were stuck on his, gawking at him. His words kept repeating in your head as you tried to figure out how to reply. “It’s complicated,” you finally answered, barely above a whisper, filling the silence in the room.

Max’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would pursue the conversation further. Then he sighed deeply and ran a hand through his messy hair in frustration.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “It always is.”

[z-eel]

Red Rose Surprise

[a rosekiller kid fic]

BARISTA BARTY | ROSEKILLER | WC: 2.7k

i'm not sure why no one's written a rosekiller kid fic, but i give you this. i will definitely expand on this because i just love this idea so fucking much.

"Stupid strawberry milk."

If Barty was allowed to say one thing publicly without the risk of being fired from his place of employment, he'd probably say fuck big companies who ruined coffee shops for regular ass people. 

Sure, the big coffee chains have been around for years and it’s not like he knew what ordering coffee was like before them, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t despise them.

At least they were taking away the really insufferable customers, or that's what his boss liked to say. The only reason she can say that is because she doesn’t have to deal with them. 

Barty’s known to have a shit attitude. This is especially known in the coffee shops that employed him so many years ago. He doesn't take shit from anyone, and who have been going long enough know that Barty doesn't fuck aroud. 

He’s pretty sure Rosmerta is using his bad attitude in some marketing scheme.

“Stop by The Three Brews and get uniquely insulted by our prickly barista as he makes you latte art.”

He has to give it to her if that is actually what she’s doing, it’s one hell of a marketing tactic.

Still, it doesn’t mean he enjoys dealing with the annoying customers, and sure, he does know how to make the complex orders, and yeah he technically can make them, but it's not like he wants to. There’s a menu for a reason. Barty was not going to make a triple shot latte with a fraction of every type of milk substitute they had in stock. 

I mean, he could use the syrup pumps when people wanted hyper specific orders, but there’s a reason why they were placed so far back. Barty wasn’t going to walk all the way back there when the next customer just wanted an espresso. Getting orders out quickly got him tips and tips were what paid for his lunch.

What really worsened them was Rosmerta's seasonal menu, because now if Barty said they ran out of something they could just point to the menu’s seasonal options. 

“If you’re out, why are you still offering it? The least you could do is take it off the menu."

Apologies Susan, he wasn't aware someone could simply wipe off the words from their laminated menu that was placed in front of the cash register.  

He also hated the menu because it meant he had to put even more effort when serving. It’s not like you could serve a ‘Heart Flutter’ with a frown. It ruins the atmosphere or whatever.

Sometimes he wishes he would’ve just taken Regulus’ money, at least then he wouldn’t be forced to work the morning before Valentine's Day listening to the same romantic pop songs as he wiped down the coffee machine for the umpteenth time. 

One more hour, he just had to hold off for one more hour.

The door chimed and Barty only rolled his eyes when he heard the soft clicking of metal rings rubbing against each other.

“If you're not gonna order, you can make your way out, Sirius. I'm not dealing with your shit today.”

Barty could feel the judgemental stare of a mother on the other side of the counter. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still on the clock he would've flipped her off already.

“You can't kick me out Crouch, Rosmerta loves me.”

“Rosmerta loves using your face to draw up business. Hurry up and get behind the counter before we get told off again.” Barty threw him an apron that Sirius was just barely able to catch.

So, the thing was Sirius didn't actually work here, and technically he wasn't allowed behind the counter, but it's not like Sirius needed the money and Rosmerta wasn't going to keep him from working for free. 

“Are you still pissed off that I'm ditching you to go out with my super tall, super smart, super hot boyfriend tomorrow.” 

Sirius pulled his hair back carelessly before tying it up. Only Sirius Black could present an effortless look with no actual effort.

“Do I need to remind you that I've already had the pleasure of enjoying your super tall, super smart, super hot boyfriend.”

Barty had in fact had a go with Sirius’ boyfriend some couple months back. They hadn't known each other at the time, and Barty was certain that if he hadn’t hooked up with Lupin that night, Sirius and Remus would have never even met. Sirius’ entire relationship existed because of Barty.

“Don't talk about Moony like he's a piece of meat.”

“Oh, so only you can objectify him?”

Sirius nodded as he took off his jacket to hang on a hook and tied his apron. “Boyfriend privileges, but you wouldn't know about that would you Crouch.”

He wouldn't actually, Barty Crouch Jr wasn't known for settling. Not a single one of his relationships lasted longer than three months, at least if you didn’t count Emmeline Vance, who Barty tends to go back to every couple months when she’s single.

Sirius didn't count Emmeline as a relationship.

Barty could only roll his eyes before he started on the next order, cappuccino, no foam. He wanted to kill someone.

And so it went for the next half an hour, Barty rotated from creatively insulting one of his regulars and resisting the urge to pour the frothing milk on some prick's head. 

“Fuck this, I'm taking a break, call me if you don't know what your doing.”

Sirius waved him off before he turned to the cash register with a bright smile, his loose curls falling to frame his face. Barty wasn’t even surprised when the woman began to stumble with her order, Sirius had that effect on everyone.

He was sitting across the counter when a little girl walked in all by herself.

Bright blonde hair held in two crooked pigtails. A set of plastic butterfly wings that were sliding off her shoulder, her face decorated with glitter and star stickers. He was pretty sure that the smudged paint around her eyes was supposed to resemble wings as well. It was the sparkling princess skirt and mismatched shoes with untied laces that really pulled the whole thing together.

She was already heading towards the display case, eyes focused on the pastries that had been delivered earlier that day by the local bakery.

Sirius leaned over the counter when he noticed who Barty was looking at. 

“Hi sweetie, you see something you like.”

The girl looked up at Sirius with a nod before she pointed at one of their last brownies. Barty bit the inside of his cheek, he was really hoping that someone wouldn't take it before his shift was over.

As if to sense his despair Sirius looked over at Barty in question.

Would Barty be generous for the first time in his life and sacrifice the last brownie to the little girl who had her face pressed against the glass, or would he be a selfish prick and break this little girl's dream?

Barty sighed before gesturing for Sirius to give it to her.

He hated kids. He hated seeing their round faces with their big eyes.

Oh, but the smile that broke out the moment Sirius handed it to her in a napkin was heart melting. Barty couldn't help but laugh at the way she began to jump around in joy. Her little wings flapping with each jump she made.

“Luna, there you are. What did I tell you about running off on me?”

The girl turned around proudly presenting the brownie she had just received, “Evie look, brownie!”

Barty hadn't even noticed when the guy walked in, too focused on making sure she didn't slip on her untied shoelaces.

He was tall, and that was saying something because Barty was tall. He might not have been Remus Lupin tall, but he was definitely tall. He also had blonde hair, nearly platinum. Barty was almost in awe of how good it looked on him. He didn't know many people who could pull off platinum.

Silver septum ring with plenty of other piercings on his ears. Each one carrying silver jewelry. Barty couldn't help but think that gold would've suited him better.

“I can see that angel, but I only have enough for one treat right now. You're going to have to choose if you want this or your red rose surprise.”

The girl, Luna, pouted, and Barty wanted to groan. Kids were his weakness.

Sirius looked over at Barty unsure of what to do. Barty only mouthed his response.

“The brownie's on the house.” Sirius gave the customer that charming smile of his as he rested his arms on the counter. This was the real reason Rosmerta kept him around. Always so charming that Sirius Black, no one could resist him. 

“My boss just loves fairies, and she told me that every fairy who visits is supposed to get one treat for free.” 

Luna beamed up at Sirius before turning around to the guy, Evie, and sticking her tongue out before turning back to Sirius.

“I want a red rose surprise.”

“I don't think we have those here.”

Evie let out an exaggerated sigh before he kneeled in front of her. “Imma have to work my magic little moon. Why don't you go pick a seat and enjoy your brownie while I get that red rose surprise.”

Fuck it all to hell, ‘little moon’. Kill him, kill him now. End his existence before he ends up falling in love with a complete and utter stranger.

There was something that needed to be known about Barty.

He found people who were good with kids attractive. And he didn't mean it in a ‘Oh, wow. That's so cute. You're sweet and protective.’ kind of way, but more like, ‘I don't care if it's biologically impossible. I want to have your kids so that I can see you do this for the rest of my life.’ kind of way.

Regulus says he's absolutely mental and this is a result of his daddy issues, while Sirius says that it's perfectly reasonable because it's exactly how he feels about his own boyfriend.

Seeing this super hot guy talk to this little girl like she was the only good thing in the world made his heart race a little. A strangely weird feeling because even though he's felt this way before, it's never gotten this intense.

His friends find the dichotomy between what he's like and what he finds attractive absolutely hilarious, because Barty liked pretty people. He liked sweet looking people who take control of a situation with a smile on their face. A big contrast to Barty who was covered in tattoos, used cheap black box dye, and had a shitty ass personality, or so he was told.

His last boyfriend would disagree, but Sirius refuses to listen to anything James Potter had to say in regards to Barty. Skewed perception was his reasoning. 

“Cute kid, is she your's?” Sirius stood back up and eyed Evie as he stood up, blue eyes following Luna as she sat down at one of the booths.

“My sister's, actually. I’m babysitting today.” 

“Oh, and what, no girlfriend to help you out.”

The guys smiled at Sirius and Barty wanted to roll his eyes. 

Although in a fully committed relationship, Sirius Black was incapable of not flirting with their customers. He's probably the reason why Barty has to deal with so many annoying customers. Charmed by Sirius and insulted by Barty, only at the Three Brews.

“No one at the moment, but Luna’s a good help in getting people interested. Someone's bound to find me worth sticking around for.” He smiled at Sirius and although Barty couldn't see just how lethal it was he could definitely see its effects by just how red Sirius was getting.

It wasn't by much, but no one's been able to get such a reaction from him since he's gotten with Lupin. It wasn't often when Sirius Black could be brought to blush, and if someone ever did manage it, it was a sure fire way to get Barty interested.

Sirius looked over at Barty and Barty took it as his cue to go save his friend from possibly ruining his newly established relationship.

The transition was quick and simple. Barty pulled Sirius back and told him to check on that order Rosmerta had placed for sandwiches for the incoming lunch rush. Sirius barely had time to wish him luck before he was pushed to the back where the phone was.

“Good morning, I'll be serving you since my coworker doesn't know how to keep from drooling when he sees a pretty face.”

And fuck did he have a pretty face. Barty was going to need more than luck to get through this.

“Well, I'm not complaining. One pretty face replaced by another, nothing to be disappointed about.”

Red alert, red alert! This is not a drill! Why the hell is this guy flirting with him?

“Um– what would you like to order? We have plenty of Valentine's Day specials if you're feeling festive, but we do have regular coffee if you aren't looking for anything fancy.”

Barty looked over at the little girl who was carelessly kicking her feet as she broke off a piece of the brownie. He was kinda regretting giving it to her now. He could really use some chocolate to ease the nerves that were eating at him. 

“Do your Valentine's specials have strawberries?”

No, no, don't do this to him. He really didn't want to make anything too difficult. He already had to make three of those today and tomorrow that all he would be doing.

“Some do.”

“Okay, then, do you mind just putting regular milk in a cup, adding some diced strawberries and whipped cream with strawberry syrup on top. It's my niece's birthday today and I always get her one of these, but the last place we went to ran out of strawberries.”

“So, the red rose surprise is just strawberry milk.”

He shrugged a little, “It's what my parents used to do for my sister and I on our birthday. I guess I'm just following the tradition.”

Oh, he was so fucking screwed.

“Yeah, I can make it work, Evie.”

He laughed and Barty could only stare at him as he covered his face in embarrassment. 

“It's Evan actually.”

“Barty.”

“Well, thank you Barty, you just saved my day and made her birthday ten times better. How much would it be?”

And Barty knew the moment he made eye contact, he was done for.

“It's on the house, a gift for the birthday girl, and you if– if you want something?”

“No, I'm good for now, but thanks.”

Evan smiled and Barty swallowed nervously.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

“Yeah, no problem. I'll have your drink ready to go in a moment.”

Evan nodded his head before he turned around and sat next to Luna who was now staring at him with wide eyes and head tilted to the side. As soon as Evan sat down she turned to him and pointed at Barty before gesturing at her cheeks. 

Evan laughed for a moment before looking over in Barty's direction. They made eye contact, Evan winked at him and Barty quickly turned around to get that drink ready.

Strawberry milk, strawberry milk, strawberry milk.

How the hell was he supposed to make strawberry milk?

“Hey Barty, are you okay? Your face is all red.” 

Barty jumped at Sirius' words

“Relax, it's just me.”

“You know how to make strawberry milk right? I mean the pretty kind that you see all over Instagram and shit.”

“Yeah, I used to make it for Reggie. Why?”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“Teach me how to make your stupid strawberry milk.”

“I can just make you some.”

“No, you have to teach me so I can give it to that little girl and then when Evan sees how good I'm at making strawberry milk he'll have no other choice but to marry me so I can keep making strawberry milk.”

Sirius blinked at him before laughing. 

“Evan? Is he the reason why your face is all red like that?”

Barty wanted to strangle Sirius or drop to the floor and die, preferably both, but not necessarily in that order.

“Fine, I'll teach you how to make it, but first go wash your face. You're as red as a strawberry right now.”

Barty could only hang his head in embarrassment when he saw his reflection on the mirror. Bright red, strawberry red.

Stupid red rose surprise. 

Stupid strawberry milk 

Stupid Barty for falling for some guy named Evan.

tags: @the-person-that-did-that @saiichai

[pretty-blkgirl]

Soul’s Desire [Ch. 29]

- Masterlist -

A/N: Contains a written part. There is a TW for this chapter. Scenes of physical assault are present, it’s also a very heavy chapter in general. Please be mindful and don’t read anything that may upset you!!!

~~~~|~~~~

“This is a cute place,” Your mom remarked when you three stepped into the house. Hyunjin was standing close to you, already a little put off by your mother, considering she asked him what business he had been doing at your apartment less than three minutes prior.

When he explained he was a “friend” of yours, your mom rolled her eyes and told him you couldn’t have possibly had so many friends.

Hyunjin was done with her after that, but you still allowed her in the dorm despite his looks of disapproval.

“Thank you,” You said, “Yumi and Hana decorated it for the most part. They have an eye for-”

“You have no pictures of me and you” Your mom frowned as she looked at the photo wall you and the girls had.

To be fair, there were no pictures of any of you guys’ families. The wall was only meant for pictures of you and the group.

“I have a picture of us in my room” You revealed, “I’ll show it to you”

“I want a picture of us out here though.”

“Let’s go see the picture,” Hyunjin smiled. To your mom, he looked polite, to you, he looked beyond pissed.

You set the food down and took them to your room. After setting your purse down, you pointed in the direction of your bedside table. As you said, there was a picture of you and your mom. It was an older picture, you were maybe one or two years old, but it was a picture nonetheless.

“That’s nice” She mumbled

You took your guests back to the dining room to finally eat lunch. You wanted your mom to leave quickly, you could tell her mood had soured for whatever reason and you didn’t want to deal with that.

As you three ate, she started to get a little antsy, which made you nervous.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine baby” She grinned, but her leg shook violently and she kept looking back towards the hallway.

“You sure?”

“Well” She sighed, “Can I use the restroom?”

“Of course” You nodded, “Do you remember the way to my room? The bathroom is right across from it”

She nodded and stood up, excusing herself and leaving you and Hyunjin alone.

Once he was sure he heard a door close, Hyunjin gave you a look

“I know that’s your mother, and I’d never disrespect her, but… I don’t like her!” He whispered, “I don’t know baby, she just gives off this….vibe. It’s a bad vibe, she seems so spiteful”

You crossed your arms, taking in Hyunjin’s words as you replayed the last couple of days in your mind.

Her whole demeanor just didn’t sit right with you. Either she was too sweet or very passive-aggressive. A few times she swore at you, and you could tell she hadn’t really changed.

At least, she didn’t change enough for you.

“She’s supposed to leave in a couple of days. I think I’m gonna do low contact. I don’t think she grew as a person. It’s like she’s trying to appease me”

You two continued to talk. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then twenty.

“Why isn’t she out yet?” you asked your boyfriend, who looked just as concerned as you

“Let’s go check on her”

You got up with Hyunjin following close behind. As you walked up to the bathroom, you noticed the door was slightly ajar and the light was off.

You peeked in and didn’t see anyone there.

Then, you noticed your bedroom door was closed. You knew you left it open when you three walked out earlier.

A bad feeling settled in your stomach as you barged into your room.

The first thing you saw was your clothes all over the floor. Your shirts, pants, shorts, and even underwear were scattered everywhere.

Naturally, your drawers were opened, some even fully emptied. Your closet was ransacked and you saw a pile of coats and purses on the floor.

Pieces of paper were crumpled up in a pile, and a dark blue journal was close by, so you immediately knew your diary had been destroyed.

All your posters had been ripped down. All the pictures Hyunjin drew for you were torn apart.

Every love song Han wrote for you that you taped up, destroyed.

Every Polaroid you took with I.N., was destroyed.

The pictures of Soonie, Doognie, and Dori that Lee Know gave to you that featured little words of encouragement on them, were destroyed.

Love poems from Seungmin

Sticky notes with reminders to “keep being cute” or “keep doing well” from Changbin

Origami boats from Felix

And every single flower Chan had ever gotten for you.

He knew you loved roses, and he insisted on getting you real ones even though you couldn’t take care of them.

They were dead and fragile, but you still kept them in a vase just for memory's sake.

Now they lay on the floor. Crushed.

The very last thing you saw was your mother, sitting on your bed, with your wallet in one hand and your debit cards and cash in the other.

“Wow” is all you said

Hyunjin felt your rage build up. The symbol was practically burning a hole through his palm. He knew the other boys could feel it, and they were probably calling and texting you both non-stop.

Your phones were in the other room though, and honestly, you couldn’t give a damn about answering a phone at that moment.

All you felt was pure anger.

All of a sudden you were fifteen years old again, watching your mom demolish your room after she found out you kissed a boy at a school dance.

Then you were twenty, right before you left for Korea, watching her smash every plate, vase, and picture frame she could get her hands on after she learned that you’d be “abandoning her”

You don’t know what set her off this time. You didn’t want to know.

“How could I be so damn stupid?” You wondered aloud, “Why didn’t I tell you to go fuck yourself the moment I found out you showed up at my fucking place of work?”

“Watch your mouth, girl” Your mother snapped, still holding your things in her hands.

“Nah, FUCK THAT. I allowed you to waltz your ass back into my life and this is how you repay me? Wrecking my room? Ruining everything I cherish most?”

You walked further into the room, slowly getting closer to your mother.

Hyunjin knew you were about to do something drastic, so he sprung into action, grabbing your arm before you had a chance to raise it.

Your mom seemingly took this as a challenge. She threw your money and cards down, standing up and getting in your face.

“I read your little diary. I saw all the things you said about me. You think I’m a failure as a mother? You think I don’t give a fuck about you, huh? You called me a narcissistic bitch. I’ll show you a bitch alright”

Her hand raised and she slapped you.

It was so quick, you could barely process what had happened. Hyunjin, though, moved you behind him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He fumed, “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on her again”

“Please move Hyunjin” You trembled, hands visibly shaking as he continued to yell profanities at your mother.

“No! I’m gonna call the fucking police, you think you’re gonna get away with hitting her? Are you fucking dumb?”

“Hyunjin leave the room please”

“Y/n she HIT YOU! I’M NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH HER”

“Please leave and call Rose. Tell her I need an NDA and my mom on the next flight back home”

He was about to argue more, but you gave him a look so desperate he wouldn’t dare to talk back. Hyunjin begrudgingly left, but made sure to leave the door wide open just in case he needed to rush back in.

When he was gone, you faced your mother.

You loved her.

You loved her so much.

Despite how much she mistreated and hurt you, all you wanted was for her to love you back.

You needed her approval, you craved her attention. But the moment she had the nerve -the audacity- to hit you, any hope for reconciliation was out the window.

“My manager will be here any second. You are going to sign an NDA because I don’t trust you won’t try to make money off this situation. Once you sign it, you will get the fuck out of my house. Someone will drive you to your Airbnb, you will get your shit, and you will go back home. As soon as you’re out my eyesight I’m getting rid of any and every trace of you. After today, you will not be able to get a hold of me again. And I swear to God, if you ever find yourself thinking you’re gonna try and ruin my life any more than you already have, I’ll get a lawyer and sue your ass so quickly that you won’t even have a pot to piss in by the time I’m through with you.”

As if on cue, Hyunjin walks back in with Rose.

“Y/nnie? What happened? I got here as quick as I could- what happened to your room? Is your face bruised up?”

“Do you have the NDA, Rose?”

“Yes, I mean I have a regular one? What did you want one for specifically?”

“What are the guidelines in that one?”

She quickly skimmed through the papers, “The person who signs it can’t reveal any details about any situation that could harm the artist’s reputation or image in any way, with certain stipulations of course”

“Let’s say my mom destroyed my room, hit, and planned to rob me. If she signed those documents, would she be able to talk about it in exchange for money or even…exposure?”

Rose was quiet for a few seconds, finally understanding the gravity of the situation

“No” She finally said, “Not unless she wanted to get a couple of lawsuits”

“What if she made up a story to try and harm my reputation?”

“That wouldn’t be a very smart thing to do, especially if she planned on living a peaceful life”

You wordlessly took the papers and grabbed a pen off your desk, giving both the items to your mom. With a look of disbelief mixed with hatred, she signed the papers and threw them on the floor.

“You were a mistake” She sneered, “I hate you”

You thought your heart would break, you thought you would crumble at her words, but you simply nodded.

“Goodbye Mom”

Rose escorted her out, and you finally started to feel the warm sensation on your cheek.

Your legs were wobbly, and they gave out after a few seconds. Hyunjin was at your side instantly, holding you as you started to sob violently.

~~~~|~~~~

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti

[girliism]

childhood friends to lovers: patrick zweig x reader. og prompt mixed with this

you and patrick have been best friends since the beginning of time. you grew up and did everything together. you lost your first tooth together (the same one), you guys accidentally got high together for the first time when patrick’s older brother left his brownies on the counter and the two of you ate three each, you even let him convince you to join the tennis club with him. there wasn’t anything you guys wouldn’t do for each other.

your budding crush on patrick was some what of a deep shameful secret you had. it wasn’t supposed to happen but it did. you tried to ignore it, you tried to ignore the way you cheeks would blush when patrick complimented you or how it felt like a war was wagging in your stomach when he even looked your way. the crush only got worse when you impulsively kissed him at fourteen.

patrick had been grounded and not allowed to leave his room but his mom had a soft spot for you so she let you visit him. “hey.” you walked into his room like it was your own. patrick sat on his bed ‘reading’, his left eye had a nasty bruise on it. “how’s your face?” you asked, setting on his bed. patrick shrugged. “it’s fine. kinda itches.” he said, looking up at you. “why would you even attack him? he’s taller than you you would’ve never won.” you scolded him. “i didn’t care about winning ok. i couldn’t just let him say that.” “say what?” you were confused, patrick wasn’t the type to just start fights out of nowhere. patrick slammed his book shut and tossed it away. “just stupid stuff. stupid boy stuff about you and it pissed me off so i hit him.” patrick said like it was nothing. he hit someone for you? “you hit someone for me?” you whispered. “yeah, i mean it was nothing, i’d do it again-” you cut him off by pushing your lips onto his. you’ve never kissed anyone before but what you were doing felt right. you pulled away first and let an awkward silence fill the room. neither of you said anything. your lips tingled and your heart pounded. “thanks.” you whispered. patrick shook his head. “don’t mention it.”

that kiss seriously messed with patrick’s head. he thought his eight year old self had successfully pushed down whatever feelings he had for you, but then you kissed him and patrick wanted you to keep kissing him. except he couldn’t do that, you were his best friend, what if something went wrong between the two of you and you never talked again. so patrick pushed his feelings down again and started dating this girl that liked him.

patrick’s first of many girlfriends. it was pathetic, you don’t think you’ve ever cried as hard as you did when patrick introduced you to her a day after the kiss happened. what’s worse is that she was actually nice and sacrificed her self respect to stay with patrick even after all her friends would make comments not understanding how she could be so chill about yours and patrick’s closeness.

“look at them, his hand is literally caressing her back.” one of her friends pointed out as they watched the two of you from afar. a blind man could see that there was something between you two. every time patrick wasn’t looking you’d sneak glance at him quickly turning away, and when you weren’t looking patrick would sneak a glance at you, his eyes soaking up every little detail about you. she broke up with him that next day.

being friends with patrick during his fuckboy era was hell for you. you were still disgustingly in love with him even though you knew it would go no where, so having to sit through him recounting whatever hook up he had the night before was like a knife to the gut. “the girls i fuck never have good feet.” patrick randomly said. he was sitting on the edge of your bed painting your toes while you studied for the both of you. “what?” you laughed. “i’m just saying the girl i saw last week needed a spa appointment immediately, but you… you have nice feet.” patrick complimenting your feet shouldn’t have made you blush the way it did. “you’re stupid.” you muttered, lightly kicking patrick in the chest causing him to almost fall back but he was quick to grab onto your ankle. patrick’s thumb pressed into the base of your ankle stabilising himself. this chill went through both yours and patrick’s body as your eyes locked. you wanted him to kiss you so badly.

an alarm from patrick’s phone went off snapping the two of you out of whatever trace you were in. you pulled your foot to your chest clearing your throat and patrick got up to check his phone. you played with the corner of your textbook, chewing on the inside of your mouth. “um, i have to go meet this girl, i’ll text you later.” patrick didn’t even left you respond before he was out the door. “bye.” you whispered into your empty bed room.

patrick didn’t leave right away, he stood outside your bedroom door hand gripping the door knob debating if he should go back in or not. he couldn’t, so he let his hand drop from the knob and made his way out of your house and to his car. the whole ride on his way to his hook ups house what had happened in your bedroom, something so innocent and unimportant played on repeat in his head. he put you out of his mind as he parked his car in this girls driveway.”

the second she opened the door her hands began rubbing up his chest to his shoulders. “hi, pat.” she said in a sultry voice and he couldn’t help but think how much better it would sound coming from you. in a matter that of minutes clothes were off and condoms were on. patrick let himself get lost in fucking the girl beneath him, letting his eyes slip closed. the face of the random girl slowly starts turning into your face. patrick was quick to snap his eyes back open reminding himself its was not you who he was fucking, but oh how badly he wanted it to be. his subconscious wouldn’t leave him alone though and next thing he knew it was your name he moaned loud and clear as he came. “that’s not my fucking name.” shit.

patrick barely had his pants on when the door was slammed in his face. he drove home in silence and ignored your calls that night. his mind felt like mush. did he like you? he laid in his bed rethinking everything. i mean, he like the way your nose scrunched up whenever he made an inappropriate joke. he liked how passionate you got about movies, often going on rants all the way home from the theater. he liked your smile and always made sure to tell you cause you hated your smile. he liked how you made him feel. he liked…. he liked you.

patrick didn’t know how to act around you anymore, he wasn’t in elementary school he couldn’t pull your hair or tease you and hope you catch on to the fact that he likes you, so now he was super rigid, instead of holding your hand or throwing his arm around your shoulder he walked with his fist balled at his sides. you of course took notice to his weird behavior, not understanding why patrick who usually knows no boundaries all of a sudden wants to sit at your desk and study instead on laying in your bed.

“alright, what the hell is up with you.” you confronted him. patrick turned around in your desk chair to face you. “what do you mean.” he said slowly. you gave him a look. “i’m not an idiot patrick, you’re being weird, since when do you study.” patrick scoffed. “what? a guy can’t be interested in his schoolwork now a days?” you rolled your eyes. “not when the guy is you, no.” you closed your book and scooted to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. “i’m serious, pat. what’s up?” i’m in fucking love with you that’s what’s up. “nothing, i’m fine.” patrick shrugged. “never been more fine in my life.” he smiled at you. “ok…” you sighed, going back to studying before patrick spoke up again. “do you wanna get high?”

you and patrick laid next to each other on your trampoline in your backyard waiting for the brownies you guys ate to hit. “remember when we got high that one time off my brothers stash.” patrick broke the silence. you laughed as the memory came flooding back. “god, talk about a bad first trip. i though my tongue was gonna fall off.” patrick laughed too. “you threw up all over my kitchen. my mom never wanted to kill me so bad, but she didn’t cause she liked that i took care of you that day, you know cleaning up your throw and all even though i was high out of my mind.” you laughed lightly, staring up at the blue sky, clouds moving and making shapes. “you always take care of me.” you spoke softly. your pinkie playing with his before you fully slotted your hands together, fingers interlocking. “like taking care of you.” patrick mumbled mainly to himself.

you turned your head to look at him. taking in the slope of his nose, how his hair was blowing in the wind, the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. “hey, patrick.” “yeah.” he whispered. “is it weird that i wanna kiss you?” he shook his head, turning to look at you. “no. is it weird that i wanna kiss you too?” you shook your head “no.” and unlike when you were fourteen patrick was the one to initiate the kiss. it was soft kiss, neither of you rushed through it but patrick did deepen it, bring his other hand that wasn’t intertwined with yours up to rest on your cheek, pushing his face more into yours. you pulled away from the kiss to breathe but kept your forehead resting on his. “that was way better than when we were fourteen.” you smiled, squeezing your hand in his. patrick nodded in agreement. “way better.” he said against your lips before moving in to kiss you again.

[lilylovestowrite]

AN ECCENTRIC'S ENTROPY ୨♡୧

PAIRING: (Dr Ratio x Professor! Reader)

WARNINGS: Suggestive

SYNOPSIS: For people who get into each other's pants a lot, you sure do know how to piss each other off...

WORD COUNT: 1k

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Entropy: The measure of the degree of disorder within a substance

“Will you stop your incessant whining?” Dr. Veritas Ratio groans, “I’d have thought spending more time with me would have caused your IQ to surpass at least a vegetable.” You roll your eyes and slam your new research paper down on your colleague's desk. 

“If you didn’t want to be surrounded by idiots, you shouldn’t have decided to teach at a university. Even if Stellaron University is prestigious, you’re still teaching barely adults.” You sigh with faux pity. “But I guess you didn’t think that far, poor Dr. Ratio.” Mockingly, you pet his head, the silky locks of violet slipping through your fingers as he grabs your wrist and forces it back on the desk. 

“I’m not reading your paper.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed and a scoff leaves his lips. Even though he looks up at you from his desk, the way he reclines on his chair so casually makes you feel small. It has always been like this. Veritas and his obnoxious attitude driving you up the walls. A prodigy yourself, the pursuit of knowledge has never been a struggle to you. Yes, it was challenging, but that was part of the fun. The thrill of tearing apart a formula and sinking your teeth in until it churns out a set of numbers that you like.  This allowed you to be the top professor at Stellaron for almost three years straight, until Veritas. Veritas, who opposes almost everything that you do, from the way you prefer to use a whiteboard and pen and him a blackboard and chalk. The way your coffee is dark and his is sweetened with milk and sugar to the point it doesn’t even look like coffee anymore. You didn’t have a problem with this until he published a scientific paper which had quoted your own paper published a month prior, and pointed out how it was not mathematically viable. You still remember the smirk he wore on his face when he emailed you the manuscript for peer review, the audacity of this man to ask you to proofread the very paper he dedicated hours to just to prove your own wrong! 

Naturally, your response is to ask him to do the same. But not with one email, but with twenty scheduled emails every other day. Sometimes, you like to add little emojis to the subject of your emails, and other times you embed links into the email that isn’t your paper, but wikihow articles. This pettiness has caused many encounters with him, some ending rather… intimately. 

Of course, Veritas has not proofread your paper, and you don’t expect him to, so he has no idea how much you’ve referenced his paper and disproved it. But you know how much it ticks him off regardless, the urge to tear through each of your arguments, even if logically speaking, arguing with you is  a waste of time. This degree of disorder is what drives him crazy. You sew chaos into his life as he does to yours, and as the entropy of a heating substance increases the entropy of its surroundings, so too does the tension-filled competitiveness from one of you, causes the other to maniacally lust to overpower the other. 

“Come on, read it. I know you want to.” You slide the paper closer to him, your hands sliding across the epoxy finish of the oak desk. “Unless… You’re scared I’m right.” He stares up at you with eyes the same hue of gold as the award trophies that line the shelves of his classroom, and cocks a brow. He stands up, leaning over the desk and moving his face closer to yours. His cologne almost overpowers your perfume, the musky scent of pinewood and berries he reserves for winter mixing with your vanilla scented perfume, and it sends you into overdrive.

“Oh? I think someone is too overconfident.” He remarks. You’ve noticed that there’s always something up his sleeve, something that he uses at the last minute to defeat you, but you’re getting better at recognising his patterns. And the way his deep voice becomes breathier, softer, akin to a snake’s sinister hiss, you understand that you’ve gotten under his skin. 

“You don’t think enough, Veritas, that’s your writing skills are bare bones and your papers hard to understand.” 

“Shut that mouth of yours.” He grits his teeth further, finally sitting on the edge of his desk and flipping over your paper. You let out a small laugh and sit at his chair. He looks down at you disapprovingly as you do so, but you pay no mind to the fact you’ve sat yourself down on his throne, because your paper will definitely take him down a peg or two. 

“In your bibliography, you spelt ‘accessed’ on your third source wrong.” He points out, taking a red pen from his desk and removing the cap with his teeth, circling the typo as you burn with humiliation. “Oh my, your spacing for the first page and last page are different. How irritating it must be for your readers to be accustomed to one layout and then switch to another.”

“It is just spacing, Veritas.”

“It’s more than that, dear, people like some organisation in their scientific papers. And your way of writing is chaotic! I should have known just by your handwriting and layout in sums.” He tuts, petting your head in faux pity just as you did to him seconds ago.  

“Read the damn paper, Dr. Ratio.” You grit your teeth, now irritated that you’ve dedicated hours and hours bashing him in the footnotes, researching just so he can get a taste of his own medicine, for you to be corrected on your formatting. 

“Patience.” There is something downright Dionysean about his voice, if it were a colour, it would be the seductive shade of red wine, and just as addictive. Addictive like the many times where you two have come too close for comfort, like the one time you two were locked in the storage closet together, and you felt his strong arms encase your body as he helped you push the door open from behind. Or this one time at a work event where he made fun of your table manners and swiped ice cream off of your lips to prove his point. It made you feel red hot, just like the colour of his voice, and the way he acts too hot around you, too excitable. And you wanted more. To make a man who is cold and reserved morph into a competitive beast  raring to go and one up you at every turn is no small feat. The dichotomy makes your head spin, and this side of him only you know wants to make you explore him more. And you know just from the way he cocks his head and slides off the desk, that he’s switching from sub-zero aloofness to scorching hot opposition. 

He grabs the arms of the chair you sit in to push it so far it hits the wall so you are cornered against the blackboard. 

“Actually.” He muses, tilting your head up and sliding your hair to one side. “I want you to read it.” He whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Read it, and I’ll give you,” he encircles your waist with one hand, “appropriate feedback.” 

He hands you the manuscript, and kisses your neck softly. His other hand, now free, unzips your skirt and you gasp as his fingers venture between your legs. 

“Start reading. You’re good at running your mouth, aren’t you? Let’s see how long that attitude lasts…”

[professorsnape394]

DAY 14: Potion Predicaments

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 😠

Prompt: Trick

Summary: Y/N gets back at Snape for interfering with the Gryffindor students one too many times.

A/N: Part 1 to the 'Trick' and 'Treat' prompts. Something a little bit different but I hope you all like it.

Warnings: Pranks. Unwilling intake of potions (none harmful).

Word Count: 3123

Credits to Gif Creator.

“That man is infuriating.” I yelled, pacing behind my desk.

I was confronted with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, all looking at me for guidance. They had traipsed into my office mere minutes ago, after their practice was due to begin, looking forlorn and pissed off. They all suddenly began to speak at once.

“This is the third time this month he’s let them steal our time slot for practice.”

“What gives Slytherin the right to train over us?”

“Can’t you speak to him, Professor Y/L/N, he won’t listen to any of us.”

I raised my hand to silence the rabble of teenagers.

“Of course, I’ll speak to him, Miss Bell. Not that I think it will do much good, that man answers to no one but himself.”

As Ginny Weasley had pointed out this was the third time Severus Snape had allowed his students priority of the Quidditch pitch over mine, and it was threatening to become a weekly occurrence.

I knew something had to be done about the situation, but I had tried talking to him before and yet still the issue continued. Like I said, Snape wouldn’t listen to me. Short of taking the issue to Dumbledore, which is not something I planned on doing, there wasn’t many other options. But I knew something had to be done, and soon.

“I’ll deal with the issue as soon as I can. For now, move your practice to the following day, I’ll let you all know when it had been resolved.”

The team groaned collectively, and began pouring out of the room all at once.

“Fred, George. Do you mind staying a minute.” I called to the Weasley twins, a thought suddenly occurring to me.

It was well known that they had a proclivity for mischief; causing havoc around the school since their very first week here at Hogwarts. And for once I found that their particular set of skills may in fact be a benefit. At the very least it would teach Snape a lesson.

My conversation with the twins lasted no more than a few minutes before the details of my plans were set in stone. It hadn’t taken much convincing, or rather any, to persuade them into helping me. The three of us had concocted a plan that would have Severus Snape paying for how badly he treated my house.

“And you give us full permission to do this?” Fred clarified.

“And we won’t get in any trouble if we’re caught, you’ll take the blame?” George added.

“Yep, and Yep. Just make sure you don’t mess with anything that could be fatal, just things that could inconvenience him for a bit. Do you think you’ll manage it.”

“Easy.” They said together.

“We’ve been pranking Snape since first year, we know his potions cupboard inside and out by now.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting in my office once you’re done. I’ll vouch for your whereabouts.”

The twins high-fived, faces looking like they had just been given the keys to the kingdom. An exploding cauldron, filled with countless potions whose very aroma would have even the most intense effect. It was genius.

~

Allowing Severus one last chance to redeem himself before my plan was set into action, I paid him a visit that evening to confront him for the third time that month.

“Enter.” He droned upon hearing my knock echo through his office.

“Severus.” I greeted him, storming my way up to his desk. “We have to talk.”

The Potion’s Master barely lifted his head from his marking when he spoke.

“Again, Miss Y/L/N. What could I possibly do for you now?”

“It’s Professor Y/L/N.” I corrected. “Or better yet just call me Y/N. And you know fine well what you can do.”

“Care to elaborate?” He said boredly.

“My Gryffindors have been deprived of their practice time yet again. By none other than the Slytherins.”

“I see not what this has to do with me.”

“You are the one who gave them permission, Severus, or have you already forgotten?”

“My house require practice for their upcoming game.” He offered no apologies.

“Oh, and mine do not?” I folded my arms defensively across my chest.

“The damage is done now, Professor Y/L//N. What exactly do you expect me to do about it.”

“I expect you not to do it again. I am sick and tired of coming down here and trying to reason with you when you refuse to even look me in the eye.” Feeling even more pissed off now, I found myself practically yelling at the man.

Severus finally, reluctantly, looked up from his papers.

“If my students in my house come to me with a request, Miss Y/L/N, it is my duty to help then in whatever way I am able, as I’m sure you well know.”

“But not at the expense of other students. Don’t you see what you’re doing isn’t fair.” I threw my hands in the air, exasperated with the whole conversation.

“Unfortunately, life isn’t fair. Now if there’s nothing else?”  The professor shot me a stern gaze, his eyes finally meeting mine.

I opened my mouth to speak but came up with nothing. He had his chance. With a final sigh I trudged out of his office, feeling his stare burning into my back as I left.

At least now that last shred of guilt I felt for what I had planned had immediately been squashed upon visiting Snape. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

~

The following evening the plan was set in motion.

I waited patiently in my office, as I said I would, anticipating the twins return from setting up the prank.

Not much long later, they sprinted through my door; practically barricading themselves in with their bodies.

“Is it done?” I jumped up at their entrance.

“We think so.” George panted breathlessly.

“What does that mean, you think so? I pressed.

“We heard the bang.” Fred smiled.

“And his scream.” His brother added.

“He swore, like a lot.”

“A lot, a lot.”

“Is he hurt?” I wasn’t sure why I bothered to ask.

“No. Just pissed I think.”

“Good, it’s what he deserves.” I finally relaxed.

The three of us hid out in the safety of my office until we could be sure Severus would not come knocking.

~

The next morning Severus was not seen at breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

The same happened the day after that.

And the day after that.

Eventually my stress and curiosity got the better of me and I finally enquired about his absence.

“One of the students broke into his classroom and set something explosive off.” One professor explained.

“He’s under the influence of a dozen different potions but he has no idea what they are.” Another joined the conversation.

“He’s been holed up in his office for days trying to figure it out.”

“I heard that if he doesn’t return to teaching soon, Dumbledore has been ordered by the Ministry to let him go.”

“What?!” I gasped, listening to the information my colleagues had gathered over the past few days. “Shouldn’t they have worn off by now?”

“Because of the rare combination of the ingredients, there is no telling when it will wear off. Or if it will even wear off at all, the only solution is to find a cure for each potion individually and hope for the best.” Minerva confirmed as she took control of the conversation.

“So, he has to know what they all are?” I pondered.

“He’s working through it as we speak. I believe he has already successfully identified a few.”

“I should go see him.”

“Severus isn’t the most gracious host on the best of days.” She warned. “I don’t believe he is taking any visitors at the moment. I think it’s best if you let him be for now.”

Not bothering to heed Minerva’s word, I mentally prepared to pay a visit to the infamous dungeon bat. If only because the guilt had begun to eat me alive. But first I had to speak to the perpetrators of the prank.

“What did you do to him?” I questioned the Weasley’s upon summoning them to my office.

“Exactly what you said to do; inconvenienced him”

“Nothing will actually hurt him.”

“I only meant for it to last a few hours; it’s been days.” I cried.

“He deserves everything he got for all he’s done to us.” Fred huffed.

“You need to remember boys; Severus has a job, one that he is currently unable to do. Anymore time off and he’s at risk of getting fired.”

“Even better, then we’ll get rid of him for good.”

“He doesn’t deserve that.” I shook my head.

Fred and George shared a knowing look that said they thought otherwise.

“I’ll need a list of everything that you gave to him.”

Fred hissed through his teeth, while George shook his head slowly.

“No can do, I’m afraid.”

“What?” My eyes bulged; this was the only plan I had to help Snape save his job.

“We didn’t keep a list; it was more of a fire at will situation.”

“We just grabbed anything that wasn’t dangerous and chucked it in.”

I buried my head in my hands, utterly defeated.

“Okay, I guess you’re dismissed.” I sighed.  “I’ll have to figure it out myself.”

~

“Severus.” I rattled on the door erratically. “Severus, open the door.”

“Go away.” He growled from inside.

“I’m not leaving here until you open the door so you might as well get it over with.”

The Potion’s Master grumbled agitatedly, but eventually, after a long pause and a few muffled curse words, Severus opened the door.

I expected the worse from his reaction, wincing I looked the man up and down, scrutinising his features.

Fortunately, there wasn’t too much different about Severus’ appearance. Well…besides his hair; being that it was now bright blue and sticking up on end. It was a struggle to stop myself from bursting out into hysterics, but I bit my lip and silenced myself knowing he would did not see the humour in it.

The worst of the prank had manifested itself in different internally; most notably the chronic hiccoughing Snape could not seem to put a stop to.

“I mean, it could be worse.” I covered my mouth to hide my reaction.

“It is not amusing, Miss Y/L/N. Once I find out who did this to me there will be hell to pay.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?” I ventured.

“The usual suspects; those infernal Weasley twins.”

“It wasn’t them.” I rushed to defend. “I mean, it couldn’t have been them. They were serving detention with me that whole evening.”

Severus hummed, unconvinced. Slowly he opened the door a little wider and disappeared back into his classroom.

I took this as an invitation to follow him in.

The room was clouded from the steam of a dozen different cauldrons all bubbling at once; their different scents mixing in the air to create an aroma of confusing smells. It was a sensory overload, but one Severus seemed used to. The thick fog of smoke didn’t seem to faze him as he continued to work away like usual. He had returned to his desk, yet again hunched over numerous pieces of parchment paper.

“How many have you figured out?” I asked.

“Seven. So far.” He ran a hand through his cobalt hair. “But I only have the antidote for two of them.”

“Hence all the cauldrons.”

“Correct. I have taken to brewing as many counter potions as I can think of so when I do discover what infernal afflictions have been forced upon me, I am able to rid myself of them as soon as possible.”

“Let me help.” I begged. It was clear all this work would be too much for one person to tackle alone, and now he had the pressure of a ticking clock to consider.

“Why would you want to do that?” He looked at me sceptically.

“Because I don’t want you to lose your job.”

Severus stopped scanning the page, and stared up at me blankly.

“I see word has gotten out of my precarious employment status; news does travel fast.”

“Let me help you.” I repeated.

Severus dropped his head with a resigned sigh.

“Okay.”

A pleased smile spread across my face.

“Budge up.” I ordered, dragging another chair behind his desk. “Let me get a proper look at you.”

“You really think looking at me is going to help? I have studied myself countless times and have come up with nothing, and I think I possess more knowledge on the subject than you do.”

“I just thought that maybe a fresh set of eyes would be a benefit.” I huffed.

Severus continued to avert his gaze from me, refusing to look me in the eye.

“Fine. Then show me what you have so far.” I snatched the parchment from his grasp. One was the inventory list of his store cupboard which he seemed to be cross referencing to account for what was missing. The other was a list of his possible ailments, a few having already been scored out.

“Tell me what you’ve found so far.?”

“Within the first few minutes I was able cure two of my afflictions.” He stated plainly.

“What were they?”

“Babbling Beverage and Elixir to Induce Euphoria.”

This time I couldn’t help but laugh.

“That must have been fun for you.”

“It was hell.” He glared.

“At least they were easy to identify. What else?”

“I’m currently brewing the cure for a few more; Hair Dyeing and Hair-Raising potions, and Hiccoughing Solution.”

“That much is obvious.”

He rolled his eyes at me.

“I also took the antidotes for both a Fatiguing Infusion and Befuddlement Draught. But neither seem to have taken affect yet.”

“Hmmm.” I scanned my eyes between each parchment, wondering why they might not have worked. “What if it’s not taken affect because you’re curing the wrong potion. What if it’s something similar like a Confusion concoction or a Dizziness Draught.”

Severus’ brows shot up his forehead, it was clear he had not considered this possibility.

“You could be on to something.”

“Do you have the antidote for either of them.”

“I believe I do, let me go check.” He rounded the edge of his desk, disappearing into this store cupboard.

Severus and I continued to work through his list for the next day and a half; with me helping him in the brewing of the cures crossing off item after item on his lists.

In that time, we were able to cure him of all visible affects, and discover almost all of the missing potions used in punishing him, which were; Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Babbling Beverage, Hair-Dyeing Potion, Hair-Raising Potion, Hiccoughing Solution, Confusing Concoction and, as we eventually discovered, Drowsiness Draught not Fatiguing Infusion.

As we sat waiting for the final cure to finish brewing Severus’ stomach growled.

“Hungry?” I asked realising we had skipped lunch.

“Not particularly. Though now that I think about it, it has been doing that a lot more recently.”

Both our eyes widened as the realisation hit.

“Garrotting Gas?” I wondered.

“It appears so.”

“Do you have the cure.”

“Yes.”

“Then go take it, quick. Let’s see if we’re right.” I squealed with excitement.

Severus dashed to his stores, and downed the entire contents of a small crystal vial.

We waited.

Silence.

“Has it stopped?”

“I think so.”

I cheered gleefully, noticing the ghost of a smile appear on Severus’ face.

“Finally! Surely that is all of them now.” I prayed, flopping back down into my chair.

“Let’s hope so.” He sighed.

Silence fell around the room as Severus’ gaze landed on me. His eyes were softer than I had ever seen them, staring at me in almost awe-like state. The weight of the pressure he had been feeling now gone, Severus allowed himself a moment to relax.

“Thank you, Y/N, for helping me. It really means a lot.” My eyes snapped to his, it was the first time he had ever called me by my first time. I returned his almost-smile.

“Really it was no bother. Actually, I sort of feel a bit guilty bec-“

The professor silenced the words from my mouth with a wave of his hand. He didn’t seem to care about what I had to say at this moment. Continuing to keep his eyes locked onto mine, he slowly made his way across the classroom towards me.

“I mean it, Y/N.” He said sincerely. “I am so very grateful to have you in my life. Your beauty and your wit are simply astounding to me, so much so I find myself struggling to even look at you when you are near. You are such an incredible woman.”

“What?” I looked at him dumbfounded, my body tensing as he stopped at me feet.

“I know I must piss you off sometimes, but I mostly do it on purpose because it means I get to see you more. You only ever seem to visit when you’re angry with me. You’re adorable when you’re angry with me”

“Severus, what are you saying?” I laughed nervously.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N.” He confessed. “I like you; I always have, I’ve just never known how to tell you before now.”

“Ah.” The penny drops. “I think we may have discovered another potion.”

Severus raised a single eyebrow.

“Amortentia. Or some other generic love potion.” I got up from my chair and started rummaging through his cupboards once more. “You’re clearly infatuated with me.” I laughed again.

“Y/N.” Severus whispered from the other room.

“Two minutes, I’m just double-checking what potion it is.”

“Y/N.” He repeated.

“Just a second.” I called back.

“Y/N, I don’t keep love potions in my stores.” He spoke louder this time.

My hands froze mid rummage.

“What did you just say?” I emerged slowly from the room.

“I don’t keep love potions in my stores. I brew it fresh when it comes up on the curriculum, and dispose of it immediately, I see no benefit it keeping it in my stores, it poses no purpose to the welfare of the school and I-“

“Wait Severus, what are you saying exactly? Why else would you be saying any of this?”

Without a word he rose from his seat, and disappeared into the store room. I stood with bated breath while he furiously searched his shelves. Finally, he emerged from the room, face even paler than usual.

“Veritaserum.” He stated simply.

My eyes rapidly searched his face for any sign of humour before understanding finally dawned.

Was Severus Snape in love with me?

.

.

.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil @entirelymesmerising @mikariell95 @snapefiction @a-queen-and-her-throne @amazingzou @peridot-pineapple @snapesno1thighrider @kittenlittle24 @forfaehou @caseydoodles98

[fruitsywriting]

Talking about Mark, Amber and Eve in Invincible:

This isn’t to hate on the show in any form, it’s a minor critique as I love to dissect and discuss parts of shows that I love. This is meant for me to rant into the darkness of the abyss, and maybe it’ll talk back to me.

Spoilers for Invincible- but just the show. Not the comics.

First off, I like Amber and I think people overhate her. I’m a firm believer that you are allowed not like a character and not have a reason, though usually your dislike will come from Something, because it’s your opinion. Where the problem begins, to me at least, is when you’re attacking anyone who like the character or have to be like “well I don’t like them” whenever they’re brought up in a positive way. Hey, how about this? Lemme talk about this character for one second without bringing up the fact you don’t like this character. Thanks! 🙏🏽

Amber meant a lot to me, when I first started invincible the first time- I was excited to see a black girl be the main love interest (as a black woman yk). I could tell by the way they were setting up she was about to be the disposable black girlfriend but I was in denial. (I could go on a whole rant about the treatment of black women in media and I might soon) At that time, I didn’t even finish season 1, or I don’t remember finishing it but I didn’t continue the series because I didn’t like gore. I finished season 2 and 3 this year and I do have to say I saw it coming. Mark and Eve getting together, and I will not lie- I was disappointed. I will say maybe my bias for Amber will cloud what I’m about to say but I also think I would’ve thought this regardless.

I don’t like how Mark and Eve’s relationship has turned out. I like all three of these characters- even when their actions get on my nerves. Season 3 made Mark and Eve feel unlikable to me. Maybe it’s whenever they’re together but still. A lot of what Mark and Eve were doing this season was having sex, and barely communicating further than “it’s not your fault” if that makes sense. It’s not like they don’t talk, period. They talked season 1, perhaps even season 2. Season 3 however Eve felt like a Yes Man to me, or more so just her comforting him for a bit before they have sex. That’s not a problem, but when you compare how Amber and Mark bonded in their relationship before they even had sex together it made me wish we had that in a way. It felt rushed, and I heard it’s because they cut a lot of the romance from the comic but it’s also why I think they should’ve had a gap before he got with Eve because it just FEELS RUSHED.

Now, for the moments that pissed me off the most. When Eve broke her leg and was in the hospital and he didn’t leave her side. I understand it’s not a typical break but him not leaving her just pissed me off. I understand that he might not make the best decisions at this age, but me being the same age, I’d be more worried for my brother and mother out there- like Cecil said. Then Cecil said Eve wouldn’t like that he was there the whole time, Mark said “I don’t care”. Don’t piss me off. PLEASE, could they have used this plot point because I guaranteed Eve WOULD have been pissed. In season 1 when Mark got dumped and didn’t want to help, she scolded him for it. She said she would rather save lives than pout like how he was.

And Rex’s funeral. They definitely fucked that up, because why was Rae the only one sad? I mean, Eve was, but that went down the drain when Mark was smiling and shi and then they fuck. “I’m just glad you’re alive” HUH. Brotha, someone you knew just died! And you two seemed to be friends in season 3 like huh????? I am a sucker for family dynamics, like Arcane, so when he seems to put Eve above his family I’m ngl it pmo.

And back to Amber, I loved her because of how fierce she was, the ability to stand up for herself. She reflects Debbie but certain fans don’t wanna hear that. Not saying Eve is a doormat by any means, she’s strong (even though the show constantly is nerfing her for Mark to be stronger), and was able to stand up for what she thought was right. I love Eve, just not whenever she’s with Mark, romantically at least. And I like Mark, except for when he’s with Eve. And I love Amber, period. I agree with all her points in season 1, talk to a wall about it if you don’t because I’m not changing my mind.

Anyways, I’m just screaming into the void so this doesn’t bother me that much anymore lol.