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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

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Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2.

Word Count : 9k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

You stirred awake, your eyes slowly adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The warmth beside you was familiar, comforting. Jace lay next to you, his breathing even, his face peaceful in sleep. For a long moment, you simply watched him, taking in every detail—the way his dark curls fell messily over his forehead, the faint crease between his brows, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You had never felt safer than in this moment.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips. If Jace hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t fought for you, you didn’t know what you would have done. The exhaustion of carrying so much pain alone had nearly consumed you. But now… now, there was him.

Jace stirred beside you, his body shifting slightly. Then, as if sensing your gaze, he blinked awake, his dark eyes meeting yours. A slow, sleepy smile stretched across his lips.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

You couldn’t help the soft smile that formed on your own lips. “Morning.”

Jace lifted a hand, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture made your chest tighten.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, his thumb tracing slow circles on your arm.

“Not long,” you admitted. “I was just… watching you.”

Jace let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening slightly around you. “Creepy,” he teased, but his smile was nothing but fond.

“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade.

Jace’s expression softened as he studied you. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

The question made you pause. You weren’t sure how to answer. Were you okay? Not entirely. The memories were still there, the wounds still fresh. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

“Better,” you said after a moment. “Because of you.”

Jace’s jaw tightened slightly, his fingers gripping your arm a little more firmly. “You give me too much credit,” he said. “I just—”

“You saved me, Jace.” Your voice was quiet but firm. “I don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t here. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to think about it,” he murmured. “Because I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”*

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as you melted into his embrace. “Promise?”

“I swear it.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed it.

As you and Jace made your way downstairs, the sound of voices echoed through the house. You felt your stomach twist when you recognized them—Aemond and Aegon.

Your steps faltered, and instinctively, you moved behind Jace, gripping the back of his shirt as if it were a lifeline. Not because you were afraid, but because shame clawed at your insides. You knew. You knew they had seen it. The video. The proof of what had been done to you.

How could they look at you the same way now?

Jace, noticing your hesitation, stopped in his tracks. Without missing a beat, he reached behind him, grasping your wrist before gently pulling you forward again, making you stand beside him instead of behind him.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured softly but firmly.

Your throat tightened. “Jace, I—”

“You don’t have to hide,” he interrupted, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly. “Not from them. Not from me. You did nothing wrong.”*

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat remained.

By the time you reached the living room, Rhaenyra was seated gracefully on the couch, her expression unreadable as she observed you both. Aemond stood near the window, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flicking toward you but revealing nothing. Aegon, on the other hand, was sprawled in the chair across from his sister, spinning a silver ring around his finger, his lips set in a firm line.

Silence stretched between all of you for a brief moment before Aegon exhaled loudly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well,” he started, tilting his head. “I assume we’re all here for the same reason?”

Jace stiffened slightly beside you. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

“It should be,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice calm yet laced with something unreadable. “This isn’t just about you anymore, Jacaerys.”

Your fingers curled into your palm, your nails pressing against your skin. You hated this. The way they were all here, sitting around as if your trauma were some business deal to negotiate.

“I don’t care what either of you think,” Jace shot back, his voice sharp, protective. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“Safe?” Aegon let out a dry chuckle, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “After what we saw, after what those bastards did? And you think just because they’re dead, it’s over?”

Your breath hitched.

“Aegon, enough,” Rhaenyra’s voice was firm, but Aegon barely reacted, his eyes still on you.

“Look,” he said, his tone softer this time. “I’m not saying this to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “I’m saying it because I know what people are like. And this? This won’t just disappear.”

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. You knew what he meant. The internet was merciless. Even if those men were dead, there was always a chance that the damage they caused would linger, that those video would resurface somewhere.

Jace must have sensed the way your body tensed because he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I will handle it,” he said, his voice absolute. “No matter what it takes.”

Aemond exhaled through his nose before finally looking at you, his single violet eye sharp, calculating. “Do you want to know how we handled it?”

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

Aemond nodded slightly, as if he had expected that answer. “Good.”

“And what about her?” Aegon asked, gesturing toward Rhaenyra. “What did you tell her?”

“Enough,” Jace said simply.

Rhaenyra, who had been silent this entire time, finally sighed and leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs gracefully. “I knew something had happened,” she admitted, her gaze on you now. “I just didn’t know the extent of it until a week aho when i first meet her.”

You felt yourself shrink under her stare.

“And?” Aegon pressed.

“And,” Rhaenyra continued, her expression softening, “she is not to blame for any of it.”

You blinked, your throat tightening.

“She is a victim,” Jace added, his fingers tightening around yours, “and if either of you have a problem with that, you can leave.”

Silence filled the room.

Aemond, for once, was the first to speak. “No one here thinks otherwise.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just… fucked up, that’s all.”

“We know,” Jace murmured. “We know.”*

A beat of silence passed before Aegon leaned back in his chair, exhaling loudly. “Well. If nothing else, you’ve got us.”

You looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“We’re in this now too,” Aegon shrugged. “Like it or not. And if anyone so much as breathes your name in the wrong way, they’ll be answering to us.”

Aemond nodded slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see the sincerity in his gaze.

Your lips parted slightly, surprise washing over you. You weren’t used to this—to people standing by you, defending you.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quietly.

“We know,” Jace said, squeezing your hand. “But we will.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding slightly.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

As Jace stood beside you, his grip on your hand firm, Aemond’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbing Jace’s wrist and pulling him slightly away from you. Aegon followed, stepping in beside them, forming a small huddle a few feet from where you stood.

You frowned, unease settling in your stomach. Jace’s hand slipped from yours as Aemond led him a little farther, lowering his voice—but not enough for you not to hear.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Aemond hissed, his single eye burning with frustration. “Lying to her? Keeping her in the dark about the other videos?”

Jace’s jaw tightened. “Because she doesn’t need to know.”

Aegon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “And what happens when she finds out? Because she will, Jace. You think you can just shield her forever?”

“If I have to, yes,” Jace snapped back, his expression hardening. “She’s been through enough—”

“And that’s exactly why she deserves the truth!” Aemond cut him off sharply. “You’re treating her like she’s fragile, like she’ll shatter the moment she hears the truth.”

“She’s already shattered,” Jace shot back, his voice low but heavy with emotion. “You didn’t see her, Aemond. You didn’t hear the way she cried in her sleep, the way she begged for help even in her dreams. I did. Every fucking night.”

Aegon sighed, rubbing his temples. “We get it, Jace. We do. But keeping this from her isn’t the solution.”

Aemond stepped closer, his gaze dark and serious. “You think this is over?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You think just because those bastards are dead, that’s the end of it?”

Jace clenched his jaw. “We wiped out everyone involved.”

“Did we?” Aemond challenged. “Are you sure there’s not a single person out there with access to those videos? Because I’m not.”

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We checked everything. Phones, backups, hard drives, laptops. We destroyed it all.”

“And what about people we don’t know about?” Aemond countered. “She was with that bastard for years, Jace. You really think he didn’t share something with someone else? That there aren’t copies floating around somewhere?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Then we find them,” he said, voice steady, unwavering. “And we destroy every last trace of it.”

Aegon sighed, shaking his head. “Look, man. I admire your determination and all, but this isn’t just some street fight we can beat our way out of. We need a plan. A real one.”

“We have one,” Jace said firmly. “Keep her safe. Keep this buried. And if anyone comes looking for her, we make sure they never find her.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed slightly. “And what about her? What about what she wants?”

Jace hesitated for a fraction of a second. “She wants to move on.”

“She wants to survive,” Aemond corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Jace exhaled through his nose. “What do you want me to do, Aemond? Tell her everything? Watch her break even more?”

Aemond stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I want you to prepare her. Because the worst thing you can do for her right now is let her believe she’s safe when she’s not.”

Jace swallowed hard, his throat tightening.

“If she doesn’t know the full truth,” Aemond continued, “she can’t protect herself. And if she can’t protect herself, then no matter how hard you try—”

“—You’ll never be able to keep her safe,” Aegon finished, his voice quieter now, but just as serious.

Jace shut his eyes for a moment, his hands shaking slightly.

Aemond exhaled, his tone softening just a little. “We’re not saying this to fight you, Jace. We’re saying it because we care about her too. And the longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes.”

Jace opened his eyes again, his gaze flicking between Aemond and Aegon before finally turning toward you.

You were still standing there, looking small, fragile. But there was something in your eyes—something hesitant, something afraid and that was what broke him the most. Because Aemond was right. You deserved to know. Even if it hurt. Even if it changed everything.

Because the truth?

The real danger hadn’t passed.

Not yet.

The soft hum of the television filled the quiet room, the morning news droning on in the background. You barely paid attention at first, too lost in your own thoughts, but then—

"Breaking news: The bodies of six men were found late last night in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Police have yet to release official statements, but sources suggest that the killings were highly calculated, with no evidence left behind. It is estimated that they had been executed more than six days from the condition of their bodies. Among the deceased is—"

Your breath hitched.

The camera panned across the scene, a shaky close-up of a body partially covered by a bloodstained tarp. But it wasn’t the body that caught your attention—it was the hand.

A limp, lifeless hand, peeking from beneath the tarp and wrapped around that wrist was something you knew all too well.

A bracelet.

A simple, silver bracelet with a small engraving on the inside. Your bracelet or rather—the one you had once given to him. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your fingers trembled slightly as they curled against your lap.

He was dead.

Truly dead.

Your ex-motherfucking-fiancé was gone.

You barely noticed the way your breathing had quickened until Jace’s warm hand slid over yours, grounding you. You turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

He wasn’t looking at the TV. Neither were Aemond or Aegon. They all sat in silence, unmoving, their expressions unreadable. No regret. No guilt. Just… nothing and that silence alone spoke volumes.

They knew.

And they had done it.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t pull away. You weren’t scared. You weren’t even angry. If anything— You were relieved.

A deep, shuddering exhale left your lips as you shifted your gaze back to the screen. The news anchor was still talking, going on about police investigations, gang involvement, possible suspects—

It didn’t matter. Because the only thing that mattered was that he was gone. You licked your lips, the words forming before you could stop them.

"He’s really dead."

Jace stiffened slightly beside you, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

Aegon scoffed under his breath, tilting his head slightly. "What, you wanted us to leave him breathing?"

"No." You shook your head, voice steady. "I just… I don’t know. It feels… surreal."

"He doesn’t exist anymore," Aemond stated simply, his tone devoid of emotion. "And neither does the rest of his filth."*

You swallowed, the weight of his words settling over you.

"Good,"* you whispered. That was all you said and that was all you needed to say. A slow, heavy silence settled between you all. Then— A sigh.

Rhaenyra.

She had been standing near the doorway, quietly observing, letting the weight of the moment sink in. But now, she stepped forward, her expression unreadable as she grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.

"Enough of this," she murmured, turning back toward all of you. "Come. Let’s eat."

You blinked. "What?"

"Breakfast is getting cold," she said simply, walking toward the dining table. "And after everything that’s happened, I think we all need something warm in our stomachs."*

You stared at her, almost incredulous.

The woman just shut off a murder investigation report like it was the weather segment and proceeded to call everyone for breakfast. Aegon let out a short laugh. "God, Sister, sometimes I forget how cold you are."

"It’s not cold," Rhaenyra corrected smoothly, glancing over her shoulder. "It’s practical. We can talk about this later. For now, we eat."

Aemond hummed in agreement, already pushing himself up from the couch. "She’s right."*

Jace hesitated beside you before finally releasing your hand, rising to his feet. He turned to you, his expression softening just a little. "Come on," he murmured. "You need to eat."*

You stared at them all.

At Rhaenyra, effortlessly composed. At Aemond and Aegon, unbothered and calm and at Jace. Jace, who had done all of this for you. Jace, who had gotten his hands dirty for you.

Jace, who had just killed for you and yet, even after all of that— He still looked at you the same. Like you weren’t ruined. Like you weren’t broken. Like you were still you.

Your chest tightened.

Slowly, you inhaled and then you stood up, slipping your fingers into his.

"Okay," you murmured. "Let’s eat."

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the dining room, the only sound cutting through the thick silence. You ate slowly, methodically, your mind still processing everything.

It felt strange.

To know they were gone.

That the people who had tormented you, broken you, and made you feel like nothing—were nothing now themselves.

No more threats. No more fear.

Just... silence.

You swallowed another bite, barely tasting it, your eyes flickering up to glance around the table.

Rhaenyra was speaking with Aemond, their conversation low but casual, as if discussing business rather than murder. Aegon, on the other hand, had his usual smug expression, twirling a fork between his fingers.

And then there was Jace.

He wasn’t eating.

He wasn’t even pretending to.

Instead, his gaze was on you, watching your every movement like a hawk. The way your fingers gripped your fork. The way your lips parted slightly before taking another bite. The way your brows furrowed ever so slightly as your mind wandered.

His grip on the table tightened.

And then—

"Alright, enough of this boring silence."

Aegon’s voice cut through the air, making you blink in surprise. You turned your gaze to him just as he leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily before dropping his hands into his lap.

"We have something to discuss," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "After we finish eating, of course."

Something about his tone made you pause. Something about the way he said it—lighthearted yet firm, playful yet serious—made your stomach twist just a little.

You glanced at Jace instinctively and you saw it immediately. The way his entire body had gone rigid. The way his jaw clenched, the muscles twitching slightly. The way his fingers curled against his thigh, a slow exhale escaping his lips as he visibly tried to contain himself.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Jace?" you murmured quietly, so only he could hear.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking once before shaking his head. "It’s nothing."

But you weren’t stupid.

And you weren’t buying it.

Before you could press further, Rhaenyra’s voice filled the space. "Not at the table, Aegon," she said simply, taking another sip of her drink. "It can wait."

"Oh, come on, sister." Aegon smirked. "Aren’t you curious to see how she reacts? I sure as hell am."

Your stomach twisted even more.

React?

To what?

Your fingers tightened around your fork, your appetite quickly fading as you darted a glance between them all. Aegon’s smugness, Aemond’s neutral indifference, Jace’s barely-contained frustration— They all knew something. Something you didn’t and you weren’t sure you were going to like it.

The living room felt too small.

The walls seemed to close in as you sat on the couch, your fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes without realizing it. Rhaenyra stood by the door, arms crossed, observing silently. Aegon, for once, looked… cautious. Careful. His usual smugness dimmed as he shifted in his seat.

"Look," he started, exhaling through his nose. "I need you to listen and not freak out, alright?"

Your fingers twitched.

Your chest felt tight.

You already didn’t like where this was going.

Aemond, who stood beside Jace, cut straight to the point. "We found more videos," he said, voice void of emotion.

Your ears started ringing.

"More?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended.

Jace tensed beside you, his entire body rigid, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want this conversation to happen. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his foot bounced slightly as if he were barely restraining himself from lashing out.

"Yes," Aemond continued. "Not just one or two. We’re talking—" He hesitated and in that hesitation, you knew. You knew it was bad. Really bad.

"How many?" Your throat felt dry, and the moment you asked, you wished you hadn’t.

Aemond didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

"Twenty-four."

The moment the number left his lips, your vision blurred. Your breath hitched. Your fingers went numb.

Twenty-four.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Twenty-four videos of you.

Your world started spinning. Your lungs constricted, struggling for air, but no matter how hard you tried to breathe, it wasn’t enough.

The walls were closing in.

The room was shrinking.

Your chest burned, your fingers trembled, your vision swayed—

And then—

"Hey. Look at me."

Jace’s voice cut through the haze.

You barely registered that you were shaking. That your breaths were coming out in short, ragged gasps. That your nails had dug into your own arms, gripping yourself so tightly it hurt. Jace grabbed your hands, prying them away from your arms, forcing you to focus on him.

"Breathe." His voice was firm, commanding. "Look at me and breathe."

But you couldn’t.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t think.

You felt exposed. Violated. Every piece of you had been taken, used, recorded—and now it was all out there.

"They’re gone." His voice softened just a fraction. "They don’t exist anymore. We made sure of it."

His hands cupped your face now, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"Breathe with me."

You felt his forehead press against yours, his warm breath fanning over your lips. He inhaled deeply, exaggerating it so you could follow.

You tried.

You really tried.

But your breath still hitched, still wavered—until his hands slid down to your shoulders, then your back, pulling you into his chest.

"I’ve got you." His voice rumbled against you, low and steady. "I’ve got you, okay? Just focus on me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching onto him, your body still trembling as you struggled to match his breathing.

Slowly, painfully, your heartbeat steadied. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it dulled, just enough for you to register your surroundings again.

Jace held you, his arms secure, his grip firm yet careful, like he was afraid you might break. When you finally pulled back just slightly, your eyes met his, and you saw it— Rage.

Not at you.

Never at you.

But at the people who had done this to you. "They can’t hurt you anymore," he whispered.

The moment Aemond spoke, your fingers tightened around Jace’s arm. "My men are still looking into it," Aemond said, his voice even, controlled. "There’s a chance those bastards sent the videos to someone else before they died."

Your body went rigid.

Your breath caught in your throat.

No. no, no, no— A strangled sound left your lips, something between a sob and a gasp. Your lungs burned, struggling to take in air as panic clawed at your chest. The room blurred at the edges, and suddenly it was too much—

Too loud.

Too bright.

Too suffocating.

Your knees buckled. You didn’t even realize you were falling until Jace caught you, his strong arms wrapping around your body before you hit the floor.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was frantic now, shaking slightly. "You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, baby, please."

But you couldn’t.

Your vision darkened, the voices around you fading into nothing and then— Everything went black.

You woke up to warmth.

Gentle hands.

A soft voice calling your name. Your eyelids felt heavy as you slowly blinked, your mind sluggish, your body weak. The first thing you saw was Jace.

He was hovering over you, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"You scared the shit out of me," he muttered, his voice raw with emotion.

You swallowed, your throat dry. "What… happened?"

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before gripping your hand tightly. "You passed out," he said, his grip tightening just slightly. "You were panicking, and then—fuck, your eyes just rolled back, and you collapsed."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You had never fainted before. Sure, you had panic attacks, but you had never actually blacked out.

The weight of everything hit you all over again.

The videos.

The possibility that someone else had them.

That they could still be out there, waiting to be exposed, to be used against you.

Your chest tightened again.

Jace saw the way your fingers twitched, the way your breathing started to quicken, and before you could spiral again, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Breathe with me," he whispered.

You shuddered but tried to match his breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

You felt his hand trail down to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

"Aemond’s men are handling it," he reassured you. "And if—if—anyone out there has those videos, we will find them. We will destroy them."

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his hoodie.

"What if we don’t?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

His grip on you tightened.

"Then we burn the whole fucking world down until we do." There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just pure, unwavering determination and for the first time since all of this started…

You felt just a little bit safer.

You sobbed into Jace’s chest, your entire body trembling as fear wrapped around you like a suffocating shroud. The memories, the helplessness, the overwhelming dread—it was all crashing down on you again, like a wave threatening to drag you under.

Jace’s arms tightened around you, his hand cradling the back of your head as he whispered soft reassurances into your ear.

"I’ve got you."

"You’re safe."

"I won’t let anything happen to you."

But the fear didn’t leave. It clung to you, sinking its claws deep into your skin. Aemond let out a quiet sigh, sharing a glance with Aegon before clearing his throat. "Come on," he murmured, nudging Aegon. "Let’s give them some space."

Aegon hesitated for a moment before nodding, and with that, they both slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with Jace.

But even then, the panic didn’t fade.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie, your sobs shaking your entire body. Jace didn’t say anything—he just held you, pressing gentle kisses against your temple, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

And slowly… so slowly… your cries turned into quiet sniffles.

Your breaths came easier.

Your body felt heavier. Jace exhaled, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Do you want me to get you some water?" he asked softly.

You shook your head weakly. "Just… stay."

"Always."

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped in his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat steady against your ear.

But then…

A new presence.

The soft rustling of fabric. A gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked blearily, and when you looked up, you found yourself staring into the warm, kind eyes of Rhaenyra.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She simply reached out and took your hand, gently pulling you away from Jace before wrapping her arms around you.

And the moment she held you…

You broke down all over again.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked your body as you clung to her, burying your face into her shoulder, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of her dress.

She didn’t shush you. She didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, her fingers threading through your hair, her touch so soft, so motherly.

"You’re safe now, my dear," she murmured, her voice warm and steady. "No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it." You believed her.

Alicent’s voice rang through the house like a sharp blade cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

"Aemond! Aegon!"

You flinched at the sudden intrusion, your grip on Rhaenyra tightening as your breath caught in your throat. Jace immediately stiffened beside you, his expression darkening as he instinctively shifted, placing himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from whatever storm was about to unfold.

Alicent’s heels clicked loudly against the floor as she stormed into the room, her sharp green eyes scanning the space until they landed on her sons, who had just reentered from the hallway.

"Would one of you like to explain to me why I received a report about six men being slaughtered in a warehouse last week?" she demanded, her voice sharp and filled with barely restrained fury. "And why the two of you are involved?"

Aemond, ever composed, only tilted his head. "I assume you already know the answer, Mother, or else you wouldn’t be here."

Aegon snorted, crossing his arms. "You should be thanking us, honestly."

Alicent’s nostrils flared at their dismissive attitudes, her jaw tightening as she took another step forward. But before she could say anything else, her gaze shifted—finally landing on you.

You froze.

Her sharp green eyes narrowed in confusion as she took in your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-streaked cheeks, and the way Rhaenyra still held you close.

"And who is this?" Alicent asked, her tone less harsh but still filled with scrutiny.

When no one answered immediately, she turned to Rhaenyra. "Who is she? And why is she crying?"

Rhaenyra’s grip on you subtly tightened, as if instinctively shielding you from whatever judgment Alicent might cast.

"She’s someone who has been through enough without you raising your voice at her," Rhaenyra answered coolly. "Lower your tone, Alicent."

The words were spoken softly, but there was steel behind them, and for a brief moment, the room felt colder.

Alicent’s expression flickered with something unreadable before she exhaled sharply, composing herself. "I did not come here to argue with you, Rhaenyra," she muttered. "I came to demand answers from my sons."

But her gaze flickered back to you, eyes scanning you more carefully now—the oversized shirt that was clearly Jace’s, the way you were curled close to Rhaenyra, the quiet trembling of your fingers as you tried to steady your breath.

A realization seemed to settle over her.

She turned back to Aemond and Aegon, her voice quieter now. "What exactly did you two do?"

Aemond merely adjusted his gloves, his expression unreadable. "We took care of a problem."

Alicent’s gaze darted between them, then to Jace, then to you.

"A problem," she repeated, her tone dripping with suspicion. "And this… has something to do with her, doesn’t it?"

No one answered immediately.

But Jace—who had been silent all this time, barely restraining his own rage—finally spoke, his voice eerily calm.

"The men they killed deserved worse."

Alicent’s brows lifted, but before she could ask more, Aegon let out an impatient sigh.

"Look, Mother, just know that we didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "And honestly? We probably did the world a favor."

Alicent’s lips parted as if to say something, but then her gaze shifted back to you. She studied you carefully, as if searching for an answer in the quiet way you curled into Rhaenyra’s embrace, the way your fingers fidgeted, the way Jace had positioned himself protectively near you.

Then… something in her expression softened.

She wasn’t stupid.

She had seen this kind of fear before.

She took a slow breath, then exhaled.

"I see." It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t approval. But it was understanding and for now… that was enough.

Jace barely had time to react before Alicent stepped forward and shoved him—not hard, but enough to make him stumble slightly backward. His brows furrowed in confusion as he steadied himself, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"What the hell—"

"Move," Alicent said simply, her voice firm but not unkind. Jace clenched his jaw but obeyed, stepping aside. Then, to your surprise, Alicent turned to you.

She crouched slightly, bringing herself to your level as her gaze softened. You tensed, not knowing what to expect, but she didn’t seem angry—just… studying you.

"I know this is all overwhelming," she finally said, her tone much gentler than before. "But you don’t have to be afraid anymore."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

Then, she reached out and—surprisingly—brushed her fingers through your hair, smoothing it in a motherly gesture.

"Everything will be alright now," she murmured. "No one is going to hurt you again."

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. You had braced yourself for judgment, for disapproval, maybe even dismissal. But instead… you were met with warmth.

Alicent took a breath and stood up, glancing at the others.

"I am Alicent Hightower," she finally said, her voice stronger now. "Rhaenyra’s stepmother… and mother to Aemond and Aegon." Her gaze flickered to her sons briefly before settling back on you.

"That means you are under my protection now as well." You blinked, startled.

"I—" You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," Alicent interrupted softly. "Just know that from this moment forward, you are not alone. Whatever has happened to you… whatever you have been through… it ends here."

You felt a lump form in your throat. She wasn’t saying it just to make you feel better. She meant it.

Jace, who had been watching quietly, exhaled and crossed his arms. "Took you long enough," he muttered.

Alicent shot him a sharp look. "Watch your mouth, Jacaerys."

Aegon snorted. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Aemond merely sighed, adjusting his gloves as if this conversation was exhausting him. "Can we move past the dramatics now?" he muttered. "We still have more important things to deal with."

Alicent ignored them. Instead, she reached out once more, giving your hand a small but firm squeeze before finally pulling away.

"Come," she said. "You should rest. And we should talk." For the first time in a long time… you believed her.

Aegon groaned as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He leaned back against the couch, pulling it out lazily before glancing at the screen. The name flashing across it made him sit up straighter.

"Helaena?"

Aemond and Jace immediately turned their heads toward him. Without wasting time, Aegon answered the call and put it on speaker.

"Brother," Helaena’s soft but urgent voice filled the room. "I’m coming over. There’s something you need to know."

Aegon frowned, exchanging glances with Aemond and Jace. "What is it? Just tell me now."

"No," she said firmly. "Not over the phone. I’ll be there soon."

And then the call ended. Aegon let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

"She always does this," he muttered.

Jace, who had been sitting tensely with his hands clasped, exhaled through his nose. He was still on edge, barely holding himself together after everything that had happened today. His knuckles were white from how tightly he had been clenching his fists.

"If she says it’s urgent, then it must be," Aemond said calmly. He was swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his one remaining eye sharp and calculating. "We wait."

Aegon scoffed. "What if it’s nothing? Helaena has always been—" he paused, searching for the right word, "��peculiar."

Aemond shot him a cold look.

"She sees things," he reminded him. Aegon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Jace ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself.

"What if it’s about her?" he muttered.

Aemond narrowed his eye at him. "Who?"

Jace gave him a sharp look. "Who the fuck do you think?"

Aegon sighed. "Alright, relax. She’s upstairs with our mothers, she’s safe."

Jace didn’t look convinced. His knee bounced up and down anxiously, his entire body restless. Aemond finished his drink in one smooth gulp and set the glass down with a soft clink.

"Then let’s hope Helaena brings something useful."

Helaena strode into the room with a sense of urgency, her heels clicking against the floor as she clutched her laptop tightly. Without a word, she shoved Aegon aside, making him grunt in protest.

"Fucking hell, Helaena," Aegon muttered, rubbing his arm where she had pushed him.

Ignoring him, she placed the laptop on the coffee table and opened it swiftly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen illuminated her face, and her expression darkened as she pulled up an email inbox—your email inbox.

Jace, who had been standing tense with his arms crossed, immediately stepped closer. His brows furrowed as he recognized the email address.

"What the fuck is this?" Aemond asked, leaning forward.

Helaena didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she clicked on the most recent email. The moment the content loaded, she turned the screen towards them.

The room fell into silence.

Displayed on the screen were several screenshots—gruesome, explicit, and undeniably real. Each frame contained a piece of your nightmare, stolen and turned into a weapon against you.

Jace’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his hands curled into fists. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. His vision blurred with rage as he scanned the threatening message attached to the images:

"You belongs to me. Did you think you could erase everything? The world will see soon enough. Three hours."

Aegon let out a long, slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

"These fucking bastards," he muttered under his breath. Aemond leaned in closer, his fingers tapping the armrest of the couch rhythmically as he processed the situation.

"Who the fuck sent this?" Jace finally spoke, his voice eerily calm, but the fury behind it was unmistakable.

Helaena’s fingers moved again, tracing the source of the email. "It’s untraceable for now. They used a deep web service to send it. But I might be able to find something if I have more time."

"We don’t have time," Jace growled, pacing back and forth. "We have less than three hours."

"Then we act now," Aemond stated simply, already pulling out his phone.

Jace clenched his fists, breathing heavily through his nose. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill something.

"We need to tell her—" Aegon started, but Jace cut him off sharply.

"She doesn't need to know about this."

Aemond, leaning back against the couch, let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as he observed his nephew. "And what happens when she finds out? Because you know she will, Jace."

Jace’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration before snapping, "Did you see what happened earlier? Did you? She fucking shut down, Aemond. She had a full-blown panic attack just from hearing about the other videos. What do you think will happen if she finds out some bastard still has them?"

Aegon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, nodding slightly in agreement. "He's not wrong," Aegon muttered. "She’s barely holding on as it is. If we tell her, it’ll break her completely."

Helaena, who had been silently working on her laptop, finally spoke up. Her voice was softer but carried weight. "Keeping it from her might feel like protection, but if she finds out later—on her own—it’ll feel like betrayal."

Jace clenched his fists, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "I know that," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But right now, the only thing that matters is making sure she never has to see this again. We have less than three hours. We take care of it. And we make sure she never finds out."

Aemond exhaled through his nose, considering. He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought before finally nodding. "Fine. But if this backfires, it's on you."

Jace met his uncle's gaze with unwavering determination. "It won’t backfire. Because we’re not going to fail."

Helaena sighed, her fingers still typing as she tracked the email source. "We need a plan."

Jace didn’t hesitate. "Then let’s get to work."

The voices of Alicent and Rhaenyra grew louder as they approached the living room, their conversation stopping the moment they saw the laptop screen.

Alicent froze. Her usually composed face hardened as she took in the images, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a long moment, she said nothing, just staring at the evidence of what had been done to you. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until finally, she spoke.

"Where did you get this?" Her voice was sharp, controlled—but beneath it was a barely contained fury.

Helaena, still typing rapidly, answered without looking up. "It was sent to her email an hour ago. An anonymous account, but I’m tracing it now."

Alicent inhaled sharply, then turned to Jace. "Does she know?"

Jace didn’t answer right away. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling harshly before shaking his head. "No. And she doesn’t need to."

Rhaenyra crossed her arms, glancing toward the stairs. "She’s asleep. I gave her something to help her rest." Her gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained firm as she turned back to them. "She was still shaken after everything earlier. I couldn’t leave her like that."

Jace’s jaw tightened. The thought of you needing medication just to find peace made something in him twist painfully. He hated this. Hated that you were suffering while he sat here, helpless to make it all go away.

Alicent moved to stand beside the couch, her eyes narrowing as she took in the email again. "And you were planning on handling this yourselves?"

Aegon scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "What do you think, Mother? We don’t exactly have a lot of options here."

Aemond, still leaning back in his chair, finally spoke. His tone was cold, practical. "We need to find out if these are the only copies. If this bastard sent them to someone else, we’re in trouble."

Helaena glanced up from her screen. "I’m working on it. But it’s not easy. Whoever this is, they know how to cover their tracks."

Jace let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. His entire body felt tense, his mind running through every possible outcome. None of them were good.

"Then we move fast," he said finally. "We find this bastard before the three hours are up. And we make sure he never gets the chance to do this again."

Alicent watched him carefully, something unreadable in her expression. "And if she finds out?"

Jace met her gaze without hesitation. "She won’t."

But even as he said it, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Because deep down, he knew—secrets like this never stayed hidden forever.

Rhaenyra guided Jace through the dimly lit hallway, her grip on his wrist firm but gentle. He didn’t resist, didn’t ask where she was taking him—he simply followed, his mind too clouded to think clearly. The weight of everything was pressing down on him, heavier than ever before.

Once they reached the back garden, away from the others, Alicent finally stopped. The cool night air wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers filling the space. Jace stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven.

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her eyes scanning his face. He looked exhausted—his usual confidence stripped away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

"Jace," she called his name softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. He kept his gaze on the ground, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"You don’t have to hold it in," She whispered, rubbing slow circles on his back. "Not with me."

Jace exhaled sharply, his shoulders shaking slightly. His fingers dug into his palms as he tried to push everything down—the anger, the helplessness, the fear. But then Rhaenyra pulled him into a firm embrace, wrapping her arms around him as if she were shielding him from the world.

And just like that, the dam broke.

Jace’s breath hitched as he buried his face against her shoulder, his entire body trembling. He wasn’t crying—not exactly—but he was close. His arms hung limp at his sides for a moment before he finally gave in and held onto her, gripping the back of her dress tightly.

"I can’t—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to fix this, Mother."

Rhaenyra tightened her hold on him. "You don’t have to fix everything, Jace. You’re already doing more than enough."

"It’s not enough!" His voice cracked, frustration leaking into his words. "She’s still suffering. She’s still afraid. And I—" He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut. "I should have been there. I should have done something sooner."

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. "You listen to me, Jacaerys Velaryon," she said firmly, her green eyes locking onto his brown ones. "What happened to her is not your fault. You found her when she needed you most. You protected her when no one else did. And right now, she needs you to be strong. Not to punish yourself for something you had no control over."

Jace clenched his jaw, his eyes glistening under the moonlight.

"But what if it happens again?" he whispered. "What if I can’t stop it?"

Rhaenyra sighed, brushing his curls away from his forehead. "Then we will deal with it together. All of us."

Jace let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t sure if those words were enough to ease the storm raging inside him, but at the very least, they made him feel a little less alone.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to rest—just for a moment—in his mother’s embrace.

Jace’s chest tightened as he stepped back inside, his eyes immediately landing on the laptop where Helaena sat hunched over the keyboard. Aemond stood beside her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Aegon was pacing, rubbing his face in frustration.

“What is it?” Jace asked, his voice strained.

Helaena didn’t look away from the screen as she spoke. “I found something.” Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, the cursor blinking over a hyperlink.

Jace moved closer, his heart pounding. The link led to a dark, barely formatted website with a single string of numbers— a phone number.

Without hesitation, Helaena grabbed her phone and dialed. The call rang twice before someone picked up. A man’s voice, disguised and dripping with amusement, came through the speaker.

“Ah… I was wondering when you’d call.”

Jace stiffened, his grip on the back of Helaena’s chair tightening.

“Who the fuck are you?” Aemond demanded, his voice low and cold.

The man chuckled, the sound light and taunting. “Now, now. No need to be so rude. You already know who I am, don’t you?”

Jace’s hands curled into fists. “Where did you get those videos?”

“Oh, those?” The man hummed as if she was reminiscing about a fond memory. “Let’s just say… a little birdie left me a gift before he met his unfortunate end. And now, I hold something very, very precious to you, Jacaerys.”

Jace’s stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. And I imagine you want those files deleted, don’t you?”

Helaena’s hands were shaking slightly as she tried tracing the call, her eyes flicking between the numbers on the screen.

“If you lay a finger on those files—” Aemond started, but the woman cut him off with a laugh.

“Relax, Aemond. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly how valuable this is.”

Aegon exhaled harshly, his hands on his hips. “So? What’s your price?”

The man clicked his tongue. “I’ll be in touch soon. Until then… be good boys, won’t you?”

And with that, the line went dead.

Helaena cursed under her breath, slamming the laptop shut. “Damn it! He cut off the trace.”

Jace ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. He glanced at Aemond and Aegon, their expressions mirroring his own fury and frustration.

“Who the fuck is he?” Jace muttered.

Aemond’s eyes darkened. “Someone who clearly knows how to play this game.”

Jace clenched his jaw, looking toward the stairs where you were still resting. He had promised to keep you safe, but now—now, the nightmare wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened as she reached for the laptop. “Show me the number again,” she instructed, her voice controlled but tense.

Helaena hesitated for only a second before pulling the number back onto the screen. The moment Rhaenyra’s eyes landed on it, her entire body stiffened. Her fingers curled against the table, knuckles turning white.

Aegon, who had been watching her reaction closely, narrowed his eyes. “You recognize it.” It wasn’t a question.

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply. “I do.”

Jace’s heart pounded in his chest. “Who is it?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally spoke, her tone sharp as a blade. “Hellfire.”

The room went completely silent.

Aemond was the first to react, his jaw tightening. “You mean them?”

Rhaenyra gave a slow nod. “Yes. That number belongs to someone within Hellfire. And if they’re involved, this just got much worse than we thought.”

Jace felt a chill run down his spine. “Who the hell is Hellfire?”

Aegon let out a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Only the biggest fucking problem our family has ever had.”

Helaena, still typing furiously, glanced up. “They’re an underground syndicate. Ruthless, highly organized, and they specialize in blackmail, extortion, and destruction. They don’t just ruin people—they erase them.”

Jace’s breath hitched. “And we’re their target?”

Rhaenyra turned to face him fully, her expression grim. “We’ve always been their target.”

Aemond ran a hand down his face. “So this isn’t just about the videos.”

“No,” Rhaenyra confirmed. “It’s about power. They must have been working with those bastards long before we even knew. The question is—” she gestured to the laptop, ”—why did they keep the videos? What’s their endgame?”

Jace’s stomach twisted. “They said they’d be in touch. They want something.”

Aegon scoffed. “Of course they do. And I doubt it’s just money.”

Helaena’s eyes darkened. “No. They never plays for just money. They play for control.”

Jace exhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. “Then we take the fight to them.”

Aemond gave him a sharp look. “Not without a plan. We can’t afford to go in blind.”

“We don’t have time to wait!” Jace snapped, his anger boiling over. “They have those videos! They could release them at any second!”

Rhaenyra placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Jace.” Her voice softened just slightly. “I know what’s at stake. But if we don’t handle this the right way, we won’t be able to protect her.”

Jace swallowed hard, his mind flashing back to you sleeping upstairs, completely unaware of what was unfolding.

“Then what do we do?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less desperate.

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept over her sons before settling on Helaena. “We find them before they make their next move. We cut this off at the root.”

Aemond’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “And we end them.”

Jace’s fingers tightened around his phone as he read the message again, his breathing growing heavier with every second. His jaw clenched, and his entire body went rigid.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a growl.

The message was the same for everyone. A single video file attached, a brutal reminder of what had already been done to you. Jace refused to open it. He didn’t need to. The mere thought of it made his blood boil.

His eyes snapped up, meeting Aemond’s and Helaena’s. “Tell me you have something.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Nothing yet. Whoever’s behind this is smart. They’re covering their tracks well.”

Helaena was furiously typing on her laptop, her expression tense. “I’m trying to trace the origin of the message, but it’s bouncing through too many servers. It’s like trying to follow a ghost.”

Jace ran a frustrated hand through his hair before slamming his fist down on the table, making everyone flinch. “We’re running out of fucking time!” he snapped. “Every second we sit here doing nothing is another second they have power over her!”

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, spoke up from where she stood near the window. “We are doing something, Jace. We’re figuring this out.”

“Not fast enough,” he shot back, his voice raw with frustration.

Aegon let out a dark chuckle from where he was leaning against the wall. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. If we don’t act now, we’re just waiting for them to release the rest of the videos. And when they do, it’s over.”

Jace’s hands were shaking. He turned to Aemond, his eyes burning. “We need leverage. We need something that will force them to stop before they do any more damage.”

Aemond met his gaze, calculating. “You’re talking about playing their game.”

“I don’t give a fuck what game we have to play, Aemond. We end this. Now.”

Helaena suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “Wait. I think I found something.”

Everyone immediately turned to her.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Helaena’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up a new window. “I traced the number back to an old account linked to multiple aliases. And I just found a lead—an offshore account that was recently accessed from a location in the city.”

Jace leaned over her shoulder, his heart pounding. “Where?”

She hesitated before looking up. “It’s a nightclub. One of theirs.”

Aemond smirked. “Now we’re talking.”

Jace grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Rhaenyra’s voice stopped him. “Jace, wait.”

He turned, his expression dark. “There’s no time to wait.”

She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “I know. But you need to be smart about this. No reckless moves.”

Aegon scoffed. “Kind of hard when we’re dealing with psychopaths who hold all the cards.”

Aemond crossed his arms. “Not for long.”

Jace’s grip tightened on his phone. His mind was made up. “We finish this tonight.”

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

#hotd imagine #hotd #modern jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd headcanon #modern hotd #hotd modern au #hotd fanfic

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pixiecactus · 3 days ago

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okay last post i'm going to make about the whole debacle, but i think it could be important to highlight that those people that think that arya is ugly also can't seem to understand that arya and brienne are different characters in their own right.

and i don't understand really how you can see brienne's chapters dealing with how the world unjustly treats her for being ugly; literally, brienne can't chill for a second and just take a breather without a person calling her ugly.

and then see arya's chapters (let's be real though; fuckers don't read arya's chapters) and think that arya deals with the same thing. arya herself has a warped sense of her own image, thanks to being bullied and the low self-esteem she developed because of it.

what i get is that for them, since both brienne and arya are gender nonconforming girls/women, they should be put in the same box, no matter how vastly different their life experiences are.

do they even understand how heartbreaking it is that arya thinks that jon is the only person in the whole world who will love her no matter what? how unwanted has she been made to feel, just because she has a difficult time trying to conform to a society that hates women and little girls the most?

no, because they don't care about arya as a character at all; they only care to prove that arya's bullies were correct, so those girls were in the right to call arya names and pick on her.

because a post claiming how people shouldn't care about arya's looks and how it is so totally cool that arya is ugly when there is no evidence of this being true in all five books of the series will never be about empowering arya. the post is actually about trying to defend other characters questionable actions (even more when the op is a sansa fan and most of the people agreeing are also sansa fans)

#we even had sansa stans saying that beauty/femininity was never something touched in arya's chapters at all #and this was coming from an autoproclaimed “bad sansa stan” because they preferred arya as ruler of winterfell #and that's how i can say that i have only met like 5 decent fans of sansa during my time here #and how most of the time i see them defending arya from the fandom at large #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house stark #arya stark #anti sansa stans #anti asoiaf fandom

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felixcloud6288 · 2 days ago

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Dungeon Meshi Chapter 76

It's him! It's our boy!

Here's some ideas I got based on the title image:

The Lugantes appear to be dwarfs. They have a connection to the gold peelers. Maybe they hire people to assist with mining operations.

One of the gold peelers is dead. He kind of looks like the corpse retriever from chapter 31 who cast that illusion on Kabru's party but I'm probably not right.

The half-foot next to the Shadow Lord looks like the one from the bar in chapter 9. If he is, then that bar was likely owned by the Shadow Lord. I wonder if the people the orcs killed were ever resurrected.

The Shadow Lord appears to have some connection to the corpse retrievers Kabru killed. If true, then the Shadow Lord may have been helping them track adventurers and cover up their actions for a cut of the profits. Maybe he even sent his own men to kill adventurers and sent the corpse retrievers to "discover" the bodies.

That informant isn't an elf, but they're wearing the same cloak the Canaries wear. The informant has a connection to Fionil so I double-checked her appearance and she's also wearing the same cloak the Canaries wear. Fionil and the informant might be working for the Canaries, but the informant might also be acting as a double agent by giving information to the Lugantes as well.

Had to review the last few chapters cause I wasn't sure why Lycion was okay and just chilling with Laios's party.

He wasn't able to help the other canaries last chapter cause he was busy restraining Izutsumi.

Enough time passed since the end of chapter 74 that Izutsumi was able to get dressed. I don't know if I'd rather take the reasonable assumption that Kabru convinced Lycion and Izutsumi to stop fighting and she got dressed after, or if I'd rather take the silly approach and say the two of them just decided to stop fighting on their own and were just sitting around eating the leftover bavarois until Kabru showed up.

Izutsumi's scarf is tied in a bow and I refuse to believe she would have done that, and I am therefore going to headcanon that Lycion tied her scarf into a bow.

Fleki isn't dead so the lion obeyed the letter of Marcille's command to not kill anyone but not the spirit.

Mithrun survived by teleporting into a giant spider. The thing that hit the wall last chapter was the spider's guts.

That's...really gross.

And the teddy bear spider had teeth.

Mithrun can't teleport when making a lot of contact? So this means a grappler opponent is a hard counter if they can manage to grab and pin him before Mithrun teleports them.

Did Kabru choke Mithrun out? And was Mithrun the one who made the cuffs?

The giant spiders having non-spider heads really does just make them creepier. Especially when their bodies get crushed. Spiders have a decentralized nervous system, so limbs can react independently even after the brain is destroyed. And the rabbit-head spider's ears can still move despite being dead.

Is there a name for the way Laios is carrying Cithis? The best comparison I found was the piggyback carry where the rider is supposed to wrap their arms around the carrier. But since she's unconscious, Laios is holding her arms criss-cross to secure her.

Don't ever think Laios is stupid. He had enough intuition to figure out what happened after Cithis hypnotized him.

I don't know why, but I feel like Lycion would get along great with Laios's party. If they didn't have opposing goals, he and Fleki would probably be best buds with the gang.

I keep forgetting that Lycion is a beastman. I jokingly said he was the Canary's Senshi (because of fanservice), but he's actually more like a reverse Izutsumi.

On that train of thought, I'm going to assign Mithrun as the anti-Senshi (Doesn't care about his health or well-being at all), Fleki as the anti-Chilchuck (She seems like a snarker who complains about everything), Pattadol as the anti-Marcille (both are really high-strung and by-the-books), and Cithis as the anti-Laios (She's just evil). I don't know where to fit Otta in this so I'm just going to call her the anti-Namari cause why not?

On a completely pointless note, we can say that Cithis and Pattadol are heavier than Otta because Izutsumi could carry Otta but Laios and Senshi had to carry Cithis and Pattadol.

This image is really disorienting.

The dungeon doesn't adhere to Euclidean space but this just lays bare how nonsense the layout was. In particular, we can see the entrance to the fourth level on the left center of the image. You have to exit out of the bottom of a tower with no other discernible entry points.

The secret town on the sixth floor is in the background and we can see the top layer of the dwarf city ruins under it.

Falin's body has been moved.

Several early chapters in the series brought up the ecologic balance of the dungeon. In particular, I remember Senshi explaining that the golems on the third floor serve as a deterrent to keep the stronger monsters from moving to higher levels.

With all the levels now on the same plane, we're seeing something like that scenario play out. The natural bottlenecks the old dungeon structure had are broken and flying monsters have immediately attempted to expand their territories.

Some monsters can't survive in the upper levels because the mana concentration is too thin. If monsters are managing to move across different environments, that could mean that the amount of mana in the air is increasing as well.

I can't tell if the reason Laios is worried is because Marcille's actions will get people killed or because she's doing a bad job building the dungeon.

Fleki got brain damage when her familiar was killed, but Marcille wasn't affected by her familiars' deaths. It's probably because Marcille's familiars were constructs while Fleki's aren't.

Marcille's familiars were more like drones she was piloting remotely. When the first two were killed by the hippogriff, she had a stressed look to her eyes so the sudden disconnection might be mentally taxing, but it doesn't actually affect her.

Fleki's familiars are conjured by her. She has at least two familiars: the raven familiar she uses in battle and white dove familiars she uses for scouting. I want to guess that the white doves are more similar to Marcille's familiars; they're drones that let Fleki scout in wide areas and likely won't harm her if they get attacked.

Her raven familiar is definitely an extension of her. I mentioned in chapter 74 that she has a tattoo of some sort on her chest. That might be what lets her summon her raven. And she's able to control how much her soul exists in the raven. In chapter 73, she was unconscious until the raven flew back into her. But in chapter 74, she was just remote piloting it.

I realized while talking about Fleki that she wears a hawker's glove.

And again, the Canaries refuse to actually work with non-elves. It might be beneficial to work with Laios, but Lycion told him to not get involved. And as soon as Laios said no, Lycion immediately escalated to violence. Laios doesn't even know why the situation is worse than it seems.

Initially, Laios was in shock when Lycion showed off his power but then he was enthralled.

Kabru does not have a weapon. And I'd say he hasn't had a weapon since returning to the surface. He probably thought he wouldn't need one since he was just going to try negotiating with the Shadow Lord. And then everything happened.

Kensuke was all confuzzled and curious because someone else was holding it.

It's probably a mix of urgency and only recently meeting Kabru, but Laios got over Kabru lying to him really quickly. It's probably happened plenty of times where he met someone, thought they hit it off and quickly learned that wasn't the case. Shuro hurt far more because they'd been together for years. Laios had only known Kabru for about a month, so he could just brush it off as another failed interaction.

Kabru is a manipulator, and Laios is the one person he's never been able to successfully manipulate. He took an interest in Laios because Laios's party had been the most successful at navigating the dungeon, and Kabru wanted to know what might happen if he were to conquer the dungeon.

But at some point, that interest turned into an obsession, especially since he could never ensnare Laios with any of his usual methods. Kabru's conspiracy board shows how all the other figures, adventurers, and organizations tie together; but the Touden siblings sit in the middle of that board because Kabru can't figure out how they connect to anything.

His only avenue to getting close to Laios was by eating monsters, which he hated and it drove him so crazy that Kabru started picturing Laios as a deranged madman who is a threat to mankind.

And with the charade revealed, Laios is figuratively and literally slipping out of Kabru's grip.

Apologizing for his deception gave Kabru one chance to plead with Laios, but he had no idea what to say because none of his manipulations and honeyed words will work. He tried to explain the situation but he knows deep down that Laios doesn't care about the world or the greater good. Nothing Kabru says about the situation will convince Laios to leave a friend behind.

So Kabru decided to be genuine.

Laios's obliviousness to how others feel about him works in two ways. Not only was he clueless to Shuro not wanting to be Laios's friend, he was clueless to Kabru wanting to be his friend. Shuro dealt with a lot of grief because Laios thought they were friends the whole time. And Kabru suffered a lot in his efforts to become Laios's friends.

And they both did the same thing when they reached their tipping point.

And then he airs out all his grievances about Laios's obliviousness.

CANNONBALL BREAKER!!!

It's been a serious chapter and the tension got broken up by Kui reminding us that Izutsumi and Lycion were fighting each other right off-screen during this entire heart-to-heart.

Kabru didn't manage to stop Laios, but he managed to get his point across. While Laios is determined to save Marcille, he will not side with the lion. And when this is over, he and Kabru will sit down and get to know each other.

They all forgot that Thistle's house was converted into a floating island.

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#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi readthrough

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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You have no idea how excited I was for this series and it did not disappoint in the slightest! It hit all the right spots, love!! I'm so thrilled to see where it goes from here 😍🫶

Details below 😉👇

First of all, it's one thing to wake up to yelling, but the freaking air horn?! Wow, our poor boy 😂😂

You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

I feel like that would've been on her, though 😆 If I had a boy roommate and surprised him in the morning, I wouldn't be shocked to my core to encounter morning wood lmao

The angst and constant (adorably idiotic) overthinking of Dean's during their whole shopping trip was delicious! I devoured that shit, girl. And when the crotchless panties showed up – dead 💀

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something. But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Ooof, and that is always the downfall 🙈 They're not gonna communicate properly throughout this whole fic, are they? Am I gonna be yelling at you a lot? Probably. But all out of love 😂😘

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Benny cracked me up with this line. I could so imagine him saying that with that little smirk of his 😆

I loved the guys' night out and how all of them, without a fail, made fun of Dean and knew from the start what he was talking about 😂😂

And that childhood meeting story about killed me with cuteness! Stawp 😭💕🍭

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else.

Uh-huh. I'm not believing a word he's telling me right now 😂 Gabe was right. Denial is a powerful drug lol

Gary from marketing.

Ugh, not Gary from marketing 🙄 (Honestly, who still names their child Gary these days? Not exactly a name I wanna scream in bed. No offense to any Garys reading this 😂)

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

I'm a sucker for a wasted reader/wasted Dean. (Happy) drunk people are the freaking best gift 😂🥂

I swear, if Dean doesn't communicate his feelings properly, I will throw a shoe at the screen of my laptop, hoping it will goddamn hit him 😅

But that kiss?! HOLY HELL 🔥🔥🔥 (Please ma'am, may I have some more of this hotness?)

And I love that Dean realized she was too drunk for this, but now I'm genuinely worried how the next morning will go? 👀 Are they going to be awkward about it, avoid one another, or actually talk? (Yeah, I know. The last one is a stretch lol). I'm aware of the fic title and love the friends with benefits trope, so I'm so stoked for all the angst to come and flourish in the next chapters! 😁👏

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking.

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line.

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job.

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them.

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there.

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous.

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect.

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him.

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages.

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time?

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that.

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep.

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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gvshing · 2 days ago

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─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─PRETTY GIRL DEALING─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

(warning for weed usage and dealing!!) pt 1. pt 2.

⊹₊⋆CHAPTER THREE⊹₊⋆

A week has passed since you last bought from Ellie. You still had some from the last time you had bought, but you wanted to see Ellie. It had been kind of awkward since the day after you two had hung out. Not to anyone’s fault most likely. Classes are busy right now, it’s the middle of the semester. Lots of projects and essays are due right now, so you tried not to take it personally that Ellie and your texts seemed a bit dry. But, it was hard not to. It felt like there was a connection, so the sudden awkward tension is off putting to you. Swallowing your anxiety you text her a simple ‘Hey :)’.

When Ellie receives your text she feels her heart skip. She stares at it for 15 seconds before she opens it and replies. ‘Hey! What's up?’ She’s pretty sure you’re just wanting to re-up on weed but part of her hopes you’re wanting to talk or hang out. Even though she should be finishing her physics homework. The other part of her hopes her hypothesis is correct. She likes you, but she can’t. She shouldn’t. Within a minute your reply dings on her phone. ‘Think I can swing by later? Same as last time! Maybe we could hang out too? Dina’s busy today :( it’s okay if you’re busy too obvi!’ She’s not sure how to process the fact that both halves of her get what they want. Dina’s words ringing through her head. ‘Trust me by trusting them’ She sighs and runs her hands over her face roughly. Staring at your text she decides there’s no harm in being nice and at least trying. Ellie’s hands have a hard time gripping her phone from how sweaty they’ve suddenly become. ‘Yeah that sounds good! Is about 6 okay?’ She drops her phone on the bed and blows out the breath she was holding, feeling faint from the lack of air. She can do this. It’s just hanging out with somebody, and at least she sorta knows you now. It’s not like you’re a complete stranger. Now at least.

Come six o’clock and she’s pacing around her room, nerves tingling all through her body. She’s put herself at a distance since the first and last time you guys had hung out. She doesn’t want you to think she’s weird, or get fucked over if you’re only using her for weed. Which would be fair, she sells it so of course most people just want weed from her. If you just want weed, fine. She just can’t fall for somebody who might use her. She hears your light knock on the door and jumps, getting pulled out of her train of thoughts and anxiety. She opens the door and sees you smiling wide at her. Chest fluttering, she lets you in. “Hey, El! How’s your day been?” You beamed at her, sitting down on her desk chair. You’re looking around the room, memorizing all her wall decor and small trinkets that line her shelves. “Uh… it’s been good. Just school today thankfully. I’ve been meaning to call Joel, but I’ve been so busy or tired so I keep forgetting.” Ellie rambles while she pulls out her weed supply and sits on her bed to unlock the box. You cock your head to the side and furrow your eyebrows. “You’ve mentioned him a few times. Is he your dad? Sorry, you’ve probably told me before.” You laugh awkwardly and rub the back of your neck. “Oh! Yeah! My bad, I always forget not everybody knows him. He’s practically my dad. He’s taken care of me for longer than I have memories and I don’t know. He’s great. He can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes, but that’s just the old man in him.” She locks her box back and walks over to the desk you’re sitting at. She begins to weigh out the weed and you start to stand up to offer your seat. She shakes her head and motions for you to sit back down. “I’ll be okay. Thank you though. Pretty girls should always be allowed the seat first.” She mutters, her face getting redder by the second. Before you can retort back at her flirting, or at least you hope it’s flirting, she begins talking again. “I don’t mean to sound like I hate Joel. I love him, we’ve had our disagreements for sure though. I wouldn’t trade him for anything though. He gave me my guitar, I grew a love for playing because of him.” She finishes weighing it out, much faster this time than last. Stuffing it into a small ziplock she hands it over to you. “That’s sweet. About Joel I mean. He sounds great. I understand completely about putting off calling them. Sometimes it makes the pain of being away hurt more than usual. It’s midterms soon also, so you’re busy. I get it. And thank you for the weed Ellie. You’re the best.” You look up at her, grinning wide enough your eyes close. She smiles softly back at you. “How much do I owe you?” You question. Ellie seems to think about it deeply before telling you the same amount as last time. “What? Ellie, seriously. You don’t have to give me another discount. I’m willing to pay whatever you charge. I don’t want to take money out of your pocket.” you bargain, or I guess reverse bargain. She shakes her head. “No seriously! I know you’re good for it. And plus I expect us to smoke together while we hang out.” She crosses her arms and strikes a silly pose. You giggle at her theatrics. “Of course I’m gonna share. Don’t be ridiculous.” You reach in your pocket and grab a twenty dollar bill. You place it halfway under her laptop and stand up. “Okay, sit your ass down, smoke my weed and keep me company instead of pouting.” You flop down on her bed scooting over to the wall and pat the space next to you. She grins and mimics your flop down. Stretching and groaning loudly, you laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay drama. What do you smoke your weed out of?”

For the next few hours you and Ellie smoke and laugh together. “No seriously! She was so fucking drunk. She was leaning on Jesse and we were all dying of laughter! She just kept telling him she loved him and repeatedly proclaiming how drunk she was. As if we didn’t know. Dina made me promise the next day to never let her drink that much ever again or to ever even bring it up to her.” You reminisce about Dina and her antics together, crying with laughter over your mutual dear friend. “God, she’s always been a silly drunk, getting emotional and all lovey dovey.” Ellie had her head in your lap, resting it there over an hour ago. She had been complaining about her back hurting from the shitty sitting position she had subjected herself to. So you told her to lie back in your lap, after a long deliberation she eventually gave in. You wipe your eyes free from the tears that accumulated from laughing too hard. You drop your hands down and set them in Ellie’s hair. You stroke her hair mindlessly, focusing only on catching your breath. Ellie can only focus on the way your hands feel when you run them through her hair. While you’re catching your breath, hers is getting lost in her chest. Her face growing red and her palms getting sweaty. You look down at her smiling and blowing out a final deep breath. You catch her eyes with your own. You both stare at one another, a tension in the air. “Hi.” you say softly. “Hello.” She mutters back, not able to break eye contact. Realizing the position you’re in, you join her in the blushing. You break eye contact first, opting to look over at her T.V. that plays some random youtube video at a low volume. “It’s late. Um… I should probably go. I don’t want to keep you up late again,” You say to her. Realizing your hand is still resting on her head, strands of hair intertwined through your fingers. She sits up and rubs her arm. “Yeah, yeah. I hope I didn’t keep you too long. Thanks for hanging out and… yeah. I enjoy your company. Can I… Maybe if you would like, can I walk you back to your dorm? Just to make sure you get back safe!” Ellie adds quickly. You smile shyly at her and nod enthusiastically at her offer. “Please.”

When you arrive at your door you turn around and gleam at her. “It was really sweet of you to walk me home. I’m really happy to have met you. Thank you.” You place a hand on her shoulder and lean forward to press a kiss against her cheek. Leaning back you move your hand to cup the cheek you had just kissed and smile at her. She blushes furiously and gapes at you, butterflies dancing in her chest. “Goodnight Ellie.” She raises a hand and gives you a small wave muttering a goodnight as you walk into your dorm. She stands staring at your door. In shock of your endearing interaction. Her heart was beating all throughout her body. She begins her walk back to her own dorm, hand placed over her cheek. The feeling of your lips and cupped hand lingering. She feels a buzz in her pocket and pulls out her phone. “Text me when you’re home safe please :) Thank you again for hanging out with me. You’re the best.”

Stumbling through her haze, she arrives at her door before she knows it. She pulls her key and phone out of her pocket. Unlocking her door with one hand, she types back a reply with the other. “I’m home :) I’d hang out with you anytime. goodnight Y/N.” Ellie gets ready for bed, overthinking everything. Maybe opening herself up to have these experiences can be good. She should try at least. She’s starting to like you a lot. More than just a simple crush. It’s growing for her. How does she feel these feelings so fast? She can’t wrap her head around it. She wants this to be good, she wants to try to do this. What if though? She still feels like she shouldn’t be this happy. You have only hung out twice. She needs to pump the breaks. But how? All she wants to do is be around you all the time. She thought maybe taking a step back from texting past that first night would make her feel less intense about you. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t her just starved of physical attraction or attention. She could just be taking whatever she could get subconsciously. But she knows that’s not the case. She likes you. She sees the beauty and gentleness inside you. She’s infatuated. Your eyes she gets lost in, your soft hands she would die to hold just one time, your soft lips she couldn’t imagine actually kissing instead of just feeling pressed against the soft of her cheek. She wants you, all of you. She needs to know who you are, every angle, the good and bad. She’s sure she’s already in deep. She hopes she’s not reading too far into your actions. What if that’s just how you are with your friends? Some people are touchy with their friends. She hugs Dina all the time and once or twice has received or given her kisses on the cheek. Anxiety ignites in her chest at the thought of her taking your actions the wrong way. She crosses her fingers that she’s not. She lays down on her bed and opens her window, forever thankful she got a dorm room that actually has a window. Some people weren’t so lucky. She was though. She loved to look up at the sky and imagine being up there, where the stars and moon are. She daydreams about making her own civilization on the moon's surface. Somewhere better, somewhere perfect. Away from all the uncertainty of earth. She stares up and hopes for a falling comet, hoping for a wish to fall into her lap. A wish that she was correct, and that for once her feelings were reciprocated. She falls asleep staring up at that sky. She dreams of you. She dreams of that perfect life together. One with a cozy house and a big backyard. Definitely a dog that leaps over with glee when she gets home from a long day’s work. A perfect life that involves you greeting her at the door with a kiss. She thinks that if that was her life she’d never have another complaint for as long as she lived. She wakes up feeling empty, knowing that’s not her current reality. But, when she’s dreaming, laying so sweetly and breathing so calmly, it’s real. And it’s perfect.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

that took longer for me to write than it should've... it's not like I write a lot when I write, so why must it take my brain so long to get this all out... anyway! Lowkey... surprised anybody has been reading my stuff so I appreciate everyone who's taken the time out of their day to read my silly little story! Thank you thank you thank you!

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quintessenceofdust88 · 2 days ago

Note

Of course some 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Diana baby! ♥ Here are 30 sentences of tsunami for you, direct continuation from my fuck it friday, and it comes with the promise that the last chapter will be up at Tuesday by the latest (but I really really wanna have it out tomorrow!) ♥

- 🌊

“Vivie, that is so beautiful, pixie,” Tommy tells her, because he’s a firm believer in always praising her daughter for her efforts (actually he’s a firm believer in giving Genevieve everything he’s never had growing up, but that is neither her nor there). But he’s afraid he’ll have to burst her bubble at least a little bit. “But… you know Daddy is not going to see Mr. Evan, right? We don’t work together, sweetheart.”

Genevieve looks at him as if Tommy’s being particularly obtuse. He briefly thinks that, if she’s mastered this look by this point, he’s already praying for himself during her childhood. She crosses her little arms and huffs at him.

“I know you don’t work together, Daddy, Mr. Evan works with Christopher’s daddy!” She tells him. “But you’re going to his house, aren’t you?”

Tommy looks at Sal, completely at loss, but his best friend is no help. Sal looks back at him with a shrug, clearly making an herculean effort to hold back his laughter, and Tommy glares at him before looking back at Tommy.

“Baby, why would I be going to his house?” He asks, completely baffled.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to Evan Buckley’s house. It’s not like he hasn’t low-key stalked the man’s social media and the last three days and been even more charmed by what he saw. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about asking the other man out at least ten times since that day.

But Tommy can’t, because he can’t hold Evan accountable for the things he said under the effect of anesthesia. Tommy doesn’t know what scares him the most about bringing it up: Evan being honest and telling him that of course he didn’t mean it, he’s straight, what is Tommy even thinking, or Evan being too polite to say that and date him out of a sense of obligation.

(The thought that maybe Evan did mean it never crosses his mind. But apparently it crosses Vivie’s.)

“Because, Daddy, mr. Howie said you should, remember?” She tells him, and for once in his life Tommy curses her absurdly good memory. “He said you should check it if mr. Evan meant it or if he was just being silly!”

“Wait, wait, silly about what? What did Buckley say?” Sal asks, his gossiper vein clearly showing, and Genevieve is answering before Tommy can stop her.

“About wanting Daddy to ask him out!” She says, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “He said Daddy should, as a thank you, but Daddy said he didn’t mean it because he was too sleepy!”

Sal smirks like he has just won the lottery, and Tommy would strangle him if he wasn’t hurt. Tommy’s cheeks blush impossibly red, and he runs a hand through his face, wondering how he can tell his five-year-old to shut up without traumatizing her.

“Did he now? Isn’t that interesting?” Sal says, crossing his arms and smiling smugly at Tommy, who flips him off mentally.

“It’s not, because he was under heavy painkillers and probably wouldn’t know the difference between me and Margot Robbie at that moment.” Tommy grumbles.

“Dude, that’s flattering yourself” Sal scoffs at the same time Vivie pipes ‘Who’s Margot Robbie?!’, and Tommy very maturely chooses to ignore both of them. But he should have known there’s no stopping his determined little matchmaker. --- I hope you like it and have a wonderful week, sweetheart!

[make me write]

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #gabby writes #life is changin' tides #tsunami fic

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atzluvz · 1 day ago

Text

Through blood and petals

Series masterlist

A/N: As previously stated this is my first ff ! All opinions and feedback is appreciated :)

Pairing : Mafia!San x reader (not written in this chapter though)

Warnings : angst, san gets traumatized, major character death (it all works out in the end tho i promise) , san is in the mafia n highkey a serial killer...

Word count: 1.3K

Series Summary : San let his guard down once, and it cost him everything. Now, he’s built his walls higher than ever.Living with the weight of his past. But when a kind hearted florist enters his life, his carefully guarded world starts to crack. He swears he won’t make the same mistake twice; but some things are impossible to resist.

Chapter 1: No surprises

“A heart that's full up like a landfill. A job that slowly kills you, bruises that won't heal.”

San didn’t really like his career, and not the typical “I hate my job, aarrgghh!!!” kind of complaints. He genuinely despised it. And not that he could back out, oh no. Everyone knew once you joined the mafia, the only way out was in a casket. Maybe that’s why he learned to dissociate during work, leaving all his feelings and emotions behind in his cozy, luxurious penthouse. But what did that make him? A killer without emotions? A machine? No, that’s what made him the perfect asset to the Velvet Dagger Cartel: fast, effective kills with no attachment to his victims. San was there to do his job and make the evidence disappear like it never even happened. Each life he took was like checking off another item on his checklist. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his targets as real people. That was, until he met her.

She was supposed to be like the rest, just another civilian to help expand their territory. But when San got his mission folder, something didn’t sit right. They never gave him undercover roles, let alone for a ridiculous three months. He was supposed to intern at the bakery where she worked, learn her schedule, poison her, and check her off the list. Simple. Clean. Efficient. But for some reason, everything about this felt wrong.

At first it was nothing. Just brief glances as she served pastries with a smile that was too warm for his liking, too much emotion, too much vulnerability. But as the hours merged into days, her laughter echoed in his mind when his shift was long over. How her voice would greet every customer with a level of kindness he doubted existed in this world, it started to tear him down. She was just a mission, nothing more.

But she had this refreshing feeling to her. She was nothing like the cold, calculating people he was used to. She had this aura that made everything feel softer. She’d talk about her dreams of opening a bakery, how she wanted to make the world a little sweeter, one pastry at a time. She shared stories of her childhood, how it was only her and her mom, but they managed. It was bittersuite she said, a loss of something to earn something else. Every detail about her life was wrapped in warmth, like the oven’s heat that surrounded the bakery. And the more San watched her, the more he saw her as something other than a target. She became a person, a real, breathing, beautiful person.

And suddenly it happened. He couldn't tell when the information he was supposed to extract turned into real interest. How he’d linger in the kitchen for too long, asking questions about ingredients or recipes, only to watch how her eyes lit up when she explained. Every smile she gave him felt like a small crack in the cold walls he’d built around himself. Not like she was blind to it, and he knew, they both knew the feeling between them wasn't platonic. Slowly the meetings discussing the bakeries turned into dates at a nearby cafe. And in those moments, san forgot all about his job. He was just … him. And she was just her. The more he fell for her, the harder it was for him to remember his purpose.

So, when the poison arrived, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even after he learnt everything he was supposed to know. The way she would come in at 8:00 every morning and leave at 5:30 with a cinnamon roll in her hand every time, always with a smile. That stupid smile, the one that made him melt. She didn't deserve to die. She didn't deserve to become yet another name on his stupid list. But the mafia isn't forgiving. They wanted her gone, and so he had to make her disappear. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

San arrived home later than usual that night, the weight of his mission plaguing his mind. He had made up his mind. He would end it. He would walk away. He’d tell her everything, run away with her, leave it all behind. But the moment he walked through the door, the air was thick with something unfamiliar. The faint scent of roses. Her scent.

He froze in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat as he saw her.Her body was sprawled out in the middle of the living room. Her once vibrant eyes were open but lifeless, staring blankly ahead. A trail of blood pooled beneath her, the color stark against his white rugs. The delicate flowers she’d worn earlier were crushed under her body, petals scattered like remains of a dream that had never had a chance to bloom. She was gone. And it was all his fault.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Trying to memorize every detail, the way her hair framed her face, the soft curve of her lips, the faintest trace of a smile she’d given him just hours before, as if she had known nothing was wrong. But in her delicate hands, the ones that once held him so softly, was a piece of paper. Marked with a dagger. He recognized it all too well. The letters he once placed himself, now in the hands of the love of his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He couldn’t bear to face whoever was on the other end. He knew what they wanted. He knew what they would say. But then, it rang again. And this time, he answered it. “Did you think you could walk away, San?” The voice was cold, laced with amusement. “You let us down. We thought you were better than this. But you lowered your guard” he heard a spine chilling chuckle from the other side “ Your just like the rest of us. Disposable.” San’s grip tightened around the phone. His eyes never left her body. “You took her from me,” he said, his voice barely controlled. “You’ll pay for that.”

The rage inside him was a wildfire. He wasn’t the cold, emotionless machine anymore. She had turned him into something different. Something human. Without thinking, he grabbed his gun from the table and left the penthouse. Moving like a predator hunting down its prey. He made his way to the headquarters, each step fueled by the image of her lifeless face, her broken body. He didn’t care how many lives he had to take. He didn’t care who stood in his way. They wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. He cocked his gun before kicking the door in….

The heavy air in the room felt like it was pressing down on him. San stood in the doorway, the faintest tremor in his hand as he wiped a smear of blood from his collar. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of his boots scraping the floor as he stepped forward. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the men who had once called him a brother, now sprawled motionless, their expressions forever frozen.

Chapter 1.5 : Fourth of july OUT NOW!!

#Spotify #ateez #choi san #san #ateez san #atz #san x reader #mafia x reader #mafia au #ateez ff #ateez angst

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tribalauthor · 3 days ago

Text

THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff) <chapter 13>

word count: 2.4K

Sophia's POV:

We've been in the arena the whole day today. I watched Roman rehearse for the match later.

I also finally met Jey. Since our work schedules don't align I haven't had the chance to meet him but now I did. He seems like a very good man. Just like all of the Bloodline.

I also had the honor to meet Naomi - Jimmy's wife who is going to return at the Women's Rumble match. It's been years since she left WWE but now she is returning and I'm sure fans are going to be so happy.

As of now I am talking Cathy. We befriended each other since we both have masters in Journalism. I also learned she graduated in Julliard as well. Suddenly a male voice interrupted our conversation.

"Finally I get to see Sophia face to face." the voice sounded oddly familiar. I turned around and there was CM Punk in front of me. He has history with my uncle too.

I smiled at him.

"Nice to meet you." I said politely and he reached his hand for a handshake. After we shook our hands he hugged me which took me off guard.

"You grew up so much. I remember the day after your uncle saved my whole career back in 2002 he invited me to his home and you were there. A sweet, little girl who turned into a woman. A Wise Woman." he corrected himself and I just slightly chuckled at him. "You were talking serious smack back then and I told Paul that you are going to replace him one day. Turns out I was right."

"I am replacing him temporarily, Mr. Punk." I replied to him with an assuring note in my tone.

"How is his leg?"

"It's getting better but really, really slowly. I don't know when he's gonna come back." I said the truth.

"Gotta jump to New York and visit him soon." he muttered.

"How are you feeling about the match?" I asked. It's good to hear the point of view of Rumble's contestants.

"Can't wait to win." he replied confidently. "I may be old, darling, but I still have the same blood boiling as I did 20 years ago. And when I win, I'm gonna choose to face your Tribal Chief, gonna defeat him and then take you as my Wise Woman." the gray haired man just spilled all of his plans and winked at me.

"Good ideas, Mr. Punk but let's not get too bold." I replied.

"What's going on here?" this time I heard a clearly familiar voice from behind me and it was my boyfriend's.

"Talking about the good old days and the sweet new future." Punk replied to Roman. I looked at him and he had his arms crossed.

"Phil, there's some questions we need to discuss." Cathy told him and they went somewhere.

"I don't like him." Roman said as Punk left. "What was he telling you?"

"Nothing. Just that once he saw me when I was a toddler and now I am a grown woman." I said the truth but I'm not gonna say the last part because it's gonna get him mad and that's the least I would want right now.

"Yeah, you are. He is also married. Did he tell you that?" he asked, still sounding a bit heated.

"No. We didn't get to that part since we didn't talk much." I responded trying to sound calm.

"I don't like other men talking to you. I'm gonna be real." Roman stated and I just started laughing cause he is so cute when he gets jealous. "I want to protect you from these hyenas. And I will."

"Okay." I said and I really wanted to hug him and kiss him right now but we promised to act professional around the colleagues for the time being since we want the kiss later to be a surprise for everyone. "But just so you know, not everyone wants to take me from you. It's just collegiality, my Tribal Chief."

"Nah. I know these men better than you think. It's not just collegiality." he sounded so sure and I didn't feel like arguing, so I didn't say anything.

Roman Reigns is protective over his territory.

...

"Look at you, lil' mama." Roman exclaimed once I came out with the full glam Balmain he got for me.

I wrinkled my face by the way he called me, though.

"Lil' mama?" I repeated.

"I'm sorry, it just slipped out." he apologized and then stood up coming closer to me.

"The first thing that slipped out of your tongue is lil' mama?" I asked him while he approached me, completely towering over me despite the fact that I'm wearing high heels.

"I think it's broken can you fix it?" Roman asked back and leaned to kiss me. He is a very slick man. I felt him pulling my body closer to his while I got my hands on his chest.

We slightly pulled away with our faces still being close.

"By the way, how do you picture our kiss later?" I asked.

"Mm. I don't know. Let's practice the options and then we are gonna decide." he suggested and I shook my head at him all grinning.

...

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is the start of WWE's 2024 Royal Rumble. Very important matches are ahead of us and as y'all see I'm even in front of the Tribal Chief's room to interview his Wise Woman and give us a little sneak peek of what should we expect later." Cathy spoke on the mic and then she handed it to me waiting for my response.

"The Roman Reigns that is in this very room behind me is not the Roman Reigns people know or are used to." I started explaining dramatically. "He's been preparing mentally and physically for this match because he is defending the Undisputed title not from one, not from two but three men at the same time, Cathy." I said. "If we think about this when was the last time we got a fatal 4-way match with a title defense?" I asked rhetorically. "Roman Reigns is currently getting ready to make history again tonight." I declared.

"And do you think he is winning?" she asked me and I furrowed my eyebrows at her.

"Please, don't ask me stupid questions. I will provide a spoiler and not a prediction that your reignsing, defending, undisputed WWE Universal Heavyweight Champion, your Tribal Chief, Roman Reigns is retaining the title." I spoke with pure confidence, feeling the spirit of my uncle taking over me.

"Do you have any predictions or spoilers about the Women and Men's Rumble matches?" Cathy asked me.

"For the Women's Rumble I root for my girl Tiffany Stratton and for the Men's it's gotta be Jimmy. I already explained him. He wins, faces Gunther and takes the World Heavyweight Championship in the Bloodline." I replied.

"Alright, Sophia. Thank you for your time and that outfit is fire." Cathy complimented me.

"Thank you." I replied politely and she left with the camera men.

...

After the long entrances, the powerful introductions from Samantha and the punches and maneuvers all the men have been pulling, the match was near its end.

Just like uncle, I am holding Roman's Ula Fala like the totem of reign and dominance it is. I am also observing the match thoroughly and it's so nerve-wracking yet exciting yet scary.

Never have I ever thought in my life how many emotions you can experience just in one wrestling match and especially when you are sitting ride beside the ring. I start to understand uncle more and more every single day why he cherishes this business so much.

The stipulation of this match is awful by the way. Whoever pins somebody, takes the championship. It's not necessary to be Roman.

As a Wise Woman, I tried to play my part for a while and I think I did it perfectly. With that perfect bodice with deep cleavage, it wasn't hard for me to distract Roman's opponents. He saw how they were staring at me and that made him even more furious, enhancing his performance.

Solo interfered in the match, Samoan spiking Randy and LA knight but AJ Styles turned out the things in his way, spearing Solo through the baricade.

While Roman was sure he got Randy and Knight, AJ was about to jump at him from behind. I was yelling to warn my boyfriend and he moved away.

AJ is now on the ground and Roman started throwing punches at him then pulled him for a DDT.

Shoulders on the mat.

1, 2, 3.

And Roman Reigns retains.

Samantha's voice echoed through the whole arena announcing the victory of the Tribal Chief.

I got in the ring swiftly grabbing the championship from the official. With the belt in my one hand and the Ula Fala in the other I kneeled before the lying body of my boyfriend. He was dripping from sweat, his long curly hair getting slightly frizzy and looking tired as hell which is expected after a match like this.

I will take a good care of him when we get back.

When he saw me kneeling in front of him, he got in the same position too. I handed him his most priced possessions but he pulled me in for a kiss instead.

Just like how we arranged it.

The kiss was exchanged was deep but not too passionate. We came to a decision not to go too crazy yet.

I heard how the crowd started screaming, yelling and clapping. When I opened my eyes, I saw genuine shock in everyone's faces from the crowd until the commentators and Samantha.

My heart was beating loudly from all the excitement and adrenaline that is going through my whole body right now. It's a feeling that is hard to be described.

I put the Ula Fala on Roman's neck and when we finally decided to get up, I put the belt on his waist too and then he pulled his one up, taunting his opponents and the part of the crowd that is sick of seeing him as a champion.

Then we headed out of the arena, some people shouting and applauding, others were basically frozen.

No one saw that coming.

I know that a lot of questions will get upon us.

I was actually wrong. The colleagues behind the scenes seemed speechless.

"Amazing job." Hunter praised us.

"Sophia Marie Heyman." uncle spoke through the phone.

We were facetiming, of course and Joe was right next to me.

"I have so many questions. How did you two decide to do it? Who came up with the idea? Is this all real or storyline and last but not least why wasn't it discussed with me?" my uncle seemed completely off guard.

Me and Roman just exchanged some guilty looks, trying to see who is gonna start explaining.

"Well, first of all, uncle I'd like to say this is all real." I started and his eyes widened and when uncle's eyes widen they become exactly like those animatec characters which makes it so funny but I am also scared of what he is going to say.

"So you are saying my Tribal Chief is now my nephew-in-law." he concluded and me and Roman started laughing.

"Paul. I felt instantly attracted to Soph ever since the moment I saw her and you know best that when I want something, I get it." he declared, looking so determined.

"Then Triple H called us and based on the fan's reactions about us, he wanted to do a little storyline thing. We didn't know you would react to all of this plus it was all a secret between us three. No one had any idea. Not even Jimmy and Solo." I spoke tge truth and uncle shook his head slowly.

"I need some time to process all of this." he put his hand on his forehead. "My niece with my Tribal Chief, oh my God. I know both of you so perfectly. Never would I ever foresee you attracting each other. Are you serious or is it just momentarily?"

Me and Roman got offended by this question.

"Paul, I thought you knew I am a serious guy, make it even 10 times more in this case cause we are talking about your blood." Roman responded with certainty.

"For the record uncle, I have never been unserious about something my whole life. I like Roman, I like spending time with him hence I want to be his partner not only in WWE." I said with the same tone too.

"Alright." hs suddenly settled. "I have no other choice but to acknowledge your intentions towards each other but I gotta warn you, Roman right here and right now, if you break Sophia's heart in any way and make her regret her decisions, it's over with your career. That is not a prediction, it's a spoiler." uncle alerted his dear friend and colleague and I tried to contain my laughter.

"Got it, Paul." Roman replied obediently. "I'm gonna bring her positive emotions only, I promised it to her and now to you as well. She is not going to regret being with me."

"Okay. I believe you but I still had to say all of this for the protocol." uncle nodded his head.

I think he took it better than expected.

...

I am lying next to Roman in his bed running my fingers softly through his chest, exchaning couple of kisses from time to time.

"I just realized something." I spoke and he looked at me with interest. "This was our first match together."

I saw a cute grin on Joe's face and he wrapped his hands around my body.

"And how'd you like it?" he asked.

"It was amazing. You were perfect." I purred and slowly smooched his lips.

"You were amazing too, baby. The way you were distracting these uncles...see? They are all married but the second they see a young woman like you, they fold." he spoke with a matter-of-fact tone.

"And that's why I'm using this fact as my advantage." I winked at him and we kissed again.

"I fully support that but be careful, okay?" I nodded.

"Are you hurt, baby?" I pouted my lips and suddenly his cheeks got red.

"Did you just call me 'baby'? Joe giggled like a school girl and I bit my lower lip. "Nah, I'm not hurt. When you are around me, I cannot feel pain, babygirl." he replied to me and pulled me for a hug then kissed my head.

As we started to feel tired I fell asleep in his embrace.

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #tribal chief #wwe #head of the table #the bloodline #wwe fanfiction #wwe fandom

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angelasscribbles · 3 days ago

Text

Best of My Love: A Victim of Love One-Shot

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley. Drake x Hana mentioned.

Word Count: 958

Rating: G, fluff

Warnings for this chapter: none

Written for the @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's event.

My other stuff: Master List.

The bell jingled as he strode through the door. The sweet floral scent of begonias and petunias washed over him as he made his way to the counter.

The young woman behind the counter smiled politely. “Hello, sir. Are you here to order flowers for Valentine’s Day?”

He grinned broadly. “Yes! I was looking for something with roses and lavender.”

The bell jingled again and a voice from his past spoke. “Well, as I live and breathe if it isn’t Drake Walker!”

“Fuck!” He swore softly under his breath. Turning around, he pasted a polite smile on his face. “Shayla. How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, sugar!” She invaded his personal space and grabbed him in a tight hug. “How about you?”

Drake leaned forward so that only his upper body was engaged in the hug, patting her on the back lightly. He quickly disengaged and stepped back. “Never better. Got married last year.” He held up his left hand to show off the gold band glinting on his ring finger.

“Anyone I know?”

He shook his head. “Met her in Cordonia.”

“Cordonia?” She said it like it was something disgusting.

“Yes.”

“Is that why we haven’t seen you around the rodeo circuit lately? The little wifey made you quit?” The curvaceous brunette smirked. “Those city girls just don’t get it.”

“She didn’t make me quit. I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m a grown ass man capable of making my own choices and decisions.”

“And you chose to stop bull riding?”

“Yes. Why do you say it like it’s hard to believe or something?”

“Because I know you, Drake. You’re stupidly good at it. You’re a local legend. Why would you give that up?”

“Because I no longer want to risk my life.”

She scoffed with a shake of her head. “But you were so good!”

“I was also careless, reckless, and foolhardy.”

“I liked that about you.”

“So, you liked the part of me that had a death wish. Noted.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. You loved it.”

“No. I loved the rush it gave me. But I love my family more. Riley gave me something to live for, and now I’m going to be a father. I won’t do anything to jeopardize my ability to be here for them.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re having a baby?”

“Yes.” He stood noticeably taller when he said it, pride coloring the simple utterance.

She shook her head with a frown as she moved around the counter and tied on an apron. “Never thought I’d see the day Drake Walker gave up women and bulls.”

“That was my past. Riley and the baby are my future.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” Turning back toward him, she studied his face for a moment, and then her expression softened. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re really in love!”

His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why do you seem so shocked by that?”

She burst out laughing. “Because I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

“Oh.” He shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond to that.

“Oh, don’t make it weird! You’ve changed, Drake. Grown. That’s a good thing.”

He let out a relieved breath. “So, stop giving me a hard time about it.”

“I wasn’t.” She peered at him a moment longer with squinted eyes. “Did you think I was jealous?”

He went beet red as he mumbled, “Maybe.”

“Oh, Christ!” She laughed as she held her hand up in the air. “You’re not the only one that moved on.”

He examined the midsized diamond sparkling on her ring finger as his face broke out in a smile. “Congratulations! And sorry if I was being a conceited jerk. Anyone I know?”

“Shane Mahony,” she told him with a self satisfied grin.

“Skeeter?”

“The one and only.”

“He’s a good guy. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thanks. We should get together sometimes. His number’s still the same. So is mine. Give us a call. Okay, I’m going to clock in. Shelia here will get that order rung up for you.”

“Right.”

He’d order something for Hana online. The last thing he needed was for the whole town to think he was cheating on his wife.

Liam and Hana were in Cordonia while he and Riley were at the ranch so they wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s Day together.

He had no idea how to explain their relationship to others without making it sound like their marriage was open. When people thought that they often tried hitting on one of the four of them.

Their relationship was not open, it just had more than two people in it and that was hard for a lot of folks to understand. Especially hard core conservatives in the Bible Belt.

He quickly made and paid for his selection, waved goodbye to Shayla, and headed back to his truck.

He still needed to make reservations for dinner and a hotel room for Valentine’s Day. But the main surprise was lying on the back seat of his Quad Cab Ford F250.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the drawing tube. He couldn’t wait to get home and show Riley the plans he’d had drawn up for their new home.

Splitting their time between Cordonia and America, they had been content to use his old room at the ranch, but with a baby on the way, he wanted their own space. In Cordonia they had Valtoria. Now they would have something of their own in Texas too.

He turned off the pavement onto a county two lane, turned the radio up, and started belting out lyrics as he accelerated toward home with sheer joy in his heart.

#the royal romance #trr #drake walker #trr au #trr fanfic #trr poly #choices fic writers creations #cfwc valentines day #valentines day 2025

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mmmthornton · 1 year ago

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Oh my God my dashboard is actually full of Dunmesh stuff so I better make this post before it gets too popular.

There's a part later in the manga (bicorn chapter, so I'm gonna keep it vague for anime watchers but it might still be more than someone wants to read). In it, Chilchuck decided things are getting a little too chummy around here so he tells a lie about his own life to keep the rest of the party from asking about him or wanting to know more. Obviously, this is Dungeon Meshi so there are like, consequences that bring the party together, but I'm obsessed with a thing that happens BEFORE that. Kui is really good at making small character moments that inform a lot of their internal thinking (honestly reminds me of Spielberg at his best).

Chilchuck and Marcille spent most of the adventure being Haters together (love it), so he makes one of his Chil Jabs at her. You can tell he's expecting her to brush it off, or them to trade barbs as she calls him a stupid little asshole, whatever. But! She doesn't.

With the things he said earlier, he changed their dynamic and how she looks at him and she gets legitimately angry and hurt that he would talk to her like that, and accuses him (accurately), of ignoring his own biases and flaws by ripping into others.... And it totally shakes him! I'll find the panel later but you can see he's thinking "Oh....I really fucked up and I might've lost my hater friend in the process 😦😦😦". It's a sharp moment where the consequence that makes him reassess isn't what happens after, but it's losing Marcille's faith in him as a friend.

It's good writing! It's a really solid moment! ...................I can really relate because good Lord have I been there! Just wanted to say how interesting I find that part of Chilchucks character before any conversation about the show is beset by rancid discourse.

#dungeon Meshi #chilchuck tims #marcille donato #i like that she gets to rip in to him both out of anger and out of love #and both times in the same chapter she's RIGHT about it!#i can think of real life people i know who would say that that's her being a mean nag or whatever misogynist business #but in the narrative and the experience of those around her those opinions aren't just valid they're NECESSARY and important!#marcille and her friendship with everyone in the group is so good but i love how straight up and honest she is with chil in a way that #forces him to change #i love to see it

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akkivee · 2 years ago

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rambling about the tdd manga because i can lol:

the entire thing sure did reinforce how convoluted chuuoku’s schemes are lol all that just to test run and create the drbs bruh 😭😭😭

the line at the end where ichijiku and otome are discussing how much more poignant the battles are because they brought them together and then forced them to fight is all sorts of fcked up y’all 😭😭😭😭😭😭

anyway from the beginning lol the mic otome uses is a different mic from even just the next chapter, i wonder if it’s just an non-finalized design or an early iteration of the mic???? like rio has a prototype mic and this is not that lmao. aaaaah but rio’s might be military grade prototype and otome has the version rei presumably finalised on his own???? a different version altogether???? hmmm 🤔

nemu is 16 in that first chapter and ichiro is 17 which would mean all the territory disputes, fixes, and mozuku’s plot to usurp mcd took place in a week lol hypmic’s timeline is SHAKY

(the official timeline helps this a little actually lol)

(maybe)

kuukou, swinging red flags from the beginning making fun of ichiro’s mom lol, also fcked around making fun of samatoki’s dead father and found tf out lmao

kuukou is an entire menace in the tdd manga i see why i had a hard time telling myself not to like him when he first showed up lmao

that theory kuukou might have some sort of brain damage wound up slightly reinforced when kuukou remembered sasara reused an old joke when he seemed to have forgotten that sasara is not funny by the time they reunited lmao he has a great memory in the tdd manga

(that joke sasara reused was only in samatoki’s presence too so kuukou also broke some sort of dimensional wall lmao)

speaking of sasara!!!!!!

ikeBOOBkuro????? really????? and then he had that dumbshit d🍆ck joke he made in dod the clowns DO NOT have rights!!!!!!!!!!

lol tho every time i read these early chapters with sasara, aramaki-san’s track 3 sasara always comes to mind lol like mcd sasara was intimidating actually that’s exactly why track 3 sasara is like that 😭😭😭😭😭😭

hmmmm are the special forces or whatever that tried to hijack the hospital jakurai worked at the same as rio’s special forces???? i’ll have to keep that in mind reading bbmtc manga lol

I STILL BELIEVE JAKURAIS WAVE TECHNIQUE WAS THE VERY FIRST ITERATION OF THE HYPNOSIS MIC TECH

still a little pissed mcd vs nb was the first drb in structure and symbolism (forced conflict created by a higher ruling power used to gain/reinforce power by said higher power and wound up entertaining the masses) and yet sasara and kuukou were booted out of the narrative like that

there was a moment where i Almost Almost considered that ramuda had started to consider bringing sasara and kuukou into his plans in chapter 11 based on how pissed he looked after ichijiku told him they brainwashed them. it’s more likely that ramuda’s mad another ‘him’ died more than anything but it’s nice to consider lol

the terrorist scene where nemu and the baby yamada bros got kidnapped is still insane btw

iconic samajuto first(?) meeting lol lemme just handcuff myself to this man who is already listening to me said juto lmao

NEMUS NERVES OF STEEL FR AN OLD MAN THREATENS BODILY HARM TO HER BUT LITERALLY NOBODY IS SCARIER TO HER THAN HER FATHER SO SHE NEVER FLINCHED

JIROS FIRST BETRAYAL ITS NO WONDER HE STARTED ADOPTING SOME OF ICHIROS SELF PRESERVATION LESSONS

THE FACT SABURO BLOCKED NEMU OUT FROM HIS MEMORY SO LIKELY THIS ENTIRE KIDNAPPING????? PLS PROTECT THE CHILDREN HE HAS PTSD YALL AT 11

and what was UP with that orphanage director in the first place???? who do you choose: money grubbing, child labour exploiting for hoes orphanage director or murderous, gets off on torture and sells children for their superiority complex orphanage director

like WTF????

(also: that extra bb tdd chapter is fcked up too you know mozuku only told ichiro about that first director wasting funds because he wanted to replace him with his associate 🤬)

the face nemu makes when samatoki starts kicking her kidnappers while they’re down help 😭😭😭😭😭😭

in the final tdd bonus, they adapted jakurai’s story he told to dohifu during their championship celebration and used that story to show jakurai had already been slowly awakening his ability. so i think it’s incredible smic didn’t suffer from hearing loss after slamming sticks into their eardrums lol maybe that’s where sensei’s ability started forming

kuukou in chapter 9: man check out all these cute girls!!!! 😁

kuukou in the nb drama track: why tf would you pay to talk to women????

(very unrelated instances lol but hilarious out of context tho)

kuukou and sasara going home in the same direction gave them time to talk and get to know each other and i wanna know what their conversations were about soooooo bad bro 😭😭😭😭

mcd/nb break up Did Not Happen I Do Not See It 😑

that moment where samatoki tells nemu ichiro’s kindness is his weakness because he saw ichiro’s breakdown over kuukou leaving him is— it’s kinda— 😭😭😭😭😭😭

yotsutsuji is an unsung mvp in this manga lol look at all the legwork he put in managing territories and finding intel

tdd was the group ramuda made and it was the group he made for himself but it was never his in the first place 😕

but if yotsutsuji never found out ramuda’s secret, or here; if yotsutsuji didn’t manage to send jakurai an email about it, idk if rmjk would have separated???? like what was the plan for jakurai??? ramuda said jakurai was his nirvana so i guess until chuuoku forced it, kp likely would have stayed together huh?? 🤔

ramuda: chuuoku kidnapped your brothers ichiro!!!!!

ichiro: AGAIN?????

me: damn took the words right out of my mouth lmao

samatoki’s beef with ichiro came from the lies they had nemu tell samatoki but like,,,,,,,,,,,, i kinda wanna know how the damage would have shaped if nemu hadn’t been brainwashed and went on her own will,,,,,,,,,,,

like ichiro admitted he likely would have done the same thing as samatoki but that hurt and betrayal at that moment……..????? well ig it’d go the same way in the end lol

chapter 9 had a conversation with rei and otome where rei praises her son for having balls lol so dice was on the run by 18 and making a name for himself lol i need to keep that in mind for a certain few chapters in both fpmtr runs

i thought it was interesting the battle that brought japan under tdd took place in osaka lol

also came out of this experience wondering once again when did ichiro get his hypnosis ability lol like ramuda already had his jakurai’s developed throughout the story, as did samatoki’s on the dl, but ichiro????

also came out of this very concerned for what this story has in store for nemu again lol like the way rhyme anima put focus on what she could possibly do as well as the end of this manga having otome and ichijiku musing her ability and skill might rival ichijiku’s 🤔

ooooooh and that kp bonus chapter!!!!!! ramuda had jakurai suffering under that waterfall lol like he was about to contract hypothermia after a little bit and ramuda ‘reasons’ it’s good training for taking hits without being knocked out SO YOU KNOW WHO REGULARLY TRAINS UNDER WATERFALLS FOR HOURS AT A TIME WITH A FOCUS BASED ABILITY HARAI KUUKOU—

#this is vee speaking #it was a fun time lol always is #samatoki and ichiro’s relationship in those first few chapters cracks me up the same way rio and saburo’s rhyme anima relationship does lol #like both instances rio and samatoki just lay down the law with a smack down and stand up and go ‘here’s some more tools for your success’#smack down be damned lmao #kinda cried over the nb/mcd break up that didn’t happen this read thru lol #it was just the little things that subtly drove home how important kuukou was to ichiro 😭😭😭#like that face off with nb&mcd vs mozuku was a fight for ichiro’s freedom like no wonder that hug was Like That kuukou was happy for him #ichiro was glad he was there 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and ichiro was glad kuukou’s steady presence was staying right by him IM WEAK #nemu was such a good big sister figure to jiro and saburo i’m sad nemu didn’t get to befriend the yamadas like she wanted to 😭😭😭#ik ichiro crying over kuukou was a bit of a reset for samatoki but if anything that should show just how much ichiro would treasure nemu #don’t fight nemu and ichiro getting close samatoki y’all are meant to be one big happy family lmao #and i am not getting over saburo blocking her from memory saburo is not okay!!!!! he’s not!!!!!!#i should analyse saburo’s ability for what it pertains to himself like its name is ‘delete’ and here’s saburo deleting his memories like 😭😭#anyway plenty more to think about which was the point of this reread lmao #canon’s starting back up in less than two months now’s a good time for it actually 🤔#c: rapping boys

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saph-yells-into-the-void · 21 days ago

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i know n*gisagi has its fans and while for the longest time I've considered myself neutral towards it, I think I'm realizing that this is the only ship in bllk that truly gives me the ick

which is weird bc platonically, I actually fw it pretty hard. romantically though....

#bllk #I DONT KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE ITTTT #I thinks its just the characterization of Nagi... I just can't ship him with anyone besides Reo #bc while Reo would've likely ended up at blue lock regardless Nagi would have definitely never been there without Reo #his love for Reo is such a big part of his character that hearing him say that he loves anyone else especially isagi just feels so...#I think they can be good friends. the kind of friends where Nagi is openly a pain in the ass and isagi wonders why he even hangs out with h #although tbf I feel like pwc and other official stuff just makes it seem like Nagi is deeply disappointed that isagi's a boring person #and doesn't have a speck of interest in him besides his soccer abilities #i was rereading school zone girls earlier and there's this chapter where matsuri realizes her feelings for kishiya bc it's the complete-#opposite of what she feels around her friend yatsude (aka her emphasizing she feels nothing around her compared to kishiya-#and yatsude starts to feel insulted)#and low-key this would fit the Nagi and isagi dynamic in my head so well #Nagi has feelings for Reo but because he has no emotional intelligence whatsoever he doesn't realize this #until Nagi brings up Reo for the millionth time and isagi's just like 'omfg just ask him out already'#to which Nagi's like '.... huh?'#he hadn't even considered that he just knows that he wants to be with Reo forever #and isagi's says 'thats what I mean. that's romantic love right there. you don't feel the same way about me or any of your other friends no #and nagi's like 'oh god no. I think I would die if that were the case'#and isagi's just like '??? tf ouch😭'#I like to think that Nagi is a lot more careful with his words around Reo bc he cares about him a lot #meanwhile with Isagi or others he isn't afraid to openly insult him and can just be plain rude half the time #reo and isagi have both equally similar yet vastly different experiences with nagi lmao #(for the record I censored the ship name bc I didn't want ngis shippers to find this post dunking in their ship)#(and I was too lazy to add the anti- tag)

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voulezloux · 10 months ago

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#one of my coworkers complained in our store’s gc about how we are already paid shit #we didn’t receive wage increases when they raised our service prices #& bc of the prices going up our tips have been suffering #she didn’t say this but we’ve also been slower than usual everywhere bc of the rising cost of living everywhere #so we genuinely aren’t getting paid the same prior to the price increase #but they’re now forcing us to take unpaid breaks even though this store is a slow store and we have a lot of down time #and taking unpaid breaks is going to descrease our paychecks which we get shit on those #and the fucking gm goes well thats just state law sweetie #she literally said sweetie and i’m like excuse me but this is not the time to be calling anyone sweetie #that is so fucking disheartening to be called sweetie in a labor complaint situatio #and my coworker goes literally show me where it says that and also the rest is true you know it’s true #and gm gets on a call w my coworker bc she’s not discussing this in a work gc #so i’m immediately texting my coworker like gm is full of shit on the law #bc in our state it’s not required for adults to take a break nor does the fed government require it #i already knew this from before but it was confirmed when i had a chapter on employee law this semester #and my coworker is fucking right we get paid shit for work that our owners cannot legally do bc they don’t have a hair license!!!#my paychecks have significantly decreased since the start of the year !!! i’m making a significant amount less than i had determined #when i stepped down!!!#i’m literally barely keeping my head above water!!! and it doesn’t help the stress in any aspect of my life!!!#but they don’t care!!! i’m 6 years into my chosen career and i’m not making shit!!! i’m barely making ends meet!!!!#if i didn’t live w my mom id be fucking homeless again like be so fucking for real rn #anyway my coworker is having a sit down w the gm and one of the owners tomorrow and we both know it’s not gonna change anything #coworker’s only regret is not doing it in the general chat so it would’ve been harder to ignore but at least she said something

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ambrosiagourmet · 1 year ago

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I want to talk about why I think this is the one of the most important Falin panels:

So, Falin is really nice, right? It's one of the first things we really learn about her. She's kind even to the monsters of the dungeon - choosing to ward the party rather than fight spirits and cause them needless harm.

In the above early flashback in chapter 11, we see Marcille fawning over Falin's kindness, calling her an angel. Namari calls her soft-hearted. We see Falin choose not to fight even when a zombie attacks - instead she resolves the confrontation with a hug. After the flashback, the first thing Senshi says is that Falin "sounds like quite the person," which Marcille strongly affirms.

At this point in the story, all we have seen of Falin are these impressions; she is a healer, an angel, a caretaker with an infinite well of kindness towards everyone she meets - both friend and foe.

And honestly, that remains most of what we have to go by to understand her. The only times we get to see Falin on the page, alive and just herself, are in the opening and closing pages of the story and in the brief period of time after she is resurrected.

Nonetheless, we do have some more details to work with. For one, there is the scene that The Panel is from - a short memory in chapter 75, when Marcille flashes back to while she's dying. In that scene, Falin prepares to teleport them all out, and says that she's sorry "if there is a person at [their] destination." And that's when we get The Panel.

If you teleport someone or something into another person, the person teleported into is likely to be, at minimum, severely injured. They could die.

We can see a lovely little horrifying example of exactly why in one of the Daydream Hour doodles:

So, hmm. That's not... that's not SUPER nice. Certainly not displaying the same "kindness to all, friend and foe included" we saw represented earlier. On a basic level, this adds some nuance to Falin's kindness. We see it break a little, when pushed to the limit. We see her chose to protect the people she loves above all else.

Which makes sense! As Laios says when the Winged Lion accuses him of similarly being motivated more by his friends' safety than everyone else in the dungeon, "...most people, aside from virtuous do-gooders, would feel the same way."

So, we can take The Panel as simply showing a moment of weakness for Falin. A time when she was pushed to her limits, and that "most people" selfish side of her shone through.

However... I think there's a little more going on with Falin than just her being an angel 99% of the time, except just that once. I love The Panel because I think it helps us understand that Falin isn't just motivated by kindness - she also has a desire to avoid seeing people in pain.

Isn't that the same thing?

No, no it very much is not.

Let's look at a short comic from the Falin section of the Adventurer's Bible, because I think it illustrates this point perfectly. The group is complaining about how much Marcille's healing hurts, and comparing it to Falin's, which "doesn't hurt a bit." Marcille retorts with the following:

Now, the punchline of this comic is that, despite Marcille's sentimental assertion that she's "thinking of [them]" by letting her healing magic hurt, they all still prefer to be healed by Falin.

But hey, this wouldn't be the first time that Dungeon Meshi hides a very real character beat or insight in a gag, so let's think about this somewhat seriously.

If Marcille is right (and she knows a fair bit about magic, so we can assume that she has at least somewhat of a point), then what Falin is doing isn't kind. I suppose if someone specifically requested to not feel the pain, it could be kind, but that's not really what happened here. She is the one who felt badly about the others being in pain, and she is the one who decided, without telling them or giving them a choice in the matter, to take away that pain.

Both Marcille and Falin are healing the party, but Marcille is doing it in a way that accomplishes the task in the most straight forward way, without any additional interference. Falin is going out of her way to perform the healing in a way she is more comfortable with. A way that avoids pain.

Going back the The Panel, I don't think its a coincidence that the only time we see Falin (well, non-chimera Falin) willing to do something that could hurt someone is when any potential pain will be far away from her. If she got someone hurt or killed by teleporting the party to the surface? Not only would it be far out of her sight, but she'd be dead before she had to deal with any consequences of that action.

Falin is not a confrontational person. She doesn't push when Marcille won't tell her the truth about the resurrection, and she comforts Laios about her own death - both of those things happening in the only full chapter she is alive and conscious in the whole story.

We also know that she considered accepting Shuro's proposal, despite not having any special feelings towards him, and that Falin never explained to Marcille that she wanted them to share a meal together. When she brought Marcille various foods at the academy, she just accepted Marcille's confused rejection and gave up.

And lastly, we know that she is still in contact with her parents, despite the neglect and abuse she suffered at their hands. Although the way someone chooses to handle contact with abusive or bad family is a complicated topic, which I don't want to overly simplify, I do I think this fact gets at the heart of how she handles conflict.

So many people that Falin loves have hurt her. There are understandable hurts, like Laios leaving the village, or Marcille not understanding the food. And there are bigger, far less justifiable hurts - like her parents neglecting her throughout her childhood, and sending her away to be alone at the magic academy.

It doesn't seem like Falin has ever confronted any of it directly.

And the unhealthy aspects of this kind of avoidance of pain and confrontation is one of the things that the story of Dungeon Meshi is all about. We see Laios grapple with it before he goes to kill Falin, and we see Marcille acknowledge it at the end of the story, when she tells Laios that she has come to terms with Falin's death:

Eating is a part of life. Consuming other living things is a part of life. It isn't really possible to avoid that pain - you can only hide from the truth of it. You have to be selfish everyday. You have to eat - to choose to live. To choose to take up space.

And this is something Falin embraces, too. She comes back to life, after all.

We see her choose to come back to life.

And how does she make that choice? She eats. She consumes, and then she is asked a question by the manifestation of hunger itself:

Do you want to eat more?

There is a double meaning in the Winged Lion's final words on the next page.

When I first read this, I took it as him saying: life is cruel. You will suffer. You will feel more pain.

But perhaps, especially for Falin, this also means: you are choosing a path where you must cause pain. Where you must consume. Where you must take, and must be selfish. Because eating is the special privilege of the living, and it is their burden, too. In order to stay alive, she will need to keep eating.

And she chooses that. Chooses to be selfish. It's why her resurrection scene is so important, and it's why The Panel is so important. Because Falin coming back isn't the ultimate reward for all of the party's hard work.

It's her choice. Just like it was her choice that started everything in the first place. But this time, she doesn't choose to accept causing pain for the sake of Marcille and Laios. She does it for her own sake.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #falin touden #dunmeshi analysis #I love it when dungeon meshi says. the trauma was real and it changed you #and the way you are because of it isn’t anything to be ashamed of #but you have to keep living. you have to chose to keep living.#and you can #dungeon meshi spoilers

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whytheylosttheirminds · 3 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 7

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! non-descriptive mentions of vomit

A swing and a miss, again.

Rafe’s game was all over the place, he hadn’t been able to focus in batting practice all week, and now it was the bottom of the ninth in Academy’s rivalry match against Kildare County. He was down in the count when he asked the ump for a timeout.

He had resisted the urge to look in the stands the whole game, afraid he knew what he would find, or rather, what he wouldn’t.

You usually sat behind the dugout, wearing his old jersey that he’d given you after his record-breaking freshman season, and his number in black eyeliner on either cheek. Sometimes, it would take a few days for it to wash off, and you’d show up to school with the hint of his number still faded on your skin.

No one - not his coaches, not his teammates, certainly not his father - could read him like you could. Sometimes he’d pop his head out of the dugout between innings so you could tell him his swing was a few seconds too early for the pitcher’s fastball, or that he needed to stop chasing the backdoor slider. You were never wrong.

They’d tease him in the dugout, tossing sunflower seeds at him and taunting, “what is she, your hitting coach or your wife?” Then he’d ignore you for a few innings, though he almost never got on base without checking in with you first.

Your absence from this game was glaring, one of those same teammates taunting, “can someone please get Cameron’s hitting coach on the phone for fuck’s sake?” after his third strikeout.

He’d brushed it off, but now the game was on the line, and he realized he’d endure any amount of teasing if it meant looking up and seeing you in the stands.

He stepped out of the batter’s box, took a deep breath, and craned his neck to your usual seat, hands gripping the bat tighter when his fear was confirmed - it was empty.

He struck out, and they lost the game.

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It’s actually about to happen, the moment you’d wished for on every star, every eyelash, every birthday candle since you were six years old. The moment you never thought would actually come. You’ve played this scene in your mind a million times, what your first kiss with Rafe would be like. None of the many versions took place in an alley behind a Florida nightclub, but none of them were real either, so now was not the time to be picky.

Rafe’s thumb was still lingering on your bottom lip, the rest of his long fingers caressing your jaw.

“Can I? Please?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, dimples creasing his cheeks so handsomely, and leaned in. You realized you were holding your breath as you awaited the first brush of his lips against yours.

It never came. The door to the club slammed open, making you both jump. Your already thumping heart flew to your throat as Kelce stumbled out the large metal door.

“Woah, sorry,” he jumped back, smirking at the sight of you and Rafe pulling away from each other quickly.

“What could you possibly need from me right now?” Rafe said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in warning.

“I came out here to find her,” Kelce pointed at you. “So calm your ass down.”

“What is it, Kelce?” You asked gently, hand on Rafe’s arm to hold him back as he started stepping menacingly toward his friend.

“Something’s wrong with Carter,” Kelce said.

“What?!” Your face flooded with concern, you started toward the club, and Rafe didn’t stop you, knowing the sound of your sister’s name dashed any hope he had of keeping you in this alleyway.

“What happened?” You asked Kelce as you brushed past him back into the crowded club, Rafe following behind the two of you.

“I don’t know, she got into an argument with Top and then she stormed off,” Kelce shouted over the thundering music as he struggled to keep up with you.

You scanned the whole club, but couldn’t find her, just Topper ranting emphatically to Tom in the corner, and Sabrina and Maddie on either side of the bathroom door, trying to talk to someone on the other side.

Kelce and Rafe were lost to the crowd as you beelined toward the bathroom, forcefully pushing angry clubbers out of the way to get there. You didn’t care, you were locked-in on finding your sister.

“Is she in there?” You asked as you approached the bathroom.

“Yeah,” Maddie confirmed, looking worried, and a little queasy. “But she won’t let anyone in.”

“She’s so wasted it’s crazy,” Sabrina added with a hiccuping giggle.

You ignored her lack of concern for your sister and banged loudly on the door.

“Car? It’s me,” you shouted, “you gotta let me in, alright? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

After a moment, and the thought that you’d break this fucking door down if that’s what it took, the handle finally turned. She opened the door just a crack to let you slip through, and closed it back firmly behind you.

Sabrina wasn’t wrong, Carter’s intoxication was written all over her face. Flushed, clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. She threw her arms around you, squeezing tight enough to knock the wind out of you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You asked nervously.

Before you got an answer, she was on her knees in front of the toilet bowl. You rushed to grab her hair and hold it back, getting it all out of the way with just seconds to spare before she got sick.

Thinking through the day's events, you realized no one had eaten much before you left the house, and you knew this group well enough to know it didn’t take much for them to get hammered. What you didn’t know was that while you were distracted with Rafe, the rest of your group was in the club throwing back drinks and racking up tabs like the world was ending.

Rafe was having a similar realization out on the floor, trying to wrangle everyone to the front door where he had a pair of cabs waiting. He physically dragged Topper away from the bar as he demanded another drink, the bartender shouting that he was cutoff. He led Maddie and Sabrina away from some sketchy looking guys who were inviting them back to their house boat, which they proudly advertised held gallons of their homemade moonshine. He stopped Tom from sucker punching a guy who booed when the DJ played a Drake song. He lost Kelce twice.

Once he had finally corralled everyone into the cars, he convinced the drivers to hold up so he could come back and find you. He stood by the bathroom door until you appeared behind it, jumping at the sight of him standing so close.

“I got cabs waiting,” he yelled over the music, eyeing Carter sprawled out on the dirty bathroom floor behind you.

“I can’t get her up,” you told him defeatedly, eyebrows knit together with worry. “She’s not doing good.”

Rafe brushed past you without a word or a second thought, and leaned down to scoop Carter up with ease, fireman carrying her out of the club like your own personal Superman. You followed closely on his heel, feeling guilty that you were thinking about how strong his shoulders looked and not how concerned you were for your sister.

You opened the door so he could lower her into the first cab, which only had enough seats left for you and her. Once you slid in behind her, leaning her head against Maddie, who was already dozing off with her forehead pressed on the window, Rafe made sure you were settled before closing the door.

He motioned for you to roll down the window, ducking down so he could lean on it.

“Yo Rafe let’s go man!” Topper yelled from the cab behind you before Rafe could speak.

“Give me a fucking second!” He yelled back.

Forearms against the window sill, he leaned in close enough so only you could hear.

“Just, um, don’t stop thinking what you were thinking in the alley.”

Your lips twisted into a smirk, “couldn’t if I tried.”

He gave you a wink before hurrying back to the other cab.

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You didn’t stop thinking about it. You didn’t stop when the cab driver took the wrong turn and made the trip twice as long as it should’ve been. You didn’t stop when Carter asked the driver to pull over every five minutes so she could hurl on the side of the interstate. You didn’t stop when you finally got Carter up to her room, ranting incoherently about her argument with Topper. You didn’t stop as she kneeled in front of the toilet bowl again and you held her hair back, attempting to soothe her with gentle shushes.

You should’ve been focused on your sister and the awful night she was having, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the shape of Rafe’s mouth.

The thing that finally pulled you from your thoughts of him was a sight you hadn’t seen in almost a decade; Carter started to cry.

Carter never cried, she was your rock, the shoulder for you and all her friends to cry on. She didn’t cry when she fell off the monkey bars in third grade and broke her arm, or when she was rejected from her dream school, or even when your parents got divorced. But here she was, on the cold tile of the Airbnb bathroom floor, bawling.

“Hey, hey, woah,” you said, alarm ringing in your mind as you rushed to sit beside her on the cold tile floor. “What’s going on?”

“I’m such a mess,” she gasped between sobs.

“Well, for starters we need to get you a makeup wipe,” you countered.

“No I mean, like, emotionally,” she wiped her tears with the backs of her hands, only for a new round of drops to fall and further streak her mascara down her skin.

Your sister spent her life running from difficult emotions. It was something you tried to gently point out to her many times, but she’d typically push it away with a sarcastic joke or just ignore you altogether.

You started therapy about a month after you got to college, taking the university health center up on its free psych eval offerings for freshmen. You’d shown up to your therapist’s office every Wednesday at 2:30 since then, religious about not missing a session.

You recommended Carter do the same, but she’d just brush you off with a teasing, “nah I don’t need all that, I’m supposed to be the normal one, remember?”

Taking the hint, you stopped bringing it up after a few months. But now, with Carter’s tears pooling on the floor of this Airbnb, you wished more than ever that she’d listened to you.

“Well, that’s okay,” you gently brushed the hair from her shoulder. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

Carter laid her head on your criss-crossed lap and let the tears fall harder. You rubbed her back and continued to reassure her all was going to be okay, waiting until the tears began to slow and her breathing steadied to broach the subject again.

“Do you want to…” you swallowed, preparing for her to brush you off again, “do you want to talk about it?”

She was quiet for a long moment, you sighed in acceptance that she would pick the ignoring you route this time.

Then, in a small, feeble voice, she whispered, “it’s too scary.”

“What is?” You whispered back, hand resting on her arm for comfort, praying she wouldn’t get spooked and would keep talking.

“Loving him,” she confessed.

Your heart nearly burst. You didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

“Topper, you mean?” you responded.

She nodded slowly, “it was easier when I didn’t love him. I’m supposed to be leaving in a week. I’m supposed to be on to my next big thing, and all I can think about is what the best time to facetime him is if I’m six hours ahead. I should be thinking about me, but all I want is him, and that’s fucking terrifying.”

The thought sent her into another round of sobs, tears soaking the skirt of your dress.

“I know it feels scary, and new,” you tiptoed to your point, “but…have you ever really not loved him?”

She thought over your words, but the alcohol and drama of the evening was starting to pull her into a restless sleep.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she mumbled, half-asleep already. “So much.”

“Let’s just get you into bed, yeah?” You said, pulling her up off the floor. “We can talk tomorrow.”

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In the darkness of Carter’s room, your phone lit up on the nightstand.

You pulled your arm from under her slowly, praying not to wake her up now that she was finally snoozing peacefully, though her deep snores were occasionally interrupted by shaky breaths, the aftershocks of her sobs. You’d gotten both of you changed and into bed with some difficulty, a strategically placed trash can next to her side of the bed just in case. You reached over to check your phone, turning the brightness down so as not to disturb her.

You had a text from a number that wasn’t saved in your phone, starting with the same 252 area code as yours. You didn’t need to ask “who’s this?” because you’d know that seven digit combination on your deathbed. Deleting his contact from your phone had really been more of a cathartic exercise than anything else.

‘She asleep yet?’

‘I think so but it’s been rough, what about Top?’

‘Same, but he’s out like a light now…and snoring like a jet engine.’

You stifled your laugh so Carter wouldn’t hear, keeping your movements slow as you climbed out of her bed and padded towards the door. Wincing at the squeak of the door hinge, you pulled it slowly closed until the handle clicked.

Down the hall, the same click sounded from Topper’s door. Rafe stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening for any signs that his exit woke the sleeper inside.

His eyes flashed up to meet yours, and you shared a knowing, nervous smile. You each walked a few steps towards the other, Rafe immediately picking up on the water pooling in your eyes. You’d held it together up until now for Carter’s sake, wanting to be strong for her like she’d always been for you, but now the heartbreak of seeing her so upset was finally settling in.

“Hey, hey,” Rafe whispered, lengthening his strides to close the gap between you faster. “What’s wrong?”

He ducked to search your face for a second, your small sniffles breaking his heart. When a tear slipped from the corner of your eye, he pulled you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You let your arms circle his waist, not taking the time to worry if this was strange or if you were okay being this vulnerable with him, just reveling in the comforting smell of him and the rise and fall of his sturdy chest under his t-shirt.

A few more tears slipped out, but with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while you breathed him in, your sadness faded slowly into a calm reassurance.

“You good?” He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arms still wrapped around his torso.

“I just didn’t know she was so sad,” you explained, your lip trembling slightly at the thought of your sister, with all her strength and tenacity, slumped over on the bathroom floor. “I should’ve been paying closer attention. I came on this trip for her and all I’ve been doing is thinking about myself. I’m so selfish.”

That thought caused more tears to roll down your cheeks. Rafe placed a palm on either side of your face, his thumbs reaching out to swipe away the salty drops.

“You,” he said firmly, his voice just above a whisper now, more concerned with making sure you heard what he had to say than making sure not to wake anyone, “are not selfish.”

Once your tears were dried, he lifted your face towards him so he could look in your eyes. You ever-so-slightly nuzzled your head into his palm, wondering if he could even feel the gentle way you were surrendering to him. His soft grin told you he could.

“He’s a mess, too,” he nodded back toward Topper’s door.

“I love them, but those two are exhausting,” you chuckled softly.

Even as the conversation lightened up, his hands didn’t fall from your face, and your arms stayed firmly in place around him, just holding each other as you whisper-laughed about the antics of the whole group this evening.

“Sabrina said you had to chase Kelce half a block,” you giggled, and he’d never felt so relieved to see someone’s tears give way to laughter. “Your dad instincts really kicked in there, huh?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled, his eyes creasing with the upward tick of his lips, “the way you basically parted the crowd to get to Carter? Topper might have competition for house mother. Maybe we’re the real mom and dad.”

You snorted at that.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you blinked back, “just funny that you’re already talking about being parents when you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Rafe nodded, tongue darting out to lick his lips, feigning seriousness, “you’re so right. We should probably do something about that.”

“You should probably do something about that,” you taunted.

His persona cracked and he laughed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah? Should I?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling at him as he leaned forward, eager to recapture the moment that had been so unceremoniously stolen from you a few hours ago.

Just before your lips touched, a vile retching noise came echoing down the hall from Topper’s room. He was vomiting again, and the romance was zapped from the air.

Your head fell back in frustration, groaning.

“You wanna go for a drive?” Rafe offered, hand sliding down your arm to find yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there.

You nodded quickly, a smile replacing your annoyed frown. He led you down the stairs fast and you padded behind excitedly, giggling at his speed and urgency.

“Shit,” he paused before reaching into the bowl on the kitchen counter where everyone was keeping their keys. “I forgot Sabrina blocked me in.”

“We’ll take Carter’s jeep,” you offered, fishing around the bowl until you found her fuzzy pink keychain. “She parked on the road.”

“She won’t mind?” He asked.

“I have a feeling she’s gonna be out for a long time,” you pointed out. “I’m driving though.”

“Just like old times,” he grinned, your heart doing cartwheels at the memory.

Fingers intertwined, you let him pull you away from the house, and the risk of any more interruptions.

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The sky glowed with that pre-sunrise blue fog, turning the world around you into a collection of navy silhouettes. The only shape you cared about seeing was the faded profile of the man in the passenger seat next to you.

Though the air still held the chilly nip of dawn, it was warm enough to roll the windows down, which was always your preference. Your hair whipped around you in a frenzy of wind. You could feel his eyes on you as you drove, but you didn’t look back, suddenly filled with nerves, butterflies crowding your stomach and doubt flooding your mind. You just kept driving, suddenly terrified of what would happen when you stopped.

After a few minutes of unreturned eye contact, Rafe finally tore his gaze away from you, poking around Carter’s car to have something to do with his hands. He opened the glove box, and the middle console, fidgeting with every little button and knick-knack he could find.

You smirked at his restlessness and kept driving straight, not entirely sure where you were going. Rafe opened the sun visor above him, gasping at what he found.

“No fucking way,” he laughed with a disbelieving shake of his head, “Carter has CDs? Still?”

He pulled the sleeve of CDs from the visor’s clip, inspecting them closer.

“Wait,” a slow smile bloomed on his face as he observed knowingly, “these are yours.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because they’re the same ones you had in your car in high school.”

“Didn’t think you’d remember,” you scoffed.

“I remember everything about you,” he said, like it was the most obvious and casual admission anyone had ever made.

Even with the cool morning air blowing in through the window, the car suddenly felt too hot. Too hot and too small. Your chest and neck bloomed with a nervous blush as your breath quickened. How were you supposed to respond to that?

Rafe kept sorting through the CDs, nodding at each one in recognition, leaning back in his seat as if he hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb into the conversation.

You needed to fill the silence before he noticed the tornado of anxious thoughts tearing through your mind.

“You gonna pick one?” You urged him, eager for the sound of familiar music to erase his words that hung in the air between you.

He finally made it to the back of the plastic sleeve, to a familiar silver disc decorated in sharpie in your handwriting; your favorite homemade mix that you’d played every single day from ages fifteen to seventeen.

You’d titled it “car mix,” though a more accurate title would be “Rafe’s mix.”

Sometime during your freshman year, you’d spent a whole day sitting in front of your computer, meticulously sorting through songs that made you think of him, or that you wanted him to listen to, hoping he would hear them and finally understand you somehow. It was a love letter without words, and he’d heard it a thousand times, but you doubted he ever really listened. Par for the course.

“I think that one got scratched,” you tried to discourage him from playing it, the flashback to your desperate, lovestruck younger self a little too much to handle at five a.m.

Rafe turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for those so-called scratches, finding nothing satisfying.

“Looks good to me,” he disagreed, popping it into the CD player and beaming bright as the first song began to play through the speakers.

“Oh my god,” he laughed, “it’s like we’re in a time machine.”

You agreed, the familiar opening notes of the first song you’d picked for him sent you flying back in time, to a girl you thought was long dead, and the boy next to her, whom she’d loved to her grave.

Chills shot up your spine, a warning shot before the tears that were beginning to gather on your lash line. You pulled the car quickly to the side of the road, sand flying up with the screech of the tires. You realized then that you’d somehow found your way to the public beach, the parking lot empty and sandy shore free of any sunbathers or surfers.

Rafe turned the music down, looking at you quizzically as your foot slammed on the break. Before he could ask what was going on, you were pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing off your seatbelt, hopping down from the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind you. He scrambled for his door handle as you started walking quickly toward the water and away from him.

The salty air was so thick you could taste droplets of seawater on your lips before you were even halfway to the shore. The waves crashed violently, remnants of the week’s storms throwing the water back and forth until it was foaming and angry.

Angry. You were as angry as the sea, sand kicking up with each stomp of your foot as you hurried as far away from him as you could possibly get. His long legs were already catching him up to you as he chased you down, calling your name.

Despite your efforts to outpace him, you could feel him gaining on you, nearly at your heel by the time your toes touched the water’s edge. Flight would not be an option, it was time for a fight.

“You remember everything?” You whipped toward him, nearly knocking him over with the force of the glare that met him. You stalked toward him, catching the way he backed up just a step before squaring his shoulders and planting himself until you were nearly chest to chest. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, Rafe?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked desperately, scrambling from the whiplash of your sudden outburst. “What the hell just happened?”

He was genuinely so clueless as to the reason for your sudden shift in mood, reeling like he was mentally still back in the car listening to music, eyes scanning your face as he tried desperately to catch up. You almost took pity on him. Almost.

“I can’t,” a lump lodged itself into your throat and you bit your lip for a second to hold it down, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What? Can’t do what?” He begged for clarity.

You just shook your head, a final plea to your own tears not to fall in front of him, but they betrayed you, one single drop slipping down your face. You turned from him quickly as a final ditch ending to hide them from him, and stepped away further down the beach.

“No, no wait, please wait,” with two easy strides he was close enough to touch you, wrapping his hand around your wrist to turn you toward him. “Don’t do this to me. You said you’d remember the alleyway, we were so close. We are so close.”

“Are we?” You challenged him. “If we’re so close then why can’t I even ride in the car with you without feeling like I can’t breathe? You don’t get it, Rafe. You don’t understand that every memory feels like a fucking sucker punch.”

“Then let’s not focus on the memories,” he suggested, “I just want to be with you right now.”

“Why now?” You burst out, another tear breaking through the barricade and sliding traitorously down your cheek. “Why not then?”

They were the two questions that plagued you since you saw him on the beach. You felt you knew the reason. You looked different, he was attracted to this version of you. Even though it would hurt like a bitch, you really wished he would just admit it, that he only wanted you because of how you look now, so you could finally just hate him and move on.

Instead, he continued his time honored tradition of giving you the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He looked straight at you, no waiver in his voice as he said, “because I wasn’t ready for you. I wasn’t good enough.”

It was the perfect answer, and your worst case scenario. Heartfelt, honest, a hot knife to the wall of ice you’d worked so hard to build between you and him. As he’d done so many times before, Rafe melted you.

Soft eyes, you tilted your head as you studied him, “and you are now?”

“No,” his laugh surprised you, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. “But I’m smarter. Smart enough to know that I’ll never be good enough for you. Who could be?”

The last chips of ice melted away entirely at those words, the image of his sweet smile when he said them etched itself on your heart in a way you knew was completely permanent.

As so often happened when you were at a crossroads with your own mind, you heard Carter’s voice ringing through your thoughts. Though this time, it wasn’t a quippy comment about Rafe, or a catchy mantra to encourage you to hold your head high. Instead, you heard her weak, cracked voice as she cried on the bathroom floor just hours ago; “it’s too scary.”

Suddenly, you knew exactly what she meant.

Your every instinct was to pull away from him, hide away the vulnerable thought to avoid any risk of him making it worse. But as he looked down at you, the first traces of sunrise streaking across the horizon, casting a gold-pink glow on his cheekbones, something in the back of your mind was saying you could trust him.

“I’m scared,” you all but whispered.

Rafe lifted his hand slowly, as if you were an elusive, wild thing that would run off at any sudden movement. When you didn’t flee, he took the chance to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, voice dropping low as he said, “I know.”

“How am I supposed to know you won’t hurt me?”

Your deepest fears continued to flow out of you, into his waiting hands, praying he wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“I don’t think you will until you give me a chance to prove it to you,” he countered.

You knew he was right. Holding him at arm’s length would never get you the answers you needed from him. You’d never know if he had really changed unless you got close enough to relearn him, and you’d never know how he really felt about you unless you gave him a second chance to show you. You aren’t generally opposed to second chances, more likely to give them out then, say, your sister is.

“You know what Carter would say?” You chuckled darkly, unable to detangle your sister’s voice from your own conscience even if you wanted to. “That you don’t deserve any more chances.”

“That might be the first thing I’ve ever agreed with her on,” Rafe was quick to acknowledge. “But you know what else she’d say?”

“What?” You asked with raised brows, skeptical that he had any clue what Carter would actually say, and knowing she would hate that he was claiming to.

“That you deserve a chance.”

Funny thing is, that’s exactly what Carter would say. She didn’t really know how badly you wanted him, that you were starting to suspect you might just be happiest when you’re with him, but she always encouraged you to do what made you happy, even when it was something she didn’t understand.

“And if I’m what you want then I just happen to be the luckiest idiot in the world, because I want you too. You have no idea how badly.”

The tide was coming in, the very edge of each wave nipping at your toes before being pulled back out to sea. Rafe’s confession made you feel so unsteady, you wondered if you’d crumble and get pulled out right with it. Your mind reached for anything to ground you before you drowned in him completely.

“Why?” You asked him, needing his answer like a port in the storm.

“Why?” He repeated, either confused by the question or by the need for it. Somehow, both possibilities annoyed you.

“Yeah, tell me why you want me,” you placed your hands on your hips, shoulders squaring up with him in challenge. “And you’re not allowed to use the word beautiful, or cute, or call me baby.”

“This kinda feels like a test,” he laughed, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah? Maybe it is,” you huffed. “And this time there’s no cheating, no open book. And no me to slip you the answers.”

“Can I get a few minutes to review my notes?” His cheeky pout was so cute you worried you were about to fold right there on the spot.

“Fine,” you allowed, “you get one minute to think about it.”

He feigned worry, faked stress, biting his thumbnail and looking out over the waves as if he actually had to think it over.

In reality, he was more prepared for this test than any he’d ever taken in his life. He’d spent years thinking about this moment, about what he would say, what he could say that would possibly be enough.

While you waited for him to speak, you mirrored his stance, facing the water with your hands wrapped around you.

Rafe turned his head slightly to take in your profile, the sliver of daylight creeping over the horizon making your features glow so romantically.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you tried to focus on the count in your head, dutifully keeping track of the seconds until his allotted prep time was up.

Evidently, he didn’t need a timer, his voice broke the silence before you had even gotten to forty-five.

“Y’know, I got a walk-on tryout invite for baseball at Chapel Hill,” he started.

You resisted the urge to look at him or respond, despite your mind racing to connect the dots between that statement and the challenge of explaining why he wants you.

“I was…so shitty,” he laughed at the memory, “I mean just awful. Striking out in the cage, my fielding was all over the place, I dropped a fucking pop fly. I’ve made that play a thousand times and the one time it counted, I dropped it. I mean, you wouldn’t have even recognized me out there. And the best part was that my dad came to watch. He bribed an old alum buddy to get him into closed tryouts just to watch me absolutely shit the bed.”

His smile faded.

“It was the worst day of my life. The coaches didn’t even call me themselves, they sent me an automated email to tell me I didn’t make the team. They were nice enough to send me some film from the tryout, though. I must’ve watched it a hundred times. I was spiraling like a bitch, just full on meltdown. I watched that film over and over, like some kind of torture. When I watched it, I just kept wondering how that guy could’ve ever been considered good.”

He turned to you, looking down at you intensely, hesitating for the first time since he started talking.

“I know I fumbled you. I knew it from the second it happened. And,” he swallowed hard, struggling with the next part. “I knew you were in love with me.”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him, face beat red.

“I was an idiot, but I wasn’t blind,” he continued before you could interject a defense. “The problem was never that I didn’t know, it was that I didn’t know why. But the way you looked at me, I don’t know, it made me feel like I must be like, somewhat good. Why else would you care about me if I wasn’t? But then when I was fucking rotting in my dorm watching that film over and over it dawned on me…you didn’t love me because I was good. I was good because you loved me.”

Breath escaped you, eyes glossy as you let those beautiful words sink in, but he wasn’t done.

“I thought it was just a lucky break that I got you for four years. And of course I fucked it up, I fuck everything up. After those tryouts, I had nothing, no one. I failed my classes, dropped out of rushing a frat, I stopped talking to everyone. Shit, even my sisters were calling me to see if I was okay. I got it together eventually, kind of, but it’s never been the same. I have never been the same…since you. But then I saw you on the beach the other day, and it kind of hit me. The biggest loss wasn’t your love for me, or my fielding skills, or the bullshit frat parties. It was my best friend. You were my best friend. You were - you are - my favorite fucking person. When all that shit happened, you were the only one I wanted to talk to, and I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve to. But god, I’d give anything, anything, to have my best friend back. You don’t have to…be with me. I understand if you don’t want to. But please, can we just be friends again?”

You blinked up at him as he finished his monologue, all his words swirling around your head like cartoon birds, dizzying and all consuming. You wished it really was a test, cause then you’d have a printed copy that you could study and analyze and go over and over with different colored highlighters.

But it wasn’t a test. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was just you and the boy you love standing on the beach at sunrise, looking at each other like you were the only two people on earth.

“No.” You said, shaking your head.

His eyes blinked rapidly, trying and failing to hold back his emotion. Before he could spiral any further, you added,

“I don’t wanna be friends.”

His eyes flicked over yours for just a second, double checking, asking you silently if that meant what he thought it did. You gave him the slightest nod, as if to finally say “yes, Rafe.”

Rafe’s hands landed firm but gentle on either side of your face, pulling you towards him. Your lips met in a symphony of passion and affection and need and a mutual sigh of fucking finally.

He tasted better than you’d ever imagined, a sweet rush to your head as his tongue parted your lips slightly. He pulled back just an inch to let his uncontrollable smile break against yours, laughing into each other’s mouths in disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy. Once he was satisfied that you understood how happy he was, he pulled you back in.

If the first kiss was a spark, the second kiss was a goddamn explosion. He kissed you like the tide kisses the shore in a hurricane, his tsunami waves crashing into you over and over again. His tongue took over, claiming you, taking up space in your mouth like he never planned to leave. His hands drifted, one to the back of your head, laced in your hair, the other on the small of your back, holding you against himself. Your hands snaked up his arms, savoring every inch of him until you reached his shoulders. You linked your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as you stood on your tiptoes to meet him, finding middle ground for the first time in your lives.

After a while, your lips parted, both of you desperate for breath, the lack of oxygen dizzying.

“So,” he smiled, hand still cradling your head and his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, “did I pass?”

“Hmm,” you pretended to consider it, “A minus.”

“What? You must be grading on a curve,” he shook his head.

“Maybe you could do some extra credit,” you flirted.

With a sly smile at that, he returned his lips to yours, and you forgot a time when you didn’t know what it was like to kiss him.

Time passed, the sun rose, night bloomed into morning, and Rafe kissed you for what could’ve been a lifetime. With each minute that passed with his lips on yours, you felt all the bad memories fade to gray, the past washing away with the crash of the waves, leaving only him.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Carter’s Jeep sat parked on the side of the road, the interior dark in the early morning light, except for the phones buzzing uncontrollably on each seat.

On the passenger's side, Rafe’s phone blew up with texts from Topper. The most recent reading ‘dude, we’ve got trouble at the house…’

On the driver’s seat, yours lit up with twelve missed calls and a single text from Carter,

‘Don’t come back.’

(chapter 8: part one)

a/n: please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

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