#and that’s okay if you do! but talk about it instead of keeping it to yourself or you’ll get bitter

[the-cats-noodles]

Everytime I see this, everytime, someone brings up marriage as an exception and I can't help but think, really?

I get it, promises are important (to death do us part, which is in and of itself an unrealistic standard but whatever i dont have time to talk abt that) but I feel like people forget that marriage for love is relatively recent? The point of marriage being to join households and pass on property is much older (and the origin of the whole "only death can make us separate" bc property and inheritance) like, the reason people stayed together was bc of duty not love and that was a very different environment than the one now (which is good) but it still means we're talking about a standard that is unrealistic in our current environment (not to mention the insane amount of murder over not being able to get divorced in the past, like it's a very good thing we can end marriages now)

There's nothing wrong with marrying someone and wanting to stay with them forever (we chose to do this for love and that was good actually), but can we stop pretending this idea is universal?

Making a promise is all well and good, but people change and their promises do too.

Like, yes you keep growing as you get older and yes you might grow closer with your partner (and that's perfectly normal and okay) BUT you might also grow apart and that is ALSO PERFECTLY OKAY

Saying that marriage is something to exclude from the idea of decentering permanence is kinda ignoring all the people who really shouldn't be staying together but "have" to (for the kids, reputation, etc) and anybody involved definitely feels that dynamic shift...

Just, yeah "keep your promises" but also know that breaking them is a part of life and its much better for both parties if you break a promise instead of wither away trying to uphold it for some perceived sense of duty or obligation to people whose opinions literally DO NOT matter

(If you wanna be with one person forever? great! If they don't agree bc they don't love you anymore? Oh well, tough luck, I guarantee you'll be better off letting them go then forcing them to stay in a legal contract, which is what marriage becomes when you don't feel love for the other party anymore)

Also I get most people don't want to force someone to stay in a situation that makes them miserable, at least I really hope they don't, but when (as a society) we place more importance on the whole 'till death do us part' bit and less on the 'I love you and want to show it' (or even say the only way to show it is to hold onto that person forever) then it kinda forces people into this idea of "having" to stay

And look, counseling is great, it can work wonders, but it is NOT a miracle worker. It can't fix everything and it doesn't have to bc A LOT of marriages aren't broken they're just fizzling out

Am I making any sense? Who knows, but I was raised in a community where ending a marriage or relationship was worse than cheating bc "marriages are work"

They are, but you also retire from work when it becomes a strain and you can't do it anymore. You can quit a job if it doesn't fit. I'm not saying marriage is a job, but I am saying that if we expect marriage to involve work we can expect it to reach the point where people just DONT WANT TO DO THAT ANYMORE and that's okay

I'm begging: please stop insisting marriage is different from other relationships in this regard bc it isn't. It's sweet and a wonderful experience but it's still just a love between two people and we can't expect that to be magically enough to stop the natural progression all relationships go through.

You lose friends over time but some stay around. You lose family over time (like, no contact in this case not necessarily through death) but some stay around. You lose lovers and partners over time but some stay around. And that's okay, u just don't see how the last one is somehow expected to have more weight.

(Which I believe was op's point? That they're all temporary and that's a good thing actually)

Like everything is temporary, it's just sometimes that temporary lines up with our lives bc we ourselves are temporary beings, and it's okay if it does and it's okay if it doesn't.

I think a lot about how we as a culture have turned “forever” into the only acceptable definition of success.

Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.

The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.

I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good. And it’s okay to be sad that it ended, too. But the idea that anything that ends is automatically less than this hypothetical eternal state of success… I don’t think that’s doing us any good at all.

[drchucktingle]

As an autistic person, did you struggle to make and keep friends? And have you found friends through the writing world? I ask because my mom always said i needed to find my people. I did finally find them (they are neurodiverse trans nerds, haha), but not until i was like 30. And i wonder if its true of other autistic people too. So i guess my question is: did you find your people, and when?

thank you this is good question. i have always had a LOT of CLOSE BUDS even from a very young age. i would actually say that i am unusually socially adept in my way and that it is partially BECAUSE of my autistic trot. LETS TALK ON THAT FOR A MOMENT

'BUT CHUCK YOU SAID YOU ARE ON THE SPECTRUM AND AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS CANNOT BE SOCIALLY ADEPT' some say. and sure it is UNUSUAL overall, technically speaking, but there is also an important reason we talk about this as a spectrum of buckaroos and not a monolith

when buckaroos ask me what it is like to be autistic i try to explain like this: there are certain cues and markers from the outside that serve as a sort of identification checklist but because of masking they are not always correct. instead i see it as question of WHAT IS IT LIKE INSIDE YOUR BRAIN?

internally my brain is different. its taking in way more information all the time, including the stuff that neurotypical buds block out, and that can become overwhelming. it is hard to navigate because i do not have that automatic neurotypical 'here is what is important here is what is not' function

so yes i can be easily distracted and zone out as i watch the patterns and fractals spin off. and yes i can miss certain things in social situations. in many autistic buckaroos this makes large groups overwhelming and the OUTPUT of behavior matches what we typically know as signs of autism

FOR ME however, same thing is going on inside, but i have managed to HARNESS that information. even from very young age i see that everyone is DOING THE HUMAN ACT but instead of rejecting that and shutting off i think 'well okay i am just going to do THIS because thats what they actually want'

in other words, most neurotypical buds say one thing that has a kind of spiraling social-cue-related OTHER MEETING (they do this ALL the time) and instead of rejecting that i have trained myself to be REALLY REALLY good at knowing the hidden meaning. it is EMPATHY but on a sort of LOGIC BASED level

and because i have always been pretty good at that, people like to trot around me and say 'wow this is a good friend they understand me'. now for ME that can be a little exhausting and there are things i need to do and stims and all that to release the effort, but overall it is worth it to me

OTHER THING is that i was a successful CREATOR AND ARTIST BUCKAROO from an early age which is socially seen as 'cool' especially when you are trotting around in your youth. it is not particularly FAIR but it is true that some level of fame makes buds treat you well even if you are 'weird'.

of course it can be a sort of FAKE 'treating you well' but as an autistic buckaroo it is still more of a chance than you might otherwise get. this timeline has sort of carved out a very special little sliver of social grace for the token odd artistic weirdo to have a seat at each cool kids table

ANYWAY that is the trot of my life. it is a unique trot that i dont get to talk on much but since you asked THERE YOU GO. every chance i get to say 'I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC' and talk on HOW MUCH IT HAS IMPROVED MY LIFE i try to take a moment and do that. when i was young i had few autistic heroes

and OF COURSE it can be difficult and overwhelming and we need to have space for those stories and voices, but i want young buckaroos who get this diagnosis to know there are ALL KINDS of stories and trots on the autism spectrum. MINE IS PRETTY DANG COOL and maybe yours will be too. LOVE IS REAL

[stellamarielu]

blurred lines II

joel miller x female reader

read part one here

summary: after the little stunt you pulled last night, joel can't bring himself to be in the same room as you. he's canceling his weekly plans to join your dad for sunday night football, and you're fed up with the awkward tension which leads you marching right over to his place determined to fix the problem.

content: nswf, 18+, dbf!joel, age gap, a sprinkle of angst, pet names [duh its joel], lots of praise, fingering, penetration, riding that man like a mechanical bull, unprotected sex, joel finishing in reader without explicit permission, basically just smut with very little plot let's go!

author's note: i need joel miller circa 2003 like i need air in my lungs, so of course i had to write a part 2 for this one

“What're you doin' here?”

Joel hadn’t expected to see you standing directly in front of him holding a Tupperware bowl when he opened his front door.

“Brought you some Chili.” You were stating nonchalantly as if he should’ve been expecting your company.

He had flaked on your dad tonight. Of course he had. 

After what happened last night, you didn’t expect him to show his face at your house like he normally did every Sunday, but it didn’t stop his excuse of feeling “under the weather” from pissing you off.

You made things complicated when you decided to call him last night. Why couldn’t you have kept it together and just called an uber instead?

You spent the entire day feeling guilty and embarrassed and even though you tried to blame your inappropriate advances on the alcohol you’d consumed, you knew it wasn’t the real reason you crossed a line in the backseat of his truck.

After he got out of coming over for the game, you watched the empty seat on your couch that he usually occupied and let the guilt eat you alive. Him and your dad should have been drinking beers and yelling at TV together, but instead your dad just sat in silence.

You couldn’t handle it— you needed to talk to Joel. You weren’t sure what you would even say to him, but before you knew it, you were packaging up leftovers and telling your dad you were taking dinner to Joel and Sarah during halftime.

“Is Sarah home?”

You were asking and looking over Joel’s shoulder, the leftovers still warm in your hands.

“No-“ 

He’d hardly responded when you pushed past him and into the familiar territory of his living room, cutting straight to the chase.

“Why didn’t you come over tonight?” 

“I think we both know the answer to that.” His voice was laced with annoyance at your question.

He was standing a few feet away, still by the front door. Watching as you angrily stormed into his house, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table.

“Okay, but you didn’t have to lie to my dad.” 

You were coming in hot. You needed this to be over so you could stop feeling so embarrassed and remorseful about the whole thing. 

“Oh, your right, I should’ve just told him I almost fucked his daughter so it’d be kinda weird for me to come over.” Joel was scoffing as he leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms over his chest. Your skin was burning at his words.

“Look I’m sorry for making things weird, but can we just move on? I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come around anymore. You’re like my dad’s only friend.”

“Then why’d you do it?” His voice was rough, almost like he was angry with you, but his eyes told a different story. They were gentle— carefully watching your expression as you wracked your brain for an answer. 

“Because…” You were trying to avoid his eyes but it was nearly impossible given the way he was staring so intently at you from across the room.

You started out so firm but now you were crumbling. His tender gaze picking away at you, wildling you down into a pile of nerves. 

“I don’t know Joel, let’s just drop it. I’ll keep to myself from now on and we can just pretend like nothing happened. Just please don’t let this effect your friendship with my dad.”

Joel chuckled at your words, an amused smile forming on his lips— Like this is something that could be easily forgotten. 

“Why’d you ask me to pick you up.” The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had formed. His demeanor was serious again as he revisited the objective of the conversation. The memory of you touching yourself in his car standing between you like an undeniable presence the room.

“What do you mean? I was out drinking and needed a ride.” You were trying to keep it together but there was a hint of hesitation in your words. 

“Yeah, but anyone could’ve given you a ride. Why’d you call me at 2am.” 

His eyes were locked on yours, heavy and sincere. 

“What do you want me to say Joel?"

here you go.

"Do you just want me to keep embarrassing myself? I didn’t want anyone else to pick me up. I wanted it to be you. I wanted an excuse to see you.” You were huffing out the words in a quiet voice, too mortified to speak above a whisper. 

“Thought that was pretty obvious when I had my hand between my legs in the backseat of your truck.” 

Your words were left ringing in the silent room as Joel just stared, his expression stuck in concentration. 

“Happy now?” You were deadpanning with a wave of your hands. Why wasn't he saying anything? You couldn’t read his expression and it was infuriating. 

“Very.” 

One word was all he said as he pushed himself off the wall, his arms still loosely crossed over his chest. He was taking small steps in your direction and your entire body froze. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to convince myself all day that you were just drunk last night. That the only reason you did such a filthy fuckin’ thing was because you were horny off one too many vodka sodas.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke, his body now within reach. 

“I needed to tell myself it wasn’t because you like me.” His eyes were glued to you.

“Needed to convince myself that ya weren’t bein’ all sweet touchin' yourself like that because ya wanted me to fuck you.”

He was taking another step, the gap between you dwindling down with every word he spoke.

“Because if that was the case, if ya did do it on purpose...” He paused, letting his eyes rake down your body. Taking his time before he continued, his stare lingering on your lips.

“Do ya know how hard it was for me to keep my fuckin’ hands to myself?” He was so close, you could see his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath he took.

His stare was dense and all you could think about was how you’d never been this close to him before.

“Joel…” You meant to whisper his name as a warning but instead it came out as a pathetic whimper; only encouraging another inevitable step over the blurred line of your relationship. 

He was leaning in, and you weren’t stopping him.

“This is such a bad fuckin’ idea.” He avoided your lips and ducked his head into your neck, his whisper landing right below your ear and you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“I don’t care.” The words were a rushed hum as your fingers found the nape of his neck. You suddenly felt desperate to have his lips on you. 

“Please.”

That word had Joel spiraling. God, hearing you beg for him like that, he needed to hear it again. Wanted to hear it fall from your lips over and over again while he had you sitting on his cock.

“You said you think about me when you touch yourself.” Joel’s voice was a hum against your skin as his lips finally connected with your neck. He was placing a long drawn-out kiss right beneath your jaw before pulling away just enough for more words to make their way from his mouth.  

“Tell me what you think about.” His breathless whisper on your body made you dizzy, sending your fingertips clutching into this hair- desperate to find something to tether you back to earth. 

“I think about the way it’d feel- when you touch me.” Another pitiful whine. 

“Touch you where?” His words were barely audible as he continued placing gentle kisses down the side of your neck. 

“Joel…”

“C’mon sweetheart, you were so brave tellin’ me what ya wanted last night. Don’t get all shy on me now.” His voice was low and rough- intoxicating. 

“Think about your fingers in me. How they’re so much bigger than mine. How good they’d feel filling me up.” 

You were reaching for one of his hands as you spoke, holding it in front of you and tracing his palm before you pressed your hands together, his was so big and rough compared to yours. 

Then he was intertwining your fingers together and using the hold to pull you into him, your bodies flushed together. A groan left his mouth sending a sweet vibration into your skin.

“There she is.” He was murmuring into the crook of your neck, his hands finding your waist and gripping tight, pulling your hips closer. He absorbed your frame in his own, the muscle of his body solid and sturdy against yours. 

Joel felt like he was dreaming.

After he got home from dropping you off last night, he barely made it to his room before he was yanking down his jeans and wrapping his hand around his dick. The images of your fingers pushed deep inside of you were pulled from his memory, making him finish in record time. He thought about you all night. He couldn’t even sleep as visions of you filled his mind; you curling your fingers into his hair with his head between your legs, you on your knees for him, you with your head buried into his pillow and your perfect ass pushed back while he railed into you from behind. He thought about nearly every sexual scenario possible and now you were here, your soft body like putty in his hands.

“Let’s see then.” His voice was low as he kissed your neck one last time, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. 

“See if I can make ya come on my fingers yeah?” 

There was a soft smile on his lips conflicting with his sinful heavy-lidded stare. His hands were unruly as he explored your figure, dipping beneath the material of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin on his fingertips.

“Wanted to see it last night, could barely hold myself back from pushin’ your pretty little hand out of my way so I could be the one makin’ ya feel good.”

One of his hands remained on the skin just above the waistband of your jeans while the other trailed up your body until it was on your face.

Joel’s hand was carefully caressing your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your skin. The act was reminiscent of the way he was rubbing your thigh not even 24 hours ago, and the recollection had you clenching your thighs together. You let your mind wonder back to the dirty things Joel said to you last night; the way he watched with a predatory glare as you fingered yourself in front of him. You were lost in the echo of it all until Joel caught you off guard, crashing his lips into yours. 

His kiss was heavy. The weight of unspoken feelings and undeniable tension fueling the way his lips molded into yours. Your shared desire was finally being dealt with and the relief was almost palpable in the liberation of his mouth on yours.

Your lips were tangled in a messy embrace as Joel ushered you backwards until you felt the back of your legs hit the couch.

His lips were following as you flopped down on the cushions, his body leaning forward between your legs. The kiss didn’t lose any momentum as his hands pulled at your jeans. You were arching off the couch assisting Joel as he slid the denim down your legs, breaking the kiss to watch you kick them off your body completely. 

He had been aching to see you like this again. Legs spread and chest heaving. Only this time he didn’t have to hold back. He could touch you; see what you looked like with his fingers knuckles deep in your sweet little cunt.

At that reminder Joel was reaching a hand down to feel you through your panties, his fingertips tracing the outline of your swollen lips, already wet beneath your underwear. 

“Fuck sweetheart you’re soaked.” 

The hot sticky evidence of your arousal was seeping through the cotton material, causing Joel to let out an animalistic groan. He hadn’t even touched you yet and he was losing all sense of control. 

He continued running his fingers over the ruined material, circling your clit over the clothing.

You were already writhing under his touch, which you normally would’ve considered pathetic, but not now. Not when you had been waiting for this exact moment. Now that it was really unfolding, you were proud of yourself for not taking his hand in your own and shoving his fingers where you really needed them.

He kept circling slowly and intricately, still leaning over you— his face inches from yours.

“That feel good?” His voice was a sweet murmur as you moaned in response. 

He was pleased by your answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a single finger into your entrance. His digit was gently pressing into you as he watched your face contort in pleasure.

Letting you bathe in satisfaction for only a second, he was retreating. Pulling his thick finger from your core before pushing it back between your wet folds, only this time adding a second along with it.

You were immediately reaching for his forearm, grabbing it instinctively, looking for something to hold onto while you went braindead with pleasure. You were biting down on your lip as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out of you, scared of the obscene noises you would make if you didn’t.

“Let me hear ya baby.” Joel was smiling down at you with a devious grin. He could see the way you were suppressing your moans. He wanted to hear you; wanted to know how good he was making you feel, wanted to hear the pretty sounds you made when you came around his fingers.  

You let your mouth fall open. The whimper that fell out upon hearing his words prompted Joel to push his fingers further into you, curling when he felt the spongey warmth of your walls tightening. 

He could tell by the moan rolling off your tongue that he had found a favorable spot deep in your core. He kept his fingers bending in the perfect position as he peered down at you. 

The sight beneath him had his hips bucking into nothing. You with your head thrown back on his couch; eyes shut, brows furrowed and jaw slack. After last night he thought he’d never see something so glorious again, but now you were proving him wrong. You looked so beautiful like this— all fucked-out with his hand between your legs. 

The deliberate curl of his fingers with each plunge was sending you reeling as you let profanities bubble up in your throat. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release Joel added the pressure of his thumb on your clit.

“You gonna come already?” His words were sprinkled with amusement as he felt you clenching around his fingers. 

“Joel…” His name was a moan on your lips, and you were digging your fingers into his forearm, desperate to hold yourself steady as your body tensed.

“Fuck- you’re gonna come.” He was grunting as his fingers kept their pace. You were mewling out his name and nodding your head in desperation as you felt the coil inside you pulling tighter, ready to snap.

“Let me have it baby.” Joel was nearly begging you to let go. His tone as he growled out the words pushed you right over the edge, sending you into an abyss of pleasure. 

Your body was trembling as you whined out Joel’s name. He could feel your pussy squeezing his fingers as he continued to push them into you gently, relishing in the feeling of your warm embrace. 

“There ya go.” His grunts and groans were replaced with a calm voice as he worked you through your orgasm. 

“Good job sweetheart.”

His praises only added to the sensory overload running rampant through your body. 

“So beautiful baby.”

You were finally opening your eyes, looking up at him with a lust clouded gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you again, only this time deeper. It was laced with passion and had you pulling him down onto the couch next to you.

Your mind and body were still buzzing from your climax, making it easier to gain dominance over him. You were pushing Joel back against the pillows and climbing onto his lap, straddling his waist. Your kiss had become sloppy and hungry as your lips worked in tandem to relieve the thick tension. 

“Off.” You were mumbling against his mouth and fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He got your message loud and clear as his own hands flew to the waistband of his pants. He was lifting his hips off the couch to free his body of the jeans but in doing so he was thrusting up into you, his erection grinding into your unclothed core. You were bringing your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself as he pushed his pants and underwear to the floor. 

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his member now on full display. He was big. You knew he would be, but this, this was more than you'd imagined. 

In awe you brought a hand between you, encasing him gently with your touch and ever so slowly letting your fingers follow up and down his length.

You looked to his face to see his eyes fluttering closed in pure delight from finally feeling some sort of relief. The pressure that had been building inside him since he watched you finger fuck yourself last night was slowly dissipating with every pump of your hand around his cock.

You stroked him a few times, your touch soft and cautious; driving Joel insane. He was groaning with every flick of your wrist.

“Need to be inside ya.” A longing yet primal gaze took over his expression as he muttered the words; confessing his need to feel you, all of you.

They were the magic words, the ones that had you lifting your hips and guiding the head of his cock to your slicked entrance. You lingered there, with his tip filling you just enough, soaking in the final tension filled moments before you both completely gave in to your mutual desire.

Your eyes were locked on his, the two of you exchanging one last look of approval before you were sinking further onto him. 

You both let out hums of relief as you felt him stretching you inch by inch.

You were moving slowly, letting yourself adjust to his size as you relaxed onto him. His fingers were gripping onto your hips, holding you steady but careful not to guide you further. He wanted to let you set the pace. 

You sunk down until you were met the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You were sat completely on him, taking a moment to savor the way he felt pushing deep inside of you. 

“That’s it baby.” He was whispering another praise as his hands traced up your body, taking your shirt with them and tossing it to the floor. Then his touch was on your face, holding your jaw in his fingertips and bringing your gaze down to meet his. 

“That okay? Feel good?” His questions were genuine, but they were spiked with such a immoral tone you might’ve thought he was mocking you. 

“So good.” Your voice was breathless as you affirmed him.

You decisively rocked your hips over his and an unconscious moan slipped from your lips at feeling him move inside you.

He brought his hands back to your hips as you started to move. Gripping onto your skin and guiding your body onto his as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Oh honey- fuck.” He was moaning out as you picked up your pace, relentlessly taking him as deep as you could with every rebound. 

“That’s its baby.” His words were tumbling out of his mouth with every movement of your hips. You were riding him with such precision his mind was going numb, rendering him uncapable of piecing together coherent sentences.

Your palms were flat against his chest and your head thrown back in pleasure as he rubbed against you at just the right angle. You were using him to your full advantage as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his cock.

“Take what ya need baby.” He was encouraging your lewd movements, the sounds leaving his mouth were borderline pathetic as he tried to keep himself together long enough to feel you coming around him.  

He was letting his hands wander further, gripping the flesh of your ass with his palms and using the hold to pull you harder into him with each thrust. 

The desperation in his grasp had you seeing stars. You were bracing yourself on the rigid surface of his chest as you felt the familiar crawl of a second release sneaking up on you.

“Joel I’m gonna…” Your announcement was cut short by a surprised whine as Joel moved his hips along with yours, pushing himself even deeper into you. The way he was stretching, filling and holding onto you had your body straining and your vision blurring.

“Let me have it sweetheart.” 

The carnal grunt off Joel’s tongue as he coaxed you into another orgasm brought you to your finish. You were clutching at his chest, your body melting into his. The pleasure surging through your body caused you to lose all balance, making you slump forward until your forehead found his.

Joel reached for you, placing a hand carefully at the nape of your neck, holding you against him. 

“God you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Another groan was leaving his throat as he pushed his lips onto yours. You were still coming down from your high, pussy squeezing and clasping around him as he muffled your moans with his mouth. 

“So perfect baby.” He was mumbling as he used both of his hands to hold you firm, slowly bringing his hips up to meet yours. His pace was unhurried as he took pleasure in the way you fluttered around him. Then he got caught up in the moment, his tempo quickening. He was thrusting into you persistently, mercilessly rutting as breathless whimpers fell from his tongue. He was holding you still with his fingers curling into your hips as he drove into you— hard and fast.

He was groaning and greedily fucking up into you as his hips began to stutter. With a low guttural sound his movements ceased and you were met with the warmth of his release spreading into you.

He was frozen in place for a few seconds, catching his breath and gathering a sense of composure. You could feel him throbbing in you as his hands kept their hold on your hips. 

“That was so fuckin’ stupid.” He was muttering under his breath, and you immediately felt insecure. He was still inside you and he was already regretting hooking up with you?

“We don’t have to do it again Joel, it was just-“ You were beginning to defend yourself before Joel cut you off. 

”No sweetheart, comin’ in ya.” Joel looked at you with a sympathetic grin on his face.

“I can’t be doin’ that.” He was shaking his head at the poor decision of burying his spend deep inside you. 

“I’m on birth control, it’s okay.” You felt relieved to know his shame wasn’t about having sex with you, but rather his panic of potentially knocking you up. Understandable. 

“Don’t care it’s not smart.” He was reaffirming and leaning up to place a kiss on your forehead; a simple gesture but it had butterflies swarming your stomach.

“How ya gonna explain to your dad why it took so long to drop off leftovers?” Joel was releasing his clutch on your hips and letting his hands rest lightly on your thighs as he spoke. 

“Oh my god, please don’t talk about my dad right now.”

You were mortified. You couldn’t think about your dad. Not while you were straddling his best friend’s lap who’s come was fighting not to leak out between you. 

“Looks like I’m really gonna need to move out soon.” You were groaning and bringing your fingers to your temples, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Oh, without a doubt.” Joel was laughing at your predicament, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t keep having you like this. Now that he’d gotten a taste, he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

my masterlist

[adverbally]

Intention

Written for the @stmarchmm prompt “courting rituals” | wc: 913 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steddie, Steve & Wayne, omega Steve, alpha Eddie, alpha Wayne, early relationship, asking permission to court, non-traditional relationship dynamics

———

Steve hesitates on the Munsons’ front porch. The trailer is familiar and comforting with its worn screen door and peeling paint, the warm light and organized chaos he knows to be hidden inside. This place has become more of a home to him than the house he grew up in.

He doesn’t want to lose that now.

But he thinks about Eddie nervously asking him on their first real date, hiding his grin behind the lock of hair he tugged across his face when Steve said yes; the way Eddie’s eyes had sparkled in the glow of the streetlight outside Steve’s house when he dropped him off after dinner, just before he leaned in for the best first kiss Steve has ever had; how Eddie had carefully brushed his wrist along the cuff of Steve’s sweater so he could still smell Eddie’s smoky ginger scent for the rest of the evening.

Steve wants that, all of that and more. The promise of that has to outweigh the fear of screwing everything up.

He knocks on the door.

It feels like an eternity before Wayne answers, already dressed in his work clothes for that evening’s shift. He seems surprised to see Steve, but he pushes open the screen door between them and waves him inside anyway. “Did Ed not tell you he has band practice? He should be home soon but you’re welcome to wait.”

“No, I…” Steve takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets so he doesn’t start fidgeting with his jacket zipper. “I wanted to talk to you, actually, if you have a minute?”

Wayne looks even more baffled now but gestures for Steve to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the small dining table. He doesn’t join him immediately, instead going into the kitchen and silently filling two glasses with water from the tap. When he returns, he sits in the seat across from Steve and slides one of the cups over to him.

“Thanks.” Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he’s not sure he can take a drink without spilling or choking on it. Not until he says what he needs to say. Keeping his gaze on the scratched tabletop, he begins, “I think you probably know why I’m here.”

“I think so,” Wayne agrees. “And I think you know I need to hear you say it anyway.”

Steve nods, thinking of Eddie’s spicy warm scent to steel himself. “Eddie said you’re not very traditional. Your family, I mean. He offered to do this because he thought I wanted to do it, and I know he would’ve, but my dad…” He cuts off his rambling with a shake of his head. “Sorry, I’m nervous. Eddie said I shouldn’t be–”

“Steve. Take a breath.”

He does, then sips from his glass. Wayne doesn’t say anything while Steve gathers his thoughts for a long moment. Finally, he speaks again, deliberately. “Eddie is incredible. I care about him. I want to be with him.” It’s a gross understatement but if he starts elaborating, he might never stop. “I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks, but it matters to me what you think. Because it matters to Eddie. You’re the most important person in his life. He’s an adult and he can make his own decisions, so I’m not asking for permission, but… I wanted to inform you of my intention to court your nephew.”

Wayne nods, a slight tilt of his head acknowledging Steve’s declaration. “I accept it.”

“Okay.” He nods back, taps his fingers along the side of his water glass, listening to the quiet ping of his nails on its surface. “Thank you.” It’s almost disappointing how anticlimactic this was. He had stressed over it for days, and Wayne just… accepts him, just like that?

Like he can read Steve’s mind, Wayne leans closer. “You’re a good kid, Steve. You saved Ed’s life, you make him happy, you take care of that pack of kids. I think you’re good for him. Mellow him out some.”

“Yeah?” The compliment makes him warm from head to toe. Steve grins down at the table. “I think he’s good for me too.”

Wayne drains the last of the water in his glass. “I’d’ve given my permission, too, if you’d asked. Not that you need it.” He rises from his chair with a groan. “I gotta head to work now, but you’re welcome to wait for Ed. Make yourself at home.”

Steve stands as well, accepting the handshake Wayne offers him. “Thanks again, sir, I appreciate it.”

“Call me Wayne, son.” His mouth twists in a wry smile. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, then shrugs on his coat. “Make sure you’re being safe, now. I’m not ready to be a granddad yet.”

Wayne can surely see him blushing as Steve stammers, “No, we— I mean, we haven’t, I’m not—” When he realizes Wayne is fighting back his smile, he sighs, embarrassed but relieved to be in on the joke. “Okay, laugh it up.”

He waves to Wayne from the doorstep, watches the beat-up old truck kick up dust until it turns onto the asphalt outside the trailer park. The alpha’s scent lingers in the trailer, more woodsy than Eddie’s but still warm. Familiar.

Steve thinks he could get used to it.

[enhani-ki]

pacify her - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, kinda sadistic (?), etc.

you were sitting on the floor, hunched over your notebook as you tried to solve the last few problems of your homework. ni-ki sat beside you, watching with mild interest then tried to help you.

but that interest quickly faded when he realized he can't do it, "just use the calculator," he suggested, resting his chin on his knees.

"i don't need help."

"i want to understand how to solve this."

he scoffed, tilting his head at you in disbelief.

ni-ki sighed, getting really bored out of his mind. he doesn't understand why people make things so hard for themselves.

if there's already an easy way out, why not just take it?

you stayed focused until, finally, you set your pencil down with a satisfied sigh.

"you finished it?" ni-ki blinked surprised.

you turned to him with the brightest smile, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck. "yes, i told you i can do it!"

he smiled, letting you cling to him more, then pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you.

"are you really that smart?" he murmured against your lips.

you shook your head no, acting all modest and humble, but he wasn't buying it.

"okay, if you're that smart…” he leaned back slightly to watch your expression fully. "can you tell me what are you going to do after i die?"

your proud smile faded immediately. you shoved him away, moving to sit on the couch, and crossing your arms in irritation.

he followed you, leaning back over the cushions beside you. "come on," he said, "how long do you think it'll last before you move on?" he started kissing your arm, like what he always do when he wants to soften you up.

your brows knitted together. "ni-ki, that's not funny."

"i'm not trying to be funny." he laughed, tilting his head. "i'm just really curious."

you didn't answer, you just moved uncomfortably but that only encouraged him.

"i mean, you wouldn't stay single forever, right?" he said it so casually as if he was just talking about the weather. "you'd cry for a bit, sure, but then what?"

"oh i'm not even sure if you'll cry."

your stomach twisted.

"maybe you'd find someone new in, what, a year? six months? shit..." he looked up at you, "would it be sooner?"

you pressed your lips together, "can you not?" you said as you pulled your arm away, trying to put some space between him and you.

and you could move further, ni-ki grabbed your wrist and wrapped his around your waist, locking you in place.

"y/n..." he called out in your ear. "you're not answering me."

"because it's stupid!"

"it's not," he insisted, resting his chin on your shoulder. "i just wanna know, baby... would you miss me?"

you inhaled shakily. "of course i would..."

"would you cry?"

you swallowed hard, not answering.

his fingers traced your arm slowly, "you're already getting worked up, huh?"

your throat tightened.

"you're about to cry," he whispered, watching your expression closely.

your nose started to turn red and your lips quivered before curling downward into a sad pout.

ni-ki let out a soft chuckle, really in awe. "i'm not even dead, and you're already crying?"

a choked sob left your throat as you shove his chest, but your boyfriend didn't budge. he just watched you, amused, his eyes fixed on your tear-streaked face.

so you turned your face away, he started showering kisses to your head.

"you're so pretty when you're upset."

his lips trailed down your jaw, his hands were slipping under your skirt.

"ni-ki." you tried to warn, but he was already tilting your head back, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

and despite how annoyed and sad you were, you still folded.

ni-ki lifted your skirt slightly, his fingers trailed over the soft fabric of your panties before slowly sliding them down your legs. he left the skirt on, he thinks it looks sexy how it framed you perfectly.

he then pushed your legs up, keeping them pressed together instead of spreading them apart like he knew the restriction will make everything more intense and tighter.

he dragged his tongue slowly over your folds along with obscene slurping sounds while you twitch underneath him. ni-ki took his time, savoring every desperate little noises that escaped your lips.

you grabbed his hand from your waist, and guided it up to your breasts, he catches on instantly, squeezing rough and hard, the pressure making you whimper. it hurts but it somehow eased some of the frustration from the torturous pace he's keeping between your thighs.

"ni-ki, please… please, more-" your voice trembled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him to do more.

but he only hummed against your pussy, ignoring your pleas as he licked slowly and teasingly, again.

your patience snapped. you reached down to try and touch yourself, very desperate for the relief he's withholding, but ni-ki swats your hand away, "uh-uh," he disapproved, "just wait."

his grip on your thighs tightened as he presses a soft smooches to your pussy.

the frustration overwhelmed you. "just fucking stop this!" your patience snapped again for the second time, you tried to break free from his grip, your whole body writhing beneath him.

then his mouth closed around you, sucking hard on the sensitive bud making you gasp and bite down on your lip in shock.

the pleasure threatened to fall apart in your lower abdomen, only for him to suddenly pull away again, leaving you stranded on the edge.

tears pricked your eyes, spilling over your cheeks, you hide your face in your hands.

you can't even get mad, it just hurts.

ni-ki lay down beside you and gently removed your hands off your face.

your lashes were clumping together, your lips were slightly trembling, cheeks warm and flushed, the tip of your nose was already red from crying.

breathtaking.

he leaned in, pressing kisses all over your face.

you tried to turn away but he catches your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently while his hands move to unzip his pants.

his lips parted as he inserted his dick in your aching hole, slowly sinking into you, and stretching you open. his hand held the back of your head while the other held your leg in the air.

ni-ki's moaned right in front of your face then to your ear, and it turned you on even more.

he kept on giving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, now your whole face is wet because of him.

he caressed your cheek before tilting your chin up, his thumb pressed your lower lip until you open it for him. he didn't waste no time and slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, just swallowing every sounds you make.

oh, fuck.

and even lying on your sides, he can stroke inside relentlessly. easily sliding in and out of you so fast, so deep you're going dumber and dumber.

ni-ki smirked as he watched you go crazy and completely wrecked from the pleasure he's giving you.

your walls fluttered around him, it's tightening, throbbing, but not consistently. it's like you're teasing him too, keeping him on the edge, and making him crave more.

he chuckled breathlessly, "you're so petty." then he started pounding even faster as he neared his climax.

"i'm close, where do i shoot this, baby? huh?"

"i want it all inside of me."

ni-ki groaned after hearing what you wanted, he pressed his forehead against yours as he lets himself go, spilling his cum deep inside your core.

some of it dripped down as he pulled out, so he used his fingers to push it all back inside of you.

he's not gonna let any of it go to waste.

"stop, making me, cry!" you said, sniffling before pinching his arm.

ni-ki flinched and smirked, "babe..." he said, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips before pressing a quick kiss. "you cry because you love me. it's natural."

then he held your panties "don't put these back on today," he said, before slipping them into his pocket.

"no, that's-"

"let's just see how it'll drip out of you every time you move."

ni-ki kissed you again, swallowing the little hiccuped sob that escapes your lips. then, as if he hasn't already ruined you enough, he whispers against your mouth...

"didn't i tell you that look so pretty when you cry?"

a/n: she got pacified with a big D (requested) jacquees - you

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[noosayog]

Sitting at the bar, alone, is far from Atsumu’s ideal Friday night. 

But Bokuto’s busy, Shoyo has a date, and Omi, well… he didn’t even bother to make an excuse. Some friends they are, especially when he’s going through a breakup. 

It does get better, minorly, when you, a pretty stranger, decide to sit in the stool directly to his left. Never mind that the bar is full and the seat next to his is the only free spot.

You’re pretty, dressed in something casual, yet memorable. He’s content to simply sit beside you, fantasizing scenarios in which he charmingly and successfully gets you to join him for a drink and dinner soon, when he hears you. 

“So how’s your night going?” 

“Uh.”

You giggle lightly. He feels his face flush a shade deeper. 

“Articulate, aren’t you?” 

Atsumu chokes out an awkward chuckle. “I’m usually better than this.” 

“Yeah?” You lean further in, propping your chin on your hand. 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence. Your smile drops. Oh, you’re definitely about to turn to your left and try your luck with the other guy sitting on that side. 

“Um-” 

“Ok, whatever,” you say. “I’m just gonna come out and ask. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Uh, no. I’m actually going through a-”

You hold a hand up. “I don’t really wanna hear details. So you’re single? Not seeing someone? Not trying to see someone?” 

“No.” 

“Cool. Wanna make out with me? No strings attached, of course.” 

“Uh?”

“You’re not really doing too hot convincing me that your normal is better than this. Make out.” You gesture, lips puckered. “With me. Just looking for a little fun tonight, you know?” 

Yes, he does want to make out with the pretty girl sitting next to him, so charming, he thinks he might’ve fallen in love. But instead, what he says is- 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean it’s not really my things to hook up with someone right when I meet them and I’m going through a fresh breakup…” 

You sit back up, swiveling your stool so you’re facing the bar now. “No worries. I don’t wanna pressure someone who’s not down. Have a good night then.” 

You turn back to your book, which he didn’t even notice was there. A sip of your drink, knife to the conversation. 

Atsumu probably spends a good while racking his head for a way to restart the connection when he hears you order another drink. He keeps his head down, discreetly eavesdropping as you flirt with the bartender. 

The bartender rests both arms on the bar to lean closer to you, clearly bewitched. Not that Atsumu doesn’t understand but doesn’t this guy have a job to do? He makes a mental note to write a bad google review later. 

“So…” the bartender croons, “I heard your proposition for Blondie over there.” 

Excuse him? He’s sitting right here still! 

“If he’s not interested-”

“Who said I’m not!” 

Both sets of eyes whip toward him. 

“Bro, we both heard you say-” 

“Okay, so can’t a guy make a mistake?” He turns to you, voice accusatory. “Guys say things when we’re nervous. I’m nervous, okay? I’ve never been asked to make out with some like you,” he gestures up and down. “I am so interested in making out with you.” 

You blink once, twice, before turning to the bartender. “I think I’m done drinking for the night.” 

You turn toward him. 

“Put my drinks on blondie’s tab. He’s closing out now.” 

Atsumu hardly remembers throwing a couple of bills on the table before you grab his hand, trailing after your tinkling laughter. 

–

“- and that’s how I met your mother.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“No way she asked you, of all people, at that bar to make out with you.” 

”Seems kinda farfetched, Atsumu…” 

The MSBY team is gathered in your living room, your one year old son babbling on Atsumu’s lap. 

“Hey! No swear words around my son.” 

His teammates roll their eyes. 

“You’re so full of it. No way that story-”

“What are you guys talking about?” You enter the room with a handful of beers. 

“How you and Atsumu met.” 

“Oh, you mean how I asked him to make out with me?” 

“No fucking shot!” 

“Language!”

[bu3ck3r]

always us

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 3k

summary: paige and azzi confront their fears and reaffirm their deep commitment to one another

It had been a long, tense few days, and the silence between Paige and Azzi had become a weight too heavy to bear. The usual hum of laughter and gentle teasing that defined their relationship had been replaced by an uncomfortable quiet that neither of them knew how to fill.

It had started so innocuously, just a small misunderstanding, a passing comment that should have been forgotten, but it had festered. Neither of them had backed down, neither of them had apologized. And now, sitting across from one another in their small dorm, the space between them felt wider than it ever had before.

Paige ran her fingers through her hair, the familiar motion one of her many nervous habits, but this time, it only served to irritate her further. She could feel the frustration building in her chest like a slow burning fire, the heat of it rising with each tick of the clock on the wall.

"Why do you always do this?" Paige's voice was quiet but sharp, the words cutting through the heavy silence.

Azzi's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do what, Paige?" she asked, the edge to her tone betraying the calm front she was trying to maintain. "What exactly do you mean by always?"

Paige swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing, but she couldn't stop now. The words had to come out, even if they felt like daggers. "Why do you shut me out every time something happens? You just... retreat, and I have to chase after you, but you don’t let me in."

Azzi looked away, eyes dropping to her hands. The confession struck a nerve, one that had been tender for a while now. “I don’t shut you out. I just... I can’t deal with everything at once, okay?” she murmured, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability that she rarely showed.

Paige felt the sting of those words, the realization hitting her that, perhaps, Azzi wasn’t as strong as she appeared. But that didn’t make it easier. "I can’t always be the one trying to fix things, Azzi. I can’t keep doing this. You say you need space, but all I’m asking for is to be there for you when you’re hurting. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Paige’s heart raced, her breath shallow as the emotions swirled around her. She had never felt so... powerless. The intensity of her feelings, hurt, anger, confusion, flooded her.

Azzi stood abruptly, walking to the window as if the view could offer her some relief. “You think I don’t want you there? You think I don’t want to be open with you?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly swallowed, her back to Paige.

Paige stood up, the impulse to move toward Azzi like a magnet pulling at her. "Then why do you push me away?" she asked, her voice breaking as she stepped closer, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over.

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she stared out the window, a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "Because I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that I’m going to hurt you, that I’m not enough for you, and I don’t know how to be everything you need me to be. I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve. I never learned how to be... this vulnerable."

Paige froze, the words hitting her like a physical blow. "Scared?" she repeated softly, her eyes welling up as she processed what Azzi had just said. “Azzi, you’re not gonna hurt me. But pushing me away, keeping me at arm’s length... that’s what hurts me. It breaks my heart every time.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as she finally turned to face Paige, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Please can we just stop talking about it right now," she whispered, her voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I need to think, please give me space.”

…

The sound of a basketball echoed through the empty UConn practice gym. The steady rhythm of dribbling, the squeak of sneakers against polished hardwood, the sharp breath of exertion everything about Paige’s movements screamed frustration.

Her blonde ponytail bounced as she moved, her body working on autopilot. Dribble, crossover, step-back jumper. The ball swished through the net with perfect precision, but she barely acknowledged it. The burn in her muscles wasn’t enough to drown out the ache in her chest.

She was angry. And hurt.

She and Azzi had argued before, sure. They were passionate and stubborn, so sometimes that led to disagreements. But this? This had been different.

This had felt like a crack in something she thought was unbreakable.

The gym doors creaked open behind her, and Paige’s grip on the ball tightened. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. The air shifted, her entire body reacting to the presence of the one person who could unravel her in an instant.

“Paige,” Azzi’s voice was soft, careful.

Paige exhaled sharply, bouncing the ball once before tossing it aside. She finally turned around, her blue eyes locking onto Azzi’s.

Azzi looked hesitant, arms crossed over her chest like she was bracing for impact. “Can we talk?”

Paige scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “Now you want to talk?” Her voice was laced with bitterness, but underneath it was something more vulnerable.

Azzi flinched at her tone. “Paige, please.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get to do this,” she said, voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to shut me out, walk away, and then just show up like nothing happened.”

Azzi looked away, guilt written all over her face. “I know,” she murmured. “I messed up.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her frustration bubbling over. “Do you even know what it felt like last night? To stand there, telling you how much I need you, and then just watch you walk away?” Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated how raw she sounded.

Azzi took a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh. “But you did. You always do this, Azzi. Every time things get hard, you shut down. You don’t talk to me, you don’t let me in you just leave me standing there, wondering if I said something wrong. Wondering if I’m too much for you.”

Azzi’s face crumpled. “Paige, no—”

“Then why do you do it?” Paige interrupted, blinking rapidly as the emotions threatened to spill over.

Azzi swallowed, looking down at her hands. “Because I’m scared.”

Paige stilled, her breath catching in her throat. “…Scared of what?”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Of losing you.”

Paige felt something in her chest tighten.

Azzi exhaled shakily, finally meeting Paige’s eyes again. “I love you so much, Paige. It terrifies me. Because what if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess this up? What if I hurt you so badly one day that you decide I’m not worth it?”

Paige’s heart ached at the sheer vulnerability in Azzi’s voice.

“I shut down because I don’t know how to handle it,” Azzi admitted. “But I see now that walking away only hurts you more. And I never, ever want to be the reason you feel like you’re not enough. Because you are, Paige. You always have been.”

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek before she could stop it. Azzi’s face crumbled at the sight, and she took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

This time, Paige didn’t move away.

Azzi reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Paige let out a shaky breath, squeezing Azzi’s hand like it was the only thing grounding her. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Azzi. I just need you to let me in.”

Azzi nodded, her grip tightening. “I will. I swear.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the gym.

Azzi’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to touch Paige’s arm, her fingers light, barely brushing against her skin. “You’re not alone,” Azzi said, her voice steady now, filled with determination. “I’m here. I always will be. I just—” She faltered, her lips parting slightly. “I just need you to know that I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it the way I should.”

Paige’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Azzi’s words, and before she could stop herself, she stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I love you too,” Paige whispered, her voice low. The words felt like they’d been stuck in her throat, but saying them now, with Azzi standing so close, felt like an exhale she didn’t realize she needed. “I need you to show me though. I need to know you’re here.”

Azzi looked into her eyes, her gaze searching. Slowly, Azzi’s hands moved to Paige’s face, gently cupping her cheeks, her thumbs tracing circles on her skin. The softness of Azzi’s touch made Paige’s heart flutter, but it also made something inside her stir a longing that had been building for so long.

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Always.”

And then, without another word, Azzi’s lips found Paige’s in a kiss that was everything Paige had been craving. It started slow, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But soon, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Azzi’s hands slid into Paige’s hair, pulling her closer, and Paige responded in kind, her arms winding around Azzi’s waist, bringing her even closer.

Every kiss, every touch, felt like a promise. A promise that they were here. That they were in this together.

Azzi pulled back for a moment, her chest heaving with breath. “Paige, I… I need you,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “I’ve needed you so badly, but I’ve been afraid. Afraid I might push you away.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, her hands moving to Azzi’s back, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her shirt. “You won’t,” Paige murmured. “You never will.”

Paige’s hands slipped lower, resting on Azzi’s hips, her touch gentle but insistent. There was a tenderness in her movements, but also an undeniable hunger. The way her fingers traced the curve of Azzi’s body made her heart race, her body reacting without thinking.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige guided Azzi toward the bench at the side of the court. She gently sat down, pulling Azzi to straddle her lap. The position felt intimate, natural, but there was something else, a need between them, an unspoken longing that was growing stronger with every moment.

Azzi’s hands slid down to Paige’s shoulders, her fingers lightly grazing the fabric of Paige’s shirt before pushing it up, inch by inch. Paige lifted her arms, allowing Azzi to pull it off completely, revealing her arms, the soft glow of her skin in the dim light of the gym. Azzi couldn’t stop herself from running her hands over Paige’s bare skin, her fingertips tracing the lines of her muscles, feeling the warmth of her body.

Azzi leaned forward, capturing Paige’s lips again, the kiss deepening as Paige’s hands moved to Azzi’s shirt, tugging it up over her head. Their lips never parted, their movements eager but tender, as if they both wanted to savor every second.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Paige’s gaze was intense, filled with both love and longing. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I need to be sure, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her hands caressing Paige’s face. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, appreciative smile before she kissed Azzi again. This time, the kiss was filled with a deeper passion, a more urgent desire. Paige’s hands explored every inch of Azzi’s body, memorizing the feel of her as if they had all the time in the world. But neither of them could deny the tension that had been building between them for so long.

Every touch felt electric. Every kiss was a promise, a reaffirmation of their love, their bond. Paige’s hands slid lower, tracing the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, tugging them down slowly, deliberately. Azzi shivered at the sensation, her breath hitching as Paige’s fingertips grazed over her skin, sending sparks through her body.

“Paige…” Azzi gasped, her body arching into Paige’s touch.

“Shh,” Paige murmured softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear, her hands steady and sure. “I’ve got you.”

Azzi sighed contentedly, resting her head against Paige’s shoulder as they stood in the quiet gym, wrapped up in each other.

Then, Paige hesitated before asking, “Can I hold you?”

Azzi’s defenses crumbled completely. Without a word, she stepped into Paige’s arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Paige wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly, like she never wanted to let go.

Azzi closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of Paige’sd skin—vanilla and something undeniably her. The warmth of her embrace, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against Paige’s own, was more comforting than anything words could provide.

Azzi pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Paige’s head, murmuring, “I love you.”

Paige exhaled against her, nuzzling closer. “I love you too.”

For a long time, they stayed like that, swaying slightly as if they were the only two people in the world.

Then, Azzi pulled back just enough to cup Paige’s face in her hands. “I’m never walking away from you again,” she whispered.

Paige searched her eyes, looking for hesitation. There was none.

A slow, soft smile broke across her face. “Good.”

Because at the end of the day, no matter how messy things got, they would always find their way back to each other.

[callme-holly]

Could you do a Darry x reader where shes just like super fidgety and he pulls her into his lap to calm her down

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

a/n: short one today y'all!! really sorry but my head is all over the place rn

The house had finally begun to settle, the silence much welcome after hours of pure chaos and steadily unfurling anxiety; the boys had long since wound down, their wounds from the rumble patched, all of them sprawled out in various states around the room, sound asleep. Yet, despite them being safe and content under the same roof as you, you still couldn’t seem to relax yourself. Your heart was still thumping wildly, mind clouded slightly with fear and the what-ifs that had swirled around in your brain since the moment they’d left. 

Your hands wrung absentmindedly in your lap, nails picking at your skin, blood beading slightly at the surface. It wasn’t an intentional infliction, just something for your hands to do. You never were consciously aware of what you were doing, much like now, until Darry grabbed your hands gently in his much larger ones, his skin rough in contrast to yours. 

“Don’t do that,” he mumbles, keeping his tone low—his voice is rough from all the shouting he’d no doubt done earlier, and it sends an involuntary shiver through you. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You don’t fight against him, simply lacing your fingers together, squeezing his hand gently. “Sorry…” You avert your gaze, eyes darting around the room quickly, landing on every single face around the room, almost as if reassuring yourself that they’re all there.

“Hey…” He grabbed your chin, his touch nothing but tender, turning your face slowly so that your attention is focused purely on him. His thumb grazes over your cheek, featherlight, barely there. "You're real restless tonight, darlin'. Talk to me." 

You let out a long, heavy sigh, shrugging half-heartedly; there was no easy way to say that, despite knowing that they were all here, you were still trembling with anxiety, the fear eating away at you. "I don't know... I just..." you trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of sign that he gets it without you having to say much more. 

He lets out a long, drawn breath, and before you can even comprehend what he's doing, he's tugging you into his lap, arms wrapped around you, holding you close. His hands rest on your hips, tracing idle circles on your skin. It's comforting and calming, a stark contrast to the panic still raging inside you. 

“It’s alright, you know that. Everything is fine. We’re all safe, sweetheart.” 

“I know…” you whisper, swallowing thickly, letting yourself melt against his chest. “I can’t help it, though. You were gone for hours, Darry. Forgive me for being slightly worried about you.” It comes out a little snappier than you meant it, and you’re immediately flooded with guilt, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth in apology. 

He doesn’t seem offended, though, instead chuckling softly. “You worry too much. I can handle myself. Those guys didn’t stand a chance against me.”

That draws a laugh from you, the first real, genuine laugh of the evening. “Whatever you say, tough guy. 'm just glad you're okay..."

You lean in again, and this time he meets you halfway, the kiss  chaste, soft, and tender; the tension in your body finally begins to dissipate, leaving behind nothing but a faint tingle as he pulls away from you. 

He's safe. He's here, with you... And he isn't going anywhere. 

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay so for that part 2...

SO IMAGINE-

You're finally reunited with your husband, albeit not under the circumstances that you imagined... you're in Hell, and he seems to be different from how you remember him...

But he's still your husband and you love him for who he is, not for how you remember him. At least that's what you keep telling yourself the more you find out about him.

Alastor seems indifferent or even entertained by your internal struggle, his eyes always seem to dart towards you whenever he does something particularly monstrous. You can feel his glee at the sight of your realization that your husband definitely belonged down here.

But part of you, a sick part of you, was excited to see Alastor so happy. There was a genuineness to it that you didn't get to see often when you two were alive. You adapted to him and Hell much quicker than he had anticipated.

He had actually thought you would try to go back to Heaven, a small part of him hoping that you would... (only because you're a distraction for him!! Not at all because he worries about you!!)

Whenever he's has some gore left on him that he missed you're there to wipe it off, only grimacing slightly before smiling at him in a way that makes his heart flutter and his own smile become more genuine.

Or you'll recognize signs that he's stressed out or overwhelmed, turning on the radio for him and bringing him something hot to drink while insisting that he relax. Sometimes, you will stroke his hair while marveling at his ears in a way that he finds endearing.

Or you'll cook for him like you used to, doing your best to recreate old recipes and bringing meals to him when he's working in his radio tower. Every bit the wife he remembers you to be...

But it's dangerous to slip back into old mindsets, to allow himself to be the husband you deserve even if the idea is tempting for some odd reason. Even worse if the public found out he had a teeny tiny soft spot for his angelic wife that was now in Hell.

So he does what he can to keep you at a distance until it fails, finding himself drawn towards you like a magnet and thinking of you much too often.

Alastor steps away for just a moment and comes back to find someone flirting with you? Instead of leaving you to deal with it yourself, Alastor ends up intervening and chasing them away because you're HIS wife.

You leave the hotel by yourself for whatever reason? Alastor is spending the entire day roaming the streets looking for you only to find you on your way back to the hotel and happy to see him. The relief he feels curdling is his stomach as he realizes he was worried about you for unselfish reasons.

The tipping point comes when you run into Valentino, the overlord circling you like a predator while cooing about how lovely you are. Trying to tempt you with coming a star then switching to threatening you if you tell him no before going back to trying to charm you.

Alastor steps in just before Valentino's tongue comes out, dripping bright pink saliva on the ground as he suddenly grabs your wrist. It's a tense and close call but Alastor manages to save you and the situation with grace.

Alastor finally decides that he has to do something to get rid of you but can't bring himself to hurt you no matter how easy it would be...

He finds his solution when you meet Lucifer, he immediately recognizes you as not a sinner and you two get to talking. It's a quick friendship for you two and Lucifer seems to worry about you being in Hell. He offers to try and send you back where you belong but you deny is offer.

"I worked too hard to find Alastor just leave him, for me....Heaven is where my husband is! We love each other after all."

The words rattle around in Alastor's head for a while, your unwillingness to leave him and Lucifer's offer to get you out of Hell. The cogs of his mind whirling into action as he realizes what he has to do.

He just needs to work up the courage to let you go.

Tag List:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @aiyalogy @uniquecutie-puffs @evanthelibra @sassy-persona

I WAS GONNA MAKE HIM SAY SOME MEAN SHIT TO MAKE HER WANT TO LEAVE OR HAVE ALASTOR SET SOMETHING UP TO FORCE HER TO LEAVE BEFORE CHANGING HIS MIND ONLY FOR HER TO FIND OUT AND FEEL BETRAYED BUT I COULDN'T DECIDE

[yandere-sins]

OMFG I absolutely LOVE your writing and the overall creepyness of it💕😩 May I request a yandere childe with a crybaby s/o who Gets scared way too easily? Ik this might be basic but I really wanted to interact with you 💗🥹

Aah, thank you so much, you're so sweet! Sorry it took me so long, but thank you for requesting and interacting with me, I appreciate it! I gave the reader a good reason to be scared this time, hope that is okay! ♥

Extra Warning for Murder, Blood Mention

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Shh, babe, what's wrong? You don't have to worry about them anymore."

A calloused hand caressed your cheek, the other arm wrapping around your body as Childe drew you close to him. You were shivering, sobbing in his embrace. Still, he didn't seem to mind at all, a gentle smile on his face as he cradled you, having had more than enough practice with comforting his siblings to know how to comfort you. With the weight of his head on top of yours, you were nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck, his hand wandering back to brush down your hair while the one at the small of your back rubbed its thumb up and down. It was a perfect hug for a perfect darling, as Childe liked to call you. But there was one thing off about it.

The stench.

The squishy, wet feeling smeared all over your cheek and soaked into your clothes, together with the biting, iron smell of blood that stuck to him. Or perhaps it came from the corpses that lay behind his body, shielding the view. Or maybe you were only imagining it. It was hard to believe that you had just watched people die, their deaths caused by this almost stranger's hands. These people were your friends, and yet you couldn't believe it was real.

"I-I'm scared," you stammered, barely able to get the sound out of your throat. "They- They're d-dead."

"Oh, that's true," Childe replied, his voice full of pity and gentle reassurance. As if it hadn't been him who killed them. As if it was a coincidence, you stumbled over the bodies when, really, your friends had been laughing and talking next to you just mere seconds ago before Childe struck them down out of cold-blooded malice.

More tears dripped down your cheeks, countless of them. You were in too much shock to scream and run, but the flow of tears seemed endless as regret, guilt, and horror mixed. You felt nauseated, and yet you couldn't throw up, couldn't do anything. Frozen in place, you listened to the rapidly beating heart of the monster comforting you, feeling Childe take a deep breath, letting it out with a content sigh.

Whatever he was feeling, he seemed... proud of it.

You whimpered miserably as he pressed you tighter against his chest, swaying you side to side before pulling away a few inches. Not enough to let go of you, just so much that he could look into your eyes. Instead of pupils, there was only endless darkness, the moonlight dimly reflected in them, causing swirls of infatuation in the madness that was his gaze on you. Even with barely any light, you could see your own scared reflection. The blood stain on your cheek, the shock etched in every inch of your features.

"You need to keep it together, babe," Child whispered, the same broad, boyish grin on his lips that he had the first time you met him. Where you still thought he was a good guy, helping you carry some groceries home and inviting you to see the festival with him. You had to tell him "no" back then, since you already made plans with your friends. But now, they were no more, and he remained. Only now, that grin was nothing short of psychotic, standing in stark contrast to his eyes so devoid of emotions and the gore on his clothes.

"The guards will be here soon. You wouldn't want them to find you covered in the blood of those people, would you? They might think you did it."

Humiliating as it was, you could see your features grow desperate as a sob escaped you, your eyes crinkling as more tears fell. Childe hushed you again, pressing his lips to your forehead and kissing it over and over as he told you everything would be alright. That he wouldn't let anyone take you or take the blame for him. You could only listen half-heartedly as your feelings threatened to take over your whole body, controlling it and cementing you in place.

It had always been this way for you; the tears were your lifelong friend. Crying was the reaction your body knew best, whether in good or bad situations, and there wasn't much you could do. As a child, you had been mocked for being a crybaby, and as an adult, you were pitied for not having better control over your emotions. Fear had been your constant companion. Whether it was about making a mistake or not feeling like you were good enough to finish a task. You soon began fearing your own incapability, but no one—sometimes not even you—understood that this fear was a force to be reckoned with, one you were completely helpless against.

Unless there was another person stronger than it.

"Aaand up!" Childe proclaimed, having stood up and gripped your hands in the time you spiraled into anxiety and desperation, the overwhelming guilt not helping. But suddenly, you were on your feet despite the tears still falling. Even though you didn't know how to move or act. First, he had comforted you for the crime he committed, and now he did what you had never managed before—pull you out of the trance of your fears.

"Let's go!" he announced chipperly, a slippery, bloody hand gripping yours so tight that it hurt. Jerking you forward, you could only watch Childe's back as he began to run, laughing carefreely as if the death of your friends didn't bother him. As if he was free, unbound by laws and those feelings, you felt so strongly.

Only when you looked down did you notice your own feet moving—rapidly, swiftly. You didn't need to look up as Childe led you through the labyrinth of people who were so occupied with the Lantern Rite in Liyue Harbor that they didn't notice the two blood-soaked individuals passing through.

Breathing was hard, moving was straining, and his grip on you was relentlessly painful. Yet, neither of you stopped until you were already partway up on a mountain outside the harbor, Childe panting just like you, trying to catch his breath. He collapsed with a groan on the dirty trail up the mountain, and with your hand still in his grasp, he pulled you down with him.

It should have hurt when your body was forced to give out, but you landed cushioned in his chest and on his lap. The vibrations of his laugh against your skin felt weird, your senses not yet having returned fully. Lifting your head, you saw the countless lanterns rise to the sky, illuminating it beautifully with the people's memories of those they lost—and you should have been there, lightning lanterns for your friends.

"There we go," Childe muttered, catching your attention as he wiped over your cheek, sticky skin against more sticky skin. Only now did you realize that your tears had dried up, and you looked at the monster that had both made you cry and took care to run them dry—literally.

"You're a pretty crier," Childe sighed, the glow of the lanterns returning some life to the blue in his eyes. Or perhaps the sight before him returned his emotions to him, making him almost look normal despite the red stains. "But I like you better when you're happy. One of us has to."

Leaning his head on your shoulder, Childe reached for your hand, giving it another tight squeeze. Above you, the night sky was filled with beautiful lights, the view even better than from the harbor itself, but you couldn't forget even a second of what had happened that day. That you weren't enjoying this view with your friends, but with some murderer you barely knew, who had pulled you out of the sadness in your heart, only to leave it empty, no feelings able to fill it.

"I'll keep you happy," Childe promised, a faint blush on his cheeks that reached up his ears. "Everything will be the way you want, so you don't have to cry anymore."

Only then did you realize what it truly meant to be afraid, sitting on the lap of someone who thought manipulating the world to his liking would make you happy. Someone who didn't bat an eye before killing an innocent soul. Someone determined to make you feel as empty as he was, just to keep you by his side.

And when Childe looked up grinning, you managed to wipe the smile right off his face, a tear dropping down your cheek.

[1343401]

captive desires - chapter two

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 10.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse

prev | next | m.list

when myah returned home that night something felt off.

jisun was waiting for her in the living room, curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the other bouncing slightly. her rabbit ears twitching the second myah stepped through the door, nose scrunching up as if she caught a scent she doesn’t like. her golden eyes sharpened, flickering over myah from head to toe.

not just looking. assessing.

"where were you?" jisun’s voice is soft, but there’s a tension to it, like a wire stretched too tight.

"the house," myah answers, kicking off her shoes. her limbs feel heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the thick layer of unease clinging to her skin. she can still feel the press of cold metal beneath her fingertips, the scent of damp stone lingering in her nose.

jisun watches her closely. doesn’t blink. doesn’t look away. myah knows that look.

then, slowly, jisun sits up, stretching her arms overhead, her movements languid, too casual. calculated. her ears flick again.

"and?"

myah hesitates. "and…what?"

jisun tilts her head slightly, eyes never leaving hers. "and why do you smell like that?"

a chill runs down myah’s spine, cold and sharp. her fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

she won’t flinch.

"what are you talking about?" she asks, forcing her voice to stay even, bored, like jisun is just being dramatic again.

jisun doesn’t respond right away. instead, she rises to her feet, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. too close.

myah can see it now, the way her pupils have dilated just slightly, the way her nostrils flare, like she’s inhaling, pulling in something unfamiliar.

"other hybrids," jisun murmurs. "it’s faint, but…it’s there. under all that dust and whatever else is clinging to you."

myah’s mouth goes dry. there’s no way, she thought. 

from the kitchen, chae-eun’s voice drifts in, calm but curious. "should we be concerned?"

jisun doesn’t look away. doesn’t even blink.

myah forces a breath past her lips, tries to shake the tension out of her shoulders. act normal. don’t let them see it.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about," she lies. "it was just me."

another pause. jisun’s eyes narrow, her ears flicking again, sharp and quick.

"okay," she says, but the word is light, dismissive. a trap.

myah can see it in the way she lingers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach out, grab her wrist, pull the truth out of her. but she doesn’t push. not yet. instead, she just smiles. too sweet. too knowing.

"you should sleep in my room again tonight," she says, voice smooth. "just in case."

myah exhales slowly. "i’m fine, jisun."

"humor me."

her voice is light, but there’s something unshakable in her tone, something dangerous lurking beneath the concern. something that says i know you’re lying.

she knows.

maybe not everything. maybe not what, exactly, myah had found in that basement, but she knows something happened.

and myah can’t risk pushing her further.

"fine," she murmurs.

jisun hums, pleased, and reaches out, running her fingers through myah’s hair, absently smoothing it down. like she’s claiming her. like she’s reminding her where she belongs.

"good," she whispers. "i’ll take care of you."

as the night drags on, the air is thick and heavy. myah shifts beneath the covers, sleep evading her.

jisun is curled against her side, her breathing slow, steady. but even in sleep, she doesn’t let go. one of her hands rests lightly on myah’s wrist, fingers curled just enough to keep her there.

it’s not just comfort. it’s possession. a quiet warning.

stay where i can see you.

myah stares at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing. she feels like she’s still in the basement, like the weight of the house is pressing down on her, wrapping around her throat like invisible hands.

the scratching.

the breathing.

it had been on the other side of that door. waiting.

she had run. bolted up the stairs like a coward, slamming the panel shut behind her.

but she hadn’t imagined it.

she knows what she heard.

a shiver runs through her.

the sun hadn’t even risen by the time she finally untangles herself from jisun’s grip. she moves carefully, slowly, prying herself free without waking her.

jisun stirs slightly, fingers twitching against the sheets, but doesn’t wake.

quietly, myah slipped out of the room.

rounding the corner, myah sees chae-eun in the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable. the early morning light filters through the window, casting soft shadows across the counter.

myah freezes for half a second.

then, chae-eun glances up, meeting her gaze.

she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t scold her for being up so early or for looking like she hasn’t slept at all.

instead, she turns, pulls another mug from the cabinet, and fills it.

then she slides it across the counter.

“sit.”

it’s not a request.

myah hesitates, but she’s too exhausted to argue. she pulls out a chair and sinks into it, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

silence settles between them.

chae-eun watches her. patient. waiting.

“what happened?”

myah’s fingers tighten around the mug. “what do you mean?”

chae-eun exhales, tilting her head slightly. “you came back wrong.”

the words shouldn’t make myah’s stomach drop, but they do.

“jisun smelled it,” chae-eun continues, voice even, unreadable. “i saw it. you walked in here like you weren’t sure if you were even supposed to be back.”

myah swallows, forcing herself to meet her gaze.

she isn’t like jisun. she doesn’t sniff people out, doesn’t pin them in place with a knowing look, doesn’t dig her claws into the truth until it spills out, raw and exposed.

but she doesn’t have to.

because chae-eun knows.

she’s already put the pieces together, already seen the way myah walked through the door last night like she was stepping out of a nightmare, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking, the way she hesitated when asked what happened.

and she’s waiting for myah to say it.

for some reason, that makes it harder.

her throat feels tight.

her mind flashes back to the house. to the dim light flickering overhead, to the cold air creeping up from beneath the floorboards and the dust thick in the air.

to the door in the basement.

she hadn’t seen anything.

but she had heard it.

the scratching. the breathing. the slow, deliberate drag of nails against metal. like whatever was behind that door wasn’t just waiting.

and then, that moment,

that awful moment,

when the sound had stopped.

when the silence had stretched long and thin, curling around her like a warning.

when the air had felt too still, as if something was pressing against the other side of the door, ear to the metal, mirroring her.

like it was listening back.

myah shudders.

her fingers tighten around her mug, her pulse thudding against her ribs.

chae-eun doesn’t look away. doesn’t blink.

the weight of her gaze makes it impossible to lie.

so myah exhales, steadying herself, and whispers, “there’s something in the basement.”

chae-eun stills.

myah forces herself to keep going. “i don’t know what, but,” she shakes her head. “it’s locked. bolted shut. but there was something on the other side.”

the words feel ridiculous now that they’re out in the open. like she’s a child confessing to a nightmare.

but chae-eun doesn’t laugh.

doesn’t blink.

instead, she sets her mug down carefully, fingers pressing against the counter’s edge.

“what did you hear?”

myah’s stomach twists, nausea curling low in her gut.

the apartment feels too warm all of a sudden, the scent of coffee and chae-un’s floral perfume turning thick and suffocating in the air.

her grip on the mug tightens, the ceramic pressing into her palms, grounding her.

but it doesn’t stop the memory from creeping in.

“scratching,” she says, the word dragging out of her throat like something unwilling.

chae-eun doesn’t move.

doesn’t even blink.

her expression remains eerily neutral, but there’s something simmering beneath it, something watching.calculating.

waiting for myah to keep going.

she swallows, throat dry.

“and breathing.”

the words are barely a whisper, but they feel deafening in the quiet of their kitchen.

chae-eun exhales, slow and measured, before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

her eyes don’t leavemyah’s face.

and then she asks,

“how did it breathe?”

a chill rips down myah’s spine.

the question shouldn’t make her stomach drop, shouldn’t make her pulse pound against her ribs.

but it does.

because chae-eun isn’t asking to humor her.

she’s asking because she sees her.

and that means this isn’t just paranoia.

this is real.

she blinks, forcing herself to focus. “what?”

chae-eun tilts her head slightly, like she’s studying her.

“was it shallow?” she asks, her voice too calm, too controlled. “uneven?” she pauses. “or was it slow?”

the world tilts for a second.

slow.

the lump in myah’s throat feels impossibly thick.

her mind yanks her back to the basement.

to the thick, suffocating air pressing against her skin.

to the steel door, bolted shut, looming in front of her like something alive.

and to the moment it breathed.

not shallow.

not erratic.

not panicked.

not desperate for escape.

controlled.

deep.

a slow inhale, dragging through the silence, like something was taking its time.

like it was thinking.

like it knew she was there.

like it was waiting for her to lean just a little closer.

her pulse roars in her ears as she forces her hands to stay steady around the mug, forces her voice to stay even.

but when she finally speaks, the words barely scrape past her throat.

“...it was slow.”

chae-eun inhales through her nose, leaning back slightly.

she doesn’t look surprised.

she looks like she just had something confirmed.

and for some reason,

that terrifies myah more than anything.

like whatever was behind that door had been listening to her just as closely as she had been listening to it.

she doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t have to.

chae-eun sits back, exhaling through her nose.

“and?”

myah blinks. “and?”

“what are you going to do about it?”

the question lands like a slap.

she doesn’t have an answer. not one she can put into words, not one that makes sense. her pulse is still erratic, the memory of that deep, measured breathing pressed into the back of her skull like a stain she can’t wash out.

her fingers twitch around her mug.

“i don’t know,” she admits finally. it’s quiet, but it feels deafening in the small space of their kitchen.

chae-eun watches her for a long moment. then, just as calmly, she says, “do you want me to come with you?”

myah’s breath catches.

she blinks, unsure if she heard her right. “what?”

chae-eun shrugs, taking another slow sip of her coffee, as if she’s offering to run an errand with her, not go back to a house with something locked in its basement.

“you’re planning on going back, aren’t you?”

myah doesn’t answer.

she doesn’t need to.

chae-eun hums, setting her cup down again. “you shouldn’t go alone.”

“i—” myah shakes her head, still trying to catch up. “i wasn’t—i mean, i don’t—”

“you are going back,” chae-eun says, cutting through her hesitation with the same sharp, even tone she always uses when she’s already figured something out. “it’s just a matter of when.”

myah exhales through her nose, pressing her palms against the table. she wants to argue. wants to say she’s not planning anything.

but that would be a lie.

because of course she’s going back.

she doesn’t have a choice.

chae-eun tilts her head, considering her. “so?”

myah hesitates.

then, ever so quietly se replies “you don’t have to.”

“i know.” chae-eun leans back, tapping her fingers against her mug. “but i don’t like the idea of you going by yourself.”

she doesn’t say i believe you. she doesn’t say you’re not crazy.

but she also doesn’t say you imagined it. doesn’t tell her to leave it alone.

and somehow, that makes myah’s chest ache.

she swallows. “okay.”

chae-eun nods once, satisfied.

“we’ll go tomorrow,” she says simply. then she stands, stretching, rolling her shoulders back like she’s already moving on to the next thing. “you should try to get some actual sleep.”

myah huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “doubt that’ll happen.”

“figured.” chae-eun gives her a look. “just don’t let jisun catch on.”

right.

jisun.

myah’s stomach twists.

“i won’t,” she says, but she’s not sure.

because jisun’s already suspicious.

and if she realizes myah’s planning to go back

she won’t let her leave.

not without a fight.

the house is still.

above them, the weight of silence stretches, thick and heavy. but down here, beneath the earth, buried beneath years of rusted metal and stone, none of them are sleeping.

jungkook finally stops pacing, his body taut with frustration, muscles wound too tight. his jaguar tail flicks, a sharp, irritated motion, the faint rosette markings on his arms standing out under the dim light.

“i hate waiting,” he growls, voice low.

yoongi exhales, stretching out against the bars like he has all the time in the world, his panther tail curling lazily around his wrist. “we’ve waited this long. a little longer won’t kill you.”

“speak for yourself,” hoseok mutters, shifting his weight where he sits, his spotted tail tapping impatiently against the cold stone. his golden eyes flick toward the ceiling. “feels different now.”

“it is different,” seokjin murmurs, his silver-white hair catching in the dim light as he leans against the bars, his fluffy tail curling around his leg. his tone is unreadable, but his piercing, icy blue eyes are sharp, focused.

“she was here,” jungkook snaps, tail flicking again, more agitated this time.

“briefly,” namjoon corrects, his golden mane slightly disheveled from where he’s been leaning against the wall. he looks calm, but his amber eyes hold an intensity beneath them, calculating, considering. “and then she ran.”

silence lingers for a moment.

“if she returns,” taehyung says, his deep voice laced with lazy amusement, though his sharp tiger eyes glint with something darker, “we’ll see what kind of person she really is.”

jungkook’s ears twitch back. “she will.”

“will she?” taehyung tilts his head, black curls falling over his eyes. “we both smelled the fear on her.”

his gaze sweeps the room, landing on namjoon. “it’s clear she knows something dangerous is down here.”

“good.” yoongi’s voice is smooth, almost lazy. “means she’s smart.”

jimin, who’s been sitting with his long, clouded leopard tail draped over his lap, finally shifts. his hazel eyes gleam in the dim light, something unreadable in them.

“then we just have to convince her that nothing dangerous is down here.”

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “easier said than done.”

“not really.” jimin hums, tracing idle patterns on the stone floor with one fingertip. “fear makes people irrational. she ran before she saw anything, which means she’s only scared of what she thinks is here.”

“so we let her fill in the blanks,” seokjin muses, a slow smirk curling his lips.

hoseok snickers, resting his chin on his palm. “oh, this is going to be fun.”

but namjoon remains quiet, watching, considering.

he knows something the others don’t want to acknowledge.

he finally speaks, his voice steady, measured.

“even if she does come down here,” he murmurs, “even if she opens the door,”

his golden eyes flick to the cages.

“do you really think she’ll open these?”

the room falls silent.

jungkook’s tail flicks once, twice, sharp and agitated.

“so what?” he mutters, crossing his arms. “we just sit here and hope she’s stupid enough to come back?”

seokjin hums, a slow, amused sound. “you sound eager.”

jungkook’s golden eyes snap toward him, sharp and irritated. “we’ve been rotting in here for years. you’re not eager?”

seokjin shrugs, his silvery-white hair shifting as he leans against the bars. “eager? maybe. impatient? never.”

“you should be,” jungkook growls. “because namjoon’s right, she could walk through that door and still leave us locked in these fucking cages.”

his tail flicks again, a sharp, annoyed motion.

“we have no control over what she does.”

“so we make her do what we want,” taehyung murmurs, his deep voice laced with something dark.

jimin tilts his head, his long, spotted tail curling loosely around his fingers. “we can’t exactly hold a knife to her throat, taehyung.”

taehyung exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “who said anything about knives?”

yoongi shifts, rolling his neck, his golden eyes catching the dim light. “you want to scare her into it?”

taehyung shrugs. “if she’s too afraid to open the cages, we make her afraid not to.”

hoseok, who’s been quiet up until now, snorts. “you’re an idiot.”

taehyung’s gaze snaps toward him, but hoseok doesn’t look impressed. his golden, cheetah like eyes are sharp, calculated, but there’s an edge of amusement curling at his lips.

“you think she’ll listen to threats? we just established she ran because she already knows something’s wrong here,” hoseok points out. “if she really thought there were monsters in this basement, do you think she’d willingly let them out?”

taehyung narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.

because hoseok’s right.

seokjin sighs, dragging a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “so, what? we play nice?”

jimin’s lips curl, slow and sweet. “we make her want to help us.”

jungkook scoffs. “we’re a bunch of caged hybrids. what exactly do we have to offer?”

jimin’s hazel eyes gleam, knowing. “you’d be surprised.”

yoongi finally shifts, exhaling like he’s already exhausted. “namjoon?”

the lion hybrid hasn’t spoken for a while, his golden-blond mane slightly tousled as he leans back against the cold bars of his cage, watching them all in silence. his amber eyes are thoughtful, considering.

“we wait,” he says simply.

jungkook makes a frustrated sound. “are you kidding me?”

namjoon doesn’t react. his expression remains steady, unwavering.

“she’ll come back.”

his voice is calm, but there’s something final beneath it. something certain.

his tail flicks once, slow. deliberate.

“and when she does…” his golden eyes glint in the dim light.

“we’ll make sure she doesn’t leave empty-handed.”

the basement is still.

the cold, damp air sits heavy, clinging to their skin like a second layer. in the quiet, only the slow flicking of tails and the steady rise and fall of breath can be heard. but beneath that, something simmers. something restless.

yoongi is the only one who looks at ease, lounging with his back pressed against the metal, long legs stretched out, panther tail draped over his lap.

the air is heavier tonight.

not from tension, at least, not the kind they’re used to.

but something else. something uncertain.

"you’re thinking too loud," yoongi mutters, barely opening his eyes.

namjoon huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "someone has to think."

“that sounds exhausting,” jimin hums, stretching his arms above his head before letting them fall limply back to his sides. “ever considered letting it go? just for one night?”

seokjin smirks, tipping his head back against the bars. “namjoon? relax? you might as well ask the old man to start treating us like his pets.”

silence.

the weight of his absence is still fresh, still strange.

"why do you think they kept us?" taehyung asks suddenly, voice quiet.

it isn’t the first time the question has been asked.

but tonight, it feels different.

yoongi's golden-amber eyes flick open, sharp against the dim light. “who cares?”

"i do," taehyung mutters. “they could’ve killed us. we’ve all seen them do it before. they take hybrids and toss them out, hunt them for sport, treat them worse than animals.”

his tail flicks against the bars, a slow, restless motion. “so why us?”

hoseok exhales, tilting his head back. "maybe we were a game."

jungkook's jaw tightens. "we are a game."

the silence that follows is heavy.

because they all know that’s the truth.

they were hunted, taken, thrown in cages, kept.

but why?

seokjin, who had been quiet up until now, speaks.

“it wasn’t just for sport,” he murmurs, voice smoother than it should be given the weight of the conversation.

they all turn to him.

he runs a hand through his silver hair, blue-gray eyes unreadable. "if it was just for sport, we wouldn’t still be here."

"then why?" jungkook asks, eyes dark, intense.

seokjin sighs. "because they were waiting for something."

the words settle over them.

because it makes sense.

if they had only been prey, they would have been discarded long ago.

but instead, they were kept.

the old man, sir, as they had been forced to call him, had always been different with them. not kind, never kind, but never outright cruel either.

"maybe they liked the idea of us belonging to them," jimin says softly, tracing patterns into the dust.

his tail sways lazily, but his expression is distant, unreadable.

"not them," yoongi corrects. “him.”

they don’t have to say his name.

the old man is gone now.

but his presence still lingers, buried in the walls, in the floor, in the cages that still haven’t been opened.

"if he was waiting for something, it sure as hell wasn’t us," jungkook mutters, stretching out his arms, muscles rippling under golden-toned skin.

“no,” namjoon agrees, voice low. “but maybe it was her.”

silence.

the air shifts.

jimin hums, a slow, thoughtful sound. "if it was, then the real question is what was she supposed to do?"

none of them have an answer.

but the truth is obvious.

she was here once before,

and she’ll come back.

jungkook scoffs, rolling his shoulders. "even if she does, do you really think she’ll open the cages?"

seokjin tilts his head, smirking. "we’ll just have to give her a reason to."

yoongi’s lips curl, slow and sharp. “and if she doesn’t?”

jimin, who has been silent, finally speaks.

"then we make her want to."

his hazel eyes gleam in the dark, something knowing, something dangerous flickering behind them.

they all glance toward the door.

waiting.

listening.

because when she returns,

and she will return,

she won’t be walking away so easily this time.

the next morning, myah wakes up feeling like she never actually slept.

the weight of the night before clings to her skin, thick and suffocating. every time she closes her eyes, she hears the slow, deliberate scratch against metal, the measured breathing on the other side of the door. steady and patient, as if it knew she was there.

as if it had been waiting for her.

she swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

the morning light filters weakly through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the walls. jisun is still curled beside her, warm and unmoving except for the occasional twitch of her ears. her breathing is soft, even, but there’s a possessiveness to the way her fingers remain loosely curled around the edge of myah’s sleeve, like even in sleep, she refuses to let go.

and chae-eun—

the memory of her sharp, pointed gaze flashes through myah’s mind, the don’t be stupid written all over her face when she left last night.

she doesn’t need to say it out loud.

myah already knows.

because the basement door still exists.

and that thing behind it still exists.

and she still has no idea what the hell she’s supposed to do about it.

but for now, she has to go to work.

she exhales slowly, forcing herself to move.

carefully, she peels jisun’s fingers from her sleeve, holding her breath as she shifts out of bed. jisun stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, her ears flicking once before she settles again.

myah lingers for half a second, watching her.

she can’t know.

not yet.

not until myah figures out what she’s dealing with.

and right now she’s not even close.

by the time she steps into the café, the scent of coffee and fresh bread is already thick in the air, warm and familiar. the soft hum of conversation blends with the whir of the espresso machine, the clinking of ceramic cups against saucers, the low chatter of customers tucked into booths and perched on stools.

kai is behind the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he works the espresso machine with practiced ease. his tail flicks once, irritated, as he pulls a shot, eyes narrowed at the portafilter like it personally offended him.

when he sees myah walk in, his sharp gaze flickers over her, quick and assessing.

“you look like shit.”

myah sighs, rubbing a hand over her face as she ties her apron around her waist. “good morning to you too.”

kai doesn’t let it go. “you sleep?”

“enough.”

he raises a brow. clearly, he doesn’t believe her, but for once, he doesn’t press.

“you sure?” yuna’s voice cuts in before myah can brace herself.

she’s leaning over the counter, chin propped up in her palm, eyes glinting with amusement. strands of dyed blonde hair fall loose from her messy ponytail, the ends curling slightly from the humidity in the café. she’s already chewing gum, bright pink, probably sickly sweet, snapping it between her teeth as she watches myah like she’s her morning entertainment.

“’cause you look like you’ve either seen a ghost or committed a murder,” she continues, smirking.

myah exhales. “maybe both.”

kai’s ears twitch slightly, his grip tightening on the tamper for a fraction of a second before he slides a drink across the counter toward her without a word.

she takes it without question, the warmth of the cup grounding her more than she wants to admit.

yuna pops another piece of gum into her mouth, eyes still trained on myah. “big plans after work?”

myah hesitates.

“nah.”

kai snorts. “liar.”

she stiffens, grip tightening around her cup.

“what?”

kai doesn’t even look up from the milk frother. “you just seem off today. you keep touching your pocket like you’ve got something in there, and you keep looking at the door like you’re waiting for someone to walk through it.”

myah stiffens, her hand immediately retreating from where it had been resting against her jacket pocket.

damn.

she hadn’t even realized she was doing that.

she forces herself to stop, shoving both hands into the apron tied around her waist instead. but now that kai has pointed it out, it’s all she can think about. the nervous tick, the way she keeps checking the entrance like something is coming for her.

because, deep down, she feels like it is.

yuna, ever the opportunist when it comes to gossip, perks up from where she’s stacking cups near the espresso machine.

“ooh,” she coos, leaning in with a devilish grin. “is it a boy?”

myah snorts, but it comes out weaker than she intends. “oh, totally. i met a guy in a dark, creepy basement and immediately fell in love.”

yuna gasps dramatically. “no way.”

kai makes a face, ears twitching in mild irritation. “you do realize that’s a concerning sentence, right?”

yuna ignores him, smirking. “was he hot?”

myah groans, rubbing her temples. “yuna, there was no guy.”

yuna clicks her tongue, clearly unbothered by the denial. “tragic. girl, i wish that was the case. at least then you’d be getting some action.”

kai, who had been in the middle of sipping his coffee, promptly chokes.

he sets his cup down hard on the counter, coughing into his fist while shooting yuna a look of pure betrayal.

“what the fuck?” he wheezes.

yuna cackles, patting him on the back way too hard. “relax, fox boy, it’s just an observation.”

kai glares at her between coughs. “keep your observations to yourself.”

myah, tired of all of them, groans louder and throws a towel in yuna’s direction. “can we not?”

yuna just winks and flounces away to help a customer, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she didn’t just set a match to dry kindling and walk away. the slight bounce in her step, the smug tilt of her lips, it’s so yuna. she lives for moments like this, for stirring the pot just enough to make people squirm.

kai mutters something under his breath, tail flicking in irritation as he picks his coffee back up. whatever he says is too quiet for myah to hear, but judging by the way his ears twitch, it’s probably not polite.

myah exhales, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the conversation. but the words linger, pressing against her ribs like something sticky, something that won’t leave her alone.

she grabs a rag and busies herself wiping down the counter, but her movements are stiff, absentminded. her fingers twitch at her side, itching to reach into her pocket. to check. to make sure the basement key is still there.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she keeps glancing at the door.

and kai notices.

she doesn’t realize he’s watching her until she feels his gaze, sharp and focused, cutting through the space between them.

“what?” she mutters, not looking at him.

he leans in slightly, voice lower, quieter. “if it’s not a guy, then what is it?”

her grip tightens around the rag in her hands.

the weight in her pocket is heavy.

too heavy.

she’s not ready to answer that.

not yet.

so she forces herself to relax, tilts her head just slightly, and gives him a slow, easy smile.

“wouldn’t you like to know?”

kai doesn’t react right away. his ears twitch again, tail flicking once behind him, but his expression doesn’t change.

he just watches her.

assessing.

calculating.

then, finally, he exhales and pulls back, picking up his coffee like he didn’t just pry a little too close to the truth.

“yeah,” he mutters, taking a sip. “i really would.”

and that, that unsettles her more than anything.

myah just takes a slow sip of her coffee and stares him down, letting the silence stretch between them. she knows kai. knows that he’s waiting, expecting her to crack, to give him something real.

but she won’t.

not yet.

instead, she swallows, and shrugs. “well, that’s too bad.”

kai exhales through his nose, his ears flicking back slightly. a subtle, irritated movement. his tail gives a single, slow flick before going still again.

but he doesn’t push.

not yet.

instead, he grabs a rag, swiping at an already clean spot on the counter, his voice low.

“just don’t do anything stupid.”

too late for that.

but myah doesn’t say it. doesn’t acknowledge the way her pulse stutters at the thought of the key still sitting in her pocket, burning against her skin like a loaded gun she hasn’t decided to fire yet.

she just hums, noncommittal, and turns away, forcing herself to focus on something, anything, else.

but it’s hard.

her mind keeps slipping, caught between the steady noise of the café and the silence of last night.

the silence before the scratch.

the silence before the breath.

she busies herself wiping down tables, clearing empty cups, resetting napkin dispensers, but it does nothing to ground her. her fingers twitch against the rag in her hands, her movements too stiff, too precise.

every time the café door swings open, she stiffens.

her body braces like she’s expecting something.

someone.

it’s ridiculous.

no one is coming for her.

and yet,

the feeling doesn’t fade.

it settles into her bones, curling against her spine, a whisper of unease that refuses to leave.

she feels watched.

even long after the morning rush dies down, even when the café is half-empty, even when the only people left are the usual customers who have never spared her a second glance.

the sensation lingers.

slipping into the cracks of her thoughts, pressing against the edges of her ribs.

a quiet, unshakable feeling.

like something unseen is waiting.

like something knows.

the thought sits heavy in her chest, crawling up her throat like a warning she can’t quite decipher. the café hums around her, warm and full of life, but she feels outside of it, like she’s not really here, like part of her is still trapped somewhere else.

somewhere below.

the scratching, the slow measured breathing, it all plays in the back of her mind, looping like a song she can’t shake.

it knew she was there.

it was waiting.

her fingers twitch against the rag in her hand, and for a second, she swears the air shifts around her. like something is standing just behind her shoulder, just out of reach, watching.

she nearly jumps when yuna slaps a hand onto her shoulder.

“earth to myah,” she drawls, chewing loudly on her gum. “you gonna take that table, or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’ve been possessed?”

myah blinks, her body snapping back into the present like a rubber band pulled too tight.

a couple sits by the window, waiting for her, eyes flicking between their menus and her blank stare.

right.

her chest feels tight as she forces herself to move, shaking off the lingering unease. she grabs her notepad and crosses the room, past the soft hum of customers, past the steady clinking of cups and plates.

the café is normal.

safe.

but her thoughts are elsewhere.

namely,

the house.

the basement.

the locked door.

she takes the order on autopilot, her voice steady, her hands moving without thinking. she writes down words she doesn’t fully process, nods in response to things she doesn’t fully hear.

because in her mind, she’s still standing at the top of the basement stairs.

she had promised chae-eun they would go back tonight.

but now, in the light of day, with the warmth of the café wrapping around her like a blanket, the weight of that decision presses down on her harder than before.

what the hell am i doing?

she shouldn’t be doing this.

she should leave it alone.

she should take the money from her grandparents’ will, sell the damn house, and forget any of this ever happened.

but she can’t.

because something inside her is screaming.

this isn’t just a locked door.

this isn’t just a family secret.

this is bigger.

this is wrong.

and she needs to know why.

she grips her pen a little too tight.

tonight.

she’s going back tonight.

the café slows down after the morning rush, the lull settling in like a warm haze. myah leans against the counter, staring blankly at the espresso machine, her thoughts far from where they should be.

kai, ever observant, picks up on it instantly.

“so,” he starts, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate movements. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do i have to beat it out of you?”

myah snorts, finally dragging her gaze to him. “you? beat me up? i’d like to see you try.”

kai raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t test me. you may be scrappy, but i have claws.”

“oh, terrifying.”

kai just flicks his tail, watching her carefully. “seriously, though. you’ve been weird all day. and before you say it, no, it’s not just the whole ‘dead grandparents’ thing.”

myah rolls her eyes. “wow. so sensitive.”

he shrugs. “i’m just saying. grief doesn’t make you jump every time the door opens.”

she stills for a fraction of a second. too quick for most people to catch.

but kai isn’t most people.

his ears twitch, golden eyes narrowing. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she exhales through her nose, turning to grab a rag just to have something to do with her hands. “it’s nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“just drop it, kai.”

he leans forward, voice dropping just slightly. “nah, see, here’s the thing, i would drop it, if i thought it was actually nothing. but it’s not.”

she clenches her jaw, scrubbing harder at an already-clean spot on the counter.

kai watches her, unimpressed.

“you don’t get like this, myah.” his voice is softer now, but still firm. “you don’t get jumpy. and you sure as hell don’t lie this badly unless something is really wrong.”

she doesn’t respond.

kai sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i get it. i don’t know exactly what’s going on, but i know you. and i know that whatever this is? you’re not handling it well.”

myah exhales, gripping the rag tightly. “thanks for the vote of confidence.”

kai huffs a quiet laugh. “it’s a compliment, dumbass. you usually handle shit way better than this. but right now?” he tilts his head. “you look like you’re being hunted.”

her breath catches.

kai notices.

his eyes darken, ears pressing back slightly.

kai watches her carefully, his gaze sharp, assessing, as if he’s peeling her apart piece by piece, searching for the cracks.

“myah,” he says carefully, voice steady but edged with something hard. “is someone messing with you?”

“no,” she says immediately.

too immediately.

kai’s ears twitch, his tail flicking once behind him. He leans in just a fraction, voice dropping lower.

“is it… them?”

her breath hitches.

her fingers tighten around the rag in her hands, gripping the fabric like it can ground her.

she forces her face into something blank. neutral. “who’s them?”

kai’s jaw ticks, his expression darkening.

“you know who.”

her stomach drops.

because she does know.

hybrids.

but not just any hybrids, the wrong kind.

the ones who don’t care about peace, who don’t care about living alongside humans. the ones who see people like her as nothing more than prey, as something weaker.

and before she can stop it the memory floods back.

the alley behind the café.

cold air.

damp pavement.

 the dull hum of streetlights buzzing above.a shadow moving too fast, cutting her off before she could react.

the scent of cigarette smoke and something wilder, thicker, muskier, something animal.

a hand, claws just barely extended, catching her wrist with an almost lazy grip.

“you should be careful walking alone, sweetheart,” the hybrid had murmured, voice deep and edged with amusement. “someone might take advantage of that.”

her stomach had twisted. she’d tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, claws pressing just enough to threaten.

there had been more of them.

leaning against the alley walls, watching. waiting.

she had felt their eyes rake over her, assessing.

like they were bored, like they were waiting to see what she’d do, how much fight she had in her before they decided whether she was worth the effort.

she remembers her pulse roaring in her ears.

remembers the way she opened her mouth, about to say something, anything, but she hadn’t needed to.

“let her go.”

kai’s voice.

low. steady. deadly.

she remembers the shift in the air.

remembers the way the hybrid’s fingers twitched against her skin before his lips curled, like he’d just been handed something fun.

“what’s it to you, fox?”

kai had taken a single step forward.

not fast. not aggressive.

just final.

“i won’t ask again.”

his ears had been pinned back, tail low, muscles tight beneath his work uniform. but his eyes,

his eyes had burned.

the hybrid holding her had exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth, but something else had flickered in his expression.

something wary.

something that said he knew better.

“tch,” he had muttered, clicking his tongue as he let her go. “no fun.”

the others had pushed off the walls, hands in their pockets, expressions unreadable as they walked away.

as if it had all been a game.

as if it hadn’t meant anything to them.

but myah, myah had felt sick.

her hands had shaken.

kai hadn’t said anything at first. just stood there, watching the end of the alley until the hybrids were completely gone.

“you good?”

and she’d hated that her voice had cracked when she answered.

“yeah.”

he hadn’t believed her.

but he hadn’t called her out on it, either.

he had just stepped forward, slipping his hoodie off and draping it over her shoulders before nodding toward the café’s back door.

“come inside.”

not go home.

not be more careful.

just come inside.

like he knew she wouldn’t be okay alone.

she had followed him without a word.

for weeks, kai followed her home after every shift. he never said anything about it, never made a big deal out of it, just walked a few steps behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, tail flicking lazily like it was all coincidence.

he only stopped after myah, and an annoyed jisun who had wrinkled her nose and muttered something about “smelling too much fox” for her liking, finally forced him to.

but even then, he never really stopped.

he still called or texted her the moment she should’ve been home, a simple “you in?” or “alive?” showing up on her phone like clockwork.

and if she didn’t answer fast enough?

he was already dialing.

she forces the memory down, locking it back in the place she keeps all the things she doesn’t want to think about.

kai is still staring at her, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

he thinks someone hurt her.

and if she lets him believe that, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

kai doesn’t talk about it often, but she knows he’s been in situations before.

situations where humans decided what his worth was before he could prove otherwise.

situations where he had to fight just to exist.

he’s never said it outright, but myah knows he fough to be here.

and now, with the tension laced through his body, the sharp edge to his voice,

he’s ready to fight again.

but he won’t be fighting them.

he’ll be fighting something else.

something she doesn’t even understand yet.

so she forces a breath, shaking her head. “no, kai. no one’s messing with me.”

his eyes search her face.

for a second, she thinks he’s going to call her out.

but then, finally, he exhales, leaning back slightly.

“fine.”

relief washes over her.

“but only for now.”

her stomach twists.

kai levels her with a look, his voice calm but unshakable.

“if something is going on, you tell me. got it?”

his tone leaves no room for argument.

myah hesitates before nodding.

“good,” he mutters, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip. “because if i find out you’re keeping something from me, i will find out on my own. and you won’t like how i do it.”

she snorts. “oh, please. what are you gonna do? sniff me out like a bloodhound?”

kai just grins, slow and sharp.

“don’t tempt me.”

the rest of the shift drags.

myah keeps herself busy, refilling coffee cups, wiping down tables, pretending she doesn’t feel kai’s gaze flicking toward her every few minutes. he doesn’t push her again, but she can tell he wants to.

yuna eventually ropes him into an argument about proper latte art technique, giving myah just enough breathing room to keep her thoughts from spiraling. but no matter how many drinks she makes or how many orders she takes, the weight in her chest doesn’t ease.

because she knows what’s coming.

what she’s choosing to do.

by the time her shift ends, the sky is dark, streetlights buzzing to life as she steps outside. the air is cold, crisp, carrying the scent of autumn and distant rain.

she exhales slowly, watching her breath curl in the night air.

chae-eun is waiting for her when she gets home, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her arms folded. she doesn’t ask if myah is ready. doesn’t ask if she’s changed her mind.

she just stands. grabs her jacket.

“let’s go.”

myah swallows hard.

and together, they walk out into the night.

back to the house.

back to whatever’s waiting in the basement.

the air feels different the second they step onto the property.

it’s subtle at first, nothing more than a feeling. an unnatural stillness pressing against their skin, crawling up myah’s spine like unseen fingers tracing along her back.

the house looms before them, massive and unwelcoming, its dark silhouette standing against the night sky like a sleeping beast. the windows are empty, blacked out, void of warmth. the porch, once a place of childhood memories, now feels hollow, stripped of anything that once made it home.

the only light comes from the dim glow of a lone streetlamp at the end of the driveway, its flickering bulb casting elongated shadows across the uneven path leading to the front door.

the trees sway with the wind, their skeletal branches reaching toward the house, stretching over the cracked stone walkway like grasping hands. the overgrown grass shifts in the breeze, but there is no sound. no rustling. no chirping of crickets.

just silence.

thick. suffocating. unnatural.

no cars pass in the distance. no hum of life exists beyond the front gate.

just the steady pounding of myah’s heart, the quiet press of chae-eun’s presence beside her.

neither of them speak.

there’s nothing to say.

they both know why they’re here.

myah’s fingers tighten around the key in her hand, the cool metal biting into her skin. her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t loosen her grip.

she slides the key into the lock.

click.

the sound echoes too loudly in the quiet.

the door swings open with a low, aching creak, the kind that scrapes through her bones and sends a shudder crawling down her spine.

the air inside is thick, heavier than it should be.

dust lingers in the air, untouched, swirling lazily in the dim glow of the porch light spilling in from behind them. but beneath it, something else clings to the space. something old, something watching.

the scent of aged wood, forgotten memories, and the faintest trace of something metallic lingers at the edges of her senses, tugging at something deep, something unfamiliar.

she steps inside first.

the wooden floorboards groan beneath her weight, as if protesting her presence.

she flicks the light switch and the dim overhead bulb stutters to life, flickering weakly before settling into a dull, yellow glow, causing long shadows to stretch along the walls, warping the edges of the furniture, turning familiar shapes into twisted, unrecognizable figures.

chae-eun exhales, glancing around with sharp, calculating eyes. her nose wrinkles slightly. “it smells old.”

myah huffs out a quiet, humorless laugh. “it is old.”

chae-eun shoots her a look, unimpressed, but doesn’t argue. instead, she takes a few careful steps deeper into the house, scanning the dimly lit space with the kind of awareness that comes from knowing when something isn’t right.

her fingers trail lightly over the edge of a dusty side table, her movements slow, deliberate.

“nothing feels off yet,” she mutters.

but myah knows better.

the whole house feels off.

it always has.

even as a child, when she’d spent years running up and down these halls, curling up on the worn out couch, peeking into rooms she was never supposed to enter, there had always been something off, something there, lurking beneath the surface, something she could never quite name.

and now, standing here as an adult, the weight of it is even heavier.

she doesn’t realize she’s gripping the fabric of her jacket until chae-eun’s voice pulls her back.

“where’s the basement?”

the question slides down her spine like ice.

myah swallows.

her body moves before her mind catches up, turning toward the back of the house.

the hallway stretches before her, long and narrow, the floorboards creaking under her steps as she moves.

she doesn’t want to say it.

the words come anyway, low and quiet.

“this way.”

they move through the house, past the parts of the house that had once been familiar, towards the kitchen. a place myah had never questioned growing up.

but she questions it now.

the air is heavier, thicker, settling into the walls, into the floorboards, into the bones of the house itself.

every step she takes feels wrong.

as if she’s moving toward something that doesn’t want to, no shouldn’t, be found.

she stops in front of the hidden panel.

it looks like nothing. the wood is slightly discolored, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

her fingers twitch.

she crouches down, pressing her fingertips against the edges, feeling the grooves worn into the wood.

the panel gives under her touch, lifting with barely any effort.

the moment it opens cold air rushes up from the dark.

it hits her skin like something alive, crawling up her spine, sinking into her clothes, wrapping around her throat like a second pair of hands.

chae-eun inhales sharply, stepping back just slightly.

“well,” she mutters, staring down at the darkened stairwell. “that’s not ominous at all.”

myah forces a breath past her lips, but it doesn’t steady her.

she flicks on the flashlight on her phone and aims it downward.

the beam of light barely cuts through the blackness.

the stairs stretch below them, old and uneven, leading into narrow stone walls that seem to tighten the deeper they go.

she doesn’t want to do this.

her entire body is screaming at her not to do this.

but she has to.

so she swallows, forcing herself to glance at chae-eun.

“ready?”

chae-eun gives her a dry look, arms crossed, brow raised.

“not even remotely.”

but she steps forward anyway.

because they both know,

it doesn’t matter if they’re ready.

they’re going down there regardless.

a sharp noise, something between a tap and a thump, drags jimin from the edges of sleep.

he groans, shifting onto his side, his tail curling lazily around his waist. "why," he mutters, voice thick with drowsiness. "let me die in peace."

from the next cage over, hoseok clicks his tongue, the sound carrying through the quiet. "because she’s back."

jimin doesn’t move at first, letting the words settle in the air between them, the weight of them pressing against his skin like a slow-building heat.

then, finally, he inhales.

his pupils dilate, nose twitching as he catches it,

her.

it’s faint but unmistakable, threading through the damp, rusted scent of their prison.

his lips curl, slow and knowing.

"well," he sighs, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the cold bars. "that is interesting."

the others are already awake.

jungkook, closest to the door, is sitting up, muscles tense, tail flicking in short, sharp motions.

taehyung’s golden eyes gleam in the dark, fingers curled loosely around the bars of his cage.

yoongi doesn’t speak, but his attention is fixed on the door, focusing on the noise coming from the stairwell above them, his stillness more dangerous than any movement.

namjoon is the first to break the silence.

“she’s come back.”

the words settle over them, quiet but heavy.

jimin hums, stretching his arms over his head, slow and deliberate.

“i told you she would.”

seokjin’s tail flicks in mild amusement. “for once, you were right.”

jungkook exhales sharply, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“what do we do?” hoseok asks, tilting his head toward namjoon.

the lion hybrid doesn’t answer right away.

instead, he leans back against the bars, eyes still locked on the unseen presence above them, the scent of her curling through the air like a silent invitation.

“we wait,” he finally says.

jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“for what?”

namjoon’s golden eyes gleam.

“for her to come to us.”

jungkook scoffs, shifting where he sits, his golden eyes flickering toward the ceiling. "and if she doesn't?"

"she will," yoongi murmurs, voice smooth, confident. he’s still lounging against the bars, but his gaze is sharp, locked on the stairwell.

"you sound sure." hoseok tilts his head, watching him carefully.

yoongi's lips curl, slow and knowing. "because she hesitated last time."

silence.

jungkook's tail flicks in irritation, but he doesn’t argue.

because yoongi is right.

she had come close enough to hear them. close enough to feel them.

but she hadn’t run. not completely.

and now, she was back.

"so, what?" taehyung drawls, dragging his fingers along the rusted bars of his cage. "we sit here like obedient little pets and wait for her to decide what to do with us?"

"we make it easy for her," seokjin corrects, adjusting his position, his silver hair catching the dim light. "she’s already curious. we just have to nudge her in the right direction."

jimin hums in agreement, stretching his arms above his head before settling back against the bars. "if she’s come back, that means she wants answers."

"then we give them to her," namjoon says simply.

jungkook scoffs. "we lie to her, you mean."

namjoon shrugs, expression unreadable. "we tell her what she needs to hear."

hoseok exhales, running a hand through his golden-brown hair. “and if she panics?”

"then we convince her that panicking is the wrong choice," jimin murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips.

jungkook's tail flicks again, restless. "and if she never opens the damn cages?"

silence.

no one moves.

no one speaks.

because that,

that is the real question.

"then we wait," namjoon finally says.

yoongi smirks, tilting his head. “and if waiting isn’t enough?”

namjoon’s golden eyes glint in the dark.

"then we make her open them."

chae-eun doesn’t hesitate. she follows myah down without a word.

the wood panel creaks shut behind them, causing the air to shift.

it feels colder.

heavier.

the stairwell is narrow, the old wooden steps groaning beneath their weight as they descend. dust clings to the air, swirling lazily in the beam of myah’s phone flashlight, but beneath it,

something else.

something damp. metallic.

it sits thick in her throat, sharp and coppery, like blood left too long in the air.

she swallows against it, tightening her grip on her phone.

behind her, chae-eun moves carefully, her footsteps steady, but myah can hear the slight hitch in her breath.

she feels it too.

the wrongness.

the weight pressing in on them the deeper they go, wrapping around their limbs like unseen hands.

the walls seem closer than they should be, the stone damp with time, with something else.

the further down they go, the worse it gets.

when they finally reach the bottom, myah hesitates.

the light from her phone flickers over the basement,

old shelves, their contents buried beneath years of dust. stacks of papers, curled at the edges, ink faded. rusted tools, their original purpose lost to time, but sharp in all the wrong places.

her stomach twists.

but it’s not the table in the center of the room, scarred with deep scratches, its surface warped with age, that makes her breath catch,

it’s the door.

thick metal, bolted shut.

waiting.

watching.

the second she lays eyes on it, her pulse roars in her ears.

her grip tightens around her phone.

her breath feels too loud in the silence.

chae-eun exhales sharply, her breath cutting through the thick silence. she takes a step closer, eyes sweeping over the room, over the dust-covered shelves, the rusted tools, the scattered papers that look like they haven’t been touched in years.

then, finally, her gaze lands on the door.

her brows pull together. “what is this place?”

myah forces herself to swallow, her throat dry. she doesn’t take her eyes off the heavy metal slab in front of them.

"that’s the door," she says quietly.

chae-eun’s lips press into a thin line. "yeah, i see that, but what the hell is it doing down here?"

myah exhales, forcing herself to look away. her heart is still hammering against her ribs, but the door remains silent.

no scraping.

no breathing.

just stillness.

like it’s waiting.

for what, she doesn’t know.

"i don’t know," myah admits, turning toward one of the shelves, running a hand over the thick layer of dust. "but whatever this place was, my grandparents didn’t want anyone finding it."

chae-eun moves toward the wooden table in the center of the room, dragging her fingers along the deep grooves scratched into the surface.

"these marks…" she trails off, inspecting them closer. "they’re everywhere."

myah forces herself to step closer. she hadn’t wanted to look too hard before—hadn’t wanted to think about what could have made them.

but now, standing over the table, she can see it clearly.

deep, uneven claw marks, carving into the wood like someone, something, had been desperate.

the same kind of scratches she had seen on the door upstairs.

a chill runs down her spine.

"you think they kept animals down here?" chae-eun asks, voice quieter now, more careful.

myah doesn’t answer right away.

because no.

no, she doesn’t think this was for animals.

not normal ones, anyway.

"i don’t know," she says again, shaking her head.

chae-eun exhales, stepping away from the table. she moves toward the far side of the room, where a rusted filing cabinet stands against the wall, barely holding itself together.

"there has to be something down here," she mutters, pulling one of the drawers open. "some kind of record, something that explains what this place is."

the drawer groans as it slides out, and a few old folders slump to the side, their papers yellowed with age.

myah watches as chae-eun carefully picks one up, flipping it open.

silence hangs between them as she scans the page.

then, slowly, she frowns.

"what?" myah asks.

chae-eun’s fingers tighten around the folder. "these aren’t just random records." she turns the page, eyes narrowing. "they're logs. someone was keeping track of something."

myah steps closer, peering over her shoulder.

the handwriting was neat and structured, every entry dated.

but the details,

the details are what make her stomach churn.

"‘specimen five: increased aggression. requires further restraint.’" chae-eun reads aloud, her voice flat. she flips another page. "‘specimen two: attempts at communication remain unsuccessful.’"

myah feels cold.

she swallows.

"they weren’t keeping animals down here," she murmurs.

chae-eun looks up at her.

her grip on the folder tightens.

"no," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"they weren’t."

chae-eun flips through more of the pages, her fingers moving quickly, her breathing steady but sharp-edged. myah watches the flicker of her eyes as she scans line after line, absorbing information, but her face gives nothing away.

instead, it’s the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers press just a little too hard into the paper, like she doesn’t want to believe what she’s reading, but she can’t ignore it.

myah swallows. her own hands feel clammy.

"what else does it say?" her voice is quiet, but the words feel too loud in the thick silence of the basement.

chae-eun flips another page. her lips part slightly as her eyes dart over the text, scanning, searching, then she freezes.

her breath hitches.

myah’s stomach drops.

"what?" she demands. "what is it?"

chae-eun says nothing.

she just turns the folder so myah can see.

myah’s eyes skim the page, past the dated entry, past the detailed notes, until she lands on a single line, a name she never expected to see here.

takahashi.

her entire body goes cold.

"no," she whispers.

but it’s there.

clear. undeniable.

a log. a record.

underneath the name, written in precise, clinical handwriting,

status: containment successful.

myah's pulse pounds in her ears.

"they—" she chokes on the word. her thoughts are racing, crashing into each other, a tangled mess of confusion and something worse.

her grandparents, her family, had kept records like this?

"myah," chae-eun's voice is firm, grounding. "you need to breathe."

but she can’t.

because this changes everything.

she thought this was just a locked door.

just another secret buried in the foundation of the house.

but this?

this is proof.

proof that her grandparents weren’t just hiding something.

they were documenting it.

tracking it.

and whatever was behind that door,

it had a status update.

which means,

it’s still here.

the realization slams into her like a punch to the gut.

she stumbles back, her shoulder hitting the edge of the wooden table, her fingers gripping the surface as she tries to steady herself.

chae-eun closes the folder with a snap.

"we need to leave," she says, her voice sharp, urgent. "now."

but before myah can respond,

click.

a sound, low and metallic.

the unmistakable noise of a lock shifting.

something behind the door, the heavy metal one sealed shut,

just moved.

the air thickens.

neither of them breathe.

a long, stretching silence,

then, scratch.

slow. deliberate.

something dragging across the metal.

myah’s blood turns to ice.

"we’re leaving," chae-eun says again, grabbing myah’s wrist this time, pulling her toward the stairs.

but myah can’t move.

because this time,

this time, it isn’t just the scratching.

this time there’s a voice.

low. smooth. barely a whisper, but unmistakably human.

"is someone there?"

authors note: i apologize for how long this took for me to get out, i rewrote this part like seven different times and nothing really felt right until this version. im already working on the next chapter and let me just say its about to be really interesting 🫣 anyways who do you guys think was the voice on the other side of the door???

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Monster Movie | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader ( :0 ? )

Warnings: all of 'em. put 'em all here. mentions of disordered eating, descriptions of severe anxiety, dean is lowkey being the worst, burns, injuries, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 3587

A/N: I'm gonna keep it very real with y'all. Please heed the warnings about anxiety and disordered eating. If I am honest, I kinda got triggered writing it as I pulled the experience of my character from my own experience in a previous relationship. Obviously, the circumstances were very different, but I used to get tonnnssss of anxiety specifically while eating that ended in me becoming malnourished because the person I was dating was so horrible to me. Dean isn't like that, though, and I guess I kind of used this chapter and this part of the character's arc to heal that pain still within me, even after years.

Please know I understand if you have to skip out on this chapter for the reasons above. The beginning of season 4 is going to be very rocky as Dean and (Y/N) continue to learn to trust each other again, but I hope to see you in the coming weeks as the storm begins to calm. Much love to you, as always.

-m

“Dean,” you breathed out, eyes filling with tears. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He sat in the chair across from the bed that he’d undoubtedly put you in.

“Dean, I’m so sorry—” 

That seemed to send a ping of anger through him, but he suppressed it. “We can talk about that later. Are you okay?” 

“I think so,” you said. You pushed yourself up with a wince and noticed the gauze around your left forearm and right calf. “You did this?” 

He nodded. 

You smiled lopsidedly, cheeks heating. “Thank you.” You tried to joke lightheartedly. “You’re finally getting a hang of the right way to dress a burn.”

“Eh, I had a good teacher,” he shrugged. 

You’d missed this so much; the comfort in the mundane moments with him. 

Both of you seemed a little too scared to say anything, and you stared at your scraped up hands instead of at him. 

“I’m still pissed at you,” he stated.

You nodded. “I figured.”

Another moment of tense silence passed between you.

“Once you’re healed, I still want you gone,” Dean said. His blunt tone felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

Even still, you nodded. “That’s fair.”

Dean nodded sharply and got to his feet. When he’d nearly left the room, he turned around again. “Why aren’t you fighting me on this?”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “What do you want me to say, Dean?”

He approached the bed you were in once more. “Something. Anything. Be mad. Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Dammit, tell me what happened. Explain it all away. Just something!” 

You used the side of your thumb to apply pressure to the bridge of your nose. “Well, you pretty definitively told me to leave and not to come back at Bobby’s.”

“I gave you a choice!”

“A choice you couldn’t even begin to understand the difficulty of!” you shouted back. 

“Okay, so tell me!” he yelled. “Help me understand! Because you’re not making sense to me, (Y/N)!”

You huffed, going quiet for a moment. “I can’t,” you finally breathed out, hiding your face from him. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course, you can’t,” he muttered angrily. He started back for the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him hesitate while he grabbed the door handle. When the door shut behind him, you felt your heart sink.

****

Being in the backseat of the Impala again was an amazing feeling. You were tired of going it alone. However, the tense atmosphere was something you could do without.

“The radio around here sucks,” Dean grumbled. He turned it off, briefly stealing a glance at his skulking brother. “Come on, man. Jobs don't get much sweeter than this, you know? Dead vic with a gnawed-on neck, body drained of blood, and a witness who swears up and down that it was a vampire.” He was making it clear he was going the route of ignoring you and only addressing you with a sharp comment when absolutely necessary.

“No, I- I agree,” Sam said half-heartedly. “It’s a hell of a case.” “A little more gusto, please.”

“It's just... the world is coming to an end. Things are a little complicated, you know?”

“C’mon, man, it's like the good old days, an honest-to-goodness monster hunt. It's about time we got back to tackling a straightforward, black and white case.”

****

“Oktoberfest 2008” was painted on a sign Dean drove past, and you watched people celebrating in tacky Lederhosen and barmaid costumes. 

“You stay,” Dean told you gruffly when he parked the car. 

You crossed your arms and stared out the window. 

“We still got to see the new Raiders movie,” Dean pointed at his brother as he got out of the car. 

“Saw it,” Sam replied monotonously. 

“Without me?” 

Their voices became distant as they shut the doors and walked away. 

You felt sick to your stomach. Everything you wanted to say to Dean— the things that had happened since he went to Hell, Uriel, Castiel, the things you’d done— they were all on the tip of your tongue. But then, he’d glare at you. Your heart would sink, and you’d retreat right back into yourself.

Marissa Wright was a young girl who’d been visiting the town for Oktoberfest. Strangely, she had two dark marks on her neck like a cartoonish vampire bite. At least, that was what you gathered from the pictures you’d snagged a peek at over Sam’s shoulder on the ride from the morgue to the bar Dean and Sam had left you outside of.

Frankly, Marissa Wright wasn’t interesting to you. At the moment, you were too concerned with your angel business. Uriel’s words about killing Sam loomed over you, and you felt like you couldn’t leave the Winchesters even once you were healed because of what Uriel was making you do.

Somehow, you needed to regain Dean’s trust. The idea of trying to manipulate him made you sick, but maybe it was what you needed to do to protect him. Even if he never understood why you did the things you did, at least he’d still be alive to wonder.

****

That night, you were unable to sleep. That, unfortunately, was not unusual. Yet again, you were alone in a motel room wishing to be next to Dean. 

The mirror had become your worst enemy. Shirts you’d stolen from Steven when he was a teenager hung even more loosely off you than they did before Dean died. Your arms lacked the muscle tone they once had, and you felt weaker and sicker with each passing day.

An anxiety was beginning to form within you that you’d become unhealthily dependent on Dean. You never wanted that for yourself; men had always been an accessory to you before Dean. You were complete on your own. Now, you weren’t sure what was wrong with you.

Was it that you missed Dean that much? Was it the angels? Was it the things you’d done? You supposed it was a combination of all of the above. 

****

The next morning, you opened the door to your room to see Sam. Your heart sank a bit that it wasn’t Dean, and it seemed like that much was evident based on your facial expression.

“Good to see you, too,” Sam chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Good morning, by the way.”

The brunet nodded, still seeming not to feel sure where he stood between you and his brother at the moment. “We’re leaving in five. Headed to the morgue, I think.”

“Another attack?” you asked.

Sam nodded. “Doesn’t sound anything like the last one, though.”

“Fun stuff,” you replied, pulling your boots on. “You think he’s gonna put me in the timeout chair again?”

The younger brother looked at the ground bashfully, and you sighed. “Yeah, I thought so, too.” 

****

Sure enough, Dean made you stay in the car again. It seemed he was deriving some strange satisfaction from keeping you separated from the case. Or maybe his joy came from the fact that it very visibly pissed you off.

When the boys returned to the car, you didn’t ask any questions about the case. Frankly, you weren’t interested. However, Sam was adamant about getting your input. 

“Wolf Man?” you scoffed. “Are you sure?”

“What, do you think we’re idiots?” Dean snapped.

You took a deep breath and nearly bit your tongue to keep yourself quiet. “It’s not that, Dean,” you said lowly. “It’s that it’s just sort of implausible to have found a wolf hair next to a body with its heart still intact and Dracula-accurate fang marks in that girl’s neck.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Dean snapped.

“Dean! Cut it out, man,” Sam warned. 

Dean seemed taken aback by Sam, but he didn’t press the issue. 

The ride remained silent until the three of you arrived at the bar Dean had left you outside the day before. 

Sam opened the door for you, encouraging you to get out despite the very obvious glares from his brother. 

Once inside the bar, you sat on the same side of the booth as Sam. Dean grumpily chomped on his burger, and Sam ate his meal silently. You didn’t even order anything; your stomach was too upset and tied in knots to properly digest anything. As soon as you tried, you knew you’d be in the bathroom puking your guts up. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” Sam asked you.

You shook your head. 

“C’mon, not even a bite of mine?” he tried again.

You shook your head once more, feeling too shaky to say anything.

Dean looked up from his burger momentarily to address you. “C’mon, (Y/N), you gotta eat something.” His tone was still guarded, but it was nowhere near as harsh as it had been in the car.

“I’m fine,” you mustered out. 

You could feel Dean’s eyes on you, but you just stared down at the table in front of you and took a sip of your water.

The pretty blonde waitress, Jamie, bounded up to the table with two more beers for Sam and Dean. 

“Looks like you guys are staying a while. I heard about Rick Deacon,” she said, referencing the most recent victim. 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, this case just got weird enough for our department.”

“Well, beers are on me,” she replied with a smile. Then, she turned to Dean confidently. “And, just so you know, I get off at midnight tonight.”

“Oh, it's not another, uh, girls' night out?” Dean smirked up at her.

Your stomach fell to your shoes, and rage bubbled in your chest. However, you knew your anger was misplaced. He wasn’t yours anymore, and you needed to accept that.

Jamie returned his playful smile. “Doesn't have to be.”

“Okay, then. I'll see you tonight.”

“Okay, then.” And, with that, she left.

Sam noticed your discomfort, but he couldn’t offer you anything more than an empathetic look.

Without even noticing you, Dean said, “Hey, you think this Dracula could turn into a bat? That would be cool.”

**** Another murder, except this time, committed by a mummy. However, you and the brothers determined the “mummy” was using special effects from a prop house in Philadelphia to enhance his monstrous performance. You were either dealing with a Silence-of-the-Lamb-level psychopath, or… you weren’t really sure. Truth be told, you weren’t devoting even a half of your attention to this case. That seemed to put Dean off, slightly, and it made him even more sure you should be kept in the car. Secretly, you thought it was because he was worried about your wounds, but you also knew there was a really strong chance he just did not want to see you.

When Dean realized he’d be late for his date with Jamie, your heart sank. Still, Dean ran off and left you and Sam behind to investigate.

“(Y/N),” Sam said, turning to you. “You have got to eat something. You look like hell.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sam,” you responded absently. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Talk to me.”

You continued to poke around the sarcophagus. “No,” you snapped. You realized how harsh you sounded. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I just— I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You could feel Sam scanning your face, but he just nodded slowly.

“I really am sorry, Sam,” you said sincerely.

His tone was soft and understanding. “I know you are.” 

As much as you didn’t really trust him as a result of the whole “Ruby” ordeal, Sam had a way of making you feel seen. He really was an incredible friend to you, and you hated what you felt your relationship was turning into. 

Not even ten minutes later, Sam got a call from Dean. With a panicked expression on his face, Sam gave you a look that meant the two of you needed to leave at that moment. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Is Dean okay?” Your heart pounded in your throat.

“Dracula attacked,” Sam replied as he tried to hail a cab. 

“What?!” 

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s all I know right now.”

As soon as you made it to the bar, you burst through the doors. When you saw Dean sitting at a table with Jamie, your heart sank in the midst of your relief.

“Hey,” Sam called out, trailing behind you. “You guys all right?” Dean sighed. “Yeah, I think so. And I think I know what's going on.” He put a folded towel down on the table.

“Yeah?” his brother replied.

“Part of it, at least.”

You hesitantly reached out to the towel, trying to keep your distance from Jamie and Dean. He eyed you curiously while you opened the towel. An ear was inside. You lightly touched it; immediately recoiling as you realized what it was. 

“Shifter,” you stated, keeping your eyes anywhere but on Dean’s.

“Oh, man,” Sam huffed.

Dean nodded. “Just like St. Louis and just like Milwaukee. Of course this one's all holding buckets of crazy. Oh, and, uh—” he took a medallion out of his pocket and tossed it to Sam. “This, I uh, pulled it off during the fight. Look at the label on the ribbon.”

Sam scoffed when he read it. “It's a costume rental.”

“All three monsters— the Dracula, Wolf Man, and the mummy— all the same critter; which means we need to catch this freak before he Creature From the Black Lagoons somebody.”

Jamie’s voice broke in. “So, you guys are like Mulder and Scully or something, and The X-Files are real?”

You didn’t miss how Jamie failed to include you in the analogy.

“No, The X-Files is a TV show. This is real,” Dean replied.

“Oh.” The blonde looked down at the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, the stagecraft, the costuming—” Sam pointed out, “it's like he's trying to re-enact his favorite monster movie moments, right down to the bloody murders.”

Jamie furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait a second. Who the hell is Mina?”

“Mina?” Sam questioned. 

“Yeah. That's what he called Jamie,” Dean nodded. “And he called me Mr. Harker.”

You bit the inside of your lip. “Characters from the original Drac movies and novels. Harker’s Mina’s fiancé. Dracula’s obsessed with Mina. Seems he fixated on you, darlin’,” you nodded at Jamie, pushing down your jealousy.

You knew it was twisted to be jealous of a girl getting stalked, but it was just solidifying in your mind that Dean wasn’t yours anymore. And it was all your fault.

“Wow. Lucky me,” Jamie groaned.

“But to fixate on you, my guess is that the shifter has to have seen you before or been around you,” Sam added.

Dean turned to the blonde. “Jamie, has anybody strange come to town, somebody that has taken a specific notice of you?”

“I don't know, Dean. It's Oktoberfest. I'm a bartender. There's lots of people. I... wait a second. There is Ed.”

“ ‘Ed Brewer’ Ed?” Sam asked. You assumed it was someone they’d met earlier on the hunt; possibly while you were confined to the car.

“Yeah. He moved here about a month ago. Lucy swears he has a crush on me. He comes in almost every night. But, you know, I don't think he's the type of guy—”

“Where does Ed live?” Dean asked, cutting her off.

“I don't know. But he works at the old movie theater. I think he's the projectionist there.”

Sam looked to you and jerked his head toward the door. You turned on your heel, hearing Sam ask Dean to take care of “Mina” before he followed behind you. Anger bubbled in your chest, but you were trying to keep your feelings from seeping out.

****

You cocked your gun against the back of the head of Mr. Ed Brewer. 

“Whoa!” Brewer asked, holding his hands up in surrender. “W-Wait just one second, okay?” He tried to turn around to face you.

“Don’t move,” you commanded, voice eerily cold.

“W-What do you want?”

“You know what you did, Ed,” you replied.

“What?”

“I know what you are.”

“I'm not anything. I just like to play the Casio,” the man pleaded.

Sam nodded at Ed’s skull. “Had time to grow the ear back, huh?”

“What?!” He tried to turn around again.

“I said don’t fucking move,” you sneered.

Brewer froze again.

Sam tugged on Ed’s ear, but it wouldn’t budge. “It's supposed to come off.”

“No, it’s not!” he replied.

“You’re right,” you stated evenly. “I’m gonna walk away now. You don’t move until exactly two minutes after you hear the last of my footsteps, okay?”

“Okay, okay—”

You cut Ed off by pistol whipping him on the back of the head. He slumped to the floor, and you quickly rushed out of the room.

You caught Sam giving you strange looks, but you completely ignored them. “What did we miss, Sam?”

“Uh—”

“Sam! What did we miss?”

“Give me a second, (Y/N)!”

"We may not have ‘a second’!”

“The fuck are you in such a rush for?” he asked. 

“We don’t have time to talk about this, Sam,” you replied, voice becoming even again. “We gotta find this fucker, so I can—” you cut yourself off, nearly biting your tongue to avoid bringing up the angels and your “mission.” First and foremost, you were supposed to be keeping them safe. If you weren’t with Dean, you had no assurance that you were doing your job. 

“So you can what, (Y/N)?” Sam asked.

“I can’t tell you,” you answered sharply.

Thankfully, Sam just huffed and shook his head. 

****

When you got back to the bar, you strutted through the front doors that were surprisingly unlocked. As soon as you entered the bar, you felt uneasy. 

“Dean?” you called hesitantly. 

Sam just chuckled and took out his phone. “Dean, hey listen. Uh, Ed is not our guy. Um, I'm guessing you're at home with Jamie, so just give me a call, okay?”

While he left his voicemail, you walked over to the table Dean and Jamie had been sitting at. You stopped short at a broken bottle on the floor, and a napkin had a lipstick color on it you hadn’t seen Jamie wearing.

“Sam,” you said, feeling slightly choked.

He walked over to you and looked down at the napkin. “Lucy,” he murmured.

“Wait, Jamie’s friend?” you asked.

Sam nodded. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” you sighed heavily. 

****

Sam tracked Dean’s cell phone as you sped to the house the signal pinged at. As soon as the car was parked, you were sprinting up the stairs to the door of the house. Sam picked the lock, and you burst in, sneaking around with your gun drawn. 

You nodded for Sam to check upstairs while you went to check downstairs. Quietly, you slinked down the stairs with cat-like grace. Silently, you were hoping you’d be finding Jamie instead of Dean to avoid the awkward rescue scenario. 

Alas, your prayers were not answered. You entered the dark basement and saw a large, medieval looking torture device in the center of the room. Dean grunted while he tried to make it out of his chains, muttering the odd, “Dammit!” 

You lowered your gun as you rounded the device. “Dean?” You came to a stop in front of him, feeling everything in you wanting to run right out of the room.

“Get me outta here, would ya?” His tone was harsh.

You nodded obediently, wanting to avoid fighting with him as much as possible. It upset you that Dean could make the Lederhosen Dracula had dressed him in work. 

“Where’s Sam?” he asked.

You nodded at the stairs. 

“Silent treatment?” Dean scoffed. “Mature.”

“Stop, Dean, please,” you begged quietly. You hated that your voice came out as more of a whine than anything. Then, you rushed out of the room in an attempt to avoid any further conflict. 

When you heard a loud crash upstairs, you ran up the steps to the second floor. Dean followed close behind and burst into the room the scuffling sounds seemed to be coming from. 

Immediately, Dracula tackled Dean. “And you, Harker, now you die.” Dean choked out, “How 'bout now you shut the fuck up?”

With Dean trying to shield himself on the floor, you waited for Dracula to raise his sternum up enough for you to fire. Just as the monster was about to finish Dean off, you shot him once in the chest.

“Silver?” the monster said, seeming mystified. He looked up at you menacingly holding your gun. “It was beauty that killed the beast. No, Mina, do not weep.” He dramatically collapsed into a chair. “Perhaps this is how the movie should end.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, immediately turning on your heels to walk out of the room.

****

The next day, you slumped down in the back seat of the Impala while Dean and Jamie made out just outside the passenger’s side window. 

Faintly, you heard Jamie say, “Well, thank you, G-Man. You have been a great service to your country.” “Oh, yes, I'm very, very patriotic,” he responded flirtatiously.

You scoffed, pulling your gun out of the bag on the seat next to you to clean it. 

When the two brothers finally bid Jamie goodbye and got down into the car, Dean turned his eyes to you in the rearview mirror. “Jamie said to thank you.” He stared at you in the rearview mirror waiting for you to respond.

You never answered, and Dean just shook his head and started driving.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Okay, so, I see a lot of people talk about “stats” on fics. Here, Reddit, other social media…often in a way that suggests one can gauge quality of a fanwork based on those metrics. Writers using them to try and determine if their work is “good.” Readers using them to filter fics for just the “best” ones. So let’s talk about stats.

And yeah, this is going to be long, so let’s have a cut, but TL;DR:

AO3 stats numbers can, in the aggregate, tell us some things but they cannot tell us the quality of a piece. Authors, stats don’t mean that your writing isn’t good, no matter what the “ratios” are. Readers, stats are poor indicators of fic quality, but you should know that writers are using those numbers as indicators of engagement with and enjoyment of their work; engagement is the encouragement writers use to keep writing.

I’ve read so many posts — on Tumblr, on the AO3 subreddit, fanfiction and writing subreddits, in other social media arenas — by both authors and readers talking about the stats on fics. Wondering if they’re good, or if they aren’t. Lamenting or judging a writer’s skill based purely on those numbers. Using those numbers as a way to filter fics to find the “best” ones. Wondering if writing is even worth doing in the writer’s fandom.

Usually, because of where I hang out, they’re talking about AO3 stats, but I occasionally see stuff about Wattpad in a similar vein. I don’t know Wattpad; I’ve never used it. So I’ll just focus on AO3 here.

So, first things first, I’m not going to tell a fanfic author that they should just not care about their stats. Not because I think stats matter, really, but because I know that’s an impossible ask. If we didn’t want people to read and enjoy our stuff, we wouldn’t post it. I can read my own writing with way less work and effort if I don’t post it, honestly. I post it to share it. So I get that saying “who cares what the stats are” is actively not helpful advice for a demoralized writer and doesn’t encourage participation for readers. So here’s what I’ll say instead about what we can, and more importantly can’t glean, from AO3’s stats as writers, and try to put those AO3 stats in perspective for writers and readers of fanfic alike:

AS A WRITER:

1) Comparison is the thief of joy. If you’re getting engagement with your fic and it makes you happy, try not to dwell on whether other authors are getting more engagement. I know this is a tough one to implement.

2) If you’re going to compare, it needs to be apples to apples, and I see a lot of folks comparing apples to oranges and then feeling let down by that comparison.

2A) Someone writing for the most popular ship in your fandom while you write a rare pair is probably going to get more engagement; not because it’s better, but because more people are going to see it. They will get more hits because more people are filtering for that pairing. That doesn’t mean what you wrote isn’t good or compelling.

2B) This goes even more granular: someone who is in the Neve/Rook tag on AO3 and either excludes M/F or filters for F/F isn’t going to see my fic. And that’s okay; they’re looking for something specific and I’m not writing it. I’m writing M/F Neve/Rook at the moment. The longer a fic is up, the more engagement it’s likely to have gotten, so I need to look at dates. If I were going to compare - and I don’t and shouldn’t for my own sake - M/F Neve/Rook posted within a few days of my post would be what I should compare myself to.

And even then, given that different fics tackle different subjects, have different OCs, etc., it’s still not likely to be truly 1:1.

2C) Multi-chapter fics and long fics get different numbers and ratios of hits/kudos/comments than one-shots. The engagement pattern is different.

2D) Smut/NSFW/Archive Warning fics also tend to get different engagement patterns than fics that don’t have those markers. Some people are concerned about their usernames being linked to those themes/plots/topics. Some readers are smut fiends (and we love that for them). Both these things can skew numbers here.

3) A registered user who is logged in can only kudo once, even if the fic has multiple chapters. Someone can read an entire 27-chapter 200k word novel and love it and only be able to leave a single kudo. Guest users are tracked by IP address, so if their IP address hasn’t changed they too can only kudo a fic one time.

4) The above means that re-readers are often not getting seen in kudo numbers even if they’re your biggest fans.

5) “Hits” counts individual views, but only if outside certain timeframes. If someone reads your fic 5 times in 24 hours it won’t count as 5 hits. However, outside that time box it will register as multiple hits, which may mean you’re getting more hits and no kudos because of re-reads.

6) Engagement from readers is lower across the board. There’s been entire articles about it. It’s not just you, I promise.

7) There is no “hits to kudos” or “kudos to comments” or “hits to comments” ratio that can reliably tell if something is good or not for all the reasons above.

AS A READER:

1) Writers want engagement. Crave it. If an author didn’t want engagement, they wouldn’t post their fanfic. It’s not like they’re getting paid. And it can be incredibly discouraging not to receive any. Writers use those stats numbers - hits, kudos - and those comments to determine if people are looking at and, more importantly, enjoying their work. It’s a way of gauging engagement.

Does that mean a writer is entitled to engagement? No. But if you want an author to keep posting fic, engagement is the way to encourage that. Like I said, I can read my own stuff with much less work if I don’t post.

2) As I said above, a registered user that is logged in (or a guest still on the same IP address) can only kudo a fic once, no matter how many chapters it has or how many times they’ve read it. If you want to show you like a new chapter after you’ve dropped that initial kudo, or show a re-read, you’ll need to comment. Even if it’s just a “❤️” or “have another kudo!”

3) You aren’t bothering writers by commenting on something; really, you’re not. I see so many readers worried that they’ll come across as weird by engaging.

Friend, we’re all weird here. Go for it.

I love when people send me a multi-paragraph comment or kudo 7 of my fics in a single night. (I also love all comments, to be clear. An “OMG” or keysmash is also great. So’s a random one-off kudo.) Don’t worry you’ll annoy the writer. We can turn comments off if we don’t want them.

4) Writing and posting fic is time consuming. There’s the writing itself (already a major labor of love) and, even if there’s no editing or beta-reading, formatting and summarizing and rating and all that. Bare minimum. If there’s editing or beta-reading, now there’s an additional (and often lengthy) part of the process that has very likely meant a time investment not only from the authors but the folks that helped them. Engagement is the only pay they get.

5) To put a finer point on topic 1: Yes, lack of engagement has absolutely ended fics people loved or led writers to stop writing/sharing fanfic at all. I don’t say that to insinuate you owe a writer your engagement, but no one wants to shout into an empty room; if fanfic doesn’t involve participation from both sides, the system does eventually break down.

If you read a fic and don’t kudo or comment, the author has no way to know if you liked it or if you accidentally clicked the wrong link and immediately fled. Writers aren’t mind readers.

If you’re someone who reads a rare pair, this is doubly true. Authors of rare pairs can face a lonely existence in fandom spaces if the readers that read rare pairs don’t engage.

6) Please read the writer’s list to understand why kudos/hits/comments numbers are poor indicators of fic quality.

In Conclusion:

I don’t say all of this to suggest that someone’s feelings about fic stats and engagement levels aren’t valid. Writers, you’re allowed to be frustrated or let down by engagement levels; I’ve been there, and I see you. Readers, I have absolutely been the person that read an author’s entire catalogue of fics and didn’t comment because I didn’t know what to say or if I should (though I’m working on that). Like many people, my earliest days in fandom were spent lurking with the lurkiest among us. I’m not judging. But I think some of this stuff is helpful to remember.

You all make fandom better by your presence. No matter what the numbers are. Be kind to yourselves. And, if you’re ready, maybe throw your writers a kudo or comment. It’ll make their day.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Secret is Out!(MeademaXTeenReader)

Warnings: school Fight, bullying, injury, homophobic comments mentioned

A/N: for the sake of this Fic, Viv never left Arsenal.

Summary: you have a Secret girlfriend. Your moms find out when school calls them cause you got into Trouble.

You were walking from your classroom to the Cafeteria ro grab some food and meet up with your girlfriend when you got cornered by a group of girls. They weren't Strangers to you. Unfortunately you were one of their favorite Targets. They called you names that were quite homophobic, they mockingly called you 'queen of football' and stuff like that. Saying you make a really big deal out of playing for Arsenal and Englands national Team at only 15 years old. Which was ironic cause you never really talked about it at school.

"why do you keep posting pictures of your Family! No one wants to see you and your mothers! We get it you all are d*kes!" One of them said. You frowned softly.

"why the hell do you feel the need to watch at what she Posts? You seem to be obsessed with her!" You heard a voice behind you say. You knew exactly who the voice belonged to. It was your girlfriends voice. You and Lenja had been secretly dating for 3 months now.

"can't little Mix(they called you that cause of you being english & dutch, thinking it was hilarious, No Idea why) fight her own battles?! She is like a rescue puppy!" One of them answered.

"leave her alone! She is too nice to be mean to you guys!" Lenja said.

"No she is weak in every way! She is only playing soccer cause her moms are playing, not like she is any good." The Queen of mean replied and everyone laughed. She then pushed you which resulted in flying fists. You ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. Even though you weren't even fighting. No Lenja was defending you and had a busted lip now. The mean girls got suspended but somehow you and Lenja also got in trouble and now your parents would get called.

Viv's Phone rang during practice, first she ignored it but when it rang the second time, she picked up. Seeing it was your school.

"miedema." She said.

"it's y/n's english teacher calling, you need to Pick your daughter up from the principals Office. She has gotten in trouble!" Your teacher explained. "Don't worry she is okay!" She added.

" we will be there as quick as possible!" Your momma said and ended the call. Your Mom was looking at her and so were a few teammates.

"Viv what's wrong?" Your aunt Leah asked.

"is everything okay?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"that was the school. our daughter is okay, but she has gotten in some sort of trouble!" Your momma explained.

"getting in trouble so doesn't sound like our Kid!" Your Mom stated and sighed softly.

"agreed, my goddaughter doesn't do trouble! Only on the pitch!" Your aunt Steph replied.

Your moms quickly told everyone they would talk more during afternoon practice. It was the practice you always attended as well. It took them 20 minutes before walking into the school and seeing you sitting in front of the principals Office, next to Lenja. Her parents happened to be closely behind your moms.

"oh my god! What happened to your face liefje?" Your momma asked.

"the Queens of mean happened!" Lenja said.

"Lenja, i want an explaination!" Lenjas dad replied. You two explained things when the principal walked over and told you and your parents that you would be suspended for two weeks as well.

"that's bullshit!" Lenja jumped out of her seat but you pulled her back.

"Lenja." Her Mom said, wanting to make sure she calms down as well.

"those girls bully my girlfriend on daily basis! They even threw punches and now instead of just them getting in trouble it's us as well?!" Lenja frowned softly. Not realizing at first that she had just accidentally outed your relationship. All four parents did notice though. But at first they wanted to resolve the Problem because it doesn't seem fair to them either to punish the two of you for that.

"our daughter looks all banged up! It's your Job to keep our kids Safe! Does this look Safe to you?!" Your mom asked. She was upset. Pointing to both your face and Lenjas.

"i agree with my wife!" Your momma replied.

"we think it's not acceptable either! We should sue you!" Lenjas dad stated.

"i don't think that's necessary. I am sure we can figure something out." The principal let you guys know. He probably realized it wasn't so smart to get press for the school. Especially not If three Professional Football players and two doctors were involved.

This all did in fact work out and you weren't suspended but still left with your moms, Lenja and her parents for the day.

You went to grab some coffee and talked about your relationship.

"so you two are a couple." Lenjas Mom stated.

"yes. Guilty!" Lenja answered.

"why didn't you tell us?" Your momma asked.

"in all honesty...i wanted to avoid the talk." You admitted.

"Same!" Lenja admitted. Lenjas parents chuckled softly.

"Lenja you got the talk two years ago. We won't give you another talk... just be Safe!" Lenjas Mom said.

"Same goes for you! We just want you to be safe, liefje!" Your mom told you.

You talked for a little while before you had to go to practice. Your moms and Lenjas parents got along well though so your moms invited the three to your next Game.

You were on your way to practice mow, sitting in the backseat. Your momma was driving.

"lovely? Can i ask you something?" Your Mom spoke up.

"yes sure." You replied, curious what she wanted to ask.

"why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?" She asked.

"cause i was trying to ignore them for the most part! It doesn't really bother me that much anymore." You explained.

"still, you shouldn't have to go through it." Your momma answered.

You walked into the locker room with your moms for afternoon practice. All eyes were on you and your banged up face.

"okay who hurt my goddaughter? I am gonna hunt someone down!" Leah stated.

"it's all sorted out!" You quickly said.

"But someone messed up your beautiful face!" Steph answered.

You chuckled softly.

"as long as my girlfriend still likes it!" You told them.

"WAIT?! GIRLFRIEND?!" they all yelled out.

[traincat]

what's the unreleased uncanny avengers fic 👀 (I love when you do fic that's set at a very specific point in canon, I'm always dying for more of that in comics fandom)

So I have four different Uncanny Avengers fic in this folder, and upon investigation two of these I finished and posted:

Echoes, which takes place immediately post Uncanny Avengers #12, which is the end of its Hanktron plot.

He was having a time.

Keep the Fire Burning, which takes place after Uncanny Avengers #20, where the Red Skull mindcontrolled Johnny and Peter reacted. Strongly.

[Sunset Boulevard voice] We had comics, then.

The other two are also in the Uncanny Avengers #19-22 time frame, because there was just a lot going on. Under the cut! Johnny having a Bad Time, Generally.

Uncanny Avengers #19 fixit fic, based on the fact that the Red Skull makes Johnny hallucinate his family's return and then imagine himself burning them alive. We have fun here. This one was intended to be a get together, but then I think Uncanny Avengers #20 came out and I was like well I have other things to focus on.

***

“It’s that farkakteh team you’re on, running around, getting abducted by psychic Red Skull,” Peter said, pacing the floor in front of Johnny, waving his hands about. “Back in my day we settled for the regular model and we were happy about it.”

Johnny didn’t say anything. Peter sighed, stopping in front of him and dropping his hands to his sides.

“Torch,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Johnny shook his head, the briefest of motions. Peter dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward a little, until their knees were almost brushing.

"Don't touch me."

It was the only Peter could get him to say, ever since he’d insisted they cut out on the clean-up. He’d swung them both to his apartments in the Baxter Building, Johnny silent and unresisting, clinging to Peter’s shoulders. Peter almost missed that – at least that was contact. Now Johnny sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders all hunched up and said "don't touch me" every time Peter so much as thought about reaching out.

It was horrible. All Peter wanted to do was hold him.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice coaxing. He wanted to fix it – wanted to take Johnny out, somewhere high up. Wanted to wrap Johnny up in blankets and keep him indoors. All his attempts at affection always felt so clumsy where Johnny was involved, like it was never what Johnny really needed.

“Don’t touch me,” Johnny repeated.

“C’mon,” Peter said, aware his tone is getting a little tetchy. He knew wasn’t the world’s most patient man at the best of times, and besides, words were cheap, easy, a dime a dozen where he was concerned. He’d always communicated best with Johnny through touch. How could he help if Johnny wouldn’t let him smooth a hand over his back or throw an arm around his shoulders?

Johnny had never shied away from touch before, not once in the fifteen years Peter had known him.

“What’s a little mind control between friends, huh?” Peter joked, inching a little closer, on the edge of his own seat so he could sway a little into Johnny’s space. “We’ve been here before.”

Johnny shook his head slowly. Peter dipped his head, but he couldn’t see his expression. He sighed, restless.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta talk to me here. You’re scaring me a little…” he said, dropping a hand to Johnny’s knee.

He yanked it back before he could make real contact, spider-sense buzzing like he just tried to touch a hot stove. Johnny was blazing -- it wasn’t noticeable, except for a sheer scant inch from his body.

Peter had never really marveled over his control before. “Johnny?”

“You can’t,” Johnny said, voice hitching, “touch me, okay, Peter?”

“Johnny,” Peter said, gentling his voice again. He got up and moved to Johnny’s couch instead, leaving enough space between them that he couldn’t feel the heat Johnny’s putting out. “Hot stuff – literally. What’s going on?”

All he wanted to do was put his arms around Johnny, and Johnny wouldn’t let him.

Johnny just breathed for a few long moments, ragged. Peter had already tried to ply him with water, with coffee, with that one bottle of very old-looking scotch someone else must have put in his kitchen. Johnny didn’t seem to want anything.

“Pretty boy,” Peter cajoled, the old nickname that never failed to get him a pleased smile. “What’s so different about this time?”

“My family came back,” Johnny said, and Peter’s whole being lurched.

“What?” he said. It wasn’t possible – if the Fantastic Four were back, he’d know, surely. And if the Fantastic Four were back, why would Johnny be curled in on himself like this, hiding out on Peter’s couch?

“My family came back,” Johnny repeated, voice a little steadier. He pulled his hands away from his face – his fingers trembled – and slid them through his hair. His eyes were red. He was white as a sheet. “And I lost all control of my powers, and I burned them to death. My family.”

Peter worked his jaw for a minute, speechless. Johnny finally looked at him, eyes all damp. Peter couldn’t stop staring at the dark gold sweep of his lashes, his wet cheeks.

“That’s what the Red Skull made me see, anyway,” he said with a watery, fake smile. It was like a bucket of ice water down Peter’s back. The arm of his chair gave way under his fist, viciously, and Johnny almost jumped.

He reigned his own anger in for Johnny’s sake, buried it deep down where he kept every other injustice he couldn’t do anything about, all the unfair things. He breathed out, slow.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Johnny, still wide-eyed at Peter’s outburst, said, “I know.”

“It wasn’t real,” Peter pressed on, inching closer. His hand hovered above Johnny’s knee, but still there was that blazing heat. It hurt, that Johnny wouldn’t let him hold him. “It didn’t really happen.”

“I know,” Johnny repeated, miserably. Peter hadn’t thought his heart could break for him anymore than it already had.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, desperate to take Johnny’s hand in his own. Johnny would never forgive him if he burned himself on him. Peter would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. “It wasn’t real, Johnny.”

(...)

“Hey,” Peter said, inching closer. He can stand the heat, at least for a few minutes. “Lower the thermostat.”

“What?” Johnny said, looking up at him.

Peter made a loose hand motion, rolling his wrist. “An expression, Torch. Johnny, hot stuff – turn it down.”

Johnny shook his head, stubborn. He was tired, Peter could see that now. He needed rest, food – and he wasn’t letting himself have anything, because of something that had never even happened.

Peter knew that feeling.

“I promise you,” Peter said, “you want to turn down the body heat for this one. Johnny, trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

After a second, Johnny nodded.

It wasn’t how he had wanted to do this. He’d wanted to wait, to do it right – take Johnny out someplace nice, someplace romantic. Let him catch on little by little. He’d wanted to kiss Johnny for the first time with the skyline at their backs, underneath the stars.

On his couch with all the blinds drawn and Johnny so miserable Peter felt like crying too was what it was going to have to be, though. Peter couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’re either going to love this, or I’ve been reading everything wrong,” Peter said, softly. He touched his fingertips beneath Johnny’s chin to hold him steady. “In which case you’re going to have the time of your life laughing at me.”

Johnny’s soft inhale was all the go-ahead Peter needed. The first brush of their lips was quick, testing – Johnny’s lips were soft and full. Peter wondered if he tasted slightly ashen all the time, or only after he’d spent most of the day flamed on. Maybe only when he was sad.

“Peter,” Johnny said, sliding one hand along Peter’s neck. His eyes were closed.

“Yeah?” Peter teased a little, lips just brushing Johnny’s.

“I’m not laughing,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Peter said. He hummed and kissed the highest point of Johnny’s cheek, nosed at him softly. “I guess I need to try harder.”

Johnny nodded, tilting his head. Peter kissed him again, and again, and again, until Johnny’s mouth opened under his and Peter was licking into it and Johnny was making soft little sounds that had nothing to do with being sad at all.

“Is this okay?” Peter asked when they broke apart. Johnny was breathing hard, looking a little dazed. Peter reached up very carefully to brush his hair back.

***

And the Uncanny Avengers post-#21-22 fic, which was established relationship:

Johnny was in his bed again, on his side facing away from the door. Peter sighed fondly, shoulder meeting the doorframe as he leaned in it for a long moment, tracing the way the moonlight illuminated Johnny’s form.

He hit the light and Johnny groaned, dragging a pillow over his head.

“You’re not naked,” he said, climbing onto the bed and palming Johnny’s hip, right over the yellow patch. “<i>Before</i> we got together, I got you naked.”

“You didn’t get me anything,” Johnny mumbled, voice thick. “I got myself naked and you screamed.”

“I didn’t scream, I yelled,” Peter corrected, rubbing little circles, stroking his way down Johnny’s thigh and back up again. He counted out the panels on the yellow patches, walking his fingers up and down. “It was extremely masculine and not a pitch only dogs could hear at all.”

Johnny snorted, grip on the pillow loosening. Peter gave him another moment before he rolled him over, bracing himself over him on one hand.

“Hey, hon,” he said, tracing the dried tear tracks on Johnny’s cheeks. His eyes were still a little red. “Rough day at the office?”

Johnny snorted, reaching up to fidget with Peter’s collar. “Something like that.”

“But everything’s peachy-keen now?” Peter asked. “All Red Skulls safely off the streets?”

Johnny nodded, face pensive. (...)

“The fist bump?” Peter said, sounding amused. “Really?”

“I was trying to play it cool,” Johnny said. “Casual, you know.”

“I have never,” Peter said, kissing Johnny once, twice, three times, “ever bumped your fist before. Not one time.”

"Liar."

[icdrawings]

The Doughlings

Doey & Reader

Distraught, angered, and numb

Was all you could feel while staring at Doey's now dead body of frozen dough.

Throughout the factory you've learned about his past or well - their past. These poor boys, forced to be stuck together into one person. Each having their own right to be angry.

You kept looking at him, his deformed body resembling the 3 kids inside of him - 3 innocent souls. You walked over to him, taking a minute of hesitation with each step until you were right in front of him. Your legs gave out making you sit. You took off your grab-pack and reached out for one of their hands, it was cold and limp. You could only stare at that small hand, caressing it with your thumb, trying to give a little bit of comfort. Through out this journey you've never once shown emotion, never once made a sound but after meeting Doey you only wished you could have been more expressive with him.

"I'm sorry..." Was barely over a whisper as you let a single tear roll down your face.

You don't know how long you were there but you finally got up, put on the grab-pack and went to the door. Waiting for the hand scanner to load you started to contemplate your next steps 'I need to find Poppy, if she's even alive and figure out what went wrong'

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you nearly missed a cracking sound from behind you Turning fast to look at Doey's body again.

It was still there - black and frozen. You thought you were hearing things but you knew better, you've never let your guard down.

You kept an eye on it - waiting for something, anything. Then you saw it, your frozen ally's body started to crack. There was something moving inside of it, almost as if something was trying to get out.

You didn't want to stick around and find out what. Looked back at the scanner now half way done you kept listening closely to the sounds taking - note when it got louder until the door finally opened.

You were about to make a run for it when you felt something grab onto your leg.

You stood still, as if your body was the one frozen in place. It was heavy and warm and wrapped around your leg. It was almost like someone was hugging you.

Taking a deep yet shaky breath you slowly looked down to confront whatever was there. Only to be shocked that on your leg was a little Doey. You couldn't comprehend what you were seeing. He looked up at you with his hollow eyes - full of innocence.

He started to smile "mommy!"

He hugged your leg tighter with his little hands. You couldn't understand what was happening, Doey was dead, you had killed him with your own hands and yet this little Doey was here calling you his mother. You couldn't even think some more before he started talking again

"Mommy?... Mommy are you okay?..." He looked a bit sadden by your delayed reaction

You kept staring at him - intensely with a stone face. A part of you wants to be happy that he's not trying to kill you but the other half wants to just cry. In this staring contest, you to reach your hand out towards him. Your hand was shaking after what happened in the upper floors but you've done your best to keep it still.

You took your time and luckily little Doey was very patient while being excited - bouncing a bit. Gently you placed your hand down on top of his head feeling the little curls of clay. He let your leg go only for him to capture your hand instead, keeping it in place - seemingly enjoying the warmth and started to giggle.

"Mommy! Mommy!" his smile was huge

You soften a bit and knelt down to take a better look at him. He was about the size of your calf and he sounded more of a child than his original voice.

His body was covered with yellow and so was his face but looking closely his face he also had orange and red freckles.

"Do you know who I am?" You were so caught up in examining him that you almost didn't acknowledge the question. Taking another good look at him.

Only one name comes to mind

"...jack?"