#and trying my best and I hope you are too

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap - lots of tension, angstyyy, misunderstandings, emotional, some kissing and heavy desire but mostly this chap is sfw, mutual pining, lots of feelings - Tag list closed

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazingg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part Four - Masterlist - Part Six>>> (coming soon)

Part Five

It’s been two hours since Satoru said he’d meet you, and you are as dressed up as you have been in years, hair curled to perfection, beautiful dress that’s hugging every inch of your body, pretty and dark red, long sleeves with lace all over them, and black tights underneath with thigh high boots. Your parents had been gushing over you when you’d walked out, doing a little spin and giggling.

That was two hours ago.

Now you’re touching up your highlighter, blinking mascara coated lashes that are far longer than you’re used to. He was used to models, so surely your skills wouldn’t be that level, but you wanted to at least try to look pretty for this… date. Yes it was going to be a date. He's only seen you casual so far, you're literally wearing lace panties and not Sailor Mars this time too.

The thoughts of last night make you blush, even as the moments tick by. To feel like that underneath him, so fucking beautiful and desired, with the boy you adored? It seemed worth whatever hurt that was coming when he went back home. You want to believe him, that he won't forget you again, but as the clock ticks it's hard to know if he's staying true to his word.

You call again, it's the third time in two hours, you hope it's not too much but now you're almost a little worried, shooting him a text instead, biting your lip as your fingers dance across the cool screen. 

Satoru, are you okay? It's fine if you can't make it! Just let me know you're safe, the roads are covered in snow.

You sigh, setting down the phone as your mom walks in where you're sitting by the window, watching the snowfall gently. “Hey honey, are you staying for dinner?”

It's your mom's sweet way of distracting you. “He might still come, mom.”

“Absolutely! But I am getting ready to cook, you know.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, gentle now. “You're so stunning.”

“Aw, mom...” You look back to see her blinking emotions, making your heart ache.

“He'd only be so lucky to see you like this. You know that?”

You look down shyly. “You see him. He's a whole model.”

“And you're you. And that's special too. Don't get too upset if…” She trails off a bit no. “Just, seeing you like that after he left was really hard for me is all.” You stand now, hugging her and inhaling the familiar scent of her as she blinks back emotion.

“You're scared I'll get hurt again.” She nods, sniffling now as you brush aside a tear.

“That was worse than watching any breakup. I'm really scared for you, it's not that I don't still love Satoru. I promise it's not that. But you're doing so good now.” you smile sadly, remembering the days you laid in bed after, crying and not leaving your room for weeks aside from essential needs.

You wouldn't get that way again. Even if he…

“Just watch your heart, it's a million sizes too big.” You smile tremulously up at her, holding her hands now.

“Get that from you two.” You both smile now, and a knock sounds at the door, making you jump in excitement, rushing to where your dad was opening the door now, and then pausing.

“Sukuna how have you been!?” Your dad says, and Sukuna chuckles, coming into view as he puts his hand on your dad's shoulder.

“I've been good, how about you, old man?”

“Old man!? I'll show you ‘old man’. Got a football you know!”

“Oh yeah? I'm down for a challenge.” He grins, and your mom blinks in surprise, looking at you, then at the door, when your dad invites the tall man in, and his ruby eyes catch you, making him falter, his lips parted.

“Sukuna…” You trail off, while his gaze drifts over you, heating you up with his look, before clearing his throat, walking over to you.

“I was right in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi to the family. You look… beautiful, shit.” He rubs the back of his neck as he murmurs it, and your dad shuts the door to the cold, leaving you all basking in the warmth of the well heated home.

Beautiful, Sukuna had never said that sort of thing when you dated - maybe sexy, hot or whatever ridiculously horny statement he used to make, but then he had changed a lot. So had Satoru Gojo, and here you were, still the same girl, with two famous men back in town showing up, the doubts creeping as you realize how excited you were for it to be Satoru at the door.

“Are you going out or… getting back?” He asks then, you watch as snowdrops dissolve on his black overcoat, he brushes some off his pink locks, just a little damp from them melting.

“Thank you, I’m so delayed in my responses.” He chuckles as you get just a little flustered, he’s eyeing you so intensely right now, while you’re fidgeting with your hands in front of your lap. “I had a date but… he hasn’t um, showed up or answered the phone. So I don’t know my plans.”

“Idiot.” You glare, and he sighs. “Sorry, but only an idiot would not show up.”

“He could be… caught up with the show, or something. So I don’t know, he should still come. But for now, um… I may help mom cook?”

“Looking like that?” He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, as your parents walk up now, and your dad has busted out his football, Sukuna chuckles over at him - he’s much thinner than he probably remembers, but he’s so much stronger than he was years back. “You’re ready to get your ass kicked, old man?”

“You’re a pro, but I’m old school.” Your dad winks over at you, and you giggle just a bit. He’d always loved Sukuna, where your mom was not his biggest fan, they had some weird male football bond happening.

But you haven’t seen your dad so excited in forever, he was a huge fan of Sukuna’s team, so you’re sure this is a trip for him. “You came to see my parents, or me?”

Your soft question earns a raised brow and an arrogant smirk, smacking you right back to the girl fawning over him in high school. “Both, I didn't know if you’d be home or not, but I was hoping. But also I wanted to… see him too, if that’s cool?”

“Of course it is.” You grin now, a hand on his broad shoulder, and he exhales, leaning a little low. “How are you two gonna play in the snow!?”

“Tch, it’s nothing brat.”

“Brat!? No, no. Not calling me that again.” You shove at the big man, as your dad starts bundling up, and you look at him with concern. “Dad are you okay to…”

“Honey, let him. He needs this.” Your mom whispers, and you nod then, smiling as your dad looks at you curiously.

“You worried about your ‘old man’?” He teases, kissing your head affectionately, and you’re so thankful for Sukuna then, something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Don’t catch a cold, now! Sukuna, take it easy on him.”

“Psh, no way.” Sukuna grins deviously as the two men run outside in the cold like psychos in the darkening sky, you stand by the door and giggle as you watch them, the sky a snowy mix of purples and pinks as nighttime comes.

“You’re awfully popular again, I feel like I need to make these boys ask permission again.” Your mom teases, you roll your eyes, hugging your arms as the brisk air hits, then peeking back at your phone.

No response.

But your text was read.

You swallow a bit, feeling sick to your stomach - was he… with Samantha? He said he wasn’t interested, but they had a history. This morning you’d laid in his bed for longer than you should have, inhaling his scent, lingering memories flitting through your mind until you’d finally left - and it took far, far too much effort, that room really felt like you and Satoru’s personal snowglobe.

“I’ll call one more time,” you say, and your mom nods understandingly, bundling up in her jacket now. “You headed outside?”

“I gotta see your dad like this for a few. Then we can cook dinner together, maybe Sukuna can stay?” You nod and smile at her, hand shaking when you’re left alone, pacing nervously. Your heels click on the old hardwood floors as you do, as it rings and rings and rings.

Did Satoru break his promise?

*****

“Shit, shit, shit. No reception. Fuck, do you have any, Samantha?” The blond model pouts, brushing back her blong locks.

“No, I wish! Ugh this town is so fucking stupid! Why aren’t we moving!?” She leans out of the window then, screaming out - “Move, townies, I have to take a fucking piss!”

He’d been stuck in this car in traffic for an hour with her, barely moving inch by fucking inch from some really bad accident, a four car pile up according to the radio - which is the only thing that’s working. Neither of them have reception, and no internet access on any of their devices in this particular area, maybe because of the storm, he’s not sure.

But this is hell.

You’re going to think he broke his fucking promise, you’re probably already giving up on him coming, and he had everything perfectly planned, for it to all start to fall apart, and now in this car with a psycho brat and nothing to pass the time, just the windshield wipers and the fucking heat blasting, with some fuzzy radio. He peers at his phone again, glaring at it.

“Boring, so boring! Ugh this whole trip! I can’t wait to fucking get back home, out of these backwoods.” She rolls up her windows and pouts, pressing closer over to the heat that’s blasting from the vents.

“Yeah, yeah I know. You’ve hated being in a ‘small town’ you yap about it enough.” She scoffs, crossing her slender arms and scowling at him.

“Well you’re no fun, all fucking broody over the little girl from the bar.”

“Yeah we are not talking about her.” His jaw clenches, blue eyes flashing, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just gonna fuck her, so do it and get on with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s what you do - fuck women, leave them. Or fuck them when you feel like it if they’re cool with sharing. Lucky for you, I didn’t give a fuck, because I had my own roster,” her words are the first serious things he’s ever heard from her, while she looks out the windshield, hugging herself under her jacket. “But that girl won’t.”

“What are you even on about, you didn’t want more than sex,” Satoru trails off then, when her eyes meet his again, softer than he’s used to. “You were fine just fucking, we never dated.”

“Well yeah, you don’t date, everyone in the industry knows, you have serious issues, you know?”

“Me, issues!? Samantha-”

“No. You do. Soon as we fucked you had a ride waiting for me as if I was some… escort? And all my friends say you did the same. Ever think it made any of them feel shitty?” Satoru’s stomach twists, looking back down at the phone and then at the road, avoiding her gaze. “Well, it did.”

“You felt great under me, all of you did. I’ve never had a complaint in the bedroom, okay?” She laughs a bit, sighing.

“You are a superb fuck, but if that’s all you’re gonna do to her, leave the poor girl the fuck alone.”

“You don’t know shit of how I feel for her.” He scowls at her, and she just shrugs a narrow shoulder, a nasty smile on her face.

“I know you, I know men like you, you’re an industry standard.”

“And so the fuck are you.” She snorts now, rolling her eyes again.

“Sure am, but I know what I am - you’re trying to act like you’re any better. Go fuck her then, and leave her like you do. Think that’ll be good? She’d be better off with me.”

“With you!?”

“Mmm, yes. At least I’d give her some affection after.” Satoru’s heart races as her words hit. “I kept fucking you because I liked you, I really liked you - until I realized you’re shallow.”

“You are not calling me shallow, you tell everyone in the city they’re poor because they don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re as shallow as me.”

“You know, shut the fuck up please.” He keeps peering at the road, as the cars finally start moving, he checks the time and curses.

“Best you don’t make it, save her the heartbreak.”

“You’re suddenly really deep, Samantha. I don’t like it anymore than you being annoying as fuck.” She looks out the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t know any of the women in your bed. You don’t bother to.”

Satoru can’t argue it, he knows Samantha is right, and she’s read him like a fucking book, her words swirling through his mind - would he just hurt you? No, it’s different, you’re different, you’re the reason he became this way. The hurt that day, the rejection he thought he was going to get, along with Sukuna and everyone, it had made him high tail it and run.

And he changed.

Fuck who was he? Sometimes he’d look in that mirror at his perfect features and contemplate just that - who was he? Satoru Gojo, a model, a famous man on the runway with endless women, or was he that nerdy boy, the one who laughed with you till your tummies hurt? Who made popcorn and oreos for the two of you - the weirdest thing ever but you loved it - and watched movies in your room?

Could he ever be that boy again truly, was last night any sort of real attempt, or would he fuck it all up and hurt you again?

He can’t live with himself if he does.

“You’re right,” his murmur brings her attention to him, he’s exhausted from the shoot and the drive, and so is she, but her eyes soften a bit. “I was a dick to you, and everyone.”

“Understatement.” He just sighs, clenching the wheel with tight hands.

“Were you different before you were famous?” He asks, he’s never asked shit about her, it’s true - she was just fun when he wanted a psycho in the bed, he didn’t even see her as a person.

Sure she was indeed insane, but he didn’t have to treat her like shit.

“No, I’ve always been this way honestly. I didn’t change because I got famous, but I grew up rich.”

“Ah.” It’s quiet, as he takes a breath now. “I feel a lot for her.”

“I know, it’s written all over your face when you talk about her.” He looks at her once more, before focusing on the road again. “If you feel something, say it, I never hold back shit I want to.”

“No you don’t.” He laughs a bit and so does she, shifting a bit, eyes brightening now.

“I have internet, oh fuck yes. I can drown out your moody ass.” He sticks his tongue out, and she returns it, slipping in her ear buds as they come to a red light, and he pulls up his phone finally, seeing your missed calls come through and texts.

Shit, shit, shit.

He picks up the phone, calling it finally, but it keeps ringing, and he hangs up and tries again, only for it to do the same thing, making his stomach twist in knots. Did you think he wasn’t coming!? Were you upset, or mad? Were you ignoring his calls- god a million what ifs occur as he tries to focus on driving, to get Samantha back to the hotel so he can see you.

*****

“Oh god, yeah I remember that! So embarrassing!” You’re covering your face as your mom starts getting the plates ready and you have busted out your old pictures, Sukuna and you in football and cheerleader gear.

“You sucked at cheer, you were only allowed because you were so pretty.” He teases, and you gasp, shoving at him playfully.

“Oh whatever!? No way!” His hand comes to the small of your back as he grabs the plates you can’t reach, pressing him too closely against you.

It’s been another half hour or so, and at this point your phone was just by the entryway, you couldn’t keep calling and texting, you would come off super pathetic, so you’re just enjoying the ambience of being with your parents and Sukuna. He’s made your dad damn near giddy, and you’re thankful for that, but your mind keeps drifting to Satoru.

“I think everything is ready! Drinks?” You say then, and Sukuna smiles a little. “Let me guess, beer?”

“I’ll drink whatever you’ve got.” His tone and eyes make you tremble just a bit, as you remember being with him - sex was never your problem, your problem was Sukuna was a little shit then. He was your first, and the memories hit your mind a little too vividly, and he seems to notice, leaning low. “What ya thinking about?”

“Nothing!? Nothing. Um…” The doorbell rings now, you figure at this point it’s a neighbor, your hopes of Satoru are just shoved back so it doesn’t hurt as much.

“I’ll go get it.” Your mom says then, smiling over at you two, when Sukuna brushes his rough, calloused fingers against your delicate cheek.

“Kuna…”

“There’s that nickname?” You glare, and he just chuckles, tilting your chin up to make you look at the tall man then. “What is on that mind? Memories?”

“Of you being a dick.” He sighs, dropping his hand then.

“Yeah, I was. A big dick to you. An idiot.”

“No, I mean, look at your life? It’s amazing.” His jaw clenches a bit, hands gripping the counter a bit tightly as you hear murmurs coming from the living room, but your heart is hammering in your ears, blocking it out.

“It’s not all amazing, okay? I thought of you alot. I wanted to reach out-”

“Satoru is here, honey.” You blink in shock, as you turn to look at Satoru Gojo, for once a complete disheveled mess, breathless almost as he smiles at you and then it falls, as he sees your proximity to Sukuna. “Sukuna came over and is having dinner, do you want to join us?”

Satoru wants to kill him, he wants to rip his arms off for being near you - which is irrational, it’s stupid, but it brings back every memory of longing and need while he watched the girl he loved in Sukuna’s arms. When Sukuna dated you he stopped being an ass to Satoru, it wasn’t until after the split he started being a dick again - a big dick to many people too, just particularly Satoru.

The hatred and resentment burn him so badly, he hardly notices you until he blinks it away, sighing, seeing your gorgeous dress. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, you’re so fucking beautiful tonight, dressed to go out and dressed to kill, that dress hugging every curve he was dying to touch, to hold, to kiss upon. Earrings dangle off your pretty ears, reflection against your dress as you look at him.

“I am so sorry, I… can we talk?” He asks then, softly, and you nod, trying not to let your hurt or worry make you angry at him, you need to hear him out.

“Sure. Just a minute, Sukuna.” He nods then, and you walk out to Satoru, he takes your wrist gently, pulling you over by the stairs, exhaling as he eyes you up and down slowly, as if he was caressing you with his blue eyes.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, my god.” You look down nervously, biting your lip a bit, and he tilts your chin, leaning low, making you vividly remember his kisses. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Oh, thank you Satoru. I didn’t know where you… were… taking me.” Your pause speaks volumes, and he sighs, pulling out his phone now.

“I called so many times after I got service, there was a horrible accident and we got stuck for hours. I’m so sorry.” You hear it then, the desperation, as he shows you his phone. “Your messages didn’t come until then, I am so fucking sorry, I tried to get here as quickly as I could. But… I guess I’m too late.”

“What, no, no. You’re not too late.” You step closer, and he exhales, pulling you against his chest now, resting his head against yours. “Sukuna came to see my parents, we’re not on a date or anything.”

“Fuck…” His relief makes his shoulders slump.

“Were you… worried about that?” Your whisper makes him laugh softly, pulling back to look into your eyes, cool hand cupping your face.

“Yeah. I was.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeats, while your hands cling to his soft sweater under his black jacket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“How serious can we get if you leave soon?” Your voice is full of hurt, full of worry, and he can’t blame you one fucking bit, especially after soaking in what Samantha said.

“I will never just abandon you again.”

“Will you forget me again?” Your tears swim in your eyes, and you step back, shaking your head. “Fuck, ignore me, I’m tired I guess.”

Your words crush his heart, he feels it, the pain he put you through now, blinking back his own emotions. “I never forgot you, how could I?”

“You did.” You look away, and he turns you back to him, you fall again and again, over and over, body reacting, heart gravitating toward him against any better judgement you should have.

“No, I never fucking did.” His husky declaration is met with your mom peeking out now, concern on her face.

“Are you all going out or staying for dinner? There’s plenty, Satoru.” He clears his throat, watching you rub your arms nervously, a million things he’s dying to say to you, to tell you, all stuck in his fucking throat.

“We could just hit the movies and eat here, what do you think?” You say to him then, looking back up, as he runs a hand through his white locks.

“Think you look too beautiful not to take to a fancy restaurant, but I also think I’d love your mom’s cooking again.” You smile tremulously at his answer, sighing and trying to compose yourself.

“Then let’s go.” You take his hand, it feels too good, your little one engulfed in his warm palm, while Satoru sets his jacket and pulls out a chair for you, glaring over at Sukuna, who just smiles.

“Satoru, I should… say sorry for being a dick.” He says then, making Satoru blink in surprise.

“What?”

“I was a dick. Football makes us go to therapy, it’s really making me a little bitch but, here it is. I’m sorry.” He blinks once more, while he sits on the other side of you.

“Shit um, thanks I guess.” He mumbles, he still hates him, but he’s not going to keep the tension at the family table. Sukuna reaches around you to pat his shoulder, smiling a bit.

“It’s like a reunion huh?” Sukuna says teasingly, hand now finding your thigh under the table, making you look wide eyed at him, burning over your black tights. “It’s kind of nice being here again.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Satoru’s hand comes to your thigh now too, and you shift just a bit, Satoru’s is higher, thumb brushing circles on your soft inner thigh.

Some reunion.

“It’s nice to see you all getting along, and seeing you all again. I know she really missed you a lot, Satoru.” Your dad says then, and you hear it, the tone. Your dad was very protective, and he was never cool with his daughter being hurt - with Sukuna you both mutually broke up, but Satoru…

He really just left.

Satoru feels it in his gaze, sighing now. “Yeah well, certain people made High school shit for me. So I left.”

Sukuna looks away, sighing, and you feel the pain in his voice. “Not everyone was so bad.” You say softly, he nods then, hand on your thigh squeezing as Sukuna’s eases off.

“No, someone was amazing, and I shouldn’t have just left her.” His words are said in front of the room, and the tension eases, your dad smiles just a bit.

“She is amazing, you know.”

“Dad!”

“She is.” Satoru agrees, then he nibbles on the food in front of him, sighing. “I’m losing my abs this week.”

“You are not, silly!” You giggle with him, as all of you begin to reminisce, to talk softly, until food is done, and you’re going to help your mom clean up, but she stops you.

“You have a movie to get to, go on.” You smile at her knowing gaze.

“Satoru, have her home safe.” Your dad says, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m twenty six!”

“Still!”

“I’ll have her home safe. Unless she… wants to stay at my place again. But we’ll let you know, promise.” He nods then, hugging Satoru firmly.

“Please do, the roads are slick, be careful you two.”

“We will be, dad.” You look to see Sukuna saying his goodbyes as well, and Satoru glares at him, he can’t help it, the jealousy raging.

“Let me warm up the car, mmkay sweets?” He says softly, and you nod, but he shocks you by planting a kiss right on your cheek in front of everyone, making your skin heat up against his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Satoru.” You go to grab your jacket, but Sukuna has already gotten it, gently placing it over you as you two step outside into the cold, and you look up at him in the now dark night, just the porch light illuminating his silhouette. “Thank you so much for coming over, Sukuna. Truly.”

“I had fun catching up, your old man’s strong, he’ll be fine.” He pats your head affectionately, when you hug him tightly.

Satoru watches from his car and feels sick. He can’t hear a word you fucking said, but Sukuna showing up when he was supposed to already left him one step behind. Sukuna wraps his arms around you, you literally disappear in the big man’s embrace, while he gets the heat going, looking away before he does get sick.

He wants you to be his.

Is it selfish, is it fucking foolish? What future could you two even have? And you were a girl who needed a future, security, loyalty. You weren’t a girl he could just have and ever let go, but all he can think of is having you, over and over. All he can imagine is his lips bruising and marking every inch of your skin, not leaving the bed for days and just ordering food when you need it, fuck he’d hand feed you.

Shit Satoru Gojo has never thought of doing.

“You’re welcome, brat.” Sukuna says softly, after you thank him for spending time with your father.

“No, it meant alot. Truly. You’ve changed so much, but you weren’t all bad back then you know.” You tease, he chuckles then, sooty pink lashes lowering over those ruby eyes as his breath comes out in a puff of condensation.

“I fucked up with you. If you ever… figure out… all that.” He gestures his head to the car, and watches as you blush furiously. “And it’s not what you want, you have my contact info now. I’ll always answer your call, okay?”

“Sukuna, that's corny!”

“Fuck off, I know.” He glares, and you giggle again.

“That therapist should be famous.”

“Bye, now, brat.” You giggle and smack a kiss on his cheek, up on your tiptoes, watching a blush form on his cheeks. “It’s an open offer.” He says, husky toned, you nod then.

“Please drive safe!”

“You too, be careful tonight.”

“I will. Good night, Sukuna.” He nods with a half turn of is lips and walks over to his own sports car as you get inside the warmth with Satoru, smiling and then gasping as he yanks you against him. “Satoru?”

“I’ve been dying to do this all day.” He whispers huskily, before pressing his lips against yours, holding you against him in the warm confines of the car. He drinks up your sighs as you melt in his embrace, those shocks coursing through your veins from his plump lips, from his touch.

“Mnh…” Your soft cry makes him throb in need, but he tries to hold back, taking a breath instead, looking down at your now swollen lips, caressing them with his thumb.

“I never forgot you.” He repeats what he said earlier, you kiss him again, eagerly, tenderly, and he moans as you do, tongues dancing as lips keep pressing, melding against each other. “How could I?”

“Toru, I’m scared.” Your whisper makes him pause, he pulls back a bit, hands on your face now, shaking his head.

“I know. And I’m sorry you are. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing when I forgave you long ago, just… don’t hurt me again. Okay? I can’t handle it.” He nods, feeling your vulnerability, and you then relax, kissing him over and over, until he presses you against the door, leaned over, his hands dragging down your body, you whimper so sweetly he almost devours you there in that car.

“Shit, shit. I need to…” He backs off, watching your breasts rise and fall, he has never felt this, the insane need, once you all kissed he knew it was over, but every kiss drives him more out of his mind, as he falls just as bad as he had then. “I’ll fuck you right here if we don’t go.”

“In front of my parents!?”

“Full high school nostalgia.” You laugh then, and so does he, to break the tension, as you shakily put on your seat belt.

“None of that, gonna give my dad a damn heart attack. He has enough shit to deal with.” He presses one more kiss before he backs out of your driveway, an arm over the seat, brushing against the back of your neck.

“He looks healthy and good, I was really glad to see that.”

“Sukuna cheered him up playing football.” Your words are innocent and sweet, but he feels it hit - the inadequacy. He was supposed to be your best fucking friend in the world, and an ex had a better connection and was more involved.

The pain and guilt eats at him, and it’s quiet then, as the snow lightens up, and Satoru drives carefully in the night, you put a hand on his thigh, and his falls right over yours, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for even going out with me tonight.”

“Of course, I want to… spend as much time as we can.” Your soft voice hits his ears, as you lean close, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“Me too, I was so stressed out, god being stuck in the car with Samantha was torture.” You laugh a bit, but he can hear it’s tense. “Sweetheart,” you two come to a stop, and he looks at you now, the streetlights casting a red glow over him while the snow finally stops falling, and the look he gives you makes your breath catch. “I only want you, okay?”

“Satoru you don’t-”

“No, I do. There’s nothing between me and her alright?” You nod then, swallowing nervously, as he kisses your forehead far too sweetly. “I used to sleep with her. But we never dated, I… never dated anyone.”

“Never?” You asked quietly, and he laughs without humor, looking back at the road now.

“Never. I guess I had someone in my head. I guess I had someone’s faded picture in my pocket.”

“You… what?” He taps his pocket, and you reach down now, emotions hitting your throat when you see it, the last picture he’d taken of you. You’re bright, cheerful and so, so happy. “You kept this?”

“You didn’t like it, and were gonna throw it out, remember? I got mad about it, so I swiped it. It was beautiful.” Your tears fall on the faded, crumbled up polaroid, taking several shaky breaths now as the meaning sinks in.

“I didn’t like it then, but… now I do.” He smiles, the weight off his chest while you put it back in his pocket. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Satoru sighs, pulling up to another light, hand on yours gripping tightly as he studies you with that lidded gaze, with his plump lips parted just so, eyes that you have always loved looking into. But now they’re different, they’re jaded eyes yes, but there’s so much unsaid in them, so much it makes you falter, when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lips brushing your knuckles.

“I was terrified of feeling it all again. Every feeling I had for you, I just… thought it was best to shove down. But, I guess they never left.” The words in the yearbook flash across your mind now.

Did he mean them?

“I guess I never shared all my feelings, either.” You say softly, he is driving once more, but keeps your hand up by his lips.

“You have no fault in anything, here. You were just… you. And I love that, how you’re you. You are still you.”

“You’re still you, too, Satoru.”

He blinks a bit, sighing again. “Am I?”

“I think so.”

You hope so.

You wish it so.

You have never felt what this is, even with him before, the intensity of just being near him enough to drive you insane, every breath and motion leading you deeper into the abyss that is Satoru Gojo. Opening your heart to someone who could so easily crush it all over again, who can tear it all apart so casually, but it’s as if you would take it all if it meant having him for just a bit.

“What movie are we seeing, hmm?” Your whisper breaks him out of his thoughts, of how the fuck he could make this work, of how he could express everything that’s been bottled up inside. Of how he could be that Satoru for you again.

He looks over at your gorgeous face, bathed in moonlight, as beautiful as the day he first met you in school, the inner beauty just radiating with your kindness, your heart, all too much to even look upon. Momentarily stunned he doesn’t compute your question at first, instead just drinking in the love in front of him, the love of his life that he shoved aside like she was nothing.

He’s not even sure he deserves you near him, but he’s not going to fuck this up, aside from life literally already fucking the first part of the evening up.

“It was your favorite, they’re doing a whole re-run of it. And we have time to catch the last showing.”

You bounce just a bit in your seat, so cute then, he fucking melts, he aches, your smile so precious he can’t fathom how he lived with just the memory of it. You’re brightening up his heart, his world, as he just stares at you, so enamored that he has to get honked at to drive at the light again.

When the two of you arrive in that movie theater, he can hardly focus on anything but your laugh, your glittery eyes as you two settle with your snacks in the old theater, that hasn’t changed one damn bit. He’s so lost in you he can’t remember what the movie is called, or what it’s about, an arm wrapped around as you nibble on popcorn, snuggling up.

It feels too perfect, and Satoru can’t fuck this up. Knowing he’s had you for years existing across the country and could have had this the entire time makes every bit of money he’s had feel hollow. His phone keeps going off, he keeps ignoring the vibrations until you pull back curiously.

“It may be important, Satoru, check it.” He sighs, looking now that it’s his manager. “Go ahead, take a call, I'll be fine.”

“Fuck it, he can wait.” He says then, checking the texts and his heart drops as he sees it.

He has a shoot coming up tomorrow night and then he has to get back to Hollywood for a magazine interview and photo shoot for Vogue. One more measly day with the girl he’s been missing like a piece of his heart? How the fuck could he even tell you?

“What’s wrong, Toru?” You whisper, he just turns the screen off, leaning close and kissing you, tasting salty popcorn on your lips and licking it, making you laugh breathlessly.

“Nothing, it can all wait.” His words reassure you, despite the lingering concerns, as he pulls you back against him and reclines the big black leather seats, the two of you snuggling under the blanket he’d brought as you fall into your favorite movie.

But you also fall deeper for him, for the boy you knew and the man you’re trying to learn, who’s heart thuds steadily under your cheek.

Could you handle him leaving you again, or just enjoy this while it lasted, savor every moment, could you let him go again?

Next chap will be smutty AND emotional AND angsty, yayyy hehe

taglist #1- @pinkyvomit @saitamaswifey @kachowness @vraiao @artbligh @psychoartiste @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @bsenpai @simp-for-wanderer @rjreins @emonaculate @myahfig4 @casua11ycrying @psycren @blushedcheri @ureuphoriasworld @frozenmallows @kanaojacksonofc @rcveriees @xlilycoco @yukimaniac @sypnasis @tokina @sharkubi @tztuoo @hyori2 @yesdere @gradmacoco @gamerhere @seikamuzu @xinsonyax @vvaoo @angie420 @ria54sworld @blue-musingss @mysticmyth @asimpinamillion @arabellasolstice @ilovebeansyay @notme000 @emochosoluvr @iv-vee @heh123321 @fushikamo @danilovesboba @spookyy-gracee @satorusleftnut @clqxuds @femaholicc

[alwaysmaybank]

soft rafe hours

soft!bf!rafe x reader

warnings: barely proofread, use of y/n once, really soft and mushy!

this is my first time actually writing anything fan fic related so idk if this is good or not.. sorry in advance for the people that follow me because of jj or "right in front of you" but when I made this blog I was in my jj phase and now I'm in my rafe one, so sorry! hope you like it !!

the title is so cringy help me

summary: nobody ever saw rafe like this—so soft. well, except for you, especially during soft rafe hours: at night after a long day, when you’re asleep, when he first wakes up, when you’re sick or hurt, after an argument, on rainy days, and even sometimes in bed. you loved this side of him, even if he only showed it to you. people see him as the confident, smug rafe cameron, but one phone call reveals just how different he truly is.

more under the cut!

after tossing and turning the entire night, slumber is finally taking over your eyelids. just as they start to close… ping! you could've sworn you left your phone on silent? after groaning about it and wondering who it could be, it clicks.

ping! it's rafe. this has become a familiar trend now, him not being able to sleep so he texts and texts until you reply.

ping! until you two call.

ping! you consider just ignoring it, ping! but how could you? it's rafe. plus, if you even tried to ignore him, he would come over and break the door down if he had to.

ping! you eventually open your phone, your eyes closing instinctively at the blinding brightness, six texts from rafe.

rafey:

2:14am

hey baby you up? i miss you

rafey:

2:32am

baby? are u up? y/n?

you saw him yesterday. you’re not sure what’s going on, but you suspect it has something to do with ward, given his clingy behavior.

2:35am

hey rafey

rafey:

did i wake you? sorry baby

you lie. you don't want to make him feel bad.

no no dw baby i was watching something

rafey:

oh okay can we call? couldnt sleep without you i miss you

five seconds later, you call him. “hey baby,” you hear his quiet, soft, yet raspy sleepy voice first.

“hi,” you reply tiredly.

“i missed you,” he says, and you can practically hear the radiant smile in his voice.

“how was your day?” you just had a blissfully lazy day today, some shopping on the side.

“good, i went shopping and saw that whiskey you like on the shelf, reminded me of you,” you grin over the phone.

“mm, good,” you hear him mumble out. “just missed your voice,” he continues. “couldn’t sleep without hearing you first, baby.” that’s cute.

“awh, i love you, baby,” you reply, your tired but don’t want to stay silent; you know he needs this.

“i missed you today,” rafe murmured after a beat, his voice rougher now, more raw. “whole day just felt wrong without you in it.” your chest tightened slightly, in the best way as a blush crept onto your cheeks. he said stuff like this all the time; you don’t think you would ever get over it.

“you make everything better, without even trying,” he pauses, taking in a soft breath. “like… just existing.” you didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a soft, “i missed you too, rafey.”

rafe hummed on the other side of the line, clearly content with that answer. the call goes silent for a minute, the only sound both of your soft breaths that blended together.

“don’t hang up,” he mumbled, his voice hard to get the point across but softened immensely. “jus’… stay, okay?” he whispered, and you agreed with a soft hum.

there was another long pause, and then, so quiet you could’ve thought you imagined it, a little, “love you so much, baby,” slipped past rafe’s lips. you held a chuckle in before responding, “i love you too, rafey, goodnight.” but by the time you said that, rafe was fast asleep, his breath slowing down as the gentle trance of sleep pulled him in.

as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his soothing voice, you felt your own eyelids grow heavy, surrendering to a peaceful slumber where everything felt right.

this is wayyyy too short stop

[atomic-waste-of-time]

Daggers and Arrows

A story by me:3

Assailant: ha! I have you bested arrowless archer, with no ammunition, and in such short a distance, you shall surely fall to my bla-

The Assailants chin is held aloft by the archers Dagger, after the Archer used her Dagger to parry the short swords clumsy swing, knocking the blade from the untrained sword womans hands. The Archer smirks, leaning down to look the baffled woman in the eyes.

Archer: One, never monologue to someone within stabbing distance. Two, Never underestimate the Archers close range capabilities. And Three, Long distance units usually carry a form of small arms in case of extremely close quarters. Also, you should've worked a bit more with your blade instead of your tongue. Here's hoping you've learned your lesson. The Arrowless Archer winks, then turns and struts away, leaving the Assailant both confused and incredibly attracted to the strange Archer, and the witch hiding in a nearby bush, who had originally cursed the Archer, has drawn the entire scene, planning to sell it later as the first erotic depiction of a Dagger used in Foreplay. The witch was a genius, thinking that everyone would clumsily kill themselves while trying this new Technique.

Unfortunately for the witch, when she used her pocket mirror to ask the other witches in her coven via what we would call facetiming. Alas, to her dismay, the piece had no potential buyers in other towns, and if she showed the art in Daggersworth (the town in which the Arrowless Archer and the Assailant both live), they'd know who drew it for sure.. She decided to test her luck, and headed into town. She had a devilish idea indeed..

The Assailant (who I've decided is named Arma) was on her porch, she was recently broken up with, and thus used it as a business to cover the cost her gambling ex boyfriend left behind. It was a small smithy, dubbed "Arms and Armor" after her ex Aramor, who was clever with names, but not smart enough to realize dating every girl in town at once was a terrible idea on his part. "At least the hanging went smoothly" she thought to herself.

The Arrowless Archer approached the Smithy, it had been two days since the Assailant attacked, and the Archer knew Arma well enough to be the Assailant, but she was struggling, and the Archer (named Tinara, as I've now decided) was better than to hurt someone already hurting. They sighed, ringing the bell to let Arma know she was here, the girl was always so focused on her work, that she installed a small bell to ensure people could get her attention.

Tinara: Arma, I've an issue you're best at resolving!

Arma: Ah, hello Tinara!! Give me just a moment and I'll be with you!

Arma was, at present, fanning the small forge she used to heat the metals. (For the ones imagining the scene, and who'll know what I'm talking about, think of the blacksmith in Whiterun, except it looks better). She then approached Tinara, happy to see her as always.

Arma: So, what's the problem this time? Someone get too close and break your dagger?

Tinara: No, but a dagger is involved. Look at this.

Tinara held up a picture she had found on sale in the market by a young woman. It was signed with Armas signature, and it was of their brief encounter two days ago.

Arma: Wh.. where did you get this? That's my signature!

Tinara: I know, that's why I'm here. Did you draw these? I like them, but still, having these sold around.. I know times are tough for yo-

Arma: No, not in a hundred years could I draw that well, nor would I dare sell anything so provocative of myself.. Someone is setting the both of us up, but why?

Tinara: Well your ex is dead, so it can't be him. Any enemies aside from them?

Arma: Well, there was a witch, the one who turned all my Iron into Rabbits, ruined me that day because I couldn't be bothered to work the forge, as the same day my dog, Fido, had passed. I should've told her maybe, then she might have felt pity an-

Tinara: Shush, I've heard enough. You needn't belittle yourself for grieving, and it seems we have a common enemy. I propose we find them, and, seeing as the damage has already been done, end her life so she may no longer haunt our people.

Arma: Well, we could also just, I dunno, ask for money, she used our encounter for smut of all things, it's only fair we're paid for that.

Tinara: Hmm.. I suppose, she'll have made some good money from this I presume, we may be able to keep your shop open, hopefully befo-

???: Before I arrived, I presume?

Molly, the towns Debt Collector, had been standing there a while, her left arm under her breasts as she looked at her nails on her right hand. She was always one for dramatics, her parents owned the Theater in Swordston, the neighboring city. They made a lot of money, which was wasted on her drama classes, and very well spent in self defense and sword training, where she thrived. She was then elected the position of the towns Debt Collector after killing the first one in fair combat. Not a soul has beat her yet, and it's been about 7 years.

Molly: I was here to collect the debt your late ex boyfriend brought about with his drinking at the Ironhide Pub, and the property damage, and the-

Arma: Yes yes, get to the point, we've not the whole day to waste away.

Molly: Well, I heard something about Daggers, Smut, and a plan of some kind?~

Molly was also well known to be the towns connoisseur of all things lewd and tasteful, she works with the library to ensure the works of art she admires most remain preserved for all to learn from. Nobody saw any reason to make a fuss of it, and so it's been allowed to persist as one of Daggersworths many oddities.

Tinara: The witch that cursed me and Troubled Arma is the one making this smut all over town, signing it in Arma's signature to sully her na-

Molly: OOOH, Give!

Molly snatched up the piece before either could protest, and studied it close, putting on some small glasses to see more detail.

Arma: I'd would rather you'd ask first Molly, I understand your profession but this is a sensitive matter for I and Tinara.

Molly: That's because you're burdened by shame and such trivial things as the societal normalcy we've grown too accustomed to.

Tinara: Look, the matter is we've a witch to hunt, so w-

Molly: Oh, but look at her Anatomy! She caught both of your forms so well, and the way she made lighting in the scene with so little to work with, splendidly done indeed, I'll have to give this a special spot and ask for a properly signed one, truly a Queen of her craft. No wonder you're so concerned, These pieces are worth a fair bit! I'll have to come with the both of you.

Molly, looked up from the piece, to see a rather cross Arma tapping her foot impatiently.

Arma: If you're only coming for the Pornography, You may as well stay here. I highly doubt your expertise will be of use to us if we're ambushed by a member of their Coven.

Molly: Well, There's an official reason as well! I would be aiding in preserving history, and of course, ensuring you both have the payment by the end of the trip, so you can pay your debt. Plus I'm a great fighter, you know this firsthand Tinara~

Molly and Tinara spar on occasion, it helps them practice their aim, and the two enjoy each others company.

Tinara: Fine, you can come along, but if you so much as peak up a skirt I'll take your hammer and whack you upside the head.

Arma: I'll work on food, and close up the shop, Tinara can you bring some supplies? We'll need blankets and coats in case we encounter snow.

Molly: It's summer! How would it snow in the summer?

Arma: You never know, I try to be prepared. And besides, blankets are comfy, we should bring one each.

Molly: We could all share one?

Arma and Tinara in unison: No!

Molly: Alright alright.. I'll bring my extra large one just in case, and my Precious Biscotti, she'll alert us to danger, she's so talented.

Biscotti was a 6'5 Birch Wolf, a rare and powerful breed, they live in forests dense with birch, and have a similar pattern on their fur to that of a birch tree. They're one of many kinds of Woodland Wolves, a subspecies of wolves that disguise themselves as trees to better hunt skittish prey. Birch wolves are known for being incredibly alert creatures, and their heightened senses make them great guards. It's said that a well trained Birch Wolf can protect you from all harm, and sense the ill intent of others.

Biscotti can definitely sense ill intent in people, they were of old age, and had a lot of experience with bad people. Her previous owner gouged out her eyes, and as such her other senses were elevated, specifically her senses of touch and hearing. She often stamps the ground in order to get an idea of where she is. She also has a little pink bow, a gift from Molly.

Upon hearing her name, Biscotti emerged from behind Armas House, where they were basking in the sun. They nuzzled against Molly, emitting a low growl, a sign of affection.

Tinara: Well, I best get ready, I need to get some more ammunition for my slingshot.

Arma: I'll bring the food!

Molly: I'll bring the hitting sticks!!

The three nodded, and began quickly assembling gear together, in order to find the witch, and.. well, honestly not one of them was sure what they'd do exactly, but they'll come up with something on the road.

End of chapter one. Hope you enjoyed!!! idk where to put this but sometimes you see an idea and just go "yeah we rock with it." yknow?

As the kingdom’s best archer, you were cursed so your arrows would never hit again. But you just started shooting other things—rocks, sticks, shoes—and somehow, it works even better. Folks call you "The Arrowless Archer."

[sqgeism]

How would our favorite amphoreus men take care of reader after they got caught in the rain and got sick? maybe they have a fever, chills, blocked nose. i need some fluff in life

hope ur having a good day and love your works :)))0

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 ooh, be my baby | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; i'll look after you . working on a rainy day had expected consequences. lucky you, your boyfriend loves you too much to scold you for the time being. well.. depends on who you choose.. ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, dan heng, boothill, jing yuan)

love mail — hii anonnie tysm! i'm doing great!! thank u thats so sweet (´ﾟЗﾟ｀)♡ i brought back some ogs :3 ! and boothill cause i like him so don't jump me, sorry geppie i swear i love you ！Σ(￣□￣;) these r semishort n stuff cause these r a lot but i hope it does well :D

anaxa makes a cure for you in hours.

he hides it as just 'making advances in his medical knowledge' but he was genuinely worried. he had a busy week at the academy, and he didn't want to leave you alone with no way to be cared for. he wants to be there, but he couldn't call off of work a week before the students exams week, needing to post reviewers and host review classes.

so the weekend you got sick, he made a comfortable bed for you in his lab as he worked on something to free you of your sickness, making sure to also check on you the whole time.

he eventually made a concoction that helped your fever go away, body aches disappear, and clears your nose, however it didn't fix the headache. you don't mind, at least you can move your body without wanting to throw yourself off the planet.

anaxa gives you a minor scolding. something about taking better care of yourself and making him fuss over you, but he kisses your cheek and sighs. "i love you, and i'd figure out the cure to any disease that attacks you, but please don't do this again."

mydei lets you rest on top of him for the first day you got sick. tissues, snacks, thermometer, change of clothes.. all of that are set up on your nightstand. the only times he got up was to make you warm meals, and to replace the icepack that pressed up against your forehead.

honestly, he loves this. he knows the reason why you're warm is because you're literally burning up, but he likes it. you're like a little heating pad and you're extra clingy, weak arms squeezing his chiseled chest makes him melt.

he smothers you in kisses and affection till you feel better (oh, and medicine).

if you chose to be clingy to mydei, phainon's choosing to be clingy to you! but you don't want him to be sick :( he's being a big baby when you try to pull away, but he doesn't care. you're too sickly to fight back and honestly his strong, firm arms around you sound real nice rn. and so you let him, to your dismay.

he's a bit of a jerk about it though, cold hands slipping under your shirt and causing you to shiver, hearing his giggles as he apologizes and squeezes you. phainon's got so much love for teasing you, but he knows you need care to be better.

you fall asleep wrapped in blankets and tangled up with phainon.

boothill's probably the best of them all. he doesn't get sick, and he's like a personal heater or cooler. if you're too warm or too cold, he can adjust his body temperature to your liking. "yer clingin' onto me like i'd ever want to go anywhere, darlin'." he teases, running his fingers through your hair as you press yourself against his cold metal, hating how hot your body feels.

he plays some music for you to relax to, and he's telling you tales of his adventures to get you to sleep. who knew a soft, southern accent could work so well as a lullaby?

his arms are locked around you. he's hiding his worry well, but when you fall asleep he's whispering about how you need to take better care of yourself. "though, mm.. yer real cute like this, all snuggly and sniffly. could baby 'ya all week."

dan heng is definitely more on the scolding side, the moment he wakes up to you squirming and sniffling, he's got an unamused look on his face. the night prior, you walked through the astral express doors absolutely soaked from the rain. dan heng helped you change, shower, dry your hair and sleep. but you woke up sick regardless.. like he said you would, like you said you wouldn't.

"this is why you should let me come with you to missions." he grumbles, stirring the bowl of warm stew he made for you as you lay in bed. "goodness, it was one mission, and you come home to me like this. i hate how much i love you." dan heng scoffed, blowing the spoon of warm food and holding it against your lips. "i can't fight this urge to care for you. you're just so.. ugh."

he falls asleep before you, funny enough. you admire the face of your loving boyfriend before drifting off to your own slumber.

you should get sick more often.

you can't even be mad at yourself, jing yuan has allowed you to cuddle up to his sweet, insanely fluffy lion. you can't tell if it's the clogged nose or all the fur you're inhaling, but you love it. and you've got a 'weighted' blanket too. aka your boyfriend.

jing yuan had already fed you your medicine, changed clothes, and fed you well. so there was nothing to do but wait for the next few hours till you'd have to drink medicine again, so now you two are just cuddled up to the embodiment of a cloud.

"you're liking this far too much." your beloved boyfriend remarks, rubbing his head against your tummy as you chuckle, although very weakly. "maybe, but i really do appreciate being taken care of."

the deepest, velvety laugh escapes his lips as he looks up at you, that same smirk he's always worn on his face. "nothing less than for you. now rest, my love. i'll have dinner served for you soon."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[thesharktanksdriver]

Devils may love?: thirst for connection, tearful goodbyes and trying despite the odds

Here’s part 2 by popular demand! I’m gonna start writing dmc1 soon and I shall be making a masterlist for this. Btw, comment if you’d like to added to a tag list or comment to give me ur opinions because I shall very much appreciate it and I love answering questions or geeking out over stuff especially with dmc now lol.

Links for: Masterlist, Part 1

Your not sure how your still alive 

At this point its illogical 

Vergil has the amulet and knows Dante will come after him no matter if he even has you alive anymore 

So why are you still alive currently? 

Not that your complaining per say but your severely confused 

Even that Arkham guy seems to be thinking it as well

Speaking of which the more you look at him the more familiar he looks 

You can’t quite place it though 

But it’s something with his face that’s familiar 

Well it’s something you’d rather not think to hard about when the guy is stabbed in front of you by Vergil 

If your opinion of Arkham was bad before hearing he literally sacrificed his wife to become powerful or something certainly made you internally cheer as he fell to the floor

Blood pooling around him as Vergil remarks he has no use for the man anymore 

And yet 

“Keep moving, lest I have to carry you again” 

It stirs you from your thoughts as the twin looks at you 

Wordlessly you nod, stepping past arkhams body 

When Vergil turns he doesn’t see you drip your foot in the man’s blood 

Intentionally leaving a trail for Dante to find 

“If….if you killed him can you kill the jester next?” 

Whatever Vergil expected you to say it seems like that wasn’t what he thought 

Though you hope your unpredictability is seemingly a factor keeping you alive

“Jester?” He scoffs “you mean my brother?”

At that you can’t help but raise and eyebrow “no, I mean the weird ass jester demon. The one with the long nose, and annoying penchant for appearing out of nowhere. Have you not had to deal with his annoying nagging yet?”

“Evidently no since if I had we wouldn’t be having this conversation” 

“Fair. restrains or no restrains though, I will be finding out a way to curb stomp him if he pops out of nowhere again” 

“You’re a human. If he’s a demon your too weak to kill him let alone make a dent”

You shrug at that “I might be nothing more than an insect to him…but it doesn’t hurt to at least try. That’s all we can ever really do anyways. Keep trying even if it’s meaningless because there’s nothing else we can do. It’s what I do anyways. Things get hard, parents kick you to the curb yelling to never come back unless you decide to give up your “useless” dreams and everything looks like shit” pausing for a moment you can’t help but smile “keep trying even though every job turns you away and you have to drop out of school to try and get a full time job to afford a roof over your head and food…and despite it all you find a sketchy job advertisement for a business without a proper name yet and somehow end up with the most obnoxious idiot with a heart of gold as your boss who annoyingly calls you “honeypie”. And even if his family drama gets you wrapped up in getting kidnapped and brought to a demon tower, you keep trying even when the situation is against you. Because maybe that’s all you have”

Vergil stays silent after that, just ends up tugging you closer as he leads you to wherever he’s headed 

Somehow trauma dumping on him was kinda reliving even if he would probably kill you later

Best get shit off your chest than leave it bubbling in you

A trail of red follows behind you for your red coat idiot to hopefully find you 

Fortunately if you did make it out of the your now a pro at washing out blood so your shoes would probably be ok

Walking closely behind Vergil the two of you enter a large chamber

Carved stone and a chiseled floor lead to the centre of the room

And at that centre was a circular basin?

Your not really sure how to describe it

Or this place in general

The tower was old, that was certain with its general architecture and material wise

But walking though the place there was also an odd sense of foreign technological aspects to it

It was definitely too advanced for humans especially at the time it seemed like it was erected 2000 years back or so

So with that logic it was likely demonic related

Which made sense considering the purpose of the tower in the first place

A thrumming sound echos before that of heavy footsteps that makes you turn around just as Vergil does

A demon, a big looking one as well that walked on all 4

“I found you, seed of Sparda!. I told you that I remembered your rancid scent! No matter where you run to. You can never hide from me! And what’s this? A human pest as well?” It walks forward, bloody red eyes bleeding out as a singular curved horn tilted along with its head movements.

Before you have much time to react its claw comes down towards you and Vergil, but the blue half-demon pushed you back as he jumped to eliminate his threat

You watched him fight Dante atop the tower and seen his cut down smaller demons on the way here, but seeing him fight truly was something

Clean slices compared to Dante’s showy flare

Landing atop the demon as it crumbled beneath his feet

“Y-you are not the one I faced before…but this smell…there are two of them! That excrement of Sparda had two sons!”

“Yeah bud, you didn’t figure that out by looking at him. He didn’t just change wardrobe-“

A clink of a sword and its head splits leaving a gushing waterfall of blood to spill onto the ground

Vergil flips off its back, now back to your side

A glow emits from the body, blue and blinding

Vergil extends out a hand and it pulls itself to him

Seemingly absorbing it a pair of gauntlets and boots that keep their blinding glow

You can only watch what happens next

Vergil shows off and kinda plays? With his new weapons??? Like Dante does???

He kicks around the demons corpse and shows off his new gear

All while you watch dumbfounded

You also swear he’s watching your reaction?

Getting a small flicker of pride after another show of moves?

Was this like…a fear tactic or something?

A threat to keep you in line and not to run?

Because you already weren’t going to do that

Not when demons crawled around and every corner and for some reason he still needed you alive and eliminated them

Why would you leave when at least for now he was your reluctant bodyguard?

A spray of feathers waft around in the air and cascade down around you as Vergil watches your reaction

Yet again for something?

His brow twitches and his near permanent scowl returns, maybe you didn’t look afraid enough?

Two perfect halves of a beautiful red stone combine to make one 

Two remnants of a mother lost come together in the worse way possible 

Blood rains down the ceiling into a small pool in the middle of the circular room 

You and Vergil watch with anticipation 

Gritting your teeth waiting for something 

Anything big to happen 

And yet nothing 

You wait for a solid minute with the very quickly becoming agitated Vergil 

And nothing 

The irritation and anger rolling off him is palpable in waves that rivalled tsunamis 

You smartly make the decision to try and take a few precautionary steps away 

Especially as he mutters to himself if maybe more blood was needed 

You take a particularly large step away at that comment 

Shit, maybe while he was in this mindset you could slip away 

Dante was surely not too far behind-

An arm slides itself in a familiar manner across your shoulders 

Nearly instantly making your stress melt away as red leather and the overwhelming scent of blood, sweat, gunpowder and cheap cologne invade your senses 

You’d never thought you’d be this happy to smell Dante’s disgusting ass work Oder 

Something that he knew got on your nerves when he got back from a job and would chase you around trying to give you a big hug 

Just so you could smell the disgusting mix of scents under the excuse of “come here and give me some sugar, i missed you honeypie. Oh how the hours dragged on and on from my departure-“ 

Every time he did it you had half the mind to choke him out but instead you alternated to spritzing him with water like a cat 

It worked surpassingly well 

He even ended up hissing sometimes like a disgruntled cat, though you assumed that was either his inhuman traits peaking out or him playing along with the bit 

The ropes that rubbed so uncomfortably against your wrists the entire time that it slowly became a numbing pain

It’s notable though when the rope is cut and falling to the floor with a small thud 

Allowing you to see the redness of chaffed skin that would probably blister 

Before Dante addresses his brother he seems to take a careful moment to look you over 

Blue eyes tracing your body though not with his usual joking flirtatious edge 

This time it’s worry 

Anxiety that looks too foreign to be on his overly confident face 

You step behind him when the two begin a verbal exchange

A verbal exchange that once more become psychical while you watch again from the sidelines 

Mentally halfway through you kinda check out from the exhaustion 

It’s been a way too long…however many hours you’d been stuck here 

To be fair you had better things to worry about like survival than trying to figure out just how long you’d been kidnapped 

And then an unfamiliar shot rings out 

Not from ebony or ivory 

But instead a new smoking barrel from a familiar face beside you 

Two toned eyes stare at you in a mixture of surprise and confusion 

Holy shit-

“Mary?! The hell are you doing here?!?”

“We’ll talk later.” She briefly looks at you but then directs her angered gaze to Vergil “You force my father into this and kidnap my friend?!” 

she joins the fray despite being told off by Dante

Joining in on the battle with a certain rage in her eyes 

Two toned eyes that you now realize were the same as Arkham’s 

You think you now get why she talked about her mom and not her creepy ass dad

Wait that means that means her mom was-

Clapping then rings out 

The familiar grating voice of the jester filling the stone chamber 

His annoying voice mocking Mary and then Vergil as he makes quick work of the two 

And in the brightly coloured demons place once more is Arkham 

Keeping up the creepy performance before changing back to the jester and slamming her face into the ground 

You yell out for her, wanting to race over but Dante holds you back 

A look in his eyes that makes you pause 

exhaustion that rivalled your own 

He’s been fighting whatever was thrown at him up to this point 

Stabbed, impaled, clawed, shot at and everything else your mind can picture 

Not to mention him just duking it out with Vergil moments before the clowns arrival 

As the long nosed bastard pointed out, their both weak 

Something even more apparent as he then curb stomps Dante into the ground 

The impact of which sends you flying to the floor like everyone else in the room 

He switches back to the bald bastard 

Explaining why it didn’t work despite the two halves of the amulet and some sort of blood of Sparda

Apparently they needed the blood of a priestess just as Sparta did to seal off the demon world 

Something that is then quickly remedied with the bastard stabbing his own daughter in the leg to obtain it

Because she had the blood of that sacrificed priestess, due to her being that woman’s descendant 

Red streams through the small canals in the floor of the room to the centre 

Pooling like a ruby lake 

He monologues more as the jester about his plan of making sure everyone duked it out 

Then turning to you with a yellowed grin 

Apparently he kept you around as an entertainment factor but grew tired of how Vergil kept you alive for some reason 

Something he chides the half demon for 

But he’s tired of you

The one rogue misstep in his elaborate scheme 

Something he was going to make quick work of correcting if not for the 3 others in the room getting the jump on him 

But a red glow fills the room 

A platform rises and he ascends as everything shifts 

He kicks the others off the stage but you 

Leaving you clinging to consciousness as it ascends 

You reach out a hand with blurred vision hoping for anyone to grab it 

At the top of the tower Arkham boasts of becoming the new god of this world 

Statues surround the circular platform as he struts around 

But not before giving you a good kick in the gut 

The strength of which sends you rolling across and hitting the pole that begins a mechanism to pull up several bells

Bells you’d once thought to be statues 

Looking behind you see city lights twinkle like stars dotting the night sky 

Clouds circling around 

How you haven’t yet died from the oxygen being thin is beyond you but you attribute it to either demon nonsense or adrenaline pushing you past average the human limit 

Maybe both 

Blood spills out your mouth in painful coughs

Of course he had to aim for the lungs 

And while you cough he says you should be grateful 

Grateful to see the new god of this world before he ends your existence 

Grateful you get to be the first sacrifice of many 

Grateful he’ll do it in front of Dante to give you a chance to say goodbye 

What an ass

The sky shifts as he names the seven deadly sins 

A hellish portal opening up above and letting red aura flow down into him 

Surrounding him as the wind howls and demon screeches join in a symphony 

He begins to float and your left to cling to the support holding the bell 

His laugh echoing out as he ascends 

It makes your stomach curdle 

Doesn’t help afterwards that you begin to follow him upwards as well 

You nearly puke 

Son of a bitch-

The demon world isn’t what you expect it to look like 

Less fire and brimstone with the scent of rotten eggs and smoke 

But more like weird impressionist painting of jutting stone, flowing water, diamond-like sky and purple 

Just purple 

Blue and red 

A irony not lost on you 

It would’ve made you laugh in a mixture of hysteria and dread if you weren’t 90% sure that his kick earlier broke a rib and it was currently jabbing slightly into your lung 

Something even more apparent when you drop down and land harshly on a jutting slab of stone 

Talk about a rough landing 

And rough time for your lung because that rib has definitely now punctured it a bit more 

Dear god if you survive this your hospital bills were gonna be abysmal 

Arkham stands not far away in the form of some sort of demon 

Large imposing horns and insect-like wings 

He monologues about how this was Sparda’s true form

It explains why Dante who just joined the show seems less than amused at the spectacle

Even having the nerve to call him a backed up toilet 

That gets a laugh from you, a laugh you regret a moment later when you nearly cough up a lung 

Damn your hysteria making stupid decisions 

And damn Dante for actually being funny for once 

The fight between them is a blur once more 

Clashes of swords 

Yada yada 

Your vision is getting a bit more blurry than you’d like to think about 

Black dots appearing at the edges of your sight 

But you find the will to stand 

To get up 

To try 

Because what else can you do beside laying there 

This entire time you couldn’t do anything but be a punching bag, hostage, potential therapist and yelling for Dante 

If you were gonna die you might as well die trying

You get up just in time to see the fucked up copy of dante’s dad melt away into some amorphous blob of spasming shape 

Purple and glowing 

And plain ugly and kinda more pathetic than anything 

This is what he spent years obsessing over 

What he scarified his wife for 

What he nearly killed his daughter for 

God you hated this guy more than anything right now and all you wanted was to see him die 

And by god would you try to kill that fucking clown if it was the last thing you’d do 

“Dante! Got any spare guns?”

Briefly turning away from his fight with the blob he sends you a smirk “Sure thing honeypie! Curtesy of lady!” 

He throws you the weapon you’d seen Mary with earlier, some sort of canon. Her blood still stains the bayonetta in which Arkham stabbed her in the leg with, a reminder of who’s place your also fighting for “this one time I’ll let that slip! Don’t think it’ll happen again though you ass!” 

With Dante taking an up close and personal approach it distracts Arkham from you 

Too occupied clearing the bigger threat than the sniper

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t messing him up 

You aim with your admittedly unsteady vision when he’s about to get a hit on Dante 

Distracting him enough for the red coat devil to evade and get a hit in 

Dante can’t help but make a few quips here and there 

Somehow finding ways to make even the shitiest of situations the butt of the joke 

It was perhaps his greatest talent 

And perhaps his greatest cooping mechanism 

Though beside trauma responses you’d 100% agree the complete joke of what was Arkham 

The punchline though is when Vergil arrives just in time 

Putting aside even his weird rivalry with Dante to beat arkhams ass 

Though not enough to not talk about retrieving his rightful power 

Baby steps? 

Well whatever it’s something you guess 

At least he isn’t stabbing Dante again and hurtling down into hell with you thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes 

The two work together nearly seamlessly to take him down 

Stabbing into the blob that is Arkham as you shot yet another shot at him 

All this combines in making him flail around 

The twins push their respective swords through him to the others side 

Either grabbing the others sword

Hacking and slashing once more at the pathetic excuse for something that was once a man

With only a shot left you line up a your final shot despite how shaky your body is 

Waiting at the right moment as the twins of Sparda slice at him once more 

And you pull the trigger 

Sending yet another explosive shot at him 

He screams out 

Dange pulls out ebony and ivory, spinning them before looking briefly over his shoulder to send you a smirk 

It gives Arkham enough time to send ebony out his hand though luckily Vergil takes it 

Sending his brother an unimpressed look 

But still sending the briefest of glances your way for a split moment 

A smirk on his face as well no matter how minuscule it was 

“I’ll try it your way for once”

“Remember what what we used to say?”

“DoNt dO iT”

“Do it!” 

Vergil crosses ebony over ivory, you see both twins smirk 

“Jackpot”

The bullets swirl around one another like ribbons 

Creating a blinding light as they collide into Arkham 

His final words once more about having the power of Sparda 

He dies like a pathetic loser, shocking really 

The man who obsessed over a dead guy for years, sacrificed his wife and attempted to kill his daughter died as a pathetic blob 

You have to agree with Vergils dry remark of his final words not being classy 

It gets a chuckle from you as you scale down the stone debris while ebony is tossed back to Dante 

The odd spirit water surges around your ankles as Arkham melts away

Becoming nothing in the end, a fitting fate for someone like him 

Above a gaping hole where the water pours into The two amulets and a sword fall into a abyss that both of them jump into 

But not before Vergil grabs you to drag you in with him 

Again

“Motherfucker again?!? Come on-“

The moment Vergil’s feet splash on solid ground your let go off and fall very not so gracefully to the ground 

He runs to the sword before Dante can get it 

Pulling it from the ground and gazing at Dante’s half of the amulet that his twin was able to snatch 

Two pairs of Blue eyes narrowing at one another 

“Give that to me” he extends out his hand motioning for the amulet 

At that Dante looks at the necklace before tucking it behind him “no way, you got your own” 

Children, both these men were god damn children 

Getting up from the demon water you safely decided to limp off to the side 

You smell a fight coming just like how you can smell rain before it pours

You’ve gotten your wish of helping kill the clown, now your letting them finish their business 

It already felt as if you were intruding as it was 

Better not get involved 

“Well I want yours too” the sword is pointed out to Dante as the two circled one another 

“What are you gonna do with all that power, huh? No matter how hard you try, your never gonna be like father” that taunt even from your distance seemed to piss off Vergil royally with how you see his grip tighten on the demon blade

“You’re wasting time!” He makes the first move, running with the blade held ready to strike yet there’s no clang of metal hitting one another hitting your ears all the while water coursed passed them, rushing off the cliff down into the unknown of hell itself. Instead both caught the others swords with their bare hands. 

“We are the sons of Sparda!” Both begin to push the others blade back “within each of us flows his blood but more importantly his soul!” 

At that both successfully push the other away 

Sending water spraying everywhere 

For a moment Dante’s eyes connect with your own 

You see a spark in them you hadn’t seen once before 

“And now my soul is saying it wants to stop you!”

“Unfortunately our souls are at odds brother” Vergil raises at hand up to his eye level clenching it dramatically as he continued “I need more power” 

Did these two both go to acting school at some point?

Was being melodramatic as hell a demon thing? 

Because this was borderline Shakespeare level dramatics 

Or maybe you were hallucinating this due to the blood loss

Or because you were tired as all hell

Or maybe because you weren’t paid enough to deal with this-

“And we’re supposed to be twins”

“Twins…right” 

They might not see it but you can definitely see how their both twins with how overly dramatic this all was-

Blades clash and the smell of iron and gun smoke fill the air 

Blood flies 

And your left to watch it all from the sideline 

The adrenaline was beginning to ware off as the pain of your body sets in 

Every breath felt like glass was pressing in your lungs 

Jabbing at every inhale and exhale 

Blood being coughed out in between the flurry of gunshots and swords clashing 

God this sucked 

You think back at your entire life up until this moment and wonder if this was worth it all

Back to your childhood filled with expectations already laid on your shoulders 

The loneliness of parents who brushed your passions aside in favour of a letter on a piece of paper determining your worth to them 

The way in which high school was stress upon stress with few things to relive it 

Things like Mary’s company and the few electives you got to chose of your own volition 

No complicated science equations or mathematical formulas to memorize 

Just your own passions 

Like that poetry class 

And then it comes back to that night 

Collage applications in their hands that they tore in front of your face 

The ones you had picked on your own 

The fighting with your parents 

The way they threw you out without so much as a second thought 

Just saying to come back when you became sensible 

When you’d abandon your dreams to pursue what they’d decide for you 

How you could see in their eyes they expected you to come grovelling back after about a week 

Begging for them to take you back in 

But then came that rush of resentment 

You wouldn’t let them win 

So you moved on 

Tried to live because that’s all you could try to do 

Even if it meant dropping out in 12th grade to try and find a job to cover for an apartment and necessities 

Even if it meant abandoning everything else to at least try and make ends meet 

Even if it meant getting rejected from place to place until you found that fateful advertisement 

And the pain in the ass of a boss you were currently watching brawl with his brother 

The same boss who made you laugh 

Who walked you home on late nights and looked after you that one time you got sick 

The red coat wearing idiot who’d always offer you a slice of pizza or spoonful of his strawberry sundae 

Grinning all the while 

The boy a the same age as you yet had lived more than a lifetimes worth of fear and trauma, the same one who’d cling to you in moments of silence like you were his only lifeline 

And maybe he was yours as well 

Anchoring you when all the thoughts of doubt began to set in 

Of what you lost when leaving home 

But then pulling you back to realize you didn’t loose much at all besides Mary 

Because you never really had a home, nor parents or security 

You just had yourself and the weight on your back 

A weight now gone letting you decide what you wanted to do 

No matter how stupid it was to stay at a store that still didn’t have a proper name 

No matter how idiotic it was to stay with Dante with the risk because

He was the one person who hadn’t abandoned you

Who didn’t give up to save you from this nightmare tower 

Maybe if you’d stayed with your parents your life wouldn’t have ended up this way 

You’d be stuck as a lawyer or doctor but you’d have avoided this 

Probably later on settled down at 25 with a match they’d set you up with 

Expecting grandkids by 29 or something 

All the while you lived like with a good paying job and maybe a decent person you’d have to deal with for at least the next 40 years

Yet Somehow the thought of that left you more unhappy than your circumstances now even with all the pain 

Because for as shitty as this all was you’d at least lived for yourself for once 

Taken the reigns of your life in your hands instead of them being in another 

And you didn’t regret that 

Not one bit 

Hell, the only thing you regretted was not punching Arkham in his stupid jester face 

Because even if you died here in pain and coughing up a lung 

At least you died knowing it was your own choices leading up to here and not those of your parents 

And that was a lot more satisfying than anything 

Especially when you got to meet the dumbass you called both a boss and friend named Dante, meet Mary again and talk about poetry once more 

Somehow that had made you happier than anything 

Water splashes once more yet there’s no more clatter of swords and your attention is diverted to Vergil kneeling in the muddied water

Blood mixes in it 

Though your unsure if it’s from your own or a mix from both from the showdown between brothers 

Either way it runs down past Vergil to Dante at the edge of the waterfall

This felt like the end of this all 

With heavy difficulty you get up, using a stone pillar to support yourself 

“Am I….being defeated?” It’s uttered in disbelief as he stares down into the waters reflection 

“What’s wrong? Is that all you got?” Dante moves forward in a mix of mocking and anger, “come on get up, you can do better than that” 

With shaky legs you move toward the red stained twin, nearly toppling over when the ground rumbled beneath your feet.

“The portal to the human world is closing Dante.” Briefly he looks to you, something flashing in icy blue eyes as you stood a few feet from Dante using Mary’s gun to keep yourself propped up“because the amulets have been separated”

“Let’s finish this Vergil” there’s a pause “I have to stop you. even if that means killing you”. The look in his eyes is something akin to pure conviction and yet in the small shake of his grip you could see the hesitation he steeled away.

You remember the nights in which Dante would tell you about him and his brother when they were younger 

He bragged he’d always won when they’d fight with wooden swords 

His bravado and general overconfidence made you remark sarcastically that you were sure that had happened 

Getting in response an arm thrown around your shoulder and him resting his head atop yours 

A complaint of falling from his mouth yet he still looked satisfied with himself 

The same grin 

The same blue eyes that peaked past untamed white hair with a certain nostalgic haze 

Yet now those eyes hardened themselves 

And you can’t help but both hope and dread if he was right 

If he really won all those matches as a kid when Vergil readies his blade and Dante readies his own 

They charge 

Boots creating large splashes 

Water rushing past them 

Dante running away from you and Vergil headed to your direction near the edge 

Both yell while charging yet all you can focus on is the water and sickening slash 

Metal glimmers at the perfect angle to create a horizontal line of light

And then red 

Red spews across the air and mixes once more into the water 

With baited breath you wait and neither move 

Until the pained groan of Vergil stumbles from his lips and his necklace clatters along with the blades 

He picks it up as Dante puts away his sword 

Vergil takes a step back 

Clutching the necklace in a near crushing intensity 

Trying to convince him this isn’t the way would be for naught with him 

Vergil is someone who’d died of his own stubbornness and with his ideals 

It’s something both maddening and something you can’t help but respect in a odd way 

“No one can have this Dante. It’s mine, it belongs to a son of Sparda!” He takes more steps back towards the edge, shit no-

“Don’t do it!” Despite the pain you push forwards, despite the fact you know you won’t convince him, once more you try

Dante realizes what he’s about to do as well, surging forwards as you did but you’re both met with blade pointed to your necks. “Leave me and go, if neither of you want to be trapped in the demon world” eyes flicked between you and his brother as he clutches the amulet tightly “I’m staying, this place was our fathers home”. He gets closer to the edge, nearing the tip off point.  He leans back as you and Dante move forwards, hands outstretched to try and grab him. Though one is cut whilst the other is left untouched. 

Staring down as he’s encompassed by the unknown of hell you keep your eyes locked with his. Though he was an ass, an egocentric focused on a vain goal of his own pride you still can’t help but cry for him as your knees hit the hard rock and you reach your hand out despite the fact he’s too far gone to save. Because for as much as he detested his humanity, he was undoubtedly human in the most tragic sense. He was human in his pain, human in his hate, human in the way he held a passion for old poetry and longed for connection even if he’d never admit it. And he was certainly human when in the last moments before he disappeared into darkness his eyes stared deep into your own. Widening ever so slightly at the fact you still outstretched your hand to him, that you cried for him despite it all.

In those eyes in those last moments you see the human longing for companionship, of not wanting to be alone anymore. Whilst in your tear stained ones he sees the truth of the matter. You wanted to save him. Both here as he plunged into hell and back when you warned him of opening Pandora’s box, you did it because you wanted to save him. Because For some foolish reason you cared for him. 

(And that sticks with him far more than you’d ever know) 

Blood stains your shoulder as he places a hand on it 

The one Vergil sliced yet was healing and closing into a faded memory if not for the slice on the glove as well 

It snaps you from staring down into darkness, hand still reaching to grasp a hand that you’d never hold 

It closes tightly, leaving crescent indents in your palm 

“Let’s go” his words remain empty. Gone is his usual playfulness or lighthearted tone. Just empty and desolate.

Quietly you nod, getting up once more despite the pain with a small grimace 

You’d rather not let him know right now how injured you are 

He lost his brother again for fucks sake 

Hiding your limp and the strain of carrying Mary’s weapon you watch him pick up the sword he and Vergil raced to obtain earlier 

It’s not triumphant in any sort of way 

It’s just a tragedy 

One giant tragedy of two brothers

The sky back home is darkened by clouds as the destruction of the tower and demons loom like a veil of grief 

Wind blows through now abandoned buildings 

And silence permeates just about everything besides yours and Dante’s footsteps 

You nearly cry when you see Mary 

Her mismatched gaze locking with yours after a brief moment of surprise 

“Phew, What an ordeal” Dante acts nonchalant but you know he’s hiding his hurt. Mary’s canon is slung over his shoulder after he saw you struggle in carrying it awhile back. “You’re still here?” 

“I need that back” her eyes leave yours to linger on her canon before returning to you “and I need some answers from you later”. You nod, and Dante goes to hand her back the canon-

He pulls back at the last second “no late charges I hope. I also let them borrow it as well though seems like they already have the friend discount” 

Mary hums, “I’ll think of your charge. But for them it’s free”. Getting back her weapon she handle it with care, slinging it onto her back.

Dante moves and you stand beside him watching the sky, “we should be fine for now. But I’m sure they’ll be back soon, very soon”. Your hand grips his coat sleeve, and you feel his arm shake slightly.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s only the rain” the answer is immediate and yet despite the cloudy sky no water poured.

“The rain stopped already Dante” it comes more like a pained wheeze which gains a concerned look from both of them. They look like they’re gonna stop their conversation but you just grin in a silent gesture for them to continue. they need this, Dante needs this, and you won’t let yourself be the reason they stop.

“Devils never cry” 

“I see….maybe somewhere out there even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one. Don’t you think?” 

“Maybe…” there’s the slightest bit of hope in the response that makes you smile ever so slightly as you grip on his coat goes slack and your legs give out.

Distantly you hear both of them yell your name before succumbing to darkness.

As a kid the only activity your parents signed you up for that you enjoyed in any capacity was choir 

It was a pastime that had you away from under their thumb 

A small haven from the empty crypt you called a home 

It felt nice being apart of something as a collective and not on a stage alone with the spotlight solely on you 

All the other activities they had signed you up for were individual

So the attention was on you constantly 

If you messed up it would be noticed 

And if you faltered for even a moment their eyes would scowl from the crowd 

But in choir it was different, You harmonized with others 

Joining together no matter how small your role was to create a beautiful symphony of noise that echoed in the halls 

A lot of what you remember is just vague notes and melodies 

Latin dripping from your tongue and becoming garbled to the sands of time 

But you can’t help but think back to one song though

It was old and fractured and broken 

You couldn’t remember the lyrics but you did remember the melody and solemn organ 

your choir teacher at the time insisted you all try it 

At least to give it a chance despite its broken nature 

That melody of garbbled sounds you’ll never know the meaning to stuck with you in the depths of your mind 

And even when you forgot how you knew the melody in the first place it had remained 

That minute long chorus into some greater song dances in your mind once more 

You hum to it 

Singing with it as though you were back in those piers in white robes and little angel wings 

A halo of golden tinsel above your head 

But in that mass of voices you hear a familiar one 

Dante-

It pulls you from unconsciousness 

At first you feel before you properly understand anything around you 

Soft material under you 

Something heavy but warm laid over you 

And the rough material of bandages compressing your chest 

Distantly you hear the song quietly sung 

And then comes sight and your met with the sight of the wrecked store 

The jukebox is busted 

Pool table in two with the balls scattered on the floor 

Desk splintered in half 

Drum set and guitar smashed in the corner 

The fan was in pieces on the dirty and broken floor

Yet somehow miraculously the couch you were on was alright minus the greasy pizza stains you’d failed previously to wash out

Trying to sit up is met with instant regret, a sound of pain escaping you 

The material covering you that you now realize to be Dante’s jacket falling off to the ground 

The song stops 

But with that came the jingle of a familiar chain to a necklace guarding a key to the underworld 

“Easy there, you need to rest up before you start trying to do anything. Doctors orders” 

Gently, hands that had killed so many demons and spilled such blood pushes you back into laying down properly 

Then draping his coat back over you 

Thankfully it seemed he had the foresight to wash it 

A small victory

“How do you feel?”

“I’d say like hell but that be ironic” 

That gets a small chuckle from him 

On the small couch he sits himself by your legs

Not sitting in his typical spread out manner to ensure you have enough space to laze comfortably 

“Where’s Mary?”

“Mar- oh right lady. She’s off to get you some prescription. I opted to stay here and make sure you didn’t wake up and start trying to fix the place when half dead” the last part comes out a bit harsh but you guess you kinda deserve that.

“Ah…what’s with you calling her lady?”

“Said she preferred that now….that Mary died a long time ago” 

It goes back to an awkward silence 

Your mind racing with thoughts

His as well with how he tapped his finger against his leg 

Silence permeates with nothing to fill it

It’s uncomfortable

Not like the silence you’d used to have sparingly with him, especially when he once had a need to fill it with something

Yet again a tactic he used to defuse nerves

But now there’s nothing

He wants to say something

He always wants to talk but now he genuinely wants to say something

Yet he holds back

Let’s it die in his throat when he tunes his gaze to you

Guilt creeping up in him evident by how he quickly then averts his gaze

Unable to look at you

There’s a moment it looks like he wants to reach a hand to you 

To place it on your leg as a means of comfort

Yet he hesitates Pulling back as if his touch would burn you

All the while you lay on the couch with him by your feet 

This feels so weird 

You want to move but you know the reaction and answer you’ll get 

So you lay there 

A pillow propped up against the arm while his jacket acted as your blanket 

And silence permeates for minutes on end as he sits there

Observant and looking as if a single sound would send him into fight mode

A bit paranoid even for his traumatized teenage mind 

The juxbox is broken 

So there’s no way he can play something to calm himself down

A habit you noticed when he was particularly stressed 

But maybe-

“Were you singing earlier?”

Your voice feels raw, you hadn’t noticed it until just now 

Like you had garbled sand into glass 

You can’t sing like this 

But maybe he could 

“Yeah, why?” 

“What….what was that song you were singing?”

“It was something my mom taught me, uhhhh something like “devils never cry”? They made it into a kick ass rock song-”

“I learned it in choir class, it was my favourite. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it….can you sing it for me Dante?” 

He quirks a brow “you’re full of surprises you know. I’m not gonna lie and say I remember it well or that it’s accurate because I think it’s a translated version I was taught. but, whatever the patient wants I guess…All days, I'm looking in the Deep water flowing into me, Where are all tears, are they fallen? Tell me why I feel them in me? One day, they'll tell me what I'm exactly, Tears don't fall, I'll never heal them”

Mary- er lady helps with Dante in taking care of you 

Apparently after you passed out the two had rushed to a hospital while dealing with demons 

And your prediction of a rib poking into your lung was correct 

A bit too correct for your own sake 

Safe to say the bills were expensive and in the crossfire of all that your apartment wasn’t exempt from the destruction the hell tower you now learned was called the “temen-ni-Gru” had caused

Aka your building was destroyed in the madness and now you had to find someplace else to crash  

You’d be more upset if you had more to move and mourn

But honestly you had bare necessities 

And your apartment admittedly sucked so much so you were already looking for another place 

So for now you were crashing at the store 

That now finally had a name

Devil may cry 

A fitting name and much more easy to use instead of “the store”

Like you’d had to use for months up to this point 

Made you sound ominous when you said you worked at “the store” 

Anyways 

The two took shifts and turns 

One staying while the other went out to do whatever 

Presumably killing the few straggler demons that didn’t go down with the tower

Dantes been more silent than usual but at least for now you excuse it 

He lost his brother and now he had to look after you 

Not exactly a fun combination with the fact of the store needing to be fixed 

But with that comes talking with lady 

Catching up on what had happened 

And finally the talk you’d both been needing to have 

One seemingly long overdue when she sits down beside you 

Hands folded and the canon you now knew as Kalina Ann propped up on a folding chair 

You’d have to add buying new furniture for dmc to the list of stuff to do later 

“So….why’d you do it?” Lady is quiet, her words more like a secret than anything 

“Do what?”

“Run away?”

So they told People you ran away instead of them kicking you out?

You aren’t exactly surprised but did they really think it would make them look much better? 

A sigh voluntarily leaves you 

Depending on the lengths they went missing posters might be up 

You hope to whatever god there may or may not be that they wouldn’t that go that far

But considering this is the first time you’d stood your ground against them and didn’t come crawling back…

Well, control freaks will do what they can to reel you back in no matter the cost 

Especially since they were hinging on a cushy future in which they retired early and relied on you as an atm 

“Sure running away, that’s definitely what you call throwing your kid out to the curb because they won’t become a lawyer and saying not to come back until they changed their mind” the tone is slightly bitter but not aimed to her, moreso the circumstance

At hearing that you see her mismatched eyes widen a bit 

Pits of Emerald green and ruby red peering into that of your own 

Seeing truth and bitterness stew in them 

But at their core was sadness and hope 

Bitterness at the memories 

Yet a hope for the future 

Something she’d never quite seen in your eyes 

And it’s something you can’t see in hers anymore 

For the whole she’d been looking after you it’s been present 

Looming over the girl that had been your friend 

Grief

Loss 

And an overarching sense that she’s on the brink of collapse 

Can’t blame her either

Not after whatever she’s been through up till now 

All on her own after her mom died left to stew in anger 

Only for now the grief to hit her full force for not only Miss Ann

But also for the memory of what once was her family 

For her kind mother whom she talked about in earnest 

Who despite never meeting you always packed extra snacks for Mary to share with you 

For a father there but always absent

Nose stuck in his studies whom she talked of in hopes of earning his attention 

Until that faded as years passed 

And what’s left is a bitterness to the man who took everything 

Who tried to kill her 

Who killed her mom 

His own wife 

All for the sake of an obsession that would be for nothing because ultimately he only experienced the power he wanted for mere moments 

Leaving Mary the unfortunate victim in it all

You don’t have the right to continue complaining about your parental situation to her 

Not with what she’s experienced 

Not with what she’s lost in such a short period of time 

But her eyes are what stop you 

Brimming with emotion 

Two toned eyes of emerald green and ruby red 

They shine like jewels too 

Pretty and glimmering in the dull lighting of devil may cry 

“Why did you never tell me how bad they were to you?” Her question is quiet at first but gains volume from a faint whisper to a steadfast tone as she then asks “why didn’t you come to me when you were kicked out?”

“I just….at school and with you I wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to think about what’s at home when I walked through the doors I wanted to be my age for once, and I felt that way only with you till now.” As for that second question, it’s a bit of harder thing to admit to her let alone yourself “i was panicked…I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to be a burden-” 

“Burden?” It’s uttered in disbelief “how can you think like that! You’re never a burden to me! I was worried sick and they said you ran off! And I was alone and then I lost my mom”she pauses at that, going suddenly quiet as the words died in her mouth.

Your not really sure what to say after that 

Neither is she

She just stays motionless besides the shake in her hands

In all your years of knowing her you’d never seen her like this 

Even when she scraped her knee on the playground 

She’d always been strong 

Always held back tears even when her boyfriend in first year dumped her just before winter break 

Always had been the strong shoulder for you to lean on when you were upset 

And yet that girl is gone 

Mary is dead and lady is what’s left of that girl 

The bitterness 

The resentment 

the overwhelming grief of loosing both her parents 

And most importantly the loneliness of it all 

And your left to hold those pieces of her

Both emotionally as she breaks from the strenuous weight of everything crashing on her now 

And physically as you push past your discomfort and pain to hold her close 

She hesitates for a moment 

Unsure and unsteady 

But eases and pulls your closer 

Holding you as if you were her last lifeline 

Because in a way you are her lifeline 

You are the last good thing from Mary’s life that still remains 

And though that girl is dead, lady clings to that barest pinprick of light 

Because when being born again from rage and anger with her revenge now satiated 

What more does she have?

“I…I’m sorry” she’s desolate, quiet and a tad withdrawn until you pull her close. She’d always been the one you leaned on, but Mary was gone and it was time for you to repay the favour to what’s left of her.

“No, I’m sorry too. I should’ve contacted you, did anything sooner….i was scared and wanted to start over now that i had the chance. I should’ve thought of how you felt”

She’s silent for a few moments, but draws herself closer into your embrace. “We’re both pretty messed up huh?”

You can’t help but laugh a bit at that. “Yeah…guess we are. But we have each other again, and I think that’s what matters most right now”

She nods, and that’s all that needs to be said

….Well besides “I can get revenge on your parents-“ and “how about we talk about that later Lady”

He’s distant and stuck in his head more than before

It’s something that most wouldn’t notice since he tries to act like his typical self

Lady falls for it, though reluctantly because she doesn’t know him well but writes off why his smiles don’t reach his eyes

But you’d known Dante for about a year now

You’d known him long enough to notice when he’s off

It’s in the way his jokes aren’t the same

How he can’t properly look at you as he did before, with a sense of ease and joy that’s now damped

The drumming of his fingers and the thump of his boot against the floor creating soft creaks in the hardwood

you can tell whatever he didn’t say before was eating away at him

This wasn’t just grief (though that was still heavily apart of this) but rather something else that you can’t name until he was honest with it

Now, you wouldn’t particularly call yourself a confrontational person

You’d rather roll over than raise your voice or objection to your parents until that fateful night

And even then you mostly stood there being yelled at

You’d hardly name that a battle of words

But when it came to you, you wouldn’t do much to stand up for yourself

But this wasn’t about you

This was about Dante

And for as much as you could rot in silence like a forgotten fruit at the back of the fridge, you wouldn’t let Dante do the same

Not with how you see it absolutely eating at him

Just as it did to you before

Because you can see yourself so badly in him

And it hurts more than your currently broken chest

So when it’s finally his turn to stay with you while lady was out you take the chance

Because you can lose your apartment, your cold childhood home and what little shit you had

But you couldn’t lose him

You wouldn’t let him slip through your fingers and plunge into a different darkness that was all to similar to that of the hell Vergil voluntarily fell into

Not if you could do anything about it

“You’ve been more quiet as of late…”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

It goes back to silence for a few minutes

This idiot isn’t taking the bait to air out his thoughts

Maybe you’d have to go the direct route instead

“So….are you gonna tell me what you wanted to say a few days ago?”

“Who’s to say I had anything on my mind”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at that, then reaching over to grab his shoulder. He was gonna run and you’re not letting him. “I know you well enough to know when you stuck in your head about something Dante…just please be honest and tell me. I don’t like seeing you distant like this”

There’s a pause in his actions at your touch, whatever was compelling him to run being stopped in his tracks. And then he answers “why’d you not say anything?”

“About what”

“Your injuries! You were hurt and on the brink of dying and you didn’t say anything about it!” 

“Dante you had just lost your brother. You had other things to deal with-“ 

“And I could’ve lost you too on top of that as well! Because I didn’t notice you were on the brink of dying and you didn’t say anything!” 

His eyes are clouded now in tears, glossy and making the blue shine like jewels

In any other scenario you’d admire the beauty in them

Yet all you see is pain refracted in the pools

Dante looks less his age and more like a scared little boy

But maybe that’s what he’s always been at heart

A scared boy still trapped in that hiding place as the house burned around him

Arms wrapped around himself to try and feel the fleeting warmth of his mothers touch

Loss drenches him to the bone

And you now realize that you’d nearly made it worse by brushing it off

But you can’t be fully to blame

Not when all your life you’d been raised to push away your own feelings

Your pain for others around you

And yet now he wants you to bare it to him

To ripe yourself open at its most tender

Because he was scared for you

Because he truly cared just as lady did

“You nearly died because of me, you were dragged into this because of me. Because I was selfish and couldn’t let go even when I knew it’d be dangerous. I….I shouldn’t have….you’d be safer if you left. Found another job and got away from here” it come out as a quiet whisper from him, his hair overshadowing his face and obscuring his eyes. You’d known him well enough though to know they were brimming with tears. You knew at the end there was also the unsaid notion of “away from me” Did this goof really think that after all this you’d leave? Knowing how much pain he was going through and had admitted to you he was scared of being alone again. Shaking your head your hand finds his, fingers linking together.

“You’re an idiot you know? You think I’m gonna leave you here when you still need me to remind you of the overdue bills? This place would go under if not for me. I’m not going anywhere” 

“I’m being serious here for once-“ 

“I know damn it, but you listen to me for a minute before you get it all up in your head and make a decision without my input” it’s a bit sharp but you need to right now, he’s spiraling and already trying to decide to push you away. With a groan you slowly lift yourself up, getting a sound of protest from him before you silenced him with your open palm telling him to stop. Hesitantly he does so, watching you struggle but eventually sit up, hand clenching his. “I’m happy here Dante” 

“Your happy here?” It’s spoken in disbelief. Maybe all your bitching had made him think otherwise but you did enjoy your time here, you wouldn’t trade it for the world or whatever cushy future your parents wanted. “Your happy here after all this? After you nearly died because of m-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there. We’ve had this conversation before and I didn’t know then but I know now why I want to stay despite the risks. Dante I never really lived before now. My life was made up for me and my outcome was predetermined before I was kicked out. And sure, maybe staying here is dangerous” you think of that future if you’d stayed and done what your parents wanted, an older unhappy version of you staring blankly in your mind “but danger is apart of life, you can’t live without it. And I’ve never been more happier, more free than I am here. So no, I don’t care about the danger I’m staying…understand?”. You see his eyes, they’re brimming with tears and more emotions than you can processed. But beneath it all you see Dante. The kind annoying dork who like his brother longed for companionship. His lips upturn ever so slightly as your free hand not entwined with his gently finds itself cupping his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear he didn’t realize had fallen. 

“I’m staying and I don’t intend on leaving anytime soon even when things get dicey….understand?”

“Yeah…loud and clear honeypie” 

You let the use of that horrid nickname slide once again with only a roll of your eyes. You’d never admit that it maybe made you smile, something you’ll deny vehemently when he inevitably brings it up later.  But for now at least it’s ok. 

You’re both gonna be ok.

“Hey Dante?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to be back”

…….“good to have you back hon-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll make you sign all the work orders required to fix this place”

[screamlet]

8x15/16 interstitial

about 800 words of seriously nothing. i'm fascinated by those two weeks between 8x15 and 8x16, so there might be a few short things set here and there.

---

It's been two days since Bobby died. It's early afternoon and no one has needed Buck yet, so he's cleaning the kitchen and trying not to flip out about Tommy being gone.

Not that he's gone. He's outside talking to someone on the phone, and Buck is doing his best to make this old linoleum sparkle so he doesn't creep up to the door and try to eavesdrop. Still, it's Buck so he can't help but quietly catastrophize.

Tommy has spent every hour since the lab disaster with Buck, and he has his first shift back in the morning. He's probably talking to his captain, or that colonel, or someone about whether he actually can go to work, or whether he's only on ground duty, or whether he's suspended. Maybe he's one of the volunteers from around the LAFD who are taking shifts at the 118 until everyone is back on duty, and he's going to be grabbing his stuff from Harbor and using Buck's locker, and—and maybe he'll be out there, in danger, and Buck will be here waiting for the next thing, waiting for something.

Before Buck can come up with a new set of anxieties that make him feel like his lunch is coming back up, the front door opens and shuts. Tommy's steady footsteps are coming to find him, nothing different about them, the same footsteps he's been hearing around the house for days. Sometimes they're all Buck hears when he's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling or the wall or out the bedroom window as a silent horror movie marathon plays in his head.

"Hey," Tommy says as he comes up behind him. He stands next to Buck at the sink and rests a hand on his back. "I was just on the phone with my captain and the chief."

"Oh wow, the chief, huh?" Buck looks down at his hands, thinking that was a little bitchy.

"He's very invested in my reckless insanity that keeps saving people's lives," Tommy replies. "Another spring, another—"

"Yeah," Buck interrupts. If he has to think about where they were a year ago, where all of them were a year ago, he might not make it through the conversation. "So what'd you guys talk about?" Buck clears his throat. "Your shift tomorrow?"

Tommy's hand rests heavier on Buck's back; force of habit, or need, or something, Buck leans into it.

"They said I was cleared to go back, regular duty, nothing on my record. No medal this time since they don't want the whole supervirus thing to get out," Tommy says. "But I told them I'm taking some bereavement leave. At least a week. More, if I need it."

Buck's head whips around, his eyes boring into Tommy's. "What?"

"Yeah, see, they knew I was at the 118. Hence the whole ride-or-die, if they need me I'll come running thing, but I'm taking the leave to support my partner." Tommy's eyes meet Buck's for a moment, then drop. "So I'll be here however long you need me. If you need me."

"Need you?" Buck asks. "Or want you?"

Tommy meets his eyes again. It's that same timid look from their beyond-stupid morning after; they've had other ones since then, better in some ways and (much) worse in others. "I'm okay being a workhorse, Evan. You don't—"

"I want you," Buck says. "In every way, Tommy. Every way."

Tommy nods, even brings himself to smile. Buck does, too; he can't help it. It's been two days of automated tasks and emptiness and pain and helplessness, but he's smiled, too. There have been flashes of happiness, like tiny sparks in this darkness because Tommy's here. Because Buck's not alone. Because Buck's here with Tommy.

Another tiny spark, like a flare shot into the night, as their eyes meet and Buck leans in for a kiss. It's so gentle, barely a press of their lips against each other, but it hurts, too. God, it physically hurts to kiss Tommy and feel—light. Feel relief, hope, even joy. It hurts to feel them, even as it's hurt to be without them.

Tommy opens his eyes, immediately searching Buck's face for something. "So that was okay?"

A smile fights its way onto his face. "As always," Buck says, "It's better than fake mouth static."

Tommy laughs, and Buck feels like he'd been holding his breath until this moment. Tommy should never go that long without laughing, ever again. "I really did myself a favor, setting a bar that low."

"Who said it was low?" Buck asks. "You don't see anyone else up here with us, do you?"

Tommy's eyes drop to Buck's lips and he kisses him again, gentle and light. "No. No, I guess not."

[ha-rinrin]

Little Brat

summary: She blew up your kitchen. Time to make her pay.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 3k

Note:

WELCOME BACK I missed all of you so much, hope you guys didn't forget about me. I'm sorry for disappearing — I was focused on my academic comeback. I think I might be able to post more often (but no promises).

I noticed there's been a shortage in the Jinx x Reader tag, and a lot of you asked me to come back — and who am I to say no?

Anyway, I'm really happy to be back, even if I don't post daily like before. I hope you enjoy this new fic, which, by the way, was HARD to write. I'm really bad at writing smut, but I did my best.

TW: NSFW, overstimulation, strap-on, orgasm denial and control, top!reader x sub!Jinx, light degradation, teasing, and I think thats all, if I forgot something, im sorry

The fire alarm’s going off when you unlock the door. Again.

You don’t even flinch this time, just toss your keys onto the hallway table and step into the smoke.

It’s coming from the kitchen. Of course it is.

You walk in and see it: your custom-built, voice-controlled, top-of-the-line Piltover microwave blown wide open. The front panel’s cracked, the inside is scorched, and something definitely exploded.

Jinx is sitting on the counter like nothing happened—legs swinging like a child, soot on her cheek, a little too proud of herself.

“Hi, babe,” she says sweetly, waving a tiny screwdriver at you.

You blink. “What. Did you do.”

“Okay, so–” she starts, already smiling, “I was trying to make popcorn.”

You just stare at her.

“But then I thought… what if I gave it a boost? Just a little chemtech.”

She lifts a small, still-glowing power cell––clearly modified. “Y’know. To speed it up.”

The fire alarm shrieks again. A soft pop comes from the microwave.

“You blew up my microwave,” you say.

She shrugs. “I improved it. Technically.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t even blink.

You take one step closer, and Jinx’s smirk falters just slightly.

“Do you think I’m impressed?” you ask.

She leans back on her hands, still trying to play it cool. “Thought it might at least make you look at me.”

You glance at the mess, then back at her. “Oh, I’m looking.”

She quiets.

You place a hand on the counter beside her thigh, lean in just enough to make her press back against the cabinets.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, voice low. “To blow up my kitchen just so I’d come home and deal with you?”

Her eyes flicker. “Maybe.”

Another step and your knee’s between hers.

“You’re going to clean this up,” you say. “After.”

Her breath catches.

“Now get off the counter.”

She moves fast. Obedient. Like she’s been waiting for that tone all day.

She hops off the counter, but doesn’t move. Just stands there with that smug little tilt to her head, eyes flicking up and down like she’s deciding whether to listen to you at all.

You don’t give her the chance.

Your fingers close around her jaw–– not hard, but enough to stop her in her tracks. “Try me again, and you’ll be on your knees before you make it to the bedroom.”

She grins, breath hitching just a little. “Kinky threat. You sure you’re not the one who blew up the microwave?”

You don’t flinch.

“Keep running your mouth,” you murmur, “and I’ll make sure you’re too sore to use it later.”

That wipes the grin off her face. Almost.

Then she shrugs, deliberately slow. “Guess I better make it worth it, huh?”

You let go of her jaw.

“Bedroom. Now.”

She turns around with a smirk, strutting like she owns the place. “God, finally. I was starting to think you’d just let me get away with it.”

You follow, watching her every step.

“Not a chance.”

The bedroom door barely clicks shut before you’ve got her on the bed.

You don’t give her time to settle. You grab her wrist and push her downing the bed and onto her back, climbing over her like she’s already yours.

“Hands up,” you say––low, firm.

She obeys, too quickly, too eagerly, eyes flicking up to yours with that defiant spark still burning.

You drag your fingers slowly up her stomach, just under her shirt, and she shivers.

“You wanted attention,” you murmur, leaning in close. “Now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much of it you can take.”

Her breath catches, and she swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t dare.

“Try anything bratty,” you add, hand sliding higher, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get to come tonight.”

And just like that, she’s quiet.

Not behaving––but quiet.

You don’t bother with slow.

Clothes come off in quick, practiced movements––yours first, then hers––until she’s bare beneath you, except for her panties. You leave those on.

On purpose.

She arches slightly, like she expects more, like she wants more, but you don’t give it to her.

Not yet.

Instead, you slide your hand down, press your palm flat over the soaked fabric, just enough for her to feel it––your heat, your control––without giving her what she really wants.

She squirms, breath shaky. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of course I am.”

Your fingers move slow, dragging along the thin fabric, teasing the wet spot already blooming there. You circle her clit with maddening precision, just enough to make her whine.

She bucks her hips up, impatient.

You pin them down with your free hand. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to be greedy.”

Her hands tighten in the sheets above her head, body tense beneath yours.

“You blew up my kitchen,” you murmur, mouth brushing her jaw. “You’re lucky I’m even touching you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, slow and controlled. But you’re not done.

You tug her shirt up with the hand that was previously pinning her hips down, exposing her chest. She shivers, nipples already hard.

Her hands leave the sheets––one flying up to grab the pillow beside her head, the other fisting the blanket like she needs to hold on to something, anything, just to stay grounded.

You lean down, tongue dragging across her right nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking deep.

She gasps––loud, unrestrained––her hips jerking as your fingers rub tight, wet circles against her clit while your mouth teases her chest.

Your tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, then you bite––just a little. Just enough to make her cry out.

“F-fuck––” she moans, her body arching up into your mouth, down into your hand. Caught between both.

Her free hand flutters for a second, unsure, then lands shakily on your shoulder––digging in, nails pressing hard.

Your fingers don’t stop. Your mouth doesn’t either.

“Still squirming,” you murmur against her chest. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

She doesn’t––can’t. Her breath’s a mess. Whimpers leave her mouth with every stroke and suck.

Then––just as her breathing stutters––you pull your mouth away.

And slow your hand.

She lets out a broken sound, high and needy.

She’s already dripping through the fabric.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down slow––just to watch her squirm. She lifts her hips to help, breath stuttering as the cool air hits her soaked skin.

You toss them aside.

Then, without warning, you slide one finger into her pussy.

She gasps, sharp and breathless. Wet. So wet, you barely have to try.

You move slow. Intentionally slow. Just enough to make her ache, slick already coating your knuckles.

“Please,” she whispers, almost desperate.

You add a second finger.

Her thighs jerk, twitching hard, hips rocking before you press her back down with your free hand.

“Still so impatient,” you murmur.

She whines, eyes wide and glassy, her breath catching every time your fingers curl inside her.

You lean over her, lips brushing her jaw. “What happened to all that attitude, Jinx?”

She doesn’t answer, just bites her lip, thighs trembling as you pump your fingers a little deeper, a little rougher.

Then you add a third.

She gasps like she wasn’t ready for it, body tensing all over again, then melting into the mattress, legs shaking under your grip.

The slick sound of it fills the room––hot, messy, desperate.

You lean in closer, voice low and wicked against her ear.

“Next time you want attention,” you whisper, “just ask.”

She moans, helpless and breathless and already so close.

And you don’t stop.

You drag your thumb up and press it firmly against her clit, circling it slowly while your fingers move inside her––deep and deliberate.

She moans the second your thumb finds its rhythm––high and shaky, like she’s trying to hold it back but can’t.

Her thighs twitch with every stroke, already slick and trembling. You keep going, curling your fingers just right, then pulling back before she can get too close.

“Ah––god,” she gasps, hips bucking up. “Don’t––don’t stop––”

But you do.

You slow down, just slightly. Just enough to make her whine.

“No,” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please, don’t do that.”

You hum like you’re thinking about it, but your fingers are still moving––just barely, just enough to keep her strung out and desperate.

Every sound she makes now is a mess.

Tiny whimpers.

Breathless gasps.

The occasional broken “fuck” when your fingers hit just the right spot––then pull away again, cruel and calculated.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was a good idea?” you murmur.

She shakes her head fast, eyes glassy, thighs clenching around your wrist.

“Then why,” you whisper, mouth brushing her ear, “should I let you come?”

She groans––loud and wrecked. “Please,” she begs, hips rolling, trying to chase your hand. “I’ll clean it––I’ll fix it––just please––”

You smirk, watching her fall apart.

“Not yet.”

And you keep going. Slow, deep pumps, curling just right so that they touch that spongy spot inside her that makes her see stars––then pulling back again.

Your thumb flicks her clit harder now, tight little circles that make her whimper.

But it’s not enough.

You lean down, catching one of her nipples between your teeth, biting gently as your fingers start slamming into her.

She yelps––loud and raw––back arching off the bed as the sudden overload of sensation hits her hard.

“F-fuck!”

Her whole body jolts.

You suck hard on her nipple, tongue dragging over the bud as your fingers pound into her and your thumb teases her clit in tight, wet circles.

Her back arches off the bed, hands clutching the sheets like she’s about to tear them. You don’t let up––your mouth, your fingers, your thumb––all working in rhythm.

“God––oh my god––” she cries, voice rising in pitch. “Wait––wait––”

You don’t.

Her thighs are shaking now, soaked and twitching, her head thrown back against the pillows.

She’s falling apart. Fast.

The shift from teasing to ruthless ruins her. Her hips jerk without rhythm, no control left in her body at all.

“Too much––” she gasps, voice cracking. “It’s too––”

“You can take it,” you growl, curling your fingers again. “You’re gonna take it.”

She sobs––loud and wrecked and completely undone.

And you keep going.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

Exactly how she likes it.

She cums around your fingers.

No warning––just a broken cry and her entire body seizing up beneath you. Her back arches, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans finally catch up––loud, raw, and completely helpless.

You feel it the second it hits––her walls clenching tight, fluttering, pulsing around your fingers, squirting.

But you don’t stop.

Your mouth is still on her nipple, tongue dragging, sucking, teasing while your fingers keep going.

She gasps––sharp and panicked. “N-no––wait––”

You keep going.

Her hips jerk away from your hand, but there’s nowhere to go. You hold her there, pinned and trembling, pumping into her over and over while her legs shake and her voice breaks.

“Too much––too much––” she whines, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands claw at the sheets, one arm flinging up to grip your wrist, not pulling you away––just holding on.

Like she’s drowning.

Like she can’t take it, but she doesn’t want it to stop.

The overstimulation hits hard––her cries turn to sobs, every breath hitching, every sound wrecked and slurred and ruined.

You lean close, lips brushing her ear.

“Still think you can act like a brat in my kitchen?”

She shakes her head frantically, breathless.

“I didn’t hear you,” you murmur, fingers never slowing.

“N-no––no, I’m sorry––fuck––I’m sorry––”

You smile against her skin.

But you keep going. Just a little more.

Just until she breaks again.

Her moans and whimpers fill the room as she cums, but you’re not near finishing, as Jinx’s going down her hight ––thighs covered in her own juices–– you’re already moving, grabbing the bright blue strap-on, 4 cm of girth and 18cm long. 

Jinx’s a small girl, you're probably about to break the poor little thing in half.

She's still recovering when you hover over her, she's already so wet you don't even need any lub, she doesn't have time to register what is going on till she feels the tip of your blue cock already pressing at her entrance.

Her eyes widen, she has been dying to try the new toy, but now she's just so sensitive she isn't sure she can handle it.

“Wait–– I cant–– Too sensitive––” 

You don’t hesitate “You should’ve thought about that before blowing up my kitchen”

She lets out a soft, broken sound as the tip circles her entrance, slow, relentless. Not pushing in––just dragging, spreading the slick around, rubbing right where she’s sensitive. Rubbing your cook between her pink puffy folds, rubbing her clit a few times. 

You chuckle, taking your time. Running the shaft up and down her slit. Not pushing in. Not giving her what she wants.

Just watching her squirm.

Her hips twitch up, trying to take it, but you move just out of reach.

She groans in frustration, tears welling up in her lashes. “Please––fuck, just––”

You finally lean in, lips brushing her ear.

“You want this?” you whisper, dragging the head back to her entrance. “Beg for it.”

She moans––half pain, half pleasure, everything too much. “Please, please––I want it, I need it, just fuck me––”

And that’s when you push in.

Not gently.

Your cock slips past her slick entrance in one smooth, firm thrust, making her scream.

“Ah––too much––I can’t––”

“Oh, you can,” you growl, holding her hips tight. “And you will.”

She gasps, her body tensing, arching, trying to take the stretch as her walls clench around the thick toy. Her thighs are twitching again, eyes closed shut with overwhelmed pleasure.

You don’t move just yet.

You stay buried inside her.

Letting her feel the fullness.

Letting her realize just how deep you are.

She whimpers, completely wrecked already. “F-fuck, you’re gonna break me––”

You smirk.

And then you start moving.

Slow, deep thrusts at first––dragging your hips back just enough to make her feel it before slamming back in, harder, deeper each time.

Her body moves with it, pushed up the bed with every stroke. Her moans spill out helplessly, one after another, breathless and sweet.

A melody you never get tired of.

Jinx can feel the faux veins of your cock dragging against her walls, touching all the spots that make her dumb, the tip hitting her cervix. 

You can see the bulge of your cock inside her.

And then you start pounding.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

Her moans turn to cries.

High-pitched and broken.

The slap of skin against skin fills the room, echoing with every sharp thrust. Her whole body jolts with each one, pushed into the mattress like she weighs nothing.

You’re relentless now.

No mercy. No pause.

Just the thick strap-on slamming into her, deep and fast, grinding her deeper into the sheets.

She’s gasping for air, nails digging into the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream that only catches up a second later.

“F-fuck––too deep––too fast––”

You just growl, thrusting harder. “That’s the point.”

Her hands claw at the sheets. Her body can’t keep up. Every nerve in her is on fire, pleasure rippling through her in waves so intense they border on pain.

She’s soaked––completely, impossibly wet––slick pooling beneath her, dripping down your thighs, smearing between her legs with every thrust.

You grab one of her legs and throw it over your shoulder, angling deeper.

Her scream is immediate.

“God––oh god––please––”

You lean over her, one hand gripping her throat, thumb pressing just enough to make her whimper.

“You wanted this,” you growl against her ear, your cock still driving into her, hard and deep. “So take it.”

She sobs, overwhelmed, shaking, but she doesn’t tell you to stop.

Her hips meet yours on instinct now, trying to keep up, trying to take everything you give her.

Jinx a mess beneath you, mascara staining her face, lipstick smudge, tongue out like a dumb dog while her hands grab the pillow where her head is laying like a lifeline. 

Her clit’s begging for attention––swollen and flushed, untouched but throbbing.

You reach down between her legs and rub your thumb over it.

She screams.

The second you touch her, her body goes rigid, her back arching so hard it lifts her off the mattress. Her moans twist into helpless, choked sobs.

Her eyes roll back.

She’s so far gone.

You don’t stop.

Not with your cock, not with your thumb.

Circling her clit fast and tight, keeping the rhythm of your thrusts brutal and deep.

“Gonna come again?” you murmur darkly. “Already?”

She nods frantically, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Y-yes––please––please––I can’t––”

“You can,” you snarl, voice low and rough. “Come on my cock, Jinx.”

And she does.

She cums with a scream, her whole body convulsing. The orgasm rips through her like a shockwave––intense and shattering. Her thighs clamp around you, walls fluttering violently around the strap-on, soaking it all over again.

But you don’t stop.

Not even for a second.

You keep fucking her through it––deep, brutal thrusts that don’t let her catch her breath.

She sobs, completely gone, babbling your name between cries. “N-no––too much––’s too much––”

You grab her hips, slamming in harder. “I said you’d take it. So take it.”

She screams again––half-cry, half-moan–and comes again, barely a minute later.

A second orgasm, sharper than the first.

This one wrecks her, more than the three ones you already gave her.

Her whole body goes limp beneath you, twitching, broken.

And still––you don’t stop.

Just a few more thrusts, slow now, grinding in deep with every roll of your hips. Letting her feel it. Letting her drown in it.

By the time you finally pull out, she’s shaking.

Covered in sweat, lips parted, tears dried on her cheeks, body completely ruined.

You toss the toy aside and lean down, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand.

She’s barely conscious––blissed out and wrecked, blinking slowly as she looks up at you.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was worth it?” you whisper.

She doesn’t answer.

She just moans softly––wrecked and dazed––and nods.

Like the little brat she is.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Okay, I am finally able to settle down and read part 2 and I am so excited!!

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

And there she is. Why, WHY did he bring her!

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though. “Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖

But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?” He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.” “Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.” Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—” “Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒

It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.” Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.  Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

And her! Oh my word. I love her but please, PLEASE call Dean! He's your friend! You like him!

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Nice and safe.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣

Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh. The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time. The only one he can see is you. He knows the shampoo you use an

FINALLY!

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…” And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone. That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

Oh goodness THE WEDDING! IT'S HAPPENING!

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Also I'm gonna say this- I like what you did with Lisa and with Benny. I think that it made sense to add them in this and I think that Lisa added a catty/dramatic energy and Benny sort of became the (terrible word) placeholder for Dean to the reader, but both of these characters were helpful for moving the story along. And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa. Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[laursdomain]

morning cuddles

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader

genre: fluff

synopsis: early mornings with Garrick

warnings: fluff, mentions of intimate moments, kissing, garrick is a cutie patootie

w/c: 1.2k

a/n: i've had this in the archives for a while, wanted to give garrick some love

ྀིgarrick tavis masterlist

༝༚༝༚

The sun peaked through the curtains, coating you in a warmth that made you more sleepy, if that was even possible. You were still in dreamland, though you knew you wouldn’t remember it the moment you finally woke up. Eventually, though, the sun demanded your attention too much, forcing you to peel your eyes open. You slightly stretch in the large bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

You can feel the warmth radiating from your boyfriends body behind you, still in a deep sleep from his soft snores and heavy breathing. If possible, you nuzzled closer on his bicep, acting as your pillow throughout the entire night. You assumed he never minded acting as your personal pillow, and if he did mind—he didn’t care enough to tell you. 

The arm that acted like a weighted pillow on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to Garrick’s warm, bare chest. His breathing was lighter, telling you he was awake. He peppers open-mouthed kisses along your neck, caressing your skin.

“Good morning babygirl,” Garrick’s morning voice was deep, due to not using it for a couple of hours. 

You giggle, “morning.”

You turn onto your other side, being met with the beautiful body of Garrick Tavis. His hazel eyes, usually hardened during his day-to-day activities, especially when completing orders given out by Xaden, were soft. They held love and something else you couldn’t quite name, and the softness in his eyes were reserved only for you. One hand rests on one of his pecs while the other one gently cups his jaw, caressing the skin there. He closes his eyes in content, nuzzling close to your warmth, making your heart melt. 

“How did you sleep?” He questions, adjusting his head on the pillow.

“I kept having dreams,” you sigh out, feigning annoyance. It could be worse, you could be having nightmares.

“Of what?” Garrick muses, he already knows what your answer will be. 

A sleepy smile finds its way to your face, “I don’t remember.”

He sarcastically gasps, “again? I think you need to see a healer.” 

He takes the hand that rests on your waist, bringing it up to your head as the front of his hand feels your temperature. You begin giggling, lightly slapping his hand away, earning a chuckle and an eye roll from your lover. His hand returns to its spot before, sneaking under your shirt, holding your waist as he caresses shapes into the skin. 

Your giggles die down as you nuzzle even closer into his bicep, squishing your cheek against the muscle. He chuckles at your antics, already accustomed to it. 

“Talk to me,” he mutters, closing his eyes.

“About what?” You question, looking up at him.

“Whatever you want,” he answers. He peels open his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes looking down at you. “What are your plans for today?”

“Hmm,” you begin to recount what you do have to do today, trying to make a makeshift schedule for your boyfriend. It was a weekend, so you had no classes to attend to, but that doesn’t mean you have nothing to do. “I have to do my laundry,” you begin.

“Mhm,” Garrick’s voice is quieter than your own, letting you know he’s listening.

“I have to finish an essay for Carr and study for my physics test—“ a yawn interrupts you, and Garrick wills it away with a kiss.

He pulls away smirking as you go chasing his lips afterwards, “no, finish first.” 

You groan, “I have to train with Imogen before dinner, then I’m hoping to read.” You give him your best puppy eyes, waiting for him to kiss you again. 

He relents, dipping down to place his lips on yours. You smile into the kiss, both your hands sliding up his body and into his hair, not letting him move. He could easily move, but Garrick would never stop kissing you willingly. His free arm completely wraps around your bare waist, pulling you until your chest is touching his. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, temporarily breaking the kiss to get some air.

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I love you too.”

He connects your lips with his once again, this time it was deeper, more passionate. You could feel all his love for you in this kiss, and you reciprocated the emotion even deeper. He rolls himself on top of you, the arm that had been your pillow for nearly eight hours straight finally getting a break. His hand rests on the small of your back, his other gripping your hip. Not in a tight or controlling way—simply holding you. His kisses go from passionate and consuming to slow. He separates his lips from yours—pecking you once, twice, three times until he feels satisfied. 

He leaves you feeling dizzy, your lips swollen, and you’re finally wide awake. You open your eyes to see him looking down on you with the same look he had before. Then, you couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was because you were still half asleep. He was looking at you with so much adoration. It brought a smile to your face, one of those smiles that made your face hurt and nothing, absolutely nothing, can make it go away.

“What are you smiling at, baby?” Garrick whispers, worried someone might hear your conversation. The walls at Basgiath may be thin, but Garrick warded the room so that you’d be physically safe, and so nobody would hear. 

“You,” the confession leaves your lips before you can stop it, but you don’t mind. It brings a smile to Garrick’s lips, his beautiful dimples forming.

“I know I’m irresistible,” he teases, lightly ticking your sides. 

You roll your eyes at him, though you secretly love when he acts like that. Sarcastic. It never failed to make you laugh when he made a remark like that to Xaden, the look on your wingleader’s face worth it. 

“Right,” you mess with him, like you always do when he makes a remark like that.

“Please, that’s how I got you in my bed the first time.” Heat blooms under your cheeks, welcoming the first time you and Garrick had ever been intimate together. 

“We both know your wrong,” you giggle, twirling the ends of his hair in your fingers.

“Really? Do tell,” Garrick settles between your legs, resting half his weight on you.

Your fingers scratch his scalp, massaging the area before you continue. “It was a lot of emotions built up.” 

“For you.”

You slap his back, though your hit is nothing to his sculptured back. He chuckles at your weak attempt in scolding him. Garrick grabs your hand, promptly placing it back in his hair, silently asking for forgiveness so you’ll start scratching his scalp again. 

You stare at him, giving him a look. A deadpanned look, acting as if you won’t do it. You wait ten seconds, watching him break by jutting his lip out. You smile sweetly, beginning to scratch his scalp again as his body fully slumps on top of you, basking in the sweet, early morning with his lover. 

The two of you stay in that spot for a couple more hours, until your responsibilities force you out of bed. Leaving Garrick’s arms, no matter the time of day, was always difficult. Though, you know he’ll be seeking you out when its time for you to read, cuddling you as fall into your world of books. 

༝༚༝༚

[no-nic]

“This is so stupid.” Kakashi is starting to regret letting Obito borrow his worn copy of Icha Icha Paradise (Volume 1, first edition, signed by the author). “‘I love you’,” quotes Obito dramatically. “‘You are my stars and my Moon...’ What does that even mean? Is this the kind of thing you want to hear from me?” Ah, the ending of chapter five. “You know, sometimes when people like each other…” “You are my stars — someone else’s light and warmth, I can only see you at night?” “It’s a literary…” Kakashi figures his explanation could be received better by any random kamui block. There is a monologue going on. He only hopes Obito will not disturb their comfortable reading position. “You are my Moon — I want to put a strong genjutsu on you to fulfill my deepest fantasies?” Okay, that is potentially disturbing, coming from Obito. “To be fair, that isn’t what most people think…” “I thought there would be explicit scenes straight away, not this empty flowery stuff that goes nowhere!” Obito pokes one of the many offending pages. “They keep confessing over and over with slightly different words. It’s boring. How do you read this with a straight face?” Privately Kakashi has some criticisms of his own. This is after all Jiraiya’s second book, first in a new series. He could admit that some chapters stretched on, the romantic tension that is supposed to be building is more like running in circles around a point. Some of the vocabulary is questionable too… But right now Obito seems to be expecting an answer. And Kakashi knows exactly which string to play. This is war. “Does it make you feel good — hating on my favorite book?” he whines. Obito throws Icha Icha Paradise out of reach. He leans into Kakashi and brings his mouth very, very close to Kakashi’s ear. The warm breath tickles. Kakashi does not try to suppress the shiver that comes over him. “Maybe,” Obito murmurs in a suddenly deeper voice — the kind that would bring Kakashi to his knees hearing it from across a battlefield. “Do you know what else could make me feel good?”

prompt: i love you 💓

art with a side of worth surviving for; it can be even turned into a post-war #obito lives au, if i ever have the energy

pretending it's still day 5 of kakaobi week 2025 by @kkobweek

#no one knows au; when your kamui home has everything but good fiction

✨ icha icha paradise (volume 1) ✨

kakashi: your friend pein flattened the village. you know, where my apartment was. all my books were there. and i barely started rebuilding my collection when someone declared war. this is the only book i had on me. deal with it. obito: it was a rhetorical question. i never saw you read anything but icha icha. kakashi: …you saw me? wait, when? how often were you watching me? obito: kakashi: obito: can you now be angry about the fact that my friend pein flattened the author?

kakashi: how much stolen jewelry do you even have here? obito: not much, why? kakashi: these matching rings fit us both perfectly. and the sharingan red stones are spot on obito, who will forever deny sneaking into a certain someone’s room to measure their fingers in their sleep and then commissioning a perfect pair of wedding rings: obito: thanks. it was a lucky find among mountains of treasure. i kept only the best ones and pawned off the rest

[prettydaisygirl]

can you write an arranged marriage for rafe and fem!reader. reader's family organized the marriage as the reader was getting out of hand (drugs, parties) and they wanted to control her, reader always knew she was going to get married to a rich man to further the families generational wealth so she didnt have a problem but that doesnt mean she was going to be happy, maybe she caused some problems when she met rafe but he put her in her place and she actually become attracted to him and yk the honeymoon smut or wtv lol. feel free to ignore this.

Hello, nonnie! Thank you so, so much for your request! I loved writing this, I have been wanting to write something else for Rafe and this was perfect! I didn't write the honeymoon, but I did get some smut in there for us ;) Hope you enjoy, my love!

arranged marriage AU with Rafe Cameron x fem!reader who marries Rafe against her will (and her better judgment) ✿ 2.1k words

cw: NSFW 18+, arranged marriage, fem reader, abusive parents, drug/alcohol abuse, violence, mention of murder, fingering (f receiving), controlling Rafe, toxic Rafe

rafe cameron masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You’ve known who you were supposed to be since the moment you took your first breath. Etiquette lessons, private tutors, debutante balls. Your parents always made their rules and expectations very clear to you, especially through punishment. 

When you’re young, it’s all cruel whispers and harsh smacks to your fatty tissue. 

“Don’t you understand how much you embarrassed us today, you ungrateful brat!” Your mother would whisper to you in the church parking lot, hand wrapped around your wrist far too tight. You yawned once during the service and you weren’t given dinner for three nights straight. 

When you were a little girl, you over exhausted yourself trying to keep up with their expectations. You did the best that you could but it was never enough, it was never going to be enough for them, you were always destined to fall short. The goalposts would move, the mood would shift, things would change and suddenly any amount of positivity or support was gone. Only disappointment awaited you. 

As you got older, you found other ways to escape from the horrors of your home life. You joined every activity you could, constantly stayed at friend’s houses, and made plans with almost anyone and everyone who asked you if it meant you didn’t need to see the faces of the two people who are supposed to love you most.

That’s where the problems started.

The relationship between you and your parents got worse, as did the violence, and you find yourself spending time around the wrong people. Alcohol became an easy distraction, and soon it was weed, and then coke. You found joy in dancing with boys and letting go of your mind. 

You didn’t think you were in too deep. You didn’t think it was that bad. Skirts that were too short and your voice that’s too loud and another drink, another joint, another line. It’s just an escape! You need an escape because otherwise you’ll crumble under the weight of rules and demands. Anger and pain and violence, you have to just turn it off. 

But one DUI, one hospital trip for an overdose, and your parents tell you they are putting their foot down. At first, you’re confused. What punishment could possibly be worse than screaming and punching and slapping? 

That’s when they mention Rafe Cameron.

You know Rafe Cameron, of course you do. Everyone does. The son of Ward Cameron, CEO of Cameron Industries, one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country. Ward is known for his passion for work, his very successful (albeit shady) business dealings, and his previously tumultuous relationship with his son. 

Rafe Cameron, the heir to the Cameron fortune, who made your DUI look like a parking ticket. You remember when his face was splattered across every tabloid magazine and every TMZ article. You were young enough then that you swore you would never turn out like him. Ironically, your path mirrored his quite closely.

Except for the violence.

Everything changed for the Cameron family five years ago when Rafe Cameron was arrested for murder. Ultimately the charges were dropped, though the internet detectives will say he did it without question. No one else was ever arrested for the murder of that young man, so you aren’t sure what to believe. 

Rafe disappeared for a while, some people speculated that he was sent to rehab or some other kind of mental health facility. When he came back into society last year, he seemed to be a changed man. Ward gave Rafe a place on the board, and Rafe has completely stayed out of the spotlight. 

And now, it seems, your two families believe that a merger, and a marriage, are the best way to move forward. 

You aren’t surprised. You’ve known for years that love was never in the cards for you, it never is in a family like this. Marriages for love in a family like yours are considered laughable.

“Just have an affair!” You would hear your mother laugh with her friends after too many glasses of wine, your father out somewhere with his business partners. “Marry for money, and find love on the side! Marriage is just business.” 

This is what you have been taught about love: it’s useless, it’s messy, and it’s better to keep it hidden. 

And so, your marriage arrangements have always lingered in the back of your mind, the knowledge of a future business transaction that would determine your worth to your family. You just didn’t expect it to be him. 

Your first meeting with Rafe and his family goes just about as well as you expect it to. Your dress is itchy and uncomfortable, and your hangover is giving you a headache. Rafe eyes you with a curled lip like he can smell the alcohol seeping off of you from across the table. He’s intimidating, his muscles tense and his jaw clenched as he nods curtly when the lawyers read off your marriage terms. 

No one asks you for your opinion during the whole meeting. No one but Rafe even looks your way. All you can feel is fear that your marriage will turn out to be an extension of your life with your parents. 

Pens come out, papers are signed, and just like that, you and Rafe are engaged.

It’s different from how you pictured it. There is a ring, large and gaudy, that catches any amount of light and has strangers eyeing you with envy. You hate it. 

Your schedule, previously dominated by nights clubbing and coffee dates, is now full of dress fittings, cake testing, and meetings with the wedding planner. To your surprise, Rafe attends all of them. 

You learn Rafe has changed, apparently. He doesn’t put up with your bullshit, he doesn’t think your whining and frustrated pout are endearing. He crosses his arms, and tells you to behave.

But it’s not cruel. It’s not “behave, you’re making me look bad” or “behave, or see what happens when we get home.” Maybe it’s because he is not your father, not even close, or maybe it is because of the way he looks at you when he says it, handsome features stern but not strict, but you listen to him. Your mother notices, and suddenly Rafe is always around.

He’s at the table for breakfast every Sunday morning, he’s golfing with your father, he’s with your family on the yacht. He’s everywhere. And there’s something about his handsome face, his swagger, the way he looks at you like there’s a promise of something hidden deeper beneath the surface… 

One Sunday morning, you stumble to the breakfast table, halfway between sober and still drunk and Rafe asks if he can speak with you privately. Your parents encourage this with a smile, of course, and you find yourself cornered in your father’s office, backed up against his desk.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Rafe asks, voice low and deep, and his face is close enough to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath seeping into your pores. He smells good, and the warmth between your legs and the remnants of alcohol in your system make you more open, more willing to agree with him. He knows that.

“I just… it feels good,” You tell him, inhaling sharply when his hands reach for your hips, lifting you to place you on the desk. He chuckles at your words and you shiver as his fingers brush against your inner thighs.

“I know it does,” He whispers, his hands gently parting your legs as he steps closer to you. “It does right now, but trust me… you want to stop.” Each word is accompanied by his hand sliding just a bit higher, your heart pounding rapidly and lips parting in anticipation. 

“I’ll show you something that feels even better,” He whispers, taking your earlobe into his mouth as his fingers press against your panties, making light circles over your clothed pussy. You moan, and Rafe’s free hand slaps over your mouth to silence you.

“Listen to me,” He grunts into your ear, his fingers sliding beneath the soaked lacy fabric to toy with your clit. Your moans and whines are muffled by his hand, and you feel your eyes roll back as he slides a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around it. He uses the hand that is over your mouth to shake you a bit, grasping your jaw harder. “Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open and you look at him, your body trembling and your juices soaking his finger. He smirks as he watches you fall apart so easily for him, bend so easily to his will.

“Don’t drink anymore,” He whispers, his tongue darting out to run over the round part of your ear before he attaches his lips to your jaw, using his tight grip to tilt your head for better access. He sucks a dark bruise there. “You don’t need to go out anymore, I’ll help you escape, I’ll make you feel good.” 

He says the exact words you need to hear to fall apart, crying muffled by the calloused skin of his palm and he continues to finger you as you come down. Once your body unclenches, he uncovers your mouth, bringing his dirty fingers to your lips and telling you to suck on them. You do. 

Your parents don’t say anything about the hickey or your disheveled outfit when you return from your “talk” with Rafe. Your politeness during breakfast is enough to have them singing Rafe’s praises regardless of how he “tamed” you. 

Your world shrinks, and even more than before everything revolves around Rafe. He’s always there, always in your space, always touching you. You let him, you like it even though it also feels like it’s hard to breathe, like his presence is a prison. Your engagement ring feels more like a gold handcuff, but every time his hands are on you, you want to throw away the key. It’s a vicious cycle. You lose your friends, but things get better with your family. If you can call moving from hitting you to completely ignoring you and doting on your future husband ‘progress’. 

The night before your wedding, you find Rafe on the balcony of your parent’s home after dinner. You tried to tell him that the groom shouldn’t see the bride the night before the wedding, but Rafe told you he isn’t superstitious and he doesn’t give a fuck about tradition. 

You stand next to him, the two of you illuminated by the pale moonlight shining down from above. There’s a light breeze, the wisps of his hair fluttering against his forehead.

It’s interesting, the way you feel when you’re around Rafe. It’s like a whirlwind of emotion. Lust, love, infatuation, fear, frustration, suffocation… like being too hot and too cold at the same time and the pain hurts but it also feels so good.

“Rafe?” You say softly, placing a hand on his back. He looks at you, his eyes dark in a way that makes your stomach churn. And not in the good way you like. “What’s wrong?”

“Tomorrow you become Mrs. Cameron. My wife,” He turns to face you, leaning a hip against the balcony railing. Your hand slides down his torso and back to your side, taking in the deep, almost gravelly tone of his voice. “I know I’ve already told you that I won’t tolerate your bullshit. But you understand that there will be some expectations, don’t you?”

The word expectations has your mind spinning, but you nod anyway, pushing down the feeling of nausea that threatens to rise up in your throat. 

“There are some things you need to know,” Rafe says, and he grabs your arm, not roughly but not gently either, “And I will tell them to you. But when it comes to anything about me, my family, or my business, you listen to me. Got it?”

You nod slowly again, and the ring around your finger burns where it touches your skin but you don’t move. You hate the way your heart pounds in a different way when his hand slides up your leg. You let him convince you that he knows best, again. And your parents don’t question the way your hair is tangled and your dress is wrinkled when you come back in, again. 

And when you’re standing on the altar in front of hundreds of people, and you look at Rafe like you know there’s something darker to him than he wants you to know… you say “I do.” anyway. 

Just like they all knew you would. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[coniferouspines]

This one got me 😔 @babyblankyerror

Ford looked… hmm… nervous. His jaw was set in a way that—from years of watching his twin—Stan knew was masking anxiety rather than anger. And every time he’d actually look at Stan in the eyes he’d get this droopy, sad gaze that he was clearly unaware he was making. Stan… didn’t like it. He didn’t understand why Ford was feeling that way, but he was trying his best to soothe any nerves his brother had about his upcoming surgery.

One of the ways Stan was doing that was by showing Ford his operating room. Ford was currently eyeing some of the jars Stan had on his shelves that were filled with various organs or pieces of organs—souvenirs from previous patients. While he was doing that, Stan decided to grab his friend. He needed to introduce (or reintroduce) them to Ford before the surgery.

“I won’t be… operating alone,” Stan informed his brother.

At his words, Ford turned to him questioningly, a wariness in his gaze.

Stan smiled widely, then reduced the smile to a smaller one when Ford grimaced at it. He held up his friend in between them, proudly presenting them to Ford. “My assistant, Mr. Rabid, will be… helping.”

Ford stared blankly at the ragged, stuffed bunny Stan was showing him. “Mr. Rabbit?” he repeated.

“Rabid,” Stan clarified. “They are helpful.”

Ford looked dubious. Maybe he didn’t trust how rough Mr. Rabid looked, with all their patchwork, mismatched eyes, and frumpy appearance. That was okay. Stan understood. He… looked like Mr. Rabid too. They were matching now, and sometimes people didn’t trust Stan, so it made sense that maybe sometimes they wouldn’t trust Mr. Rabid either.

“And how does Mr. Rabid assist you?” Ford asked slowly, still eyeing the stuffed bunny.

Stan brightened. He brought Mr. Rabid closer to his face, rubbing them against his cheek affectionately. “They… make you feel better,” he mumbled. “You just hug them and…” Stan cuddled Mr. Rabid in demonstration, swaying in place as he happily hugged his dearest friend. “And they make it all better.”

Having sufficiently shown his brother Mr. Rabid’s special assistant powers, he held the bunny out to Ford.

“For you,” he said quietly, hoping Ford would take them. He didn’t offer Mr. Rabid’s help to just anyone, after all. But his brother was special. He’d always been special.

“Uhh, thanks?” Ford gingerly grabbed Mr. Rabid.

Stan bounced on his heels in excitement, unable to control the way his hands flapped about at his sides in joy. Ford took Mr. Rabid! Stan had helped! He’d helped!

Sure, Ford still looked… confused. But confused was better than nervous. Better than sad and mopey. Now they could… have fun. The surgery was going to be fun. Stan got to do the thing he loved with both his special people!

He couldn’t wait.

Dr. Pinington and his assistant. Not sure about the name of his plushie yet

[ce1estiall]

nothing left

summary paige x reader paige sending mixed signals as you grew up, but what do they mean?

warnings angst, fluff

celestial notes hey guys, second fic hope you like it 😁 this is inspired by “no me queda más (i have nothing left)” by selena which is one of my favorite songs!

“i have nothing left, if your return today would be an impossibility, and this was not love

what you deny today, what you say never happened, is the sweetest memory of my life.” no me queda más - selena

it was the first day of freshman orientation. new high school, new peers, new teachers, new city, everything. you recently moved to hopkins in the summer. you checked your schedule as you had

block 1 first. you entered the classroom as one of the first people there with nervousness. your teacher greeted you with a smile. as you sat down and started drawing in your sketch book, a blonde and tall girl was walking towards you. nike headband, messy bun, hopkins basketball hoody with sweatpants and some jordans. "hey! im paige." she said softly, as she chose to sit down next to you. "oh, hi." you were too shy and caught off guard, but paige just kept talking. there was just something about her that made you comfortable. "i like your drawing, its very beautiful. do you do art as a hobby?" she asked, slowly trying to make you break out of your shell. you spoke more confidently this time, sitting up straight against your chair. "thank you. yeah, i really like to draw and paint and makes me express myself." paige leaned her hand against her head, look towards you. "you know what makes me express myself?" you thought for a second. "no idea. what is it?"

"basketball. i wouldn't have enough time in the world to tell you about basketball." oh but paige did. the entire class, she talked to you about the sport she cared about the most. she told you how she played a bunch of sports when she was younger, but basketball stuck the most. how she played jv at hopkins in just 7th grade, and was mostly likely to make varsity as a freshman. she played aau since 4th grade and was going to continue. she told you about her basketball dreams, receiving an offer from uconn and eventually going to the wnba. ever since that one interaction, you spoke out to her more. paige eventually became your best friend. you got her, and she got you. you would always hang out together after school, unless she had practice. you would walk to the park or the plaza, fooling around and goofing off while getting food.

both of you growing up in high school together made you guys not only learn a lot about each other, but yourselves also. you realized sports were never your thing, art was always your style. you didn't know how to shoot a basketball or pass a volleyball to save your life. you were the quiet, girly-ish girl. headphones in, sketch book near, a massive vinyl collection, academic weapon, and tones of paint canvases and posters in your room. however, paige was the total opposite. total tomboy, extrovert, sporty, sore-loser, but she was also smart also. no wonder why she was in biology honors with you.

one hang out, you both were having real and deep personal conversations. one being as paige told you something she didn't tell anyone before. "i like girls, does that change anything between us?" she asked you, sitting at the edge of your bed looking worried. "of course not. thank you for telling me paige." ever since that day, it had you thinking about your sexual orientation.

as you both continued your high school journey, you were still super close, basically like sisters. you watched paige play during the high school season, and also sometimes went to her aau tournaments if they were in town. you always had to represent her, and she would look every game in the stands to see if you were there.

you watched paige work tirelessly and consistently as you saw one of her dreams come true. an offer from uconn. you never forgot that day.

lil paigey🏀: GUESS WHAT

lil paigey🏀: HELLO

lil paigey🏀: ANSWER ME

you: WHAT

you: WHAT HAPPENED

lil paigey🏀: guess who i just got off the phone with bitch

you: no idea

lil paigey🏀: GENO AURIEMMA.

you didnt speak basketball, so you were so incredibly lost.

you: is this a good or bad thing

lil paigey🏀: HELLO HE'S THE HEAD COACH FOR UCONN. I GOT AN OFFER

you: ARE YOU SERIOUS??? YOU'RE NOT FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT?

lil paigey🏀: OFC NOT HELLO??

you: paige im so incredibly proud of you and how much your hard work has payed off.

the next day at school, you ran up to her, squeezing her into a hug so tight that she could barely breathe. "lil paigey!!!!" you squealed. “im so so so proud of you. i almost cried when you told me.” she looked at you after you both released from the hug. it wasn’t a normal look. it felt like it had more meaning. the way her blue eyes dilated, gave you a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t describe.

acceptance day came for college applications. you applied to uconn of course, and got accepted. paige acted the same way you did when she told you she received an offer.

time passed, graduation happened like a blink of an eye. paige was focused and locked in for college basketball. you had a dorm next to the basketball team. paige quickly introduced you to her teammates, and you all got along well. sometimes before or after practices she would stay in your dorm and relax or do any homework.

some practices were later than usual, which caused her to come to your dorm later in the night.

paige had a 7pm practice that usually lasted 2 hours. you were at your desk with an amber scent candle burning next to you. notes, pens, and highlighters scattered all over your desk. you had a statistics exam the next morning, and were trying to retain as much information as possible. just as you were in your mode and focused, a knock came from the door. it was 9pm.

you got up from your desk in a daze and opened the front door. by your surprise, it was paige.

"can i stay here for the night?" she asked, out of breath.

"well hello to you too. didn't you just get out of practice? and why?" you asked her, rubbing your eyes.

"yes. and water leakage. soooo can i?" paige seemed exhausted and energetic at once. you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into.

"sure. i dont have an extra room tho, so its the couch or-" she stopped you. "can i sleep with you?"

you didn't mind. you've known paige since forever. nothing would happen, right? "yeah thats fine. make yourself comfortable."

a feeling in your body over came you. you suddenly broke out into a hot flash, but you ignored it.

paige walked inside, taking her slides off. she then walked into your room, you were right behind her. you saw the way her face lot up when she entered, observing everything. you sonny angels and smitski collection, legos, cds, posters, and a diffuser with eucalyptus spraying. it was a very clean and relaxing space to paige.

"this is your room?" she looked at you in awe. "in all the years i've known you, it was never this organized."

you laughed. "gee, thanks paige. you should be the last one talking."

"you know you enjoy my sense of humor." she jumped onto the bed, into your pile of plushies and stuffed animals. you handed her the control. "im gonna get a snack really quick. want anything?"

"you got my favorites?" she asked. you rolled your eyes and walked into the kitchen. you opened the cabinet and grabbed gold and paige's favorite, oreos.

you went back to your room and sat down next to her. "how do you not give these up during the season." you placed the party size pack of oreos and infront of both of you. paige picked "criminal minds" to watch, another one of her favorites. you and paige were both relaxed at this point as both of you suddenly became closer.

a sudden wave of sleepiness went over you. next thing you know, you were out like a light. you fell asleep on paiges shoulder. she quickly noticed, turning to look at you. she was trying not to move too much to not wake you up. she played with your wavy, brown hair and massaged your shoulder with one arm as she was still watching criminal minds. "good night" she spoke softly into your ear. she turned the tv off and slept next to you, soundly.

the next day, you woke up and found her gone. you checked your phone and saw she left a text

p BUCKETSS 🪣: if you wake up and im not there, i had early practice today. don't worry, im okay. see you later 💫

you went to your biochem class at 11am. after, you returned to your dorm and studied again for statistics test you had at 1pm.

the time was now 7pm, and another knock occurred on your door as you were making dinner. you unlocked the door and not surprised that it was paige. "can i stay here again?"

"yeah thats fine. i'm making dinner." she walked into the kitchen as you close the door behind her. you went back to cooking.

"what are you making?" she asked curiously. she stared at the food like she was ravenous.

"chicken with roasted potatoes. want some?" you asked, grabbing out two plates. "yes, please" she smiled. you served her the plate as she sat down at the island. herbs and spices flooded her nose, smelling delicious. she took a bite of the food, and instantly fell in love with your cooking.

"when the fuck did you learn how to cook? i swear this is the best meal i've ever had in my life." she was enjoying the meal like it was her last one on earth. "okay thats a stretch now." you said laughing.

just like yesterday, she went into your room, and watched criminal minds. after you washed the dishes, you went and sat down next to her. her same arm on your shoulders. an exciting feeling overcame you. she asked you about her day and remembered about your statistics test. you told her you crammed and still passed. next moment after you both talked for what seemed like it would never end, she was knocked out. this time, her head on your shoulder. you smiled at the sigh of her. "good night, p buckets." you whispered into her ear.

same thing happened, you woke up with her missing, but she left you another text.

over the next couple of days, not only would she sleep with you in the evenings in her dorm, but she would always find time to spend with you. after practices, you would drive to get both of you something to eat and go shopping. she payed for everything when you insisted to buy her something. that nil money was in fact treating her very well.

after the shopping spree, she wanted to stay with you, at her dorm. the drive back at storrs was very, interesting. the tension between both of you was thick, and in the air. while paige drove home instead of you, when "snooze" by sza was playing, she was singing the lyrics while putting her hand on your thigh.

she sung quietly, but beautifully. never skipping a word. it was like she knew this song by heart. you noticed the playlist title called "falling in love". at the stoplights, she would look at you. a look of love. the same feeling you got the other day returned back. you were now putting the pieces together on why you're feeling this way. you're in love.

you arrived at her dorm. as you walked in, you were greeted by one of her roommates and teammate, kk arnold.

"hey girly pop how are you!" kk reached in for a hug "ugh and look whos back. just kidding you know i love you p boogers"

"bro shut up" she told kk. "don't mind her. lets go to my room."

"ouhh what yall finna do?" she said, acting childish. you gave her a glare that said "shut up" in the nicest way possible.

you entered her room, it was a mess. clothes everywhere, basketball shoes all over the floors, empty water bottles, but you didn't mind. you sat down on her bed hugging her stuff animal. you broke the silence first. "thanks for paying for my things today. you didn't have to."

paige smirked. "its no problem. that was my giving back for you letting me stay those couple of nights."

you suddenly felt uncomfortable, but in a good way. the tension was still there, and you didn't want to do something you were going to regret. "i have to go. ill see you later tho."

"yeah" paige said, in disappointment that you had to leave so early. "bye"

"bye paige. bye kk" you said opening the door as you were leaving.

"bye girly pop!" kk yelled.

since that interaction, paige was looking for you. after classes, during your lunch, at her games, after practices, she never wanted to leave you. when you were with her, you were always happy. you didn't want the moment to end. all your problems left when she was with you. her flirting or teasing or terrible jokes always made you laugh or crack a smile. it was official. you were in love with you childhood best friend, paige.

you felt like paige was giving you mixed signals. sure, you knew paige was gay, but you were starting to realize you liked girls also. paige has dated girls before and would usually tell you about it, but you never had that opportunity. you didn't fall in love so easily and no one liked you like that, ever. paige was never afraid to show the different side of her. very flirty, touchy, and up close with you. it flustered you in a way and gave you butterflies in a way.

more time together lead to you falling for her more. and falling hard. after driving yourself practically insane on what she was trying to signal to you, you decide to tell her how you felt.

you walked to her dorm building, eventually finding her number. you knocked twice with anticipation. the door opened, it was paige.

"look who chased me." she darted.

"can we talk? can i come inside?" you said seriously.

she saw the change in your face. "i need to talk to you about something also. yeah, sure."

you walked to her room and sat at the edge of her bed, she sat next to you, looking at your face. "should you go first or should i?" she chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

"look paige. i really appreciate you hanging out with me recently and reconnect again with your schedule and basketball. we've know each other since we were teenagers, but we're starting to be closer than ever before. i've noticed recently on how you're acting with me. the flirty comments. you touching my thighs or hugging me from behind out of the blue. it made me feel something, like an electrifying feeling that flows through my body. when i go to bed, thats all i think about. its you. im in love with you paige." you spoke, legs shaking from the anxiety. the way you saw her body language, it wasn't a good sign.

"oh." she said as she zoned out for a couple of seconds. oh? was that all she had to say?

"hey." she touched your thigh again in consolidation. "thank you for telling me this. what i wanted to tell you was that i'm talking to someone. i've been talking to them for a couple of months now. we have a date soon. you know i've always been touchy and extroverted." tears started forming in your eyes, out of anger. paige continued "i'm telling you this, especially now because i don't want to play with your feelings or get you hopes high. i'm sorry if this isn't the news you wanted to hear, but i will always be your best friend, okay?"

you just tuned her out. "yeah, sure. i have to leave."

you stormed out of her dorm, slamming the door as you left. the walk back to your dorm was sad, as the sky was cloudy and humid, like you. you cried all the way walking until you arrived at your dorm, jumping onto your bed and sobbing. as you were defeated, and paige was happy, you still kept this memory. you secretly had hope in the bottom of your heart that she would've felt the same, and she would've stayed with you. you now have to see paige as a friend, as though you lived in love, but were wrong on how she felt. you have nothing left.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Five

The cold night air hit them the moment they stepped outside, and Paige stumbled slightly, her hand brushing Azzi’s as they walked toward the dorms. The alcohol had taken its toll, and the warmth from Ted’s seemed to have evaporated the second they hit the sidewalk. She could feel her head spinning, but in a way, it was almost pleasant, the dizziness soft and fuzzy like a blanket wrapping around her.

Azzi’s hand was firm at her back, guiding her down the path. She tried to focus, but the world around her was hazy, and everything felt a little too loud, even though it was silent. The glow from the street lights flickered in the corners of her vision, casting long shadows against the pavement.

“Careful,” Azzi said, her voice low and steady. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just… wobbly,” Paige muttered, trying to steady herself but not entirely succeeding. She wanted to laugh, but it was hard to think clearly enough to find the humor in it. Instead, she let herself lean into Azzi a little more, grateful for the support. “I swear, tequila’s a devil’s drink.”

Azzi chuckled, the sound soft and close. “You had, like, two shots.”

“More actually, but I’m a lightweight,” Paige mumbled, her face flushed with the effort of walking straight. “Should’ve known better.”

Azzi's arm was around her now, helping her keep steady as they made it up the stairs to the dorm building. Paige’s knees felt like they might give out any second, but Azzi was a rock beside her, guiding her through the entrance and up to the hall. Paige was barely aware of the journey, her steps uncoordinated, but Azzi’s presence was constant, comforting.

When they reached the door to Paige’s room, Azzi paused, looking down at her. “Alright, you’ve made it this far. Are you good?”

Paige nodded slowly, but then her eyes narrowed, a mischievous spark flickering behind the haze of alcohol. “You’re not getting into my bed unless you shower,” she said with a half-lopsided grin.

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she laughed, low and amused. “Fair enough. But you’re lucky I like you.”

“You better like me,” Paige said, though it was slurred and playful. “You’re carrying my drunk ass around.”

Azzi didn’t argue, just stepped back and gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll be quick. No funny business.”

Paige smirked, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I’ll be waiting.”

Azzi winked, then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Paige to slump onto her bed. Her head was spinning in the best way, and as she stared up at the ceiling, a small smile tugged at her lips. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed this—this moment, this person beside her, the connection that was still so new, but felt like it could have been there forever.

A few minutes later, the sound of the shower running filtered through the thin walls, and Paige closed her eyes, letting herself sink deeper into the mattress. The night felt like it was winding down, but the tension between her and Azzi lingered, thick and warm.

The sound of the water faucet turning off snapped Paige out of her daze, reminding her that she still needed to shower. She pushed herself up from the bed and, with unsteady steps, crossed the hall to knock on Azzi’s door.

“Az,” Paige called out, her voice slow and thick with the alcohol in her system. She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can I shower now?”

Azzi opened the door, wearing nothing but a towel that barely covered her. Paige couldn’t help but let her eyes wander, not bothering to hide it—she didn’t care if Azzi noticed, in fact, she kind of hoped she did.

“P,” Azzi said, her voice tinged with amusement as she caught Paige’s gaze. “Do you want me to turn on the water for you?”

Paige didn’t answer immediately, instead stepping closer, her breath catching slightly as she stood just behind Azzi. Azzi looked at her through the bathroom mirror, the tension between them thickening.

“Uh, yeah,” Paige mumbled, the words slipping out slower than she intended, the alcohol still thick in her voice.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her expression softening with concern. “Hey, are you gonna be okay to shower yourself?” Her tone was gentle, but there was an underlying note of worry.

“Yeaaa…” Paige dragged the word out, her speech even more slurred now as she fumbled with the hem of her shirt, her fingers slow and clumsy. She wasn’t sure if it was the tequila or the closeness of Azzi’s gaze, but her body felt heavier than usual, her limbs uncooperative.

Azzi took a step forward, her presence solid and steady in the hazy quiet of the room. “Here, P,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help you.” She placed a hand on Paige’s wrist, guiding it away from the shirt and instead reaching for the fabric herself.

Paige’s heart skipped, the moment far more intimate than she had ever imagined. She had thought about this, fantasized about it in fleeting moments when her thoughts drifted to Azzi, but she had always imagined it happening differently—not like this, not with her so out of control, so vulnerable. The idea of Azzi helping her undress was both comforting and unsettling, a strange mix of relief and anticipation coiling in her stomach.

Azzi’s hands were gentle as she carefully pulled the shirt over Paige’s head, her fingers brushing lightly against Paige’s skin. Each touch felt electric, sending a shiver down her spine. The simple act of undressing felt like it was happening in slow motion, and Paige couldn’t decide whether she wanted time to freeze or to hurry up and move on. Her breath came out shaky as she stood still, letting Azzi guide her through the motions. She should have felt awkward, but instead, the warmth of Azzi’s touch was like a grounding force—something steady in the swirl of her intoxication.

With each article of clothing Azzi helped her remove, Paige’s mind raced. She’d imagined this moment, sure—imagined what it would feel like to be this close to Azzi, imagined the way her hands would move with care and confidence—but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. The heat rising between them wasn’t just from the alcohol anymore. There was a quiet kind of tension building, thick in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Paige’s breath hitched when Azzi’s fingertips brushed the back of her neck as she unbuttoned her jeans. It felt so simple, so casual—but there was nothing casual about the way Paige’s heart was racing. She wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words caught in her throat, tangled with the flood of emotions she was trying to make sense of.

Azzi paused for a moment, her hands stilling on Paige’s jeans, and looked up at her through the soft light of the bathroom. “You okay?” she asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Paige nodded, trying to steady her shaky breath. “Yeah… I’m fine,” she said, the words coming out weaker than she meant, but it didn’t matter. Azzi was already stepping back, finishing the task of undressing her with a tenderness that made her feel exposed, but not in a bad way.

By the time Azzi helped her step into the shower, the world outside of the bathroom felt far away, muffled and distant. Paige leaned against the cool tiles, the water hitting her skin like a shock, but Azzi was right there with her—always present, always steady. The warmth from the shower mixed with the warmth of Azzi’s presence, and it was almost too much to handle.

As the water ran over her, Paige closed her eyes, letting herself relax into the sensation. Azzi had backed off a bit, giving her space, but there was still something unspoken in the air between them—something that neither of them wanted to name, but both of them felt. Azzi stayed close, though, close enough that Paige could feel her watching, feel her presence as if it were part of the steam filling the bathroom.

Paige wasn’t sure what would happen next—whether they would talk, whether things would shift, whether she would say something she shouldn’t. But in this moment, with the water cascading over her and Azzi just a few feet away, everything else seemed to disappear. The uncertainty, the awkwardness, the alcohol—it all melted away, leaving only the soft rhythm of her breath and Azzi’s quiet gaze.

Azzi helped Paige carefully into bed, her hands steady and sure as she guided her to lie down. The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the bathroom that Azzi had left on. Paige was still a little dizzy from the alcohol, but the soft weight of the blankets over her felt grounding. Azzi stayed close for a moment, standing at the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning Paige with concern.

Paige shifted slightly, and without thinking, she curled into the warmth of Azzi’s side, tucking her head into the crook of Azzi’s neck. The smell of Azzi’s shampoo and the faint scent of her skin wrapped around Paige like a comfort. She didn’t want to pull away, not even a little.

For a long moment, there was silence between them. It was peaceful but heavy, like the air was waiting for something, something that neither of them seemed ready to say.

Azzi shifted, and Paige felt the soft pressure of her fingertips against her arm as she gently pulled away to look down at her. “Why’d you get so drunk tonight, P?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with concern.

The question caught Paige off guard, and for a second, she wasn’t sure how to answer. She wanted to say she was just having fun, that it wasn’t a big deal—but it was. All of it was. The alcohol had given her the courage to say things she’d been hiding from for months.

“I—” Paige swallowed hard, her voice unsteady. “I don’t know. I just… I’ve been feeling everything, Azzi. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I can’t anymore.” She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the lump in her throat tighten. “After I came out, I realized… I felt something for you that I didn’t want to feel. That I couldn’t accept. And I’ve been so mad at myself for it. I… I turned you down in May, and I’ve hated myself for it since.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She just listened, her hand lightly brushing Paige’s hair back from her face. Paige’s chest felt tight, like the words had been building for so long that they couldn’t stop coming out now, all at once.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” Paige continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “The idea of you being with anyone else makes me sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just… want it to be you. Always you.” She finally opened her eyes, meeting Azzi’s gaze, her breath shaky. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. I can’t.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, her eyes softened, a trace of something familiar—something Paige had seen in Azzi’s gaze before but never this clearly—passed between them. Then Azzi spoke, her voice quieter than before, almost like she was testing the words out on her tongue.

“Yeah, me too,” she admitted softly. “I’ve felt it too. But—” She stopped herself, shaking her head like she was trying to collect her thoughts. “Be honest with me, Paige. Have you slept with anyone this semester?”

The question hit Paige like a wave, and for a second, she didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t expected this turn in the conversation, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure how to explain everything without answering it.

Paige hesitated, her stomach twisting with something between guilt and discomfort. “Yeah,” she admitted slowly, “I’ve... slept with some girls.” Her voice faltered, but she forced the words out. “I was trying to move on, you know? Trying to convince myself that I could.”

A tear slipped down Azzi’s cheek, and Paige’s heart clenched at the sight. She reached out instinctively, brushing her thumb under Azzi’s eye, wiping the tear away. “No, Azzi. It’s okay. It’s really okay.” Paige’s voice softened, her heart swelling with an overwhelming need to comfort Azzi, to let her know that none of this was her fault.

Azzi sniffed, her eyes looking distant for a moment, but she finally met Paige’s gaze again, her voice trembling. “I have something to tell you, Paige.”

Paige’s pulse quickened. She wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever it was, but she nodded, already bracing herself. “What is it?”

Azzi hesitated, her eyes dropping to the blanket as if the words were heavy. “I... I slept with James two weeks ago.” She looked up at Paige, her expression vulnerable, like she was waiting for the judgment or the fallout.

Paige froze, the world around her suddenly going still. She couldn’t process what Azzi had just said, the words barely making sense in her head. She stared at Azzi, her mind scrambling for something to say, but nothing came out. The silence hung thick in the air between them.

Azzi’s breath was shallow as she waited, her fingers nervously toying with the hem of the blanket. “I need you to say something,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Paige’s mind was spinning, the alcohol from earlier slowly wearing off, leaving her with clarity but also a deep sense of confusion. Finally, she exhaled, letting the tension in her chest release. She knew she had to say something, but it wasn’t the moment for angry words or hurt. She didn’t want that.

“Let’s get breakfast tomorrow before you head home,” Paige said quietly, her voice still a little raw. “And we’ll talk then, okay?” She could feel the weight of the moment, the enormity of what was unsaid, but there was too much to unpack right now. They both needed a bit of space, some time to breathe.

Azzi nodded, her face still pained, but she didn’t argue. “Okay,” she whispered.

Without another word, the two of them lay down, the silence between them now even more charged than before. They didn’t touch, neither of them reaching out, but somehow, the absence of touch felt more intimate than anything else. Paige turned onto her side, staring at the ceiling, her mind running a million miles a minute. But eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and the events of the night faded into the darkness.

They both fell asleep, the unspoken words lingering, waiting for the morning to bring them clarity.

Ok, it's a little shorter than the last one. I am gonna be busy this week with finals, so I might get chapter six out, but I really don't know.

[erosologist]

hi.. i'm broken thinking about chan (n am therefore requesting in hopes of getting it out of my head) in control of his brat n putting her in place after she teases him all day out of home 😵‍💫 the way he'd use his words so well n mark her all up so it serves as a reminder to listen n be good 🫣

⋆˙⟡♡ cw! afab reader (femme pronouns + pet names), brat taming, daddy kink, degradation, spanking, fingering (f!receiving), hints of oral (m!receiving) + dumbification + dacryphilia, i may have blacked out while writing this bcoz wowzer, not proofread

brat tamer chan is an absolutely ruthless man. specifically, brat tamer chan who loves to set his sweetheart up for failure. brat tamer chan who makes you wear a skirt out in public just so he can stroke at your puffy folds whenever you’re being an insolent little thing. brat tamer chan who sits you on his lap and grips your hips in his large hands, forcing you to feel his erection pressing against your bare pussy right in front of his friends. brat tamer chan who hisses in your ear, “make a single sound and i’ll take you back to the car and shove my cock so far down your throat you can’t make any more noise. do you understand?” when a few whines slip past your lips. brat tamer chan who discreetly swats at your ass whenever you laugh a little too much at one of changbin’s jokes. brat tamer chan who grabs the back of your neck whenever you try to wander off and pulls you back to him, fingers flicking at your swollen clit and eliciting a muffled yelp from you. brat tamer chan who speaks of you with pride when you’re off in the bathroom and jisung can’t seem to stop drooling over you. “ain’t she a pretty little thing?” he asks his friend, a smirk on his face and a loving light dancing in his chocolate eyes. jisung nods, unsure if agreeing would piss off his notoriously protective friend or stroke his ego.

brat tamer chan who has you bent over the sofa the minute you get home, long fingers gathering up the slick that had begun to trail down your thighs and pressing it against your tongue. “how do you taste, baby, hmm? good enough to eat?”

“y-y-yes, daddy!” you cry out, legs already trembling from his torment. “s-so good!”

he hums, as if really contemplating your words, before bringing his hand down and striking your bottom, reveling in the way your ass shakes under his strong hand. “too bad you’ve been such a bratty little thing lately, huh? huffin’ and puffin’ and throwin’ a fit when i told you i’d have to work late… sending me all of those naughty pictures while i was trying to work… getting me all riled up… naughty, naughty…” he accentuates his sentences with more slaps to your ass, each one firmer than the last, confident he’s going to leave handprints and hoping you can feel each individual finger seared into your skin.

more whimpers fall from your lips, thighs rubbing together to provide your throbbing heat with some relief, and chan chuckles at your fussiness. “s’matter, babygirl? all worked up after a few spanks?”

you adamantly shake your head, trying your best to appear stronger than what you both know you are. “no, daddy! spanks don’t get me worked up!” but you’re already slurring your words and your hands are shaking and your breaths are rattling around that unstable ribcage of yours. you’re drunk on a cock you haven’t even touched yet, and chan is all too aware of how much of a cockwhore—no, an attention-whore—you are.

thick fingers play with your puffy folds and a yelp manages to slip past your lips despite how hard you’ve been biting them. “you sure about that, little one?”

you open your mouth to reply but you’re effectively cut off by the very same fingers dancing on your tongue, methodic in the way they spread your juices all over your tastebuds, silencing any protests that may have made their way past your teeth. groaning, you run your tongue across his digits, gently sucking and caressing them in a way that has his cock growing firmer and firmer by the second, pressing against the back of your thigh as a warning.

one hand gripping on your hips, the other making sure your mouth is too preoccupied to whine, he leans down to your ear and whispers, “you know you’re in for it, right, babygirl?”

and all you can do is smirk, because that’s exactly what you were hoping for. after all, you’re just a bratty little thing, right?

before you can tease him even more, your daddy pulls his fingers out of your mouth in order to lace them in your hair, pulling on the locks until you’re nearly looking at him in his chocolate eyes, your neck exposed and open for him to bite and suck. payback is a bitch. he’s slow with his movements, torturous, sure to run his tongue right along your jugular until he can feel your legs shake, pressing his pulsating cock against your thighs until all you can think about is it being buried inside of you, teeth grazing against your hot skin and threatening to bury themselves in it. you can feel him smile against your neck, because he knows exactly what effect he has on you, can feel it in the way your joints seemingly have become jelly and you’ve been robbed of your vocal cords.

“i can feel your pulse,” he mutters against your neck before sharp incisors dig into it. “nervous?” shaky hands reach for his dark hair, but he easily swats them away, a chuckle reverberating against your skin and shooting heat down to your core. “think you can fight me off, little one?” 

as if to prove his point, he pins his body weight down on you, broad chest flush against your back, hand still tangled in your hair and twisting your head to face him. he’s gorgeous—woodland eyes nearly swallowed by inky pupils, plump lips littered with bite marks, predatory light dancing in breath-taking eyes, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down the last of his self-control. chan has always been a handsome man, but in this moment—between lust and insanity, pleasure and greed, loving boyfriend and hedonistic sadist—he’s the most wickedly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

his lips nearly brush against yours as he whispers, “go on, then, try and fight me off.”

“don’ wanna,” you whisper back, eyes glued to the way the jugular thumps in his thick neck, the primal urge to bite it nearly consuming you.

“what happened to all of that fight, hm?” thick fingers begin to skillfully play with your puffy folds, not enough to ease some of the throbbing in your empty pussy, but just enough to elicit a mewl out from your tight throat. “don’t wanna fight daddy anymore, huh? just wanna get fucked until that pretty head of yours is empty?”

“oh, please, daddy, fuck me until i can’t stand anymore!”

his ministrations on your pussy quicken, his thumb swirling around your clit and dipping into your fluttering hole, handsome face buried in the crook of your neck as he listens to all of the sweet noises leaving your parted lips. “yeah? you done being a little damn brat?”

“f-fuck, yes. just wan’ be daddy’s good girl, please.” your words are slurred, garbled excuses for syllabus, drunk off of submission, and chan is pouring the liquor down your throat with an eager smile—anything to get that hazy look in your eyes and your hands grasping for him. because if he looks at his absolute best when he’s about to devour you, then you look at your most gorgeous when you’re on a silver platter, and chan made sure he came to the table starving.

his voice is melted chocolate when he speaks—comforting, soothing, borderline sickly sweet but so, so good. “yeah, is that it, baby? how about you make it up to daddy and suck his cock then? if you do a good enough job, i’ll sit you on it. does that sound like a fair deal? after all, you’ve been such a goddamn brat all day and stressing daddy out so, so much. could barely even take you out to a nice restaurant with my friends without you being a little whore in front of them…”

and, of course, he’s right, isn’t he? because daddy is always right—you have been a goddamn brat all day. if you weren’t sending him naughty pictures while he was at work, you were being a little too friendly with his friends. if you weren’t being a little too friendly with his friends, you were wrapping your lips around any phallic object you could find at the restaurant table and looking your poor daddy in the eye, knowing damn well everyone else was watching. your bratty little antics have been driving not only chan up the walls, but poor jisung and changbin as well, and you knew exactly how much that pissed your boyfriend off.

though his tone is soft, his harsh words bring tears to your eyes, shame flushing your body at your loathsome antics, and you can feel your chest rattle with a strangled sob. “‘m sorry, daddy…” it’s a pathetic sound, really, full of desperation and need—desperate for his love and all of its warmth, need for his anger and all of its sanctification, desperate to hear those honeyed words drip from his sweet tongue, need for a fire to melt the ice in his eyes as he stares down at you, just all of his passion and the thorns that come with it and stains clean skin. he’ll wash the blood off of your hands, he always does, you just need to give him that little bit of control…

you find yourself nodding your head, and chan smiles down at you so tenderly, you could weep.

“use your words, little one,” he urges, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “what are you gonna do?”

“i…i’m gonna make it up to daddy.”

“now that’s my good girl…”

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[kais-testosterone-shot]

heres part 2 of my Golden Legend and Monstrosity color symbolism thoughts! prepare for another long read.

this post is about the color cyan

i have to admit, im not the most confident about my take on this color. i think part of that is because we dont know who the enemy really is in either animation. so let's write down what we do know:

in my post about the color gold, i mention how you could argue gold is the color of "good" in ninjago. well, if gold is the color of "good" then purple is the color of "evil". throughout the story of ninjago, purple has been the color of corruption, the color of destruction, the color of the oni. but purple doesnt appear in Golden Legend or Monstrosity.

so what does that make cyan? is cyan a neutral color? whats the motive of the people wielding this color? what are their intentions?

the color cyan is traditionally associated with calmness and tranquility. which is interesting to me because thats not the vibe that i get from this color in either animation. no, to me this color more closely relates to danger.

throughout the Golden Legend part of this analysis, keep in mind that this is being told from the dragon's perspective.

the first time we see cyan is through lightning in the fog. the flashes allow us to see into the fog, where a mass of shipwrecks lies hidden just beyond our view. this gives us the sense that something is very wrong here. this place is dangerous. as soon as it fades away, our samurai appears.

the only other time we see this lightning is at the very end, the result of a shockwave produced by the samurai falling in battle at the hands (tail) of the guardian dragon. our samurai dies, very violently, might i add, and their soul? spirit? essence? is expelled from their body as they turn to stone. the lightning flashes again, a parallel of the very first time we saw it, and three more samurai appear from the fog.

okay, so what does that mean? that shockwave did something, obviously, but what? did it summon the samurai? spawn them? revive them from the depths of the sea? were they part of the shipwrecked fleet? regardless, it's clear this cycle is repetitive. this dragon has been fighting this battle nonstop for who knows how long, if the hundreds, maybe even thousands of stone bodies surrounding his perch signify anything. the danger of his assailants is constant and neverending.

now let's talk about the samurai's sword. this is the only other time we see the color cyan. this only ever occurs when the samurai is acting with the intention to harm. this is shown whenever the samurai swings their sword at the dragon or when theyre bracing for an attack, emphasizing the danger of their weapon.

okay, so cyan can be associated with danger. what does this mean for Monstrosity?

we only see the color cyan ONCE in the entire Monstrosity trailer. ONE TIME. and thats in this frame at 0:46.

this is the ONLY instance of cyan in the entire trailer. with this dragon. this dragon who has been in black and white the entire time. this dragon whose flames are in black and white like kai's. now i dont know who shes attacking, but i think it may have something to do with the crystal in the following shot, which features what looks to be a centipede trapped inside.

now if my theory about cyan representing danger is true... why would we see cyan only when shes attacking the centipede? why didnt we see cyan when she was breathing fire on the landscape at the beginning? if its true that we only ever see cyan when our narrator, kai in this trailer being our narrator, is being attacked, then why would we only see this cyan color once? is this dragon trustworthy? was the mural right? is kai the centipede in the crystal?

i think the cyan color really plays into the perspective of the narrator. it only ever occurs in Golden Legend when our narrator is being attacked. however, as a scientist, im hesitant to claim this with 100% certainty. there's no control in this experiment. the samurai in Golden Legend only ever attacks the dragon, and kai isn't shown being directly attacked by anything in the Monstrosity trailer, so we have no variables to work with until either a new trailer drops or until the episodes themselves are released.

thanks for reading! my previous post about the color gold can be found here

you can read my post about the color red here